Chapter 10: Homeless

...Joe tells his story...

Joe stood dumbly for a minute then returned to the doorway where his duffle lay. He bent over, easing onto it like a large pillow.

“We were four crazy kids out of St. Joe, Missouri. After school, we decided on a whim to go to San Francisco. We drove straight through, taking turns at the wheel. It was a fun ride, taking in the sights, forgetting about the day-to-day back home.

“When we got here we were knocked over. The Bay Bridge, the Golden Gate, all the different people. Nothing like that in St. Joe.

“But Larry hated the city right off. He likes the simpler things. So, three days later, he took Amtrak home.

“Jason, Eric and me, we all liked it. Hooking up, girls, toking in the Park. It was an endless party.

“But they wanted to see L.A. before going home. I wanted to stay. So, after two weeks they were gone.

“I had my sleeping bag, some money and met some people I thought were friends, but---”

He stopped talking, blinked and looked bewildered. Riley, too, was amazed at the transformation from silent man to storyteller. And he was closer to his age than he had assumed.

“They weren’t. Someone stole my stuff, then my money. No one helped. That’s when I met Robbie. He’d been in the streets awhile and knew about people.

“We looked out for each other. Simple stuff like sleeping back-to-back or taking turns so no one could sneak up. I trusted him with my life.

“But we got hard up for money. There was this guy who recruited homeless to do things.”

Riley leaned forward.

“More like, he forced you and paid you a little. He waits outside the shelter. One day he goes up to Robbie and tells him he has something for him. Rob really doesn’t want anything to do with him, but he’s a big dude and angry. And we needed the money.”

He paused, as if searching his memory.

“It’s a funny thing. People, I mean. Robbie didn’t want the job, but had it forced on him. Flea wanted it bad, but the big dude never paid attention to him.”

“Flea?”

“An annoying guy. Always trying to be part of something, but no one trusted him. Always ready to snatch something. He was one of those we had to guard against.”

Joe began to cry and wiped his hand over his bearded face. “That day, Robbie made the pickup. I went along. Then we walked together until Brooks Hall where I’d wait with our stuff.

“There was a big crowd in the Plaza. He crossed the street. I was looking at the crowd when I saw something moving, fast. Flea was running at him, but Rob didn’t see. I yelled, but the crowd was too loud. He stabbed him. I saw it. I couldn’t do anything.”

He sobbed and hung his head. Riley waited for more, but he seemed to withdraw into himself.

“Did Flea take the stuff from the backpack?”

“Huh?”

“Is that why Flea stabbed Robbie, for the backpack?”

“He took his life. That’s what he took!”

His words struck Riley like a slap, resurrecting the image of Martin’s head in a pool of blood.

“I’m sorry. I found the backpack empty. The cops thought I stole it.”

Joe’s eyes widened. “Who are you?”

“Don’t worry. I’m not a cop, not a killer. Just a dude who found an empty backpack and took it home.”

The two men sat silently in the doorway. The whoosh of cars racing up the one-way street followed by calm until the traffic light changed and another squad of cars tripped by. Riley sensed Joe’s distrust. The story ended, as far as he was concerned, with Robbie's death. Riley’s experience was separate and distinct from the living Robbie. He was like everyone else, waiting to snatch something.

“What about Flea?”

“He’s getting his.”

“That guy?”

Joe nodded.

“You?”

He stood up and reached for his duffle. “Something ended here.”

“Are you going home?”

He looked at Riley, wizened eyes above a scraggly beard. “I don’t think home is home anymore. But yeah, I need to check it out.”




The persons and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.

The next chapter will be posted June 13.