Out of Context

We’re done kicking Edgar for a while.

Stateline
Dave Stanton

I went back to the main room and pulled the cushions off the couch and easy chair. There was nothing but crumbs and pennies. Under an end table, an open phone book lay face down. I picked it up, and it was opened to the yellow pages under the letter “E” for entertainers. The two pages were filled with ads for the legal brothels in the Reno area, which were all on the outskirts of Carson City. I was scanning through the next few pages, reading the smaller miscellaneous ads for the sex trade, when I heard the heavy clump of boots on the balcony. I listened intently for a moment with my breath caught in my throat–it sounded like more than one person. I quickly retreated to the back bedroom. A few seconds later, they were knocking on the door as I slid open the window.

“Samantha Nunez,” a deep voice, probably a cop’s voice, called out. I climbed up on the sill and lowered myself down to arm’s length, my boots skidding against the stucco wall for traction, and they were still knocking and calling her name when I let go. I hit the hard sand of the back alley in good position, felt the shock of the second-story drop jolt my bones, rolled over, and came up on my feet. My ankle twisted a bit as I landed, and my knees complained, but it didn’t prevent me from moving away quickly.