by Tim Greaton
I walked several blocks before I looked into my palm and saw the ten-dollar bill. Forty more to go. I knew from past experience that begging was a slow and arduous process. I had panhandled only twice before, but each all-day stint had netted me less than the teller's sole gift. It just wasn't realistic to think I could reach my goal that way.
I ambled down the next alley and waded through the first dumpster I came to. I found only one bottle, and even that had the label torn off. Though I wasn't sure if the store would take it, I stuffed it inside my jacket anyway.
The second dumpster gave a better haul. I found a vinyl bag and two returnable cans. I stuffed my three nickels into the bag and rethought this particular action. Even if I could manage to come up with enough bottles, by the time evening came around, I would look and smell so bad that no driver would ever let me on the bus.
There had to be another way.
While I was thinking through the possibilities, I went through several more dumpsters. I had the best luck in one belonging to a steak restaurant. There, I found twenty-eight beer bottles. All in all I came up with one hundred and sixty-three bottles by midday. Combined with the money from the ticket attendant that morning, my total net was up to eighteen dollars and fifteen cents. I was still short thirty-one dollars and eighty-five cents.
I gave up then because I had already decided on a new course of action. On the way to Jenny's variety, I honed my plan. Admittedly, there wasn't much to hone because I intended to speak with the same blunt honesty that I had used with the ticket attendant.
I walked the three blocks to Jenny's. She was there behind the counter when I walked in with my vinyl carrier and other trash bag, both full of cans and bottles. Her muscular arms were folded and there were lines of disapproval in her forehead.
"You steal them bottles from some poor kid?"
"You know me better than that, Jenny," I said dramatically. "I wouldn't do that."
"Not 'less you had the chance."
"No, really," I said. "I got these fair and square. Well over a dozen dumpsters worth to be exact."
Jenny was a homely blond woman in her fifties, and she was built more like a rugged male contractor than any woman I'd ever met. She'd been known to drag full-grown men right out of her store and into the street, and none had ever been foolish enough to fight back. This street-wise gal was used to every manner of con conceived. Though I wasn't a normal offender, she gave me the same go-a-round everyone else got. Her raised right eyebrow and squinted left eye seemed to say, 'I know you're lying to me,' and, 'spit it out before I throw you out'.
"I need to get some money together," I told her, amazed at how guilty her stare could make me feel. I hadn't done anything wrong.
"Drinkin' again?" she asked. She didn't cater to alcoholics, at least no more than she legally had to. For instance, she could insist that I wash each container before she accepted it.
"No," I said. "I haven't had a drink in over four months. I never was an alcoholic."
"That's what the worst of 'em say."
"It's true, Jenny. I need the money because I'm leaving the city."
"Oh?" She pulled the bag to her side of the counter. One at a time she started removing the cans and bottles and placing them in a shopping cart beside the cash register. The cart seemed ridiculous in a store this small. I'd have been surprised if it could fit down even two of her four narrow aisles.
"Life ain't any easier in Syracuse or Rochester, you know."
"I wouldn't imagine it would be," I said. "I'm going to Vermont."
"Family?"
"No."
"Friends?"
"Nope."
"How many you got?"
"You're not counting?" I asked.
"You know how many there are. Why do it all over again. How many you got?"
"One hundred and sixty-three."
"Eight dollars and fifteen cents it is then." Listening to her talk, it was easy to believe Jenny wasn't overly bright, but the way she came up with a total so quickly illustrated that there was more to her than one might first think. She punched several keys on the register and the drawer spit open with a ringing clang. As she passed the money to me, she said, "They don't put up with your kind in small towns, you know. Wouldn't surprise me if there isn't a single person living out of doors in the whole state of Vermont."
"I wasn't planning on 'living' there."
