A New Leash on Life

Chapter 1 Linda Vista, NM Late May Justin Dunne rose from the cracked vinyl seat and dragged his bulging suitcase out from beneath it. He grimaced at the dirt his luggage had picked up from the filthy floor. The grungy, smoke-belching bus had seen better days. So had he. Coming back this way to the dirty little desert town he’d left precipitously over a decade ago was not a decision he’d made lightly or willingly. He was simply out of options. With his unemployment running out, he could no longer pay rent on his upscale condo in Phoenix. He’d already sold his Beemer to last as long as he had, sure another job would open soon. None did. The old beater he’d bought to get around died. All at once, he found himself out of choices and chances. Here, unless something had happened no one had seen fit to tell him, he owned a small but livable house, one that had sat vacant since his mother’s death over two years ago. Jobs would be scarce in Linda Vista, although he might find something or, even better, create his own work. Being your own boss meant you could not be laid off. You had to work like a maniac to get a business started, though. For a few seconds, his thoughts wandered, going unerringly to why he had left, almost running away. Surely Barry Barlowe was long gone now. Barry had been so ambitious, even when they were in high school. Everyone considered him most likely to bring a fragment of glory to the small town after he achieved fantastic fame and fortune out in the big world. Barry would not have been downsized out of the one good job he’d finally captured and held for six years. He wouldn’t be broke and almost homeless, everything he owned in one suitcase and a big box in the bus’s luggage compartment. A shadow of his old crush, the closeness they had shared one summer until the near stumble into intimacy finally scared him into leaving, rushed to the surface of his thoughts. Please, he prayed silently, if there is some deity up there, let Barry be long gone and stay there. Justin stepped down to the sand-choked gutter, frowned at the plastic drink bottles, empty cigarette packs, and other debris blown there by the constant wind. He glanced up and down the street. Depressing, even worse than he recalled. When the freeway bypassed the town, it had become a derelict shamble of abandoned buildings and faded old signs. That had started before he left but it seemed to have run the complete course now. Ghost town? Not quite though close. The bus driver unlocked the baggage door and swung it up. His frown and jerky movements revealed he wasn’t happy to have to crawl halfway into the compartment to retrieve Justin’s box. He did with grudging slowness, dragging it out and slamming it to the ground. Justin was not going to waste any of his last few dollars on a tip. When the driver realized it, he muttered something rude and stomped past Justin to get back on the bus. The big old diesel would not do jackrabbit starts, but the way the driver revved it, he wanted to. Justin shrugged. Go f**k yourself, dude. At least you have a job. Stooping to gather up the box, Justin balanced it against his hip. He retrieved the suitcase and started off down the uneven sidewalk, past boarded up storefronts and a former service station. Yes, there it was, the faded green sign at the intersection of Main Street and Ocotillo Avenue. He turned left. Two blocks to go… Before Justin got to his goal, he was sweating and fighting not to lose his grip on the awkward box. Although he hated carrying it so far, he was not about to leave over half of his earthly goods sitting on the sidewalk. There was not likely to be a cab in Linda Vista, and few locals would recognize him to offer a ride. A half dozen cars passed, shut up tight against the afternoon heat. A fitful breeze stirring the dust did not mitigate the oppressive weight of the air. Monsoon season would be here soon, and the humidity had already begun to rise. Off to the north and west, scattered clouds built over the mountains. The front gate had a broken hinge. One corner digging into the dust, it dragged so much he had to set the box down to shove it open. Things to fix already and no landlord or building manager to call. s**t. He kicked the box through the opening and left it while he continued down the path and stepped onto the front porch. There were not many keys on the fob he pulled out of his pocket. Condo, car, office door—all long gone. The largest one left should unlock the door he now faced. It did. At least something worked. Thank the powers for small favors. The rooms seemed smaller and darker than he recalled. Hotter than Hades too. Of course, the evaporative cooler had been shut off long ago and would not work until it was serviced. He struggled to heave open a couple of old-fashioned, sash-style windows. In the evening, the drift of air might help. The phone, electricity, and water were all shut off. He resigned himself to a miserable night since it was Sunday and he couldn’t even start to get everything going again before tomorrow. Poor planning on his part. He hadn’t even considered such practical matters. That would also require him to tap into his last resource, the old savings account in the little local bank. He hadn’t deposited even a nominal amount in over a year. He prayed the account—and even the bank—had not been closed or merged into a larger one, miles away. How much money was there? Somewhere, he had an old statement, about the time he got the condo and had probably forgotten to notify them of a new address. At that time, a couple thousand bucks did not seem significant. It did now.