The catfight had spoiled his sleep. And worse luck, he needed his boots. He dragged a red-checked jacket over his old jogging suit and wrenched open the door to the landing. It was two flights of stairs to the backyard and he tromped down every one of them. “Blasted cats,” he swore. “I should have thrown a can of beans.” He retrieved one of his boots from under the lilac bush. There was no sign of the other. It was probably over the fence in the supermarket parking lot. Reddick strung out a clothesline of cuss words. All the backyards in the street had the same high fences. He’d have to go out to Main Street and hike down the alley behind the Lebanese restaurant where the fence had a board missing. What a waste of time! Reddick plowed down the apartment alley. He was so mad he almost ran into the ponytailed kid, who was rooting through the trash cans. He didn’t give the boy a second glance. One of those street kids, he thought. Didn’t look but five years older than his own Billy, and already a drain on society.