The look of curiosity was still on her face when I thanked her and left. If I knew Jenny, she'd start asking everyone on the block what I was up to the second I disappeared around the corner. Of course, no one would know. Within hours there'd be more rumors about my plans than there were people living on the whole street. I might even become a legend. Imagine, Skip Ralstat urban legend, the homeless man who split town and made millions in Vermont cheese or who inherited a billion dollars from his great, great-something-or-other and ran off to take over the family mansion.
A half-hour later, I was still smiling at the imaginary life I would be leading when I came to Capitol Square. I contemplated whether it would be better to go straight into the Governor's office, or into one of the community welfare buildings. Ultimately, I decided to try the Governor's office, only because it was the easiest to spot. Gold domes aren't all that common.
I was surprised that there was no guard to direct me as I entered through the swinging glass doors. Even though governors were fifty times more common than our President, their positions should at least warrant a clerical person at the door to question visitors. Even Wal-Mart had greeters.
The foyer was simply a wide hallway with dozens of oak doors opening off to either side. About a hundred feet down the hall, a circular stairway rose beside four elevator doors. In the center of the hallway was a three-sided kiosk. I read through the directory and couldn't find a single reference to the Governor.
I'd heard the state was cutting back, but this was getting ridiculous. Thinking there must be more names, I moved to the next side. This second directory did have more names, but they were under the heading of Building Two. I checked, just to be certain. He wasn't mentioned there either.
The third side of the kiosk solved the mystery. It was a diagram of Capitol Square, which consisted of a series of parks and public buildings. An arrow indicated that I was actually in a building adjacent to but not quite connected to the Capitol Building. The Capitol's front entrance would be ninety degrees to the east.
The hall was filled with bustling people whose eyes darted purposefully away whenever I looked in their direction. Sometimes I forgot I was had become member of America's lowest class, the homeless, but being intently ignored by so many people at once sparked a tiny bit of anger in my chest. Weren't people all the same, regardless of how much they made or where they lived?
I wanted to say yes, but I knew better.
Since I was already in the building, I scanned the directory and decided to visit the Department of Health and Human Services. From my few brushes with State Assistance cases at the law firm, I suspected they might be able to help. I could always move onto the Governor's building if I had no success.
On another day, I might have enjoyed riding the elevator, if for no other reason than to make the other passengers squirm and stare at their feet for the duration of the ride, but today I had more important things to do. I had only four or five hours left before these offices would close, and I didn't know how many bureaucrats I'd have to visit before I'd be successful. I took the stairs.
Office 220 was on the second floor, about the tenth door down on the right. I had to squint to read the brass plaque on the door. This was the place. I considered knocking, but suspected it was proper to just walk in.
A trim, middle-aged women of Asian decent sat at a desk in front of me. Her fingers were resting lightly on the keys of an electric typewriter, a dinosaur in this age of computers. The woman's large almond eyes stared at me, but she hadn't yet said anything. The silence was uncomfortable.
"Yes?" she finally said. "What can I do
for you?" Her voice was firm and authoritative. In those seven words, I could tell this was not a secretary. I had happened upon someone in charge with my first try. I hoped it was a good omen.
"I need your help."
Her eyes glided evenly down then back up my torso. Whether what she saw pleased or displeased her, I couldn't tell. Her expression remained passive and professional.
"Yes?"
"I'm not quite sure how to begin."
"Please, sir, I don't mean to be rude, and I hope you won't take it that way, but my secretary is out and I have at least two dozen calls to make. I also hope to have this report finished and in the Governor's hands by the day's end. I think it would be quicker if you would explain your problem to me."
"I live here in Albany and I'm homeless."
Though I suspected the homeless were not her concern, she didn't break in to tell me that. She simply nodded and waited for me to go on.
"I want to leave the state tonight, but it's fifty dollars for the bus ticket. I only have eight dollars and fifteen cents, and I'm hoping the city or the state will give me enough for my ticket and maybe for a few meals when I reach Vermont. I will be happily on my way, and the city will have one less homeless person to be concerned about." I knew I could have said more, but honesty tends to be brief and to the point.
