Heavenly Hoboes

by Bob Brewer

Following the dog’s lead, Abe walked down the alley to the huge garbage bin they had found the night before. “Find anything in there?” he asked when the dog stuck his muzzle out of the top of the bin. The dog answered with a soft ‘woof’. “You should have asked me first. I could have told you there wasn’t any food in there. Come on, get out. We’ve got some searching to do.”

  The dog climbed out of the bin and sniffed around to see what Abe had in mind by getting down on his knees and looking under the big container. The only thing under there was long forgotten debris, no lost bottle of wine.

  “Guess it’s not here anymore,” Abe said with a good deal of disappointment in his voice. The old dog was staring at him hopefully. Abe gave him a serious look. “You know, I’ve been thinking, fella. If you’re of a mind to stick around with me, you ought to have a name. Or, maybe you already do. Do you have a name, boy?”

  The dog wagged his tail a bit and continued the stare.

  Abe thought about the idea for a minute. “What do you think of Horatio?” he said. He rolled it over in his mind then tried it aloud. “Horatio. Come here, Horatio. No. That’s no good. It needs to be shorter. How about Horace? Horace." He repeated the name to get the feel of it.

  The dog raised his nose and took in a whiff of air to see if there were any telltale signs of what the man was referring to. He let out his little 'woof’ sound.

  Abe took that as a positive. “Okay. It’s settled. From now on, you’re Horace.” He reached down and patted the dog’s head with an empty hand. Horace laid down on the pavement and intentionally looked away from the man. But when Abe started walking away the dejection passed and he got to his feet and tagged along a few paces behind.

  While Abe and Horace meandered down the streets and alleyways of the west side, McDougal was busy getting to know the east side of town and a select few of its permanent residents.

  “Ya say there’s a place fer sleepin’ as well?” Shorty was talking to Charlie Belew. Charlie Belew was a moose of a man with a face that looked like it could have been formed in a cement mixer.

  Charlie glanced up from his card game with Stub Wilson. Stub had only one leg. The two scruffy looking men were sitting on a wooden bench in front of the ‘Last Hope Rescue Mission’ on River Street. They were playing five-card draw poker to determine which of them would get the last drink from the bottle of wine they shared. “You hard of hearing?” the big guy asked Shorty sarcastically. He reached under the bench then handed a crumpled brown sack to Stub along with a warning. “You didn’t cheat me again, did you?”

  Wilson shoved the sack into an inside pocket of his coat. “I’d never do that, Charlie,” he said, and promptly hobbled on his wooden leg around the corner of the mission to drink his winnings.

  “I’d say that was a bit of bad luck,” McDougal said, trying to soothe the anger Charlie Belew’s face was broadcasting.

  Belew rose to his feet. He was huge, towering over the runt of an Irishman by a full two feet and weighing in the neighborhood of three hundred pounds. “If I ever catch him at it, I’ll wring his scrawny little neck and rip off his good leg.”

  McDougal took a step backwards. “If he’s got any sense a’tall, he’ll not be messin’ with ya, Mr. Belew.”

  Charlie grunted a curse under his breath. “Yeah, well, if I had any sense, I wouldn’t play poker with him.” He threw his cards down on the bench then sat down to pick them all up and insert them into their ragged box.

  McDougal took the opportunity to ask again about the mission’s accommodations. “What is it you were sayin’ about the place, here?”

  Sliding the pack of cards into a shirt pocket, Charlie Belew answered. “It’s run by Brother Elkins. He likes to be called that. Preaches a lot, but the food’s good if you’re on time. He closes up during supper. That’s the rule. If you ain’t in, you’re out of luck.”

  “And ya say you can get a bed, too?”

  “Two nights a week. That’s all Elkins allows. Pretty strict about his rules, Elkins is.”

  McDougal picked up his bedroll and belongings and offered his hand. “Pleased to have made yer acquaintance, Mr. Belew. I’ll be runnin’ along now, but it’s possible I’ll be seein’ ya at supper time.”

  Belew shook his hand brusquely. “Wouldn’t happen to have anything to drink, would you?”

  Shorty shrugged. “If I did, ya’d certainly be welcome to it, but no, I’m sorry to say, I don’t.”

  The hulk of a man slumped back onto the bench. “That’s the kind of day I’ve been having. Should’ve known better than to give Stub the chance to get the last drink. Should’ve just drunk it myself and kept my big mouth shut.”

