One thing was certain: he sure as hell wasn’t going out with Andy again.
No matter how good it felt.
Chapter Two
THE EARLY-MORNING thunderstorm didn’t help Galen’s headache any. The pressure continued to build, and his head throbbed. It took a supreme amount of effort and six cups of coffee before he felt as though he might be able to face the world.
Galen paid the driver, opened the door, and peered up at the building as he got out of the cab. This place was a shithole. He could see mortar missing from between bricks in several places, windows that had cardboard over them to cover cracks or breaks, and the stale smell of urine wafted from the alleyway.
How can people choose to live like this?
He stepped gingerly onto the sidewalk, taking note of the water rushing over soggy papers and into the sewers. He regretted wearing his suit for this. His navy-blue wool Burberry and Ferragamo oxfords were definitely not meant for a place like this. Maybe a hazmat suit and flamethrower would have been a better option.
Galen sucked in a breath, winced over the smell, then headed for the door to the Tenth Street shelter. As he reached to open it, he had second thoughts and pulled the Brooks handkerchief from his jacket pocket. Better to spend the extra thirty dollars on a new one, instead of subjecting himself to all manner of diseases he was certain these people carried.
The door opened into a dimly lit vestibule that had yet another door. This one had thick glass windows covered by heavy iron bars. Galen bit back a groan at the thought of why these… people… needed to worry about someone breaking in and stealing their meager belongings.
As soon as he pulled that door open, light streamed into the tiny cube. He stepped into a large, open space that was in serious need of a decorator. The table, such as it was, had obviously been pulled out of a trash pile somewhere and now sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by six rickety chairs and two boxes that were probably meant to double as extras. The walls were a shit-brown color, with big chunks of paint missing, showing the exposed brick underneath. Squares of carpeting in various hues were spread around the room. Where it didn’t overlap, a concrete floor peeked through.
“How in the hell could this place pass any kind of health inspection?” Galen shook his head. Maybe the standards were lower for these people. Either way, he wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.
“Hello?”
The silence was eerie. Icy cold fingers trailed along Galen’s spine, which he knew was a result of watching too many horror movies as a kid. Everything about this place reminded him of a set from A Nightmare on Elm Street. He half expected Freddy Krueger to traipse around the corner, knife-nails flicking as he mocked Galen for his secrets.
A high, sharp voice caught his attention, and Galen moved toward it. The screams rose in pitch and volume, and Galen wanted to run. But when a louder, deeper voice boomed over the other, he continued on. He turned the corner and found an area filled with Army-style cots. On one of them lay a girl with stringy blonde hair, thin, and she was crying as a man held her down. Galen pulled his phone from his pocket, ready to dial 911, when the man turned toward him. The front of his shirt was covered in… something disgusting.
“You! Back room—there are towels there.” He pointed to a small room with a wire mesh fence around it. “I need you to grab as many as you can and bring them back up here.”
Galen didn’t move, transfixed by the scene in front of him as the young woman threw up again, splashing the man with more of the mess. “I’m not here for—”
He sneered. “I don’t give a damn what you’re here for. She needs help.” He turned back to her. “It’s okay, Bree. The ambulance is on the way. Just hang on.”
“Look, I need—”
He didn’t even bother looking at Galen. “You need to go back and get me those damn towels.”
Uncertain why he obeyed, Galen hurried to the room and loaded his arms with the towels. He carried them back to where the man sat, stroking the girl’s hair. She was crying, and he was doing his best to comfort her. She sat up and heaved, but nothing came out. The smell was overpowering, and Galen’s stomach flipped. The man reached out, grabbed some of the towels Galen held, and started wiping down the girl’s face and chest.
“Who gave you the drugs, Bree?”
Galen would have sworn the girl was as white as she could get, but her face paled even further.
“Bree, I need to know. Was it someone at the shelter?”
She lay quietly, and the man sighed.
“You know I have to call the police, right?”
That got her moving. She pushed away from him as she jerked back. “You can’t!”
Thick fingers brushed hair away from her eyes. “I have to. You know the rules, and number one is no drugs are allowed within these walls. We have kids here, some younger than seven. Do you want them around that shit? What would have happened if one of them had gotten hold of it? Their lives are already hard, but add addiction on top of it and they’re going to be out on the streets, peddling their asses for a fix.”
Galen wanted to say something. The man was being a jerk to this kid. He opened his mouth but snapped it closed when the guy shot him a withering glare.
“Is that what you want, Bree? Do you want them to grow up to be like you?”
“I’ve been trying to stop. I swear.”
“And that’s good, and I’ll help you, but for now I need to know who sold you the stuff.”
The girl dissolved into tears as she shook her head. “It was Mike. He brought it in.”
“Okay. Thank you for telling me. Now here’s what’s going to happen. I’ve got to contact the police, because if Mike did it here, he could be doing it anywhere. They’re going to want to talk to you, and I need you to be honest with them. I’ll tell them you came clean, but I can’t say they won’t be angry with you. If they are, I’ll be there with you, okay?”
