Things We Lost - 1. Chapter 1

“See you later, Smokey,” I said.

Smokey let out a rasping cough. “Yeah, not if I see you first, Ehren.”

As it was, I'd had a weird night. After returning as many cans as Smokey and I could find—and getting half of what they were worth—I'd gone to a guy that would sell street kids food at prices that weren't too inflated. In both cases, we got screwed because, well, who were we going to tell? I put the little bit of food I'd purchased in my stomach, but it wasn't enough.

Crossing Manchester Street, I rounded the corner and almost ran right into Buster Martin. Buster is a low level enforcer for Carson's Crew, and he was probably watching their merchandise across the street. Carson was into a lot of things, but I think he was just part of a larger operation.

“Ehren,” he said, pushing off of the wall and moving to block my path. Instinctively I backed up a step, keeping myself out of his reach. He leaned forward a touch, enough to intimidate but not actually reach me.

“Buster,” I replied. I glanced behind me, just to check my options.

“Don't be so jumpy.” He grinned and stomped a foot at me and I jumped back as he laughed. “Carson wants you working for him, you know. Why don't you do me a solid and come with me, huh?”

“Don't want to whore for him,” I replied evenly.

“Like working for yourself? Is that it? Protection comes with the job, you know?”

Glancing around nervously I snapped, “What are you, in sales now?”

“Naw, man. I just know Carson would be happy as a whore when the ships are in port if he got your ass on the market. You know,” he said, putting a finger to his chin and trying to appear philosophical. “I don't go in for all that; but fresh meat is always something he likes to offer. You come with me quiet so I don't have to bruise you none...”

I didn't let him finish. The longer I stood still, the better the chances someone was going to come up behind me and then I'd be toast. Instead, I broke and ran with Buster's laughter ringing in my ears. He didn't try to catch me, so I guess that there hadn't been anyone else waiting for me. One of the shitty things about being out here is that you just had no idea what was coming. Buster could have set a trap—which was patently stupid of me to think. For one, it's Buster. We're not talking Einstein here. We're not even talking his dog. And two, he'd have had no way to know I'd come by. So, essentially, he was just trying to scare me—and it had worked.

All of this ran through my head as I darted in and out of streets and narrow alleyways to make sure Buster didn't get any ideas about coming after me. Yes, I was nearly certain he hadn't been waiting for me, but I wasn't willing to take any chances. By the time I stopped, I was winded and in a section of town I didn't frequent. College neighborhoods have more than the average share of drunk assholes; that was another lesson I'd learned early. I fetched up next to a huge tree and bent over to catch my breath and checked out my surroundings.

As a street rat, I tended to roam quite a bit. Even though this street wasn't one of my usual hangouts, I'd passed through at some point. It was a college neighborhood with some fraternities and a few, scattered dorm buildings. This area was off campus, technically, and there were several rental houses that were scattered in with the student housing. With my breath steadying, I started to mentally plot a safe way back to my place but was startled by a scream.

“No! Get off!”

It was a female voice that echoed off the buildings in the still neighborhood. I heard a male make a sound of surprised pain and another voice breaking out in laughter, again carrying in the still air, and then the female appeared around the corner awkwardly running. I had been bent over while catching my breath, but as I stood I realized that the streets weren't her normal place—clothes looked like they fit and she wasn't wearing everything she owned, for one thing— and that something bad was going down. Pushing off my knees, I straightened my back and, with that movement, she spotted me.

“Help! Please!”

I debated for a second, no more. Helping someone is usually the right thing to do, morally, but sometimes sticking your nose in somewhere comes with big repercussions, especially out here. As she homed in on me, a man's voice called out, and then another did. They were cat-calling to her, asking where she was, telling her to 'come back and play'. If they came around the corner, they'd see and catch her. I realized this as she lurched into me, grabbing me in desperation.

“Please! Help me!”

I registered the nice clothes she had and the odd way her body moved—drugs. Or maybe drugged, who knew? The men's voices grew louder and my thoughts raced with options, but one thing seemed clear: leaving her would mean she'd get raped at best, maybe get dead at worst. If I tried to help, then I could be in as much trouble as she was. The only way we both could get away—and maybe I could get some good Karma—was to shut her up and get her moving.