  McDougal gave him a sympathetic look. “Tomorrow’ll be better fer ya,” he said, and waved a brief goodbye.

  Stub Wilson had enough sense to stay away. He wasn’t around the corner when Shorty rounded it to find out a little more about Midvale.

  On the other side of the tracks, Abe and Horace had stopped to gaze into the front window of Farenstien’s Menswear and Haberdashery where a man was getting fitted for a gray tweed suit.

  “Do you see that, Horace?” Abe said with a nod. “I could use one of those.” He pushed his chest out. “Couldn’t you just see me in a brand new suit of clothes?” He turned slowly to his left and watched his reflection in the window glass. Halfway into the slow-motion pirouette, he stopped to watch a different reflection. A heavyset woman with a purse the size of a suitcase was bustling across the street behind him. She wore a white, narrow-brimmed hat that had a collage of bright flowers strewn around it. The flowers seemed to sprout from her graying, close-cropped hair. Her wide-set eyes hung over a pair of rounded jowls that gave her the determined look of a bulldog. She stomped onto the sidewalk and brushed by Abe without the slightest hint that she even noticed him. At the door of the men’s shop she hesitated briefly, hitched up her girdle, straightened the angle of her hat, then slammed the door open. Abe could see through the window that she bellied directly up to the man getting fitted for the suit. Her mouth was opening and closing to the timing of her hand motions. It was obvious to Abe that she was as outspoken as she was bullish.

  “That’s one reason why I’m single,” he whispered to Horace. “How would you like to face someone like that everyday?” He stepped back from the window and looked down at the dog. Horace was asleep. “Seen enough, huh? I have too. Come on, Horace, let’s go.” He slapped his thigh to wake the dog and started to walk away, but was stopped when the shop door flew open right in front of him. The gentleman who was buying the new suit hurried out of the store with the awful looking woman close on his heels. Her gruff voice perfectly matched her appearance.

  “I’m telling you, Reverend, if we don’t make this march on the Capital, the whole chicken business is going down the drain. Then, where will we be? I ask you, Reverend, where will we be then?”

  The reverend was trying to get to a car at the curb. “Whatever you say, Sister Allecia,” he said as he reached for the car-door handle.

  Sister Allecia grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around to face her. “What I say is not the point,” she growled. “I can get the whole Women’s Guild to go. I’ll just tell them they have to, but it’s you I’m concerned about. If you and all those other ministers, if you can call them that, won’t go with us, we might as well fold up shop right now. Now, are you going or not? I want to know right now. Right here.”

  Abe could see that the reverend was trying to shake her thick fingers off his new jacket, but she had a solid grip on it. “I…I…I’m going to have to take it up with the committee,” he stammered.

  “The committee!” Allecia shouted, her well-fed jowls flushing an unhealthy shade of red. But before she could carry on with her tirade a young man came running up the sidewalk shouting for the reverend’s attention.

  Abe and Horace flattened themselves against the window t
o get out of the boy’s way.

  “Reverend Atchinson,” the boy panted then put his hands on his knees while he caught a breath. “I’m glad I found you,” he said, taking in another deep breath. “There’s a fire in the church basement! You’ve got to come right now!”

  Sister Allecia loosened her grip and the reverend took advantage of the freedom. He jumped into the passenger side of the black Buick, pulled the boy in beside him and sped off to fight a different kind of fire. He paid absolutely no attention to the yelling of the big Sister as she screamed for them to wait for her. Seeing it was useless to pursue it further, she turned to Abe. “Where’s a phone?” she demanded, to which Abe shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. She gave him a mean, disgusted look then straight-armed him out of her path and stormed back into the shop.

  Abe got his balance and took off down the street in a much faster manner than that to which the old dog was becoming accustomed. While Horace was trying to catch up, Abe rounded a corner and bumped into Ezra Taft who was having a difficult time staying upright.

  “Would you m-m-mind wa-wa-watching where I’m going?” Ezra complained, and rubbed his arm where Abe had hit him.

  “Sorry, buddy. I didn’t see you,” Abe apologized. “Here, let me help you.” He took a hold on Ezra’s arm to stabilize him. “Where are you going, anyhow?”