“Yes.” Her voice was more like a small child than a teenage girl. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you are, but we’ll get through this together. Why don’t you go into the bathroom and clean up? Splash some water on your face, or take a shower if you want. I’ll be in the office when you’re done.” He stood and pinned her with a stare. “Don’t disappoint me, Bree. I expect you’re not going to run.”
She nibbled on her trembling lower lip. “I won’t.”
The man beckoned Galen to follow him as he walked through a maze of hallways and into a dingy office. He gestured toward one of the chairs. “Have a seat. I’m going to take a shower and change.” He glanced down at his shirt and shook his head. “And it was almost new.”
Galen resisted the urge to pull out his handkerchief and wipe down everything. “I’ll stand, thank you.”
He shrugged, then turned and strode out of the room. About ten minutes later, he came back into the office, his hair an unruly mess. He smelled of antiseptic soap, not the pleasing fragrance of a good bodywash.
He took a seat behind the battered desk and steepled his fingers. “What can I do for you, Mr.…?”
“Merriweather. Galen Merriweather.”
He smiled, though it wasn’t at all genuine. “I’ve been expecting you. Well, not you, per se. Someone. I’m Robert Kotke, the director here. And you’re Lincoln’s brother. I assume you’re here about the check Noel gave me.” He opened a desk drawer and withdrew the check, then slid it across in front of Galen. “Here you go.”
Galen drew back in shock. “You’re not going to insist on keeping it?” Hell, he was surprised it wasn’t already cashed and spent.
“No. When Noel brought it to me, he told me to use the money for the shelter. That much would go a long way, but it’s not mine to take. I knew Noel didn’t have two nickels to rub together, so I insisted he tell me where he got it. He hedged, assuring me it was all legal, but I persisted. Finally, he told me the story about how your father had offered it to him to leave Lincoln. I gotta say, that’s a total
dick move. Anyway, I tried to refuse. He kept on assuring me that he’d followed your father’s edict to the letter and that everything was fine. We didn’t agree on it, but eventually I took it and stored it here, because I knew someone would be by for it.” He swept a hand in Galen’s direction. “And here you are.” He gestured to a machine in the corner. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”
Ignoring the question, Galen pinned Robert with a harsh glare. “What was going on with that girl? Bree?”
Robert cocked his head. “Excuse me?”
“When I came in, she was throwing up and crying.”
“And now she’s going to be heading to the hospital, where she’ll probably end up getting her stomach pumped.”
“Why would you let her throw up on you?”
Robert’s shockingly deep brown eyes narrowed. “And what would you suggest I do, Mr. Merriweather? Call the maid to handle it? I’m not sure what you think this place is, but there isn’t a butler or housekeeping. When Noel left—and I’m so damn glad he got out of here—I was it. Chief cook and bottle washer, plus pretty much every other job there is. Oh, we have some volunteers come in and help in the kitchen or talk with our people, but beyond that, it’s all me. From morning until night, I’m the one who comes in here, scrabbles to find money to keep these people with a roof over their head and food in their stomachs. I’m the one who stands between them and living on the streets. I clean up after them. I hold them when they’re sick, or when….” He stood. “It doesn’t matter. You have your check, so you can leave now.”
Galen sneered at him. Who did this guy think he was? “You listen to me, Mr. Kotke. I—”
Robert waved a dismissive hand. “Thank you for your help with the towels. I appreciate it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do. Not all of us have life handed to them on a silver platter.” He turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him, leaving Galen standing there, gaping like a fish.
“What the hell just happened?”
ROBERT SLUMPED against the door, already exhausted, even though his day had scarcely begun. He reached up and rubbed his temples, hoping to stave off the pounding headache. They’d taken Bree to the hospital, and now he had to figure out how he was going to deal with the situation as best he could. The police would be coming to talk with him soon, and he needed to be on top of his game. Why did Galen have to come in now? Robert truly didn’t need another helping of shit added to his sandwich.
“Robert?”
Forcing himself to take a deep, cleansing breath, Robert looked up to see Brady, one of the volunteers, giving him a sympathetic smile.
“Hey, glad you could help out today. Let’s go over what needs to be done.”
“Are you okay?”
That was a question Robert didn’t want to dwell on right now. Unless he could find a way to help Bree, she’d end up in jail or worse. This wasn’t her first go-around with drugs, but it was the worst one. Robert hoped whichever officer came, they would be willing to cut a deal with him. He’d give them Mike’s name and let them know the cops had dealt with him on more than one occasion for selling drugs to minors, and hopefully they’d let him get Bree into a treatment facility again.
“I will be.” Robert slung an arm over Brady’s shoulder. “So, today we’re going to be serving—”
“Mr. Kotke?”
Robert stifled a groan. He hadn’t been expecting them to show up already.
He turned and pasted on the smile that made him popular in the bars…. Well, it did twenty years ago, when he had time to go out and party. Now at thirty-eight, he had too many responsibilities to even think about much beyond where the next mortgage payment would come from and whether he’d have enough food to serve the increasing number of people.
“Officer Court, how are you?”
