Read Campanelli: Sentinel for Free Online Page B

hand.
                  “What do I owe?” the detective inquired, knowing full well the cost of the medicine. There was no question he could afford it, but asking someone else to foot the bill for his charity was something he could not allow.
                  “Just remember it and if I ever need a favor, I’ll ask,” Lincoln said with a bent smile and a slyness to his eyes that his glasses magnified.
                  “Oh, great,” Campanelli huffed, “I can’t wait to hear about that one.”
                  “Don’t worry, Frank,” the scientist said as he turned back to the handgun in the rest, “I’ll make it good.”
                   With that, Frank headed out the door and went back to his car. He sat there for a bit, not knowing what else to do with his morning. Then, realizing that he was hungry, decided to head to Tam’s Place .
    ***
    Campanelli’s day was uneventful and drab after breakfast. Not knowing what else to do but sit around the house with a few drinks, he decided to drive around Chinatown for a while. He spent some time in a few shops and eventually drove back home. Frank had checked the CPD server many times during the day, looking for updates on his cases and hoping that someone needed his assistance on the Kelly shooting. Normally, someone would. Today was different.
                  Giving up his hope of finding something to work on, he signed off from the CPD computer, stepped from his car and into the tree enshrouded courtyard of his condominium complex. As he approached his door he came upon an old man that he had not seen before, sitting on a lawn chair next to a large, sad-faced dog. The landlord had warned Frank of a new tenant, an eccentric, the landlord had labeled him.
                  “Aft’noon to ya,” the white bearded man called in a strange accent. The dog did not stir, but his watery eyes followed Frank’s every move.
                  “Good afternoon,” Campanelli returned as he accessed the building’s security computer via implant.
                  “You the detective?” the old man pried and stuck out a shaky, bony hand.
                  “Yes, I am,” Frank replied. He stopped and shook the hand. “Frank Campanelli.”
                  “Luke McKay,” the old man said.
                  “Good to meet ya. Are you the new tenant?” Frank smiled.
                  “Yessir,” the man said as he grinned toothily. “I’m up from Mississip’ with Old Bill here.”
                  “Well, welcome to Chicago.”
                  “Thankee kindly,” Luke nodded.
                  “What made you leave Mississippi?”
                  “Well, things got bad at home so me and Old Bill went a’walkin’.”
                  “You walked here?”
                  “Well, we got help on a‘casion. Left ‘bout a month ago. Damn hooligans went tearin’ up my place. Burnt it down one night. Didn’t have nuthin’ left so, here me and Old Bill are.”
                  “Sorry to hear that. I would have thought urban areas like Chicago were more lawless.”
                  “Can’t rightly say if’n they are or ain’t,” Luke said thoughtfully. “All I know is, my home’s gone and here we is,” he finished with a smile and a wink.
                  “Well, again, welcome,” Frank wished and opened the front door.
                  “If’n you need some work up there, give a holler,” McKay added. “I promised the landlord my handy work in exchange for some rent off. I do plumbin’, paintin’, resto-work, what-have-you. If’n ever’thin’s fine, drop on by my place here,” he indicated the first floor unit to Frank’s left, “anytime for a nip or a