Walking out of This World

Nineteen

The ATM rests against an unassuming wall waiting for a knowing patron to insert a magic key between the ring of tiny green lights. A line of prompts paired with oblong boxes appears. I enter a secret pin number, a row of dollars dancing in my head. Red letters suddenly rise up and capture the white space—CLOSED.

CLOSED! Is screaming in my head. Everything I've been counting on to activate plan B has been converted to nothing.

I light up a smoke and take a right into the shadows of a conveniently placed alley. The rough cement wall of some nondescript building makes its presence known on my back as I slowly slide down to the cold asphalt at its feet. I lite up a smoke.

My lungs welcome the incoming green haze while my brain celebrates a relaxed moment in which thinking is excommunicated. It's cold in November and my butt gets the message.

"Hey buddy. You got an extra one of those?"

My neck almost whips off my shoulders twisting around to see who is yelling in my direction.

"For what"? I don't know why I said that, but it seems less offensive than get lost.

"It's going to be a cold night. By the looks of you...That ain't going to be an experience you want to get up close and personal with!"

He's right. I'm homeless and running close to broke.

"What can you do about the weather? ...Nothin'. But, I can give you an invite to a warm spot for the night. If that be what you're needin'. But...It's going to cost you one of them smokes." He slides down next to me.

Anything's better than freezing.

"Shh. He's ok."

"I got a tent amongst some others. Safety in numbers you know. We have a barrel fire that keeps the frost out of our bones."

The homeless shelter is not an option. Showing up there would blow my cover. I can't face Grace!

"Okay." My foggy brain can't come up with a better plan at this moment. "I'll take you up on your offer." I hand him a greenie and light up the twisted end.

"It's better to do the smoking here. I wouldn't want to encourage any bad behavior on the part of my neighbors."

"Bad behavior?" Jenkins' fists are still looming heavy in my memory cells.

"Yeah. Like taking what they want without regard to your feelings about parting with something that you've grown attached to."

"Stealing?"

"Yeah. And sometimes the dirty deed hurts!"

There's an experience I don't want to think about!

"My name's Boss." He holds out his right hand to close the deal.

"John." I reply, taking his hand.

I push my body to an upright position. "Let's go before my butt freezes in place." There's one indignity I don't have to subject myself to.

He stops for a moment and takes a good look at me as if he's wondering if a smoke is worth trusting that my behavior won't hurt.

"Okay. Let's get going before we become statues." He throws the words behind his back.

There's a tall overpass that arcs over a dried out ditch. The noise from passing cars drops down into the small huddle of tents below. I see a rusty old barrel throwing up flames. A group—about five men—hovering around it.

"Got us a new friend, boys!" Boss announces.

The fire glows yellow and echoes in their wrinkled faces. That's a color I know all about.

Their handshakes and words of welcome put me at ease. There's no malice intended here. They're just a bunch of old guys trying to keep warm.

Against the advice of my new friend, I take out a greenie. The fire from my lighter starts the party—passing the gift around. "Party on!" I yell.

The crunch of heavy feet on cold ground signals their approach.

"Hey! No one told us there's a party going on!"

Two tall guys come walking down the bank, their plowing feet kicking up little puffs of dust.

"Yeah! We could smell weed."

Boss presses his mouth close to my right ear. "That's the hurt I was talking about."

"I think we should join the fun. Don't you Jack?"

"Exactly what I'm thinking, Guy."

"Got another smoke for sharing, boy?" Jack moves in close and his ugly breath attacks my nose.

How many guys are named Jack? Must have been a bad year when all of them were born.

"Are you talking to me?" I ask.

"That'd be right. You're the only boy I see in this group of losers."

Jack stands a good head taller than me. My better instincts suggest cooperation. "I might have one more," I offer.

There was no polite wait in their minds. Jack tears the back pack off my shoulders, pushes me to the ground and tosses the pack to Guy.

"Well...Well...Look what we have here!" Guy holds up a little bundle of smokes neatly wrapped in newspaper.

"Hey! Take it easy!" I start to stand up. My lap top falls out and flops to the ground.

"Did we ask for your opinion?" Jack side swipes me with a quick kick, sending me down.

I roll over on my back...feeling the hurt.

Guy picks up the lap top and takes his time for a close inspection. "This will fetch a nice price down at the pawn shop!"

Jack throws his face down at me, his eyes are blazing behind strings of blood shot. "You see down here...in this camp...is that we protect these old guys. They bring us whatever they can pan handle off the street for our trouble."

Jack grips my coat with one oversized hand and hoists me onto my feet. An adrenalin rush pushes fear through my nerves like a runaway train.

Guy pulls my arms behind my back and ties my wrists together tight. The bristly cord squeezes my skin with cutting pain. The hurt is on!

Jack shoves me into a nearby tent. "We'll decide what to do with you later!" The canvas door zips shut.

Raucous laughter fills the outlying air. "Party on!"