Officer Gary Court had been coming in to help out for ages. He was young, but he had mastered the art of tempering his approach to homeless people. He talked to them, not down at them. He earned their trust, just as he had Robert’s. With a lithe, muscular frame, cool blue eyes, and harshly cut blond hair, he was the very model of a cop.
Court frowned. “Bree again?”
“Can we talk in the office?” Robert regarded Brady. “Can you get everything started? I promise I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Brady gave a sharp nod and headed off toward the kitchen.
Robert turned back to find Court with a dubious expression. “It’s not her fault.”
“You’ve said that in the past. At some point she has to be willing to take responsibility for what she’s done.”
“Look, let’s go into the office, grab a cup of coffee—because I don’t know about you, but I need it badly—and we can talk.”
A sigh rolled out of Court. “Robert, I know you do everything you can for these people, and no one appreciates more than me what you’ve accomplished here, but—”
This wasn’t the first time Court had dealt with the people who stayed at the shelter. Robert would be the first to admit, most of them weren’t angels. Too often they’d done things that left them feeling like they’d betrayed not only Robert, but themselves. Petty theft, drugs, prostitution—Robert had heard all the stories, and he did his best to play priest and absolve them of their sins.
“Please.” Robert didn’t like the way his voice cracked, but Bree was one of his special kids. She’d lived a life that would break lesser people. Turned out at fourteen by her stepfather, who Robert was certain had molested her, she quickly got sucked in by a gang who got her hooked on drugs and forced her into prostitution to feed her habit. Even though she was only nineteen, the time she’d been on the streets had aged her beyond her years. She still looked young enough to entice a man, but her soul was ancient.
“All right.” Court’s lip jutted out a bit. “But listen to me, okay? You can’t keep taking all this to heart. It’s going to end up hurting you in the long run.”
Like Robert didn’t know that. He’d been a straight-A student, taking honors courses and precollege AP courses, and he maintained a 4.875 GPA. He had been destined for the very best things in life. He had colleges clamoring for him to visit their facilities so they could wow him. He had the academic achievements, had the social ones sewn up, since he’d been volunteering at a homeless shelter from a few days after he’d turned twelve—which made him a celebrity at the time—and had them lining up at the door, hoping to get him to their college.
School wasn’t tough for him. And with the full scholarship, he didn’t need a job, so he ended up volunteering his time at the shelter in Chicago too. The sad thing for him? When he was a kid, he hadn’t really noticed the circumstances people were forced to live under. It had been about helping, but also about being in magazines and newspapers, having a segment done on him with the Good Morning America crew. He’d been dazzled by the limelight. But once those were turned off, he finally opened his eyes and saw the truth—how many had lost their homes because they couldn’t afford to pay medical bills, how many bought houses they couldn’t afford because of the housing bubble and then ended up losing it all. As the numbers of homeless swelled, the government did their best to make it a crime to be homeless.
Robert grew disillusioned by those people who were supposed to help, only to turn a blind eye to the suffering around them—or worse, to seek to profit from it. People he had looked up to, had wanted to emulate, only saw the poor as a way to make themselves look good. The same as Robert had done. It made him take a cold, hard look at himself, and it turned out, he didn’t like what he saw.
After he finished school, he partnered with an organization that purported to help the homeless and, for the most part, they did. For the most part was what troubled him, though. They still funneled money to other things, and their director had a sizable salary. Robert, the wide-eyed boy who thought he could become something, realized he would. He would become just like them, and the thought sickened him.
He put on his suit and be
gan soliciting donations. He hit up everyone who would give him ten minutes of their time. He explained his vision: helping people, with nearly all the money going to do that; making sure his books were in order so there were never any discrepancies, where people would see total transparency in everything he did. And they listened. Donations came in a trickle. Whether it was two dollars or two thousand, his thanks was always genuine. The best thing? Robert did exactly as he promised. He never hid anything. If there was something he would prefer people not see, he owned up and told them why it was the way it was. And once again, he was the golden boy. Companies were offering to sponsor him if—and there it was, always an if—only Robert would return the favor somehow.
He turned them down flat. He would be beholden to no one. No, he would not have his people turned into a sideshow for corporate bigwigs looking to puff up their chests and say “See what we’re doing?” The money would be nice, but it wasn’t worth the cost of their souls.
“Robert?”
“Hm?” Robert realized Court was still speaking. “I am so sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” He rubbed his eyes, hoping to prove his point. “What were you saying?”
“Who gave her the drugs?”
Robert hesitated. “First, assure me you’re not going to arrest her.”
Court groaned. “You know I can’t promise you that.”
“I think we both know that’s not true.” And it wasn’t. Court had come to the shelter many times and had truly been their guardian angel when it came to things like this.
He sighed. “If she cooperates, I’ll do my best.”
That was good enough for Robert. “Michael Dugan gave her the pills.”
Court’s lip curled up into a sneer. “God, I thought we were done with him after the last time we put his ass in jail.”
The last time, as Court put it, was when Noel had confiscated drugs from a resident and they turned them over to Court, who’d arrested Dugan. Robert had forbidden him from being on or near the property. Apparently that didn’t help.
Galen's Redemption Page 2