“Shut up!” I said in a loud whisper and covered her mouth. There was an alley close to the tree I'd been using as a screen while I rested, and I pulled her into it, eliciting a startled squeak from her. The voices were clearer, obviously the men had come around the corner of the building and were drawing closer. There were some pallets stacked along one wall of the alley about halfway down, and I moved behind them, pulling her with me She squirmed and, being taller than I was, she was going to break free and give us away. I put a finger over her lips and pitched my voice low, hoping not to be heard.

“Look, those guys mean business, okay? You want help, you listen to me or I just run, you got it? I don't need to get my ass kicked because you won't listen. Understand?”

She nodded quickly, her breath coming in a stutter as she shivered involuntarily in the night air. I glanced around and realized we were in a bad position. While I'd been running through alleys to put distance between myself and Buster, I'd walked right into a dead end. The only thing here beside the pallets was a dumpster and a six foot wall that she'd never be able to climb; unless these guys were really, incredibly stupid we were about to be caught.

“Okay,” I said, biting my lower lip. “Come on, we have to try and fool them. Do what I tell you and be fucking quiet no matter what. Got it?”

She nodded and sputtered agreement. I took her hand and dragged her toward the dumpster. I knew this would be the first place they'd look; honestly, there just wasn't anything else here beside the pallets to hide behind or in. She was wobbling like a baby bird, but she didn't strike me as someone that was used to feeling the way she was, so I deduced they'd drugged her. I knew that, right now, I could still leave her—and maybe I should. Girls like her, thinking they wanted a college man, never seemed to learn that these guys were only looking to get laid, and whether the girl wanted to or not didn't matter at all to them.

I could hear them getting close and she whimpered as she twisted her ankle and stumbled. Clutching at me she looked up with big eyes, wet with unshed tears of panic and pleaded, “Help me.”

I groaned under my breath and pulled her to her feet. I hustled her to the dumpster and tucked her behind it, reminding her to be fucking quiet. She awkwardly pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her shins and looked patently miserable. I stepped back and, with a grunt, shifted the dumpster to hide her better. Then, I moved in front of it and lay down and pulled my coat tightly around me and used my arm as a pillow.

I lay quietly as their voices drew closer. Usually these college guys didn't have much use for homeless kids. Most of the time, they'd ignore me. That's what I was banking on, tonight. I was desperately hoping they just wanted some pussy—because if they were going to be flexible, I was in big trouble.

“Shit, do you think she got this far?”

“I don't know! Fuck! I knew I shouldn't have dated a high school bitch!”

“Dated, yeah,” the other laughed. “More like get her drunk and fuck her!”

“Same thing. Hey, what's that?”

I kept my eyes closed as they approached, willing myself to look like I was asleep. In order for this to work, they had to stay focused on me enough to not look for her—but, I fervently hoped, not be willing to settle for me.

“Hey!” said one, toeing me in the chest.

“Huh?” I rolled back slowly and then took notice of them. “What? I can sleep here!”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you and sleeping. You see some bitch come stumbling by here? Maybe walking all weird?”

“Um. Heard someone calling for help,” I mumbled. “Sounded like it was over that way, though.” I pointed behind them and to the mouth of the alley across the street.

“Yeah? How long you been here?”

I shrugged. “Dunno. My Rolex stopped working this morning.”

“Hey, smartass!” one said, and sent several kicks into my side, some of which I avoided. Panting he said, “When did you get here? How long you been sleeping?”

“Not long, man!” I groaned. “I was at Mamoud's Grocery on Vinson about eleven-thirty, man! Don't kick me no more!”

“I know that dump,” one said to the other. Checking his phone he nodded and cocked his head to the alleyway I'd pointed out. “That way? If I don't find her, I'm coming back for your ass. Come on.”

With a final kick his partner turned and joined him as they trotted back to the street and crossed into the alley. I let my head drop back against the side of the dumpster and coughed, action that was cut short as my side protested with a sharp pull. I pulled myself up just in time as the dumpster shifted and the girl teetered into view.