The woman continued to look at me with her large brown eyes. They were beautiful. There was an unusual intensity about her. It was as if she gathered her energy for long periods so she could then burst forth, no holds barred.
"Okay," she finally said.
"Okay?"
"Yes, okay. I will help you, but only if you'll promise me something."
"Such as?"
"I want you to promise to try your best to stop living on the streets."
"I promise," I said. I'm sure she didn't mean for me to 'stop living' entirely, but I was being truthful.
She went to a closet at the back of the office and came back with a small gray pocketbook. She opened it and withdrew a black leather purse.
"I didn't mean for you—"
She looked sharply up at me. "Whether it's from me or from the state, the money all comes from the same place. I'll just be paying a little higher percentage this way."
"I didn't mean to beg."
"Didn't you? Isn't that what asking the government for help is? If people like you would stop acting as though the world owes you a life, it would be a much more pleasant place."
She held out four bills, all twenties. I stared at them for a long time. I wanted them, needed them to get to Vermont. The bills seemed to swell then shrink before me.
"No, thanks," I finally said. "I don't want your money. Not for your reasons, anyway. It's people like you that create this dependency. You can't belittle a person in one breath and then expect them to grow self-respect and self-reliance with the next."
I left her then, her beautiful eyes wide, her mouth agape. I closed the door firmly behind me.
"How stupid," I mumbled to myself as I trudged back down the stairs. Without ticket fare I couldn't get to Vermont.
I knew it was my own stubborn pride, but accepting that money would have been wrong. It would have been an insult to the memory of my deceased wife and son. Though possibly the biggest mistake I'd made in a long time, it felt good to take a stance. I hadn't exactly been the picture of citizenship lately.
I imagine the crowds still ignored me on the way out but, to tell you the truth, I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I didn't even notice. Once outside, I turned west, away from the Capitol building. The idea of visiting the Governor's office no longer appealed to me.
I guessed it was around one o'clock when I crossed through the last clump of trees that would take me out of Capitol Square. That meant I had only eight hours to raise the needed money. The question was "how?"
If I continued to think of this journey as a dedication to Tabitha and Derek, that also meant the way I got the money would be as important as the journey itself. I had to find a more wholesome way to finance my trip.
Somehow, I had to work for it.
Jenny was hunkered over the counter, as she always was, when I returned to the store. Adam Walston was counting out pennies in front of her. There was a bottle of Coors sitting between them.
"I'm only eight cents short," Adam said. He wiped his dripping red nose with the greasy sleeve of his parka. The green hood was down and his wild brown hair was more tangled than usual. He could not have put his hands through that mess if he'd tried.
"Ain't that close enough, Jenny?" he pleaded.
"Not for beer it ain't," the big woman said. She whisked the full bottle up into her sizable paw and placed it in the shopping cart she had used earlier for my returnables. "Now for food, or juice, or even a package of cookies, I'd let it slide, but not for beer. Never."
"I need it," Adam said. His eyes were fixed on the cart.
"That's the end of that discussion," Jenny told him. "Now get out. I wish you'd buy that junk from someone else anyway."
"You're the only one that helps us," Adam said. "We all come here."
"Why don't you buy some food instead? I'll sell you any food in the store at half-price."
Adam's shoulders slumped and his eyes fell to the floor.
"Lord's sakes, all right! I'll get you a beer, a cheaper beer. Just stop your belly aching."
Knowing a good thing when he saw it, Adam nodded but remained silent. Jenny picked up the bottle in the carriage and carried it out back to the coolers. She returned with an unlabeled bottle that had a dark amber beer in it. "Here," she said, putting the bottle down on the counter. "It's brewed by a friend of mine, but it's good stuff. Now go get a box of donuts and give me your eighty-eight cents."
Adam wiped his sleeve across his nose again then went and did as told. Anxious to get back to his beer, he grabbed the first box of donuts he came to. I imagined they would soon become pigeon food, that is if he didn't throw them straight into the trash.
