We've always been friends, or well, the equivalent of it anyway. I've always looked after him. I was looking after him when I got him the job working for Marion Janson.
"Johnny, why'd we have to leave?" Bill asks with a sincere lack of understanding.
"Those people were after you. And if they found you, there's no telling what they would've done." I respond.
"But I didn't do nothing for them to be after me for. I would never have hurt Mrs. Janson; she was always nice to me." There seems to be a bit of pain added to the confusion in his voice.
"I know that, Bill, but those people had their minds made up."
"Maybe we could've talked to them," he appeals.
"When a group of people get the same angry notion in their heads, it's damn near impossible to reason with them." I rationalize.
"We could've tried," Bill sulks as he turns back to the window.
I can understand why he's upset. Marion had been nice to him. Well, that is to say, she treated him the same way she treated everyone else, which is not something that Bill's used to.
He worked in the yard for her. Cutting grass, gardening and the like. It was a good job for Bill. That was why I recommended him for it. I'd known Marion for close to a year, ever since she moved to the area. She'd inherited a bunch of money from her husband and she bought a large Victorian farmhouse just outside of town. It needed some renovations and that was where I came in. Actually it was more restorations than renovations. I had to scrape down and refinish all of the woodwork in the house. She wanted everything to look as though the house had just been built. Then she wanted to fill it with antiques so that stepping through her door would be like stepping into the past.