“Come on,” I said, “We have to go.” With that, I guided her out of the dead end and into the protective shadows of the streets.

~TWL~

Moonlight streamed between the loose boards that formed what was left of the building's wall. At one time it had a use, maybe even was a place where people held jobs or something. Now, it was just another crumbling building that had been condemned but never taken down. It was drafty, but somewhat dry. There was standing water in spots and some insulation hung from the rafters but it had the advantage of being very solidly boarded up outside so that you had to climb and come in through the crumbling roof—this allowed me to have a relative amount of privacy. Street folks aren't known for their climbing skills.

Getting the suburban princess into my hidey-hole hadn't been as easy, but she got there. I'd considered cutting her loose but the adrenaline had worn off and she'd grown more wobbly and less coherent than she'd been before. After a brief deliberation, I decided I should keep her with me and hide her until whatever she'd taken had worn off. A little slip here, a scrape there, but she made it. I sat up and scratched and was mildly amused to hear her snore. I don't know what those guys gave her, but between that and the running and, probably, the sheer terror...she was out.

After settling her in I found I wasn't very tired. Being somewhat nocturnal, I dug out one of my books from a cooler—so I could keep them safe— and slid over into a patch of moonlight to read. In minutes I was knee deep in mystery, searching the text for clues.

At some point I drifted off. I awoke with a stiffness in my back and pressure on my bladder. Getting up, I picked my way to the other side of the building to the bathroom and used the toilet. No, it doesn't flush, but it makes me feel more normal to be able to use a toilet, even if I can only piss in it.

“Hello?” Her voice was small and had a frightened edge to it. I made my way back over to her and waved a hand.

“Hi. Feel like you can move?”

“Uh, maybe. My head hurts,” she said, shaking it slowly. “Where am I?”

“West side, by the river,” I said. I walked over to an old milk container that I kept filled with water and took a drink, then offered it to her. She sipped at first, and then drank greedily.

“Easy, princess,” I scolded. “That has to last me.”

She gasped as she relinquished the water jug and she looked at me askance. “I can buy you some to replace it...um, who are you?”

“Ehren. Yeah, it'd be great if you did; I like to have some fresh water on hand.”

She glanced around slowly and said, “I thought I'd dreamed this...place. I, um, guess I owe you pretty big for sticking your neck out last night.”

I nodded and then squatted down to look her in the eye. “Yeah. I wasn't sure I should. I'm not exactly a Kung Fu master, so they could have whipped my ass or worse if they figured it out. Those guys, though? They don't read many detective novels or anything.”

“Well, no, probably not,” she conceded and sipped some more water. Slipping a hand up she pushed a few strands of her long, dark blond hair up behind her ear. “Cotton mouth. So, uh, you like detective novels?”

“Sure. Who doesn't?”

“You...read?” she asked, her voice holding disbelief. As if sensing her slip up, she quickly added, “Here?”

I decided to let the intimation that I was illiterate go and answered her cover instead. “Light isn't very good in here, so not usually. I keep my stash here, though.”

“So...” she coughed. “Um, I'm not really sure how you go about thanking someone for keeping you from being raped. Uh, I'm Piper Malone, by the way. I, um, can't really thank you enough for helping me.”

I tilted my head. “What happened, exactly?”

She sipped more water and then tilted her head from side to side. “I met this guy while I was checking out a local campus. They had a tour and then I just wandered around to look at the facilities and stuff. He was working the library and showed me around a little...ended up inviting me to party with his frat. I thought...well, I thought it would be cool. Oh, shit! What time is it?”

“Sorry, my Rolex broke,” I replied automatically.

“God! I don't know what happened to my phone! My parents are going to kill me!” she put a hand to her forehead and took a few deep breaths.

“Well, I'll get you to a phone and they can come get you, yeah? You can buy me that water, kill two birds.”