I waited patiently as he counted his money a second time. Before Jenny could pick up the first coin, he grabbed his groceries and disappeared out the door.
She stopped and watched him through the window as he rounded the corner of the next block. There was such a look of tenderness on her face that I wondered if there might be a connection between them.
"Relative?" I asked.
"Nah, just another one of you guys. Did you know he's only twenty-two? Just a baby." "Why'd you give in like that?"
"Ain't no beer in there," she said with a chuckle. "A swallow of apple juice will do him good. The trick only works once, but once is better than nothing. Say, what are you doing back here?" she asked. "I figured you'd be on your way to the mountains by now."
"A woman offered to give me the money I needed for the ticket," I said. "But I turned her down."
"I gotta hear this one." Jenny leaned over, her stern chin resting on her hands, thick elbows braced on the counter.
I told Jenny exactly how it happened and why I hadn't wanted to accept. She politely listened but I could see the mirth building inside her. As the last word left my lips, she let loose a great bellow of laughter.
"It wasn't all that funny," I said sourly.
"I just can't imagine you playing the righteous role."
I nodded. I hadn't shown a lot of backbone during my acquaintance with her. And she hadn't known me before...well, just before. "Believe it or not, I used to be a good guy. Not the best maybe but pretty good. This last year, though, it really took the wind out of me. I guess I just stopped believing in people. Mostly, I stopped believing in myself."
"You really going to Vermont?"
"Yeah, I really am. For the first time in a long time, I know I'm doing the right thing."
"I'll give you the money," she said.
"Thank you for the offer. You've helped all of us so much. I often wonder why. Why cater to the poorest people in the neighborhood? Half the time we don't have money. We drive the
better customers away. And most of us are either drunk, or nasty and often we're both. Why would you do that?"
Jenny stared up toward the rust-spotted tin ceiling above. She had that same look she'd given Adam a few minutes before. She reached out and took my hand.
"I do it because it's the right thing. I do it because it makes me feel a little better about taking so long to come east in search of my father. I do it...because I want to."
"Your dad?"
Jenny closed her eyes and shook her head. She squeezed my hand, and I think I understood. I, too, found it difficult to talk about Tabby and Derek. Even though I thought about them all the time, I felt violated when other people asked. It was as if I didn't want to share them with anyone else.
"Tell me what you need," Jenny said.
"A job for the afternoon that pays at least thirty-one dollars and eighty-five cents."
"What if I said fifty?"
"I'd say I want to earn all fifty."
Within minutes, she had a broom in my hand. She led me out into a huge back storeroom. It was easily four or five times the size of her store. In it were fifteen rows of metal shelves filled with canned and dried goods. There would be enough here to feed an entire building of tenants for weeks.
"Why?" I asked.
"Just a little dream of mine," she said. "I hope to open a shelter here next year. The food is cheap when you buy it in bulk, so whenever I have a few extra dollars I stock up. I've also got an apartment upstairs filled with sheets, blankets and towels. The only thing left to buy is the furniture."
"You own the building?"
"Three of them actually. About forty-seven apartments in all."
"Where?"
"Right here, side by side. When I get number ten-ninety-seven at auction next spring, I'll own the whole block. That's when I'll start the shelter."
I had a dozen more questions, but just then the store bell rang. She had a customer, or maybe Adam had come back to complain. She left and I set to work. I had swept out the storeroom and was about ready to begin on the back loading area when Jenny rushed back in.
"Adam's been shot!" Her lips quivered as she spoke. "You've got to get over to Cagney's and find out what's going on. Come back as soon as you know."
I hurried out.
Cagney's Liquor Store was really a front for the gambling business that three teen drug dealers had started up a few years before. The store was five blocks north of Jenny's Variety. I ran all five.
By the time I wheezed up onto the sidewalk, the police had already cordoned off the area. I moved through the crowd to see what I could. The store's picture window had been shattered. Glass shards littered the area. An ambulance was backed up onto the sidewalk, and I could see two medics kneeling over a victim in the back of the emergency vehicle.
