Tommy Baldwin Racing

I stopped and looked over at him. He still had the baby weight and face, but had changed in so many other ways. His eyes were clouded by a veil of anger and, in place of a swagger, there was now a nervous twitch to his walk. His neck and arms were a road map of cuts and bruises and his left knee cap had been shattered twice, both above and below the main joint. It was the body of a boy who had done a man's prison time. 'I won't ever forget you,' I said, watching the anger briefly melt from his eyes. 'In or out of here.' 'Thanks, Shakes,' he said, picking up the walk. 'Might help knowin' that one body outta here gives a shit.' 'More than one body, Butter,' I said. 'You'd be surprised.' 'It's gonna be a bitch,' Tommy said. 'These last coupla months.' 'It'll be over soon,' I said, passing a grunting trio of weightlifters. 'By the time the Yankees drop out of the pennant race, you'll be home.' 'Nokes say anything yet about you leavin'?' Tommy asked. 'There isn't much more he can do,' I said. 'Time's on my side now.' 'Until you're out of those gates,' Tommy said, 'there ain't nothin' on your side.' TWELVE I sat in my cell, quiet and alone, in my last hours as an inmate at the Wilkinson Home for Boys ...»