~TWL~

We walked in the morning light through a neighborhood that was rough by any account, but had yet to wake. With all the crap lying around—rusty fences tilted at crazy angles, yellow islands of grass in bare dirt seas; the mild breeze moved garbage around like decrepit tumbleweeds. At this hour, this whore of a neighborhood lay snoring and was safe to walk through—well, safer than usual.

“This area,” she said, shaking her head. “It's way different than where the frats are.”

I frowned as I glanced around. “More honest about itself, maybe.”

She seemed to think this over and nodded. “Yeah. Maybe you have a point.”

I tapped my temple and affected an accent, “You see, Hastings? The little gray cells? They are working!”

She smiled at me and asked, “Is that one of your detectives?”

I nodded. “Hercule Poirot.”

“French?”

“Belgian, actually. But, hell if I know what a Belgian accent sounds like.”

We crossed the street and then she coughed. “So...I'm guessing you live in that building?”

“Me? Oh, no,” I said, waving a hand at her. “That's where I take damsels in distress. If you were a guy in distress—what do you suppose to opposite of damsel is, anyway? Dam is female, right? What's a guy, don?”

She giggled and held her hand to her head with a grimace. “Don't make me laugh, that hurts,” she said, while snorting out another small laugh.

“Yeah, let's go with donsel. Oh, that sounds horrible. Anyway,” I continued as she chuckled behind her hand, “I take guys in distress to a completely different place.”

Again we lapsed into a short silence and then she said, all traces of humor gone, “Ehren...if you're on the street, I'd like to help.”

“Oh? Going to call CPS for me?” I asked, while grabbing a metal post that was missing the stop sign it used to support and using it to spin around. “Don't do me any favors.”

She stumbled and threw her hands out for balance. I reached to support her, but she recovered—the drug must have nearly passed from her system.

“Aren't those people supposed to help?”

“Sure,” I said, nodding. “They wanted to provide my parents with 'supports' so they could learn to be parents. But, you know what? Eventually doing drugs fries your brain so bad you can't even take care of yourself, am I right? Of course I am, it's elementary, dear Watson.”

“Oh really, Mr. Holmes?” she replied and we smiled at each other. Of course, hers faltered first. “Really, though. I would like to help.”

I stopped and turned my face from her. “Look. There's reasons I'm done with the system. There's a whole lot of reasons and I'm fine. Just get me some water and you can go back to your life and I'll go back to mine.”

“But...what's the point of being out here, Ehren? Like, is this all your life is going to be?”

I paused for a moment as I considered her question. I pursed my lips for a moment, conceding that there was something of value in her question—even though it didn't change my reply. “Dogs are wise. They crawl away into a quiet corner and lick their wounds and do not rejoin the world until they are whole once more.”

Her eyes studied me as we stood on that sidewalk in what once might have been a suburban hell, but now was simply a hell.

Finally, she broke the silence. “That sounds suspiciously like a quote.”

“Agatha Christie,” I said, nodding. We resumed our walk and, as we did, I thought of another quote from Agatha, one that was very apropos: 'Good advice is always certain to be ignored, but that's no reason not to give it.'

She looked at me pensively and nodded her head. Exhaling deeply she said, “Okay, I can't make you. But, let me say this instead. I work over at the East Side Rec Hall—the one that used to be the YMCA?”

I nodded.

“If you want to...grab a shower, wash your clothes or something—“

“You saying I stink?”

“I think we both know the answer to that mystery, dear Sherlock,” she said, smiling. I couldn't resist returning the smile. “Anyway, the offer is open, okay?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

She squinted and, smiling, she said, “I love your hair color, but I can't decide if it's blond or not.”

“Well, hello non sequitur!” I laughed and pulled my hoodie back, revealing the rest of my hair. “My mom's side of the family, she said, went prematurely gray. If I spend enough time in the sun, I'm told it looks more white/silver.”

She paused standing on her tip-toes to look down on my head—like it was that hard!—and smiled.

“I like it,” she said.

~TWL~

Daytime at Mamoud's, apparently, has different rules. For one, smelly street kids aren't allowed inside. Also, it should have occurred to me, but since the princess didn't have her phone or purse, she had no bucks so I was out the water, too. At least Mamoud let her use his phone to call for help, and that's where I bowed out.