I scanned the faces of the cops but didn't see any that I recognized. How was I going to find out anything? Not only was I concerned for Adam, I was also Jenny's employee right now. Getting information was the task she had given me.
"Excuse me," I said, stepping boldly over the yellow plastic ribbon.
Immediately, two policewomen converged on me.
"Move on," one of them said. "This is a crime scene." She heard that line on a TV drama, I thought.
"If he's Adam Walston," I said. "I can tell you where to find his parents."
"We can locate the family without you," the policewoman informed me.
"I doubt that. They're homeless."
The two looked at each other then back at me. "Where are they?"
"I'm a friend. I'll tell you, but only if I can find out his condition and what happened."
"We can't do that."
"Do I look like CNN to you? I'm not going to say anything. And even if I do, who'd believe you ever actually told me."
The two women glanced to each other. There was a long hesitation. They knew that crimes involving the homeless often became unsolved John Doe cases. I imagined the paperwork and effort in trying to identify these people could be tremendous. Finally, there was a mutual nod. The tallest one turned to look at me. "The boy's hurt...badly. He broke the window and was trying to steal some booze. I can't say how, but someone shot him before he got any. Now your part, where are his parents?"
"In a cemetery near Greenwich," I said. "He told me they died in an apartment fire. He ran away from his foster parents about eight years ago."
"That's not much help," the shorter one said.
"I didn't say it would help. I just told you I knew where they were."
"Did he have other family?"
"None I ever heard him mention."
"Get out of here, then."
One woman held the yellow plastic ribbon up while the other ushered me beneath it. I stayed a few minutes longer and watched the medics work. It didn't take a genius to figure out he was dead or close to it. Why else wouldn't the van have been on its way to the hospital by now?
Jenny's eyes were red, but she was no longer crying when I got back to the store. I hesitated in telling her what had happened. I knew how she would interpret this.
"Dead?" Jenny asked.
It was painful to see the apprehension in her face. She really didn't want to know.
"I think so," I said. "The police were cagey about it, but it didn't look good from where I stood."
"It was the liquor store?"
"Yeah. Looks like one of those gorillas shot him after he broke the big window."
Jenny shook her head. She was fighting back the tears. "I should have just given him the beer."
"If it hadn't happened today, it would have happened tomorrow or the day after," I told her.
"Did I tell you he was only twenty-two?"
"I know."
"I should be alone," Jenny said.
"I'll watch the store if you want."
She shook her head. "It's all right. Won't hurt nothing to close the doors for a little while. Your money's in here." She held an envelope out to me.
"Wait," I said. "I haven't earned―"
"Shhsshh! I'm the boss around here. I know what you've earned and what you haven't. And I don't want you to look in there until you get to the bus station. Okay?"
I nodded.
"Good." She released her grip on the money. "I also want you to grab a couple of sodas and some food. And if you don't do it right now, I've got a mind to sweep this floor with your head."
I smiled at her attempt to be her normal self, and I did as told. I picked a soft drink and a box of Pop-Tarts™.
"Are you going to the hospital?" I asked.
"Yeah, someone should be there."
"And if he's dead?"
"Then I'll make the arrangements. The system may have forced that boy onto the streets, but it sure ain't going to store him in a public urn."
"His parents were buried somewhere near Greenwich."
"Maybe," she said. "I know that's what he told everyone. Wouldn't surprise me, though, to find they're living and breathing somewhere."
"You might want to check near Greenwich anyway."
"I will. I promise I will. Have a good trip."
Thanks for everything," I said as she let me out. The store's interior lights were already off and she had drawn the shade over the locked door.
"Skip," Jenny said through the partially closed door.
"Yeah."
"I've always been sorry about what happened to your wife and son."
I nodded. "Me, too."
Chapter Six
Hidden Saints
