Wildcard

PART NINE - Sunday, 23rd October (ii)

0600hrs

Jake opened out his cane as the sound of Ryan's engine faded down the deserted streets. He turned and headed for the café that served the earliest breakfast butties. Something to soak up the booze would be essential if he was to get anything reliable out of Billy ...

Despite autumn's early-morning chill, throwing out time had already begun at the Sackville Street shelter. Staff were turfing out their overnighters, and several greeted him by name. Yawning men stumbled onto the pavement, doubtless set to spend their days drinking on park benches or begging in shopping malls until the shelter reopened its doors at five.

Jake stepped carefully over someone dozing in a sleeping bag in the doorway and headed into the reception area. A small buzzer alerted staff to his presence. While he waited, he tasted the air, realising he'd guessed right the first time. Billy had definitely stayed there overnight.

"No room at the Inn," a cheery female voice trilled from a backroom. "Fully booked for tonight, I'm afraid."

"I don't need a bed," Jake called back, revelling momentarily in what a wondrous phrase that was. "Just need some help."

The woman arrived at the counter and gasped. "You do indeed, love. What on earth happened to your hair?"

Once again, Jake tried to smooth it. "Think it probably needs a cut," he muttered. "But that's not why I'm here – I need to see Billy."

"Billy ..."

The woman's tone suggested she hadn't a clue who Billy was.

"He's a rum-soaked old rogue in his seventies with an eye patch."

"Oh, yes – I know ..." The woman tapped on a keyboard. "William Bosco. I can't let visitors go down to the bunk rooms, but he's not returned his door-pass yet, so you haven't missed him. He should be out any time."

Jake vacated the premises and loitered by the gates.

"Hello!" Billy greeted as he clattered out of the main doors, coughing. "What brings you here so early?"

Jake handed over a sausage muffin and a tall coffee. The paper bag crinkled as the man opened it and sniffed appreciatively.

"Awww ... thanks, lad! Very kind of you. You're a lifesaver, you know that?"

The one-eyed casualty of hard times had helped Jake when he was new to the streets at eighteen, so breakfast every now and then was the least he could do by way of repayment. It had only been with Billy's assistance – watching his back at the hostels and showing him how to find soup kitchens – that he'd survived that first winter.

It was a famous truism that in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. And that was certainly the case for him. Billy had been his king and his saviour, too. Without the old guy's support, he couldn't have escaped the slippery slide down to becoming a rent boy to earn his way.

But despite Billy's addiction to alcohol, he still had a sharp mind, and his one remaining eye had always been keen for detail. Jake needed to tap into those details more now than ever, even if Billy didn't realise he'd retained them.

"Is there somewhere for us to sit down?" Jake asked.

"Over here, lad." Billy plonked himself on a bench and patted it.

Jake sat alongside as his friend unfastened a screw-top, releasing the heady aroma of rum into the cool dawn air.

"A tipple in our coffees, Jakey-boy?" he asked with a raspy chuckle. "Bit of a kick to keep out the cold."