Character Sketch: BB Hughes

Here's another character, who goes by the name of BB Hughes. He makes his first appearance a bit earlier where he is described as very large, about six-five, with long dark red hair and a beard. In this scene he is on the run. (Why? You'll have to read the book to find out.)

In an alley beside a convenience store, a very large man was crouched down behind a dumpster. He was breathing hard and sweating profusely. The sour stench of decaying food seared his nostrils, and his sneakers and socks were wet with garbage water--that's what his father used to call it--but that was the least of his worries. 

He'd been in this spot for the last hour or so, having eluded his pursuers by dodging into alleys, climbing fire escapes and scrambling over fences before finally winding up here—wherever here was—but at least he didn't hear the sirens anymore.

Benjamin Bradley Hughes hadn't run that hard since he played high school football, and even then it wasn't much of a physical challenge. All he had to do was shove aside some of the offensive team's guards to reach the quarterback who usually withered at the sight of the behemoth lumbering toward him. 

If the quarterback was facing BB for the first time, it wasn't uncommon for him to let out a frightened yelp. If the two had faced each other before, the quarterback knew better and usually tried to run away, forgetting his receiver, forgetting the play--hell, just forgetting the game altogether. The fans screamed, urging the quarterback to run faster, faster, before the human tank gaining ground behind him made the tackle and pulverized him, but it was no good.  

For his size, BB, as he had been known since childhood, was very fast on his feet, a fact that frightened the opponent even more-imagine running for your life and turning to see a locomotive bearing down on you. It didn't take more than a few large steps for BB to catch up to and overtake the terrified quarterback, a frightening scene that was invariably met by shrieks from the horrified fans.

But BB never hurt them. He simply made the tackle, firmly, persuasively--and legally--to be sure, but he stopped short of purposely inflicting injuries. That wasn't part of the game as he understood it. His size worked to his advantage, psyching out the opposition, but that's as far as he ever took it.

The passage of ten years and the addition of twenty pounds, however, had made his escape enough of an effort that his lungs burned. Worse, every time he took a deep breath he could taste the acrid odors of the dumpster at the back of his throat. He tried to get his breathing under control and pulled his denim vest up over his mouth and nose as a makeshift air filter. Now he waited another five minutes, listening for... anything... sirens, cars, footsteps, conversation, barking dogs... but all was quiet.