Contempt of Court by Ken Malovos

Author:Ken Malovos
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: legal, legal thriller mystery
Publisher: Ken Malovos

Chapter 11

It was about a week later and Frank Bolger went to the closet in his studio apartment in midtown Sacramento and looked for a sweatshirt to put over his long-sleeve tattered blue shirt. As he passed the thermostat on the far wall, he glanced at the temperature. Fifty-nine degrees wasn’t going to work today, even if Frank needed to save on his electricity bill. So he moved the dial upwards. He sat down on the bench-style seat at the small table and ran his fingers through his thinning hair as he took a sip of beer from the open can. At forty eight years of age, 5’10” with a thin build and nearly bald with longish and unkempt sideburns, Frank would never be confused for a Hollywood movie star. But then he did not much care how he looked. He could scrub himself up and make a decent appearance if he had to. It was just that he never had to.

The old RCA television was blaring from its perch on top of the countertop. It was just more about unemployment rising and layoffs. Same old stuff. The economy is in the crapper. Nobody is doing anything about it. Another depression is about to happen. Frank made the customary visits to the blood clinic to collect his weekly stipend. On a good month he could get two hundred fifty dollars. Plus there was the general assistance grant for another two hundred dollars. Every now and then he would pick up some odd job, such as moving furniture, delivering newspapers on a substitute basis or washing dishes at some restaurant when they had a big crowd. Scrapping it all together, he made out all right. His expenses were not much.

Ever since Desert Storm, he hungered for the thrill of the chase, the rush of the action. He had spent twelve months in Kuwait as a military policeman. Mainly, he directed traffic in a small village not too far from the Iraqi border. He heard stories of the real combat from returning soldiers. Occasionally, there would be a convoy to a nearby hamlet, but Frank had managed to avoid much real shooting. He never fired his .45 handgun or his rifle. And for this, Frank was genuinely disappointed.

But then his time was up and he came home. There was nothing much to talk about and this suited Frank just fine. He would say he did not want to talk about the war, leaving the listener to think that things must have been unimaginable, that Frank had suffered beyond comprehension. Frank liked that. The impression was far better than reality.

After the war, Frank went to school, but limited means and a limited I.Q. meant a limited education. The VA did not offer much. A couple of years at De Anza College in Cupertino, about 50 miles south of San Francisco, had convinced Frank that formal education was not going to do it for him. He needed something else. After a bit, he took the State civil service examination to become a correctional officer and failed it.

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