  Ezra drew in a deep breath and moved his lips around to get them in working order. That done, he pointed up the street. “To the Sal...Sal…Salvation Ah…Ah…Ahrmy,” he said as best he could. Abe looked up the street for a sign or something to give him an idea where the Salvation Army might be. He didn’t see anything.

  Horace laid down to rest while the men talked. He knew Ezra Taft, had known him for a long time, and Taft had never given the old dog anything, so he wasn’t too interested. He closed his eyes for the nap he would have been taking if it were not for tagging along behind a man who was looking all over town for something he hadn’t yet found.

  “Well,” Abe told Ezra, “I’m going that way anyhow. If you don’t mind I’ll just walk along with you.”

  “O…O...Okay by me,” Ezra slurred. “Just ho…hold on and I’ll take you there.”

  Abe tightened his grip on Ezra’s arm and turned around to see if the dog was still with them. “Come on, Horace.”

  Ezra waved a shaky finger in the air. “The name’s Eh-Eh-Ezra T..T…hic…Taft,” he corrected Abe.

  Abe smiled. “Okay, Ezra. Let’s go.”

  Across the tracks, McDougal had found a liquor store not too far from the Mission. He made a purchase and planned to take it back to the alley and drink it while he waited for Abe to show up. Instead, his return path led him back to where Charlie Belew was still sitting on the bench at the Mission. “It appears yer friend has departed fer good,” he said, and sat down beside the big guy.

  Belew nodded. “Ain’t got no guts. He knows he cheated me.”

  Shorty’s eyes lit up. “Well, I’ve got a cure fer that,” he said with a smile, and patted his jacket front. “Would ya still be needin’ a wee drop?”

  Belew’s forlorn look changed immediately. His eyes opened wide. “I’d about kill for one right now.”

  McDougal got to his feet and led the big fellow around the corner where Stub Wilson had disappeared earlier. Between the two heavy drinkers the quart of wine lasted less than ten minutes. “Well, now. I’m thinkin’ I ought to be goin’ while I can still find me way,” Shorty said after taking the last few drops from the bottle.

  Charlie reached over and put one of his mitt-sized hands on the Irishman’s shoulder. “Shorty,” he said. “You’re a fine human being. Yes, you are. I know you’d never cheat old Charlie Belew, would you?”

  McDougal shook his head rapidly. “Not if me life depended on it.” The bulky Belew pulled him over and put his face very close to the Irishman’s. “It might, if you ever tried to put one over on me.” The tone and timbre of his voice was as serious as McDougal had ever heard.

  Shorty couldn’t miss seeing the wildness dancing in the giant Belew’s eyes. He pushed back, and Belew let him go. “I’ve really got to be movin’ on, now, Mr. Belew. I’ll be lookin’ ya up later.” He grabbed up his belongings and quickly bobbled down the street towards the tracks.

  The brickwork of the old Guthrie Mercantile building was blocking the warming rays of the late afternoon sun when Abe and Horace returned to the alley. Thanks to Ezra Taft, Abe had learned about the new program Captain Arthur Hedges was trying out at the Salvation Army Center.

  Hedges had opened a multi-bed sleeping room on the second floor above the dining hall just the week before. His plan was to offer the room to those men who were willing to give up their use of alcohol and work in the Thrift Store when he needed them. If all went according to plan, Hedges would also include a small salary as an incentive for the men to overcome their problems and start a new beginning for themselves.

  Ezra hadn’t given Abe enough time to read the entire bulletin stapled to the wall at the Center’s entrance, but at least he had found a place to eat free and possibly a free bed. That would be far superior to lodging again under Horace’s bandstand. He was anxious to get back to the alley to tell McDougal of their good fortune. But first he had to backtrack with Taft to find the cart of personal property the fellow had forgotten somewhere along the way.

  A slight chill had already bitten into the air as Abe set his rucksack on the alley pavement beside the big garbage bin and sat on it to wait for Mr. McDougal’s return. His back bumped into the rain downspout and he heard the tinkling of glass as his lost bottle of wine slipped out of the bottom of the tube and touched the macadam. “What do you know, Horace? Looks like we found it after all.” He held the bottle up to see if it was broken. “Good as new,” he said. “What do you say to a drink, boy?”

