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Dry Season Justice

By Donna Albrecht as “Hannah Cassidy”

 “Estúpido” spat Luis, looking up at a guy doing a handstand on top of a tower for the gate. Near the stairs in the spillway, Carlos waited.

“Ignore them,” Carlos waved. “My cousin calls them Free Runners. All they do is bounce off the walls, jump off them, whatever. Idioito, but harmless. Did you bring the merchandise?”

Twenty feet away, a muscular black man sprinted toward the wall, ran up it, and did a backflip.

“Sure it’s safe here?”

“Them? Harmless!”

Luis handed over the meth and pocketed Carlos’ money. “Adios.”

Suddenly, a redheaded Free Runner flipped over the wall-top fence, did a twist off the handrail for the stairs and landed ten feet from Luis. “This place is something during the dry season,” he grinned.

“Yeah, but not usually so crowded,” Luis turned.

Three guys doing jumps and rolls suddenly descended from the upper level.

“Police, you’re under arrest,” the redhead pulled his badge from his pocket.

Luis whipped his head to Carlos, “What?”

Carlos held up his badge; other officers drew guns from ankle holsters.

Carlos said, “This spillway is our dry-season playground, and like all playgrounds, it’s a drug free zone.”