Part 02: Infernos
*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
This is the conclusion to 'Inferno.' If you've not read 'Inferno' please do so before reading this one.
Also, if Father/Daughter incest offends you, do not progress any further.
Chapter 1
Kenneth stared out the window at the inky blackness. The van groaned and creaked and rattled over every single bump in the road and finally pulled up in front of a convenience store.
Nine years. Nine long years for aggravated arson. He was being released because of Ms. Woodstock (as he had christened the aging hippy that worked on the parole board).
Ms Goldman had put her stamp of approval on the application
"Ms. Goldman, you can't be serious!" Mr. Stockton had harrumphed.
"He has served the majority of his sentence; what good is it going to do to keep him here?" Ms. Goldman argued. "Tell me, what purpose is being served?"
"Ms. Goldman, he was investigated three times. Three times. Each time was because of the death of a fellow inmate.
"And each time, there was no evidence it was him; inconclusive pretty much tells me they had no proof. For all we know, it could have been him, OR anyone else," she pointed out.
"You know what, Ms. Goldman, I hope he moves in right next door to you," Mr. Broussard spat as he signed his own name to the application.
"I would be honored to have him as a neighbor," Ms. Goldman lied.
Kenneth Kay and the other newly paroled convicts got off the van into the humid air.
"Where?" the tired assistant warden asked as he approached the counter.
"Where what?" Kenneth asked.
"Where am I buying a bus ticket to?" the man asked, now a little perturbed.
"DeGarde," Kenneth said.
"Dee... that in Louisiana?" the man asked.
"Yeah," Kenneth said.
"Ninety seven fifty," the Asian man declared and frowned as he was handed the purchase order.
The man turned to the other three prisoners and then purchased three tickets for New Orleans. Again the Asian man frowned as the man paid with purchase orders.
"Vouchers no good," he argued. "Wait two, three weeks, waiting for money to come in."
"Be happy to tell the state you don't want to do business with us anymore," the man threatened.
Kenneth looked at the ticket and fought the urge to groan. According to the printout, he would be waiting for nearly thirteen hours for the next bus to come along.
"Five hours?" another man complained. "I'm being here five fucking hours, waiting on that fucking bus?"
Kenneth walked up and down the aisles of the convenience store and finally selected a microwave burrito.
"No voucher," the Asian man demanded.
"Cash," Kenneth said and gave the man a five dollar bill.
"Aw, hey my man," one of the other released convicts smiled at Kenneth.
"Hey my man, you just saw my last five bucks and I got thirteen hours until my bus comes," Kenneth lied.
He took a bite of the stale burrito, chewed it, and then forced a swallow.
"And I got another seven hours until my bus pulls up at my stop. So, this? This has got to last me twenty hours. So, my man, what you were going to say?"
By the time the New Orleans bound Greyhound bus did arrive, Kenneth was almost ready to return to Angola. It seemed that the other three released convicts had money to buy cigarettes and even a couple of scratch off lottery tickets, but none of them had money for coffee, or chips, or any other food items and were constantly trying to wheedle a few bucks from Kenneth.
"What part of 'No' do you not get?" he said. "It was 'no' an hour ago, and the word 'no' hasn't changed in an hour."
"No refill," the new clerk screeched.
Kenneth walked up to the counter, showed the elderly, pinched faced Asian woman the coffee cup. On its side was clearly printed 'free refills.' She glowered at him and almost yelled that he was using too much sugar.
"Aw, hey, man, you could have slipped one of us that cup; we could get us some coffee too," one of the three objected.
"Could have, aw look, here comes your bus; later," Kenneth said.
"No bathroom," the elderly lady barked when Kenneth approached the counter.
"Look, bitch," Kenneth snapped. "You have a bathroom here; just show me where the fucking thing is, all right?"
"No cursing, you no talk to me like that, you go, you leave, I call police," the woman screeched.
"Call them," Kenneth bluffed.
Grumbling, the woman unlocked the tiny closet. The bathroom doubled as a storage closet; there were stacks and stacks of candy bar boxes. She stood with the door wide open and Kenneth waited.
"You no steal nothing," the woman said as she finally closed the door.
Kenneth did not particularly like sweets but was very tempted to steal a few candy bars, just to spite the harsh woman.
"With my luck," he thought to himself. "Bitch's probably watching me through a peephole."
It felt good to be able to relieve himself in peace and quiet.
He came out and found the elderly woman not quite so loud and shrill; two teenaged kids were holding pistols and demanding her money.
"You help, please!" she screeched at Kenneth.
"Fuck you too!" he snapped. "Spend all your time yelling at me; now want me to help you? Fuck that; these mother fuckers can have whatever the fuck they want!"
He turned to face the taller of the two kids.
"Hey, it okay I grab myself some juice? Fucking dying of thirst here," he asked.
"Help yourself," the kid giggled.
"No, no, you pay for that," the woman yelled.
"Just open the fucking safe, slant eyed bitch," the tall kid demanded.