There was a soup kitchen about three miles away and I sauntered in that direction, deciding that a hot meal would fix me right up. As I did, I thought about Piper and what would happen now. Maybe her folks would go to the police about this guy on campus. Maybe he'd have been stupid enough not to throw out her phone and purse, thereby implicating himself and getting in trouble with the law. Maybe he'd get a taste of his own medicine behind bars. That'd be nice, wouldn't it? If only the world worked that way, I mused.

Either way, Piper was in trouble with her folks. I bet their version of 'in trouble' was better than my parents version had been, at any rate. I was sure they would just do something like not replace her phone or maybe tell her she can't buy her favorite lipstick this week or something. Either way, she'd be fine now and life could go back to normal.

After I'd had some food, and listened to the admonition that Christ could turn my life around, I headed toward the central part of town. There was a small business district that included the more mainstream corporate chains and things like that. Farther east the housing developments sprang up, but just to the west of downtown there's kind of an artsy part of town with some junk shops, antique places—which are kind of the same thing, just the prices change—and a used bookstore. The thing I like about the used bookstore is the free library box outside, which is where I get all my new reading material from. I poked through the box of dog eared paperbacks and read the back covers, looking for something interesting.

“Ehren!”

I glanced up and smiled at Emily Gale, the daughter of the shops owner. “Hi, Emily.”

“I saved something for you, just in case I saw you—I didn't want to risk leaving it in the box. Hang on a minute!” She turned and went back into the store and scurried behind the counter. She extracted a small brown bag and her flat shoes slapped the wooden floor as she came back to me.

“It just came in with a few boxes of mostly of discards a couple days ago, and I pulled it out for you.”

“Thanks, Emily,” I said, smiling as I accepted the bag. Peering in the top I saw she'd put a travel-size tube of toothpaste, a new toothbrush, a piece of fruit, a sealed tin with orange slices—and a book. I pulled the book out and my grin burst forth. “A new Donna Leon!”

“Have you read it yet?” she asked.

“No! This is great. Thanks!” I enthused. I studied the cover for a moment, picturing the adventure within. Prowling the bridges and canals with Commisario Guido Brunetti, combating the ineptly corrupt Vice-Questore Patta as well as the actual crime in the beautiful city of Venice.

The bell on the counter dinged and Emily glanced over her shoulder at the customer waiting to check out. She looked back and smiled. “Eat the apple, okay? Be safe.”

“Okay, thanks, Emily,” I said and placed the book back in the bag. I pulled the apple out and bit into it, the sound causing her to look back over her shoulder and smile before I waved and headed back to my place. I could probably read for most of the day before I needed to get out and collect some cans—though I'd eaten well, today, so I'd be saving them up for tomorrow. In the meantime, Venice awaited!

~TWL~

Over the next few weeks or so—the day and date function on my Rolex was dead, too—life returned to normal. I collected cans, avoided anyone who looked like they might be associated with Carson and read my books. I always miss things the first time through, so I usually read books at least twice, sometimes more. I picked over my stash of books, kept inside a cooler with a broken handle, and selected a few that I felt I wouldn't read again. If I trade some in, Emily lets me pick other books to take out, sort of like a real library without late fees.

As I climbed out of my building, I was a little surprised how late the day appeared—heavy clouds filled the sky and it felt oppressive, almost like the clouds were pressing down on the earth below and squishing me between them. I put the paperbacks under my hoodie, pressed between it and the layer of tee shirts I wore underneath. If those clouds let loose, I didn't want my books damaged. I headed out into the city streets at a brisk pace, trying to beat the rain to the book store.

I trotted but didn't run—if I ran, I'd sweat and then the books would be wet without the benefit of rain. Not only that, they'd stink, too. I navigated the seedy streets and approached the store, cheerful light shining out from inside and creating shadows on the street on account of the bars over the windows. The bell rang over the door as I opened it and Emily lifted her nose out of a book and smiled at me.

“Ehren! How was that Donna Leon?”

