Page 30 of Cannon

When she came back with it, it had her name and number on it. “Maybe I can cheer you up,” she said.

I just raised my eyebrow and shook my head before taking out some cash and placing it on the table.

“I’m good, ma,” I said before heading out. I left her a generous tip but women were the furthest thing from my mind.

After I left the diner, I walked around a bit to clear my head. And just when I was about to head back to Reese’s house, I got a call.

“Hi, is this Cannon Price?”

“Yes.”

“This is Catherine Lee. I was calling about your apartment inquiry. I’m around until 10 am if you want to see it this morning. Otherwise, I’m free tomorrow.”

“I’d like to come now.”

The place was in Harlem, tucked between a corner bodega and a nail salon that hadn’t changed their sign since the ’90s. A buzzer hung crooked by the front entrance, and I had to hit it twice before a crackled voice answered and buzzed me in.

It was a third-floor walk-up and no elevator. The stairs were narrow and smelled like old mop water and weed, but I’d lived in worse. It was about a block away from Sylk Road, so I wouldn’t have to commute. This meant I would stop commandeering Reese’s car.

When I got to the top, the door was already open.

“You must be Cannon,” the woman said, stepping aside.

Catherine Lee was an older Korean woman with silver in her hair and a no-nonsense vibe. She wore a puffer vest and orthopedic sneakers and looked like she’d seen every kind of tenant come and go.

I stepped inside and gave the space a once-over.

It was small. A studio with barely enough room for a twin bed, a loveseat, and a two-burner stove shoved against the wall. The floors creaked and the radiator hissed like it had asthma. There was one window that faced a brick wall and a tinybathroom that looked like it had been cleaned in a rush. But it had a lock, a roof, and hot water.

And more importantly, it was mine.

“It’s $1,550 a month. I’ll need first, last, and a security deposit,” Catherine said, folding her arms.

“I can do that.”

“No loud parties. No smoking. No pets. If you need to smoke go out on the fire escape.”

“Aight.”

She raised an eyebrow like she didn’t quite believe me but nodded anyway. “If you want it, it’s yours.”

“How do you accept payment?”

“Money order. You can move in today if you want.”

“I will.”

I didn’t need time to think. I’d already spent too much of my life waiting—waiting for trials, for lawyers, for freedom. I wasn’t wasting another second.

The apartment was damn near a shoebox, but it wasn’t a cell.

No steel toilet. No bunk beds. No echo of keys rattling every hour on the hour.

Just silence. Freedom.

I stood there a moment after she left, taking it in. The silence. The ugly-ass walls. The chipped tiles.

It was mine. And that was enough. For now.