He swung the grappling hook up the prison wall, praying it would hold in the rainfall, just before the searchlight swept the exercise yard. The mud pools on the other side broke his fall, but nothing could break the spirit of the escapee wrongly accused of homicide. Kenny made his way to the interstate and hailed a ride to Phoenix. The suit, tie, and money he escaped with, cost him a cutie named Joey: a punk that was rationed like a can of peas. He'd been doing time for a homicide he didn't commit, the slaying of a topless dancer from the tenderloin district, where tomcats ate better than the residents, but he liked the girl: she was his blue plate special. Kenny was low key, handsome and reserved. His blue eyes and Irish charm attracted the …show more content…
They fought, something that Kenneth Dale could do, having spent years on the toughest tier in stir. He lunged at the street fighter, threw a right hand, and pounded him into submission. He was standing over the lowlife, a trembling hand on the throat, and questioning the whereabouts of Busted Nose Pete. The beaten fighter, spilled his guts. He might as well have been giving up his mom to the streets, he was so scared. The beating led to a warehouse of stolen antiques, where Kenny stashed himself away. He hid behind a dumpster of chicken meat from the Chinese eatery on Van Ness …show more content…
"I know who killed the girl, and so do you, so what the fuck are you doing?" He handed Kenny his piece, said good luck, and to try and leave Busted Nose breathing air. There was only so much the out of shape cop could do: might as well let the con do the heavy work, and Kenny was about to do just that, so he picked up the trail: a trail that led to the same lot and space B, where Busted Nose was getting some head in the back seat of his beamer. Kenny muscled him out of the car and wrestled him to the Chinese