A few days had passed since Chew and Dante’s meet with Topher at Club 56 and a lot had changed since. Chew had made his way back to Dante’s place, taken what little things he had, and tracked down a friend from the old days that was willing to put him up for a night. John Cade had been a few years beneath him at school and the two had run together back in the wild days for a minute before Cade decided it wasn’t for him. He’d gone straight whilst Chew was inside and found God or something. Chew hadn’t cared enough to ask and he could tell from the fear in Cade’s eyes when he’d shown up on his doorstep that he wasn’t about to turn him down. As much as Chew hated to admit it there was a part of him that felt proud he could still make people feel that.

He thought he’d wake up the next morning and find a dozen or so text messages from Dante asking where he was at but instead he woke to a missed call from number he didn’t recognize. To his surprise it was Ten Pickett Bowling informing him that the position there was his if he wanted it. Chew didn’t want it but he was doubly certain he didn’t want to go back to his old life after his meet with Topher the other night and this was the only option he had open that wasn’t that.

So there Chew Lewis stood, six foot six of solid muscle, wearing a bright yellow polo shirt with red trim that was several sizes too small and a bright red cap with a bowling pin attached to it with a spring. He greeted the scant visitors to the bowling alley as they filed in and helped them exchange their shoes for ones that wouldn’t have them falling on their asses at the lanes. That was the work. It wasn’t pretty, it surely wasn’t interesting, but it was better than getting blown to pieces on behalf of some Italian that was too dense to see he was walking in to a death trap. If Dante wanted to march right into it with him that was on him.

On his second day at Ten Pickett Bowling a familiar face appeared at the doorway in the late afternoon. There in a dark blue coat and a pair of dark trousers stood Gus Harris. He’d been friends with Chew’s father back in the day to hear him tell it but Chew had never heard a soul verify that tale. The only tales Chew had heard about Gus before he went inside was that he’d been an addict once upon a time. It was hard to believe at the time and even harder to believe now that Chew laid eyes on him.

“Charles,” Gus said with a warm smile. “It’s good to see you.”

Chew nodded by way of recognition. “Gus.”

He took a glance towards the back office at his manager and signaled to him that he was taking his break. With a nonchalant point towards the exit, Chew led Gus out of the bowling alley to the side of the building and the two men leant against the side of it. Chew reached inside his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, sliding it between his lips, before offering one to Gus. Gus shook his head and placed his hands in his pockets. 

“I’m glad to see you’ve landed on your feet, Charles.”

Chew exhaled a little, smiling wryly as he took a puff of his cigarette. “If you can call this landing on your feet.”

Gus shrugged.

“Well, it’s not going to land you back in prison and it puts a bit of money in your pocket. That’s a start.”

Towards the end of his time in prison Chew had started receiving letters from Gus. At first he’d throw them away without reading them, bemused at their having arrived for him after all those years, but eventually he began to treasure them. Chew had never exactly been one for reading, he imagined he’d have led a very different life if he had been, but those letters meant something to him even if he had trouble admitting it. 

He flicked the plastic bowling pin atop his work cap and looked at the deacon with an expectant look.

“What do you want? A thank you for the letters or something?”

“I don’t want anything,” Gus said earnestly. “I was speaking with your nephew the other day and it occurred to me that I ought to drop in on you and see how you were doing.”

Chew grimaced slightly at the mention of Antwan’s name, he still felt bad for the way he’d brushed his nephew off that day and passing the courts each day on his way to work hadn’t helped. It was on those courts he'd trained Antwan, put him through his paces, tried his best to instil in him some discipline that might help him get out of this place and become more than Marcus or he had managed.

He looked at Gus with a sigh and muttered, “And? How am I doing?”

Gus smiled.

“A lot better than last time we spoke.”

Chew shrugged as he glanced down at the deep slash marks on his wrists. “Yeah, well, that’s not saying much.”

He’d never spoken to a soul outside of Gus about it. Not Dante, not Michelle, not even the doctors in the infirmary that pleaded with him to open up to them about it. Growing up he’d always heard that you only did two days in prison, the day you went in and the day you went out, but the reality was harsher than that and had worn on a man even as tough as Chew Lewis. 

Gus reached out and placed a hand on Chew's shoulder. “You know you can always come to me if you ever need somebody to talk to, Charles.”

“I come to work every morning and then go home at night,” Chew said with another puff of his cigarette, moving his arm out from beneath Gus' hand. “It doesn't exactly make for great conversation. Trust me.”

“What about Antwan and Michelle? Have you spoken with them?”

Chew shook his head. “The kid came past Dante’s place last week, all starry-eyed and shit, even brought me a present.”

“He’s a good kid, a little mixed-up, but he has a good heart.”

From the sounds of it Gus knew more about Antwan than Chew did. Gus knew more about everyone than Chew or anyone else did. There wasn’t a doorway in Norman that Gus hadn’t darkened, not an old lady’s hand he hadn’t held and prayed with, and as much as Chew might have been able to scare the John Cades of the world he’d never command the respect Gus was able to with a softly-spoken word. It was humbling.

If he’d had another chance at life Chew thought he’d have done something else with his life, something that earned people’s respects without having to beat it out of them, but he knew whatever shot he had at that was long gone. This was his life. Working at Ten Pickett Bowling and living vicariously through what he read of his nephew’s achievements in the local paper. Word was there was a game tonight.

“Yeah, well, that’s why I sent him away,” Chew muttered. “Michelle don’t want me anywhere near him after what went down with Marcus and I can’t say I blame her for that.”

Gus’ eyes opened slightly at the mention of Marcus’ name. “Do you think of him often?”

Chew he stared down at the ground beside his feet. Everywhere he looked there were reminders of Marcus and they seemed to be coming faster and thicker with each day he was back in Norman. 

“Every single day.”

He took one last heavy drag of his cigarette, flicked the butt towards the sidewalk, and placed the red cap atop his head with a sigh. He could feel the bowling pin atop it swinging back and forth farcically as he turned to face Gus Harris and smiled politely, his eyes glazed over somewhat as if lost in a fog of memories of his lost friend.

“I better get back to work. Shoes aren't about to hand themselves out now, are they?”