“Bellissimo!” I said, trying on a crappy accent. She just laughed at me. “I brought a few books to trade in.”

“Okay, leave them on the counter,” she replied with a warm smile. I pulled the books out and stacked them. We had an agreement, Emily and I. The books I had all came from her free box—so, obviously, they weren't in demand. Still, she let me trade them back to her and get other books off the shelf—maybe because she figured most of them would come back to her in good shape, but I think it's more likely that Emily is just one of those good people you hear about but rarely have the good fortune to meet.

“Oh, I saved something for you. A customer brought in some books and, and from what they said about this one, I thought it might appeal to you. It's not exactly a detective book, but I think it has a mystery.”

“Oh?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. I picked up the book, Smoke and Shadows by Tanya Huff. I read the back and was mildly curious. “What made you think of me?”

“Well, she writes the Blood and Ashes series and, in that series, there's this adorable rake of a street kid...this is his series.”

I quirked an eyebrow at her and the end of my mouth curled in amusement. “A rake, huh? I'll check it out.”

I went through the current stock of mysteries and picked one I liked, and then selected one at random. I went back to the counter, and Emily nodded her acceptance of our trade, and I tucked the books back under my hoodie.

“Mind if I use the bathroom before I go?” I asked. She nodded and I headed down the aisle by the front of the store and to the back of the building where a discreet door, labeled 'Employees Only', hid the bathroom. I washed my face and then sat on the toilet, happy to have it and some toilet paper handy. Done, I stood up and pulled my shirt over my head and kicked off my socks and shoes. Carefully, using a paper towel and trying not to make a mess, I cleaned up.

Most public bathrooms have rules posted about washing yourself in them and I've been kicked out of a few places—sometimes missing a few items of clothing. Because this was a rare thing, someone who'd let me clean up a little, I took care to make sure everything was as I'd found it.

After I was back to rights, I headed back up the aisle but was surprised to hear voices; this shop wasn't the busiest and it was getting ready to rain—check that, I could hear the drops falling against the window. Then I registered the voices again—not nice voices, either. As I peered around the corner I spotted Buster with one of his...associates. For the second time in recent memory, I was trapped into making a decision I didn't want to make. My heart rate picked up and my palms began to sweat—Buster didn't strike me as a reader, so his reasons for being here couldn't be very good.

“Look, just give me what you got, lady. If it's not enough, I can maybe...trade.” So saying, Buster pulled a gun and lay it down on the counter, the threat quite clear.

“We don't...please, this is...I mean..” Emily sputtered, eyes wide and going from the gun to Buster and his cruel smile. Realizing what my decision to cut and run would entail, I squashed the selfish side of me that wanted to run—well, I tried to—and worked on channeling confidence, instead.

“Wow. You have to be the biggest idiot I've ever met, Buster.” I said, as I stepped out from the aisle, keeping the front door right behind me.

Buster looked at me and then did a double take. His ugly face split in a smile and he said, “Ehren! Hey, Lenny, look! We get a two-fer!”

“Uh. I don't wanna fuck him, Buster,” Lenny replied uncertainly.

“Oh, he missed the point, Lenny,” I said, trying to put derision into my voice as my heartbeat galloped obscenely. “Actually, missed two big points. Huge.”

“Buster? What's he talking about?”

“Ehren! Run!” Emily said in a strangled voice.

“No,” Buster said, picking up his gun casually. “I want to hear what he has to say before I hand him over to Carson. Go ahead, Ehren. What did I miss?”

“Well, Buster—you know, I think I had a dog named Buster once?”

His gun hand twitched and I hurried on.

“First, what kind of an idiot robs a used book store? You know they do something like fifty cents a day, right?”

“That's not the only merchandise they have,” Buster said, giving Emily a leer.

“Well, that brings me to mistake number two, Buster the Wonder Dog,” I replied.

“Yeah?” he asked, almost dismissively. “What's that?”

“If you are going to rape or murder, don't have a witness.”

