Donnie felt guilty about helping one of the burglars, who had robbed Chuck, to escape, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to turn her over to the police. He convinced himself that her involvement in the robbery was minimal at the most.
“How long do I have to stay in this dump?" asked Issy.
“Why are you so mad at me?” asked Donnie, as he straightened his lean, tall frame in the old wooden kitchen chair. “I helped you escape, you know. “
“Yeah,” she laughed. “You almost got us both killed—‘Billy Bob’; smuggling me out
through the living room in that old trunk. I could hear you talking; your friend’s wife was still sitting on the couch, holding that shotgun when she saw you carrying the trunk out of her house. She thought she was being ripped off twice in the same night.”
“Yeah, but you have to admit I covered pretty good. Did you hear what I said? I told her I wanted to sell it at my stall at the town flea market and split the profits with her. It’s not easy to come up with something like that just off the top of your head,” he said.
“Very impressive, I wonder what you would’ve come up with if you had a long time to think about it.”
“Donnie knew this girl had him pegged as a simple country bumpkin but he was accustomed to being misunderstood by those around him. His friends were always baffled by his behavior; such as when he graduated from college with a teaching degree only to quit his first teaching job after two weeks to go back to waiting tables at Maggie Sue’s Steak House. He didn’t tell anyone he couldn’t take the pressure and responsibility of a serious job. Donnie needed to be free and spontaneous but he knew no one would understand.
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