  Horace wagged his tail, and Abe got up to riffle through the bin for some kind of doggie dish. He found a plastic casing that had once been part of a motorcycle and set it in front of the old dog. “Here’s to you, Horace.” He poured a fair amount of the wine into the casing. “You’re a good pal. Drink up, boy.” He toasted his new comrade with a clink of the bottle on the casing then took a long swig and gulped it down.

  Horace lapped the wine up like it was water then ‘woofed’ for more. In twenty minutes the bottle was dry, Horace was drunk, and Abe wasn’t too far behind.

  “I was just thinking about that new suit of clothes, Horace,” Abe said after a few minutes of contemplation. “It’d be awful nice to own a suit like that, wouldn’t it?” He glanced down only to find that the old dog had gone to sleep. "Wake up, Horace, and talk to me.”

  The old dog opened his glassy eyes, but didn’t bother to raise his stare from Abe’s shoes. Here was a man talking about a new suit when his shoes were wired together to keep the soles from flopping when he walked. Had Horace known what Abe was talking about, he probably wouldn’t have bothered to open his eyes at all.

  Abe noticed the eye movement. “That’s better,” he said as an approval of the dog’s show of interest. “Now, let’s take you for instance, Horace. You’re a mess if I ever saw one. You need a bath. That’d be like me getting’ that new suit, sort of.” He reached over and raised a tuft of Horace’s matted red hair. “You’d be a fine looking dog if you got cleaned up a little.” He tugged at the wad of hair a time or two. ”Yes-shur, you’d be a fine looker.” The alcohol was gaining momentum and taking control of his tongue.

  Horace didn’t much like what the man was doing with his hair and scooted back on his stomach to put a little distance between them. Abe dropped the tuft of hair and put his hand up to his own face. “I could use a bath too, couldn’t I? And cut these whiskers off. You know, Horace, I’m a pretty good-looking fellow when I’m all cleaned up. No, you wouldn’t know that. But I am.” He lost himself in thought for a moment. When he looked back at Horace, the old dog had gone back to s
leep. “Will you wake up and listen to me?”

  Horace’s allotment of wine had evidently taken away any desire to listen or even stay conscious. Abe tried to jostle him awake with his foot but failed. So he rattled on about how things could be with only himself to listen.

  As Abe talked on, the sun buried itself somewhere far to the west and was pulling a deep purple blanket over the alley. It was nearing total darkness when the familiar accent of McDougal's voice interrupted Abe's thoughts and the one-sided conversation.

  The Irishman had stealthily entered the alley. He stuck his head around the side of the bin and took notice of the bottle beside Abe. “Would ya be havin’ a wee drop fer a good friend?” he asked spiritedly.

  Abe looked up. “We were just now talking of that very thing.”

  “Oh, were ya, now?” McDougal held a hand out to retrieve the bottle from Abe.

  “Yep. And we’ve decided to change our ways.” Abe took the liberty of including Horace in his plans. “Tomorrow we’re turning over a new leaf. That’s what we’re going to do.”

  Puzzlement showed in McDougal’s face. “Yer what?”

  “A new leaf, Mr. McDougal. We’re going to get a job and buy some new clothes.”

  McDougal looked at him with a serious stare. “It’s fer certain ya could use a new outfit, Mr. Douglas. But that’s tomorrow, ya say? That gives us just enough time fer a wee celebration. Could ya be passin’ the bottle, please?”

  Abe tipped his head to one side and raised his eyebrows. He picked up the bottle, turned it upside down and shook it. “As you can see, Mr. McDougal, there’s not a wee drop left for you.”

  “OOOhh,” Shorty drew out his acknowledgment. He shrugged and beamed Abe a wide smile. “Well, in that event I suppose we’ll have to put the party off temporarily. I found us a place to eat if we’re not too late to get in.”

  “I did too,” Abe said. “I was just going to tell you about that.”

  “It’ll wait,” Shorty said, helping Abe to his feet. “We need to be hurryin’ along or they’ll be shutin’ the doors on us.”

  Abe nodded, took a solid grip on Shorty’s arm and steadied himself. “Lead on, Mr. McDougal and don’t spare the horses.” The two of them snickered as they staggered out of the alley.

  McDougal provided support and led the way as they zigzagged toward the Rescue Mission. Old Horace wobbled behind them in his strange sideways gait. Neither the men nor the old dog took notice of the soft, shimmering glow that surrounded them as they exited the alley and made their way to the intersection of River and First streets.