There was a pause and Buster slowly brought his face around to mine. His lip twitched and his gun hand came up. I ducked awkwardly as the sound of gunfire filled the room and Emily screamed. I think I might have, too. Also, somewhere deep in my mind where the idea of getting shot didn't seem so real, I was glad I'd just used the bathroom. I whirled and pulled on the door and burst out onto the sidewalk.

“Ehren!” Buster screamed and the gun erupted, splintering part of the door frame. I moved out of the doorway and to the window—the only way to help Emily would be to get them to follow me. I backed away as Buster spotted me and shifted his aim to take another shot. As he did Lenny burst through the door, but ducked in alarm as the gun barked again and shattered the glass of the window. There was a split-second sound of metal on metal and then I felt an impact on my stomach that caused me to stumble and fall, scraping my hands. For one nightmarish second I thought I was toast, but my ratty sneakers got some purchase on the wet sidewalk.

“Fuck!” Buster screamed and left the counter to approach the door. Glancing down I saw the hole in my hoodie and decided I'd done the best I could—I took off at a dead run. Behind me, gunshots rang out but I had no idea if Buster could see me or if he was still in the shop. Either way, it was out of my hands as I ran into the rainy evening.

I made a circuitous route back to Mamoud's, stopping only to let the stitch in my side fade. I pulled up my hoodie to see if that stitch was actually a bullet hole—I was so ramped up on adrenaline, I could be bleeding out and not know it, I guess. The books tumbled out as I searched my stomach, feeling around in search of blood or...holes. Everything seemed to be in place, though. As I picked up my books I realized one of them had a hard spot. Tilting it in the dim light I found a fragment of metal, likely a bullet, buried in my paperback.

Holy shit.

I thumbed the slug and thoughtfully pushed the books back into place.

My plan was to pause at Mamoud's in case they were still behind me. The last thing I needed was for them to know where I crashed. If I hung around Mamoud's for a while I could make sure I was alone. Entering the store I headed right for the back where he kept the coolers. I had a few bucks so, if needed, I could buy some water as a cover. I dithered in the back of the store, waiting to hear the door open again and, potentially, hear Buster or Lenny demand to know if I was in the store.

I almost screamed when Mamoud dropped his hand on my shoulder.

“Are you stealing, street rat?” he asked, his voice serious but laced with humor.

I pulled the few crumpled dollars from my pocket to show him my intentions were honest, even if his prices to me were less so.

“Come here, I have something that belongs to you.” He motioned me to follow and walked back to the front of the store. I brought the jug of water—not like it would go to waste—and set it on the counter as he bent down to retrieve something from the floor behind his counter. He emerged with a bag, a duffle, and handed it to me.

“That girl, she stopped in. She said this was for you and asked that I pass it on.”

I looked at the bag and raised an eyebrow at him. He sighed.

“She paid me twenty bucks. Take it and go.”

I tossed my bills on the counter and took the duffle and water jug. After peeking outside for safety, I headed for my hiding place. People were out, sitting on stoops and smoking or drinking. Somewhere there was an outdoor grill being put to use and my stomach growled. After circling my building a few times until I was satisfied there was no one watching, I climbed up and in, and settled in to see what Piper had sent me.

Unzipping the bag I found a rolled blanket, fresh packs of socks and underwear and some used clothes, in good shape. There was a few cans of food at the bottom—beef stew!—and I hungrily tore into one. It was cold, and probably was meant to be heated, but it still filled that hole in my stomach quite well. Licking the can and my fingers, I lay back and burped in contentment. My gaze fell on the clothes and I leaned forward to examine them better. An envelope fell out and, in curiosity, I opened it.

Ehren,

This feels so weird to write you an actual letter! I hope you can read it, since I usually text or type most of my messages. Oh, I guess I could have printed this but...oh well!

I know you said no to my offer of help, and I haven't seen you at the Rec. The truth is, though, that I can't just forget about you and what you did for me. All I keep thinking of is my little brother and—even though I'd like to strangle him sometimes—I hope someone would help him, if I couldn't.

He takes good care of his clothes, and he just outgrew these so I think they should fit you well. I spared you his old socks and underwear, though. I hope you'll stop by, I'd like to know that you're okay...

With love and thanks,

Piper