by Shawn Keys
Just as he did, an idea hit him in the face. He glanced up at the sun, measuring the time. “Do you three mean what you’re saying? You aren’t just here to toss a few dollars at me to make yourselves feel better, then drive off to a nice Christmas dinner?”
Tricia stepped in, bold and brash. She poked him in the chest. “I’ll forgive you just once for saying that because you probably see a dozen people like that an hour. But only one strike, mister.”
Drake nodded. “Fair enough. If you mean it, then come with me.” He started to walk.
Karin folded herself around, one arm still wrapped around him. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. Want to be a hero again? Want to get past all of this ‘who helped who?’ nonsense? Then come with me. Let’s go be heroes together.”
Chapter 6:
In Service to Others
They were met at the door by a matronly woman with a white bun, beige dress with plaid paneling and a friendly face. She was taken aback as Drake stepped into the back foyer of the downtown shelter and soup kitchen. “Mr. Drake! I… well, I can’t believe you’re here, to be honest. No matter how many times I’ve invited you, you don’t come.”
Drake raised a brief salute to his forehead. He understood her confusion. He made it a mark of pride not to come here. Maybe it was stupid. But it was the small things that kept him sane. At least, that’s the excuse he gave himself.
He said, “Hi, Molly. Fine Christmas morning to you.” He had only seen her in two capacities before: the few times he found himself with a little extra clothing or a little extra food, he would stop by to drop it off; and, when she was doing her rounds of the streets bringing food and a few kinds words to the ones who couldn’t make it to the shelter. Despite his pride, he admitted her had taken a few hand-outs. She had always been good enough to make sure no-one else saw him do it.
“And to you.” Molly retreated back into the old-wood entryway, giving space as she realized he wasn’t alone. She only looked more and more confused at the vibrant beauty of the women surrounding him. “Who are they?”
Drake chuckled. “Well, I’m sure they can speak for themselves, but let’s just say they are my helper elves.”
Tricia smacked him on the shoulder. “Be nice!” She blazed a smile at Molly. “We’re his friends. And we’re here to help. Drake told us you serve Christmas dinner to anyone who wanted it. We could help with that.”
Cara, never fond of cooking, added, “Or anything else you might need?”
The other two had covered the offer, so Karin just nodded enthusiastically.
Molly gaped at them, then up at Drake. “You want to help? But, Mr. Drake… umm, aren’t… well, are you sure…?”
Drake appreciated her effort to save him embarrassment. “It’s alright, Molly. They know who I am. No secrets today. I’m here to help, too.”
“But… that’s…” Once again, she was at a loss.
He stepped forward a little, resting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright, Molly. Just because I’m on the street doesn’t mean I don’t get the urge to help. Some have even less than me, right? Maybe in a couple years, I’ll be dragging myself through those doors. You’ll be pouring soup down my throat trying to keep me alive after a night outside. But for now, I can do this. I want to do this. It’ll help me feel like me again. OK?”
Molly placed a hand on his. “We don’t turn people away. Not those who need help, nor those who want to give it.”
Drake gave her a soft wink, then asked, “Tell us then, where do you need the help?”
“Do you think you can find the loading bay?”
Drake shrugged. “Sure.”
“Then take one of your friends and off-load the food. Listen to the cooks. They’ll tell you where to put it. I’ll take these other two and find a spot for them.”
Drake considered the trio. “Well? Who wants to go heave some heavy boxes? It’ll probably turn into cooking after. These cooks never love to keep hold of whoever they can find who can actually wield a butcher knife properly.”
Tricia let that smirk of hers off the leash again. “Want to see me sweat, do you? Alright, let’s get this started. And if they criticize my knife skills, I’ll chop them into sushi.”
Drake flashed a smile at Cara and Karin. “You two will be fine?”
Karin looked eager. “Of course!”
Cara gestured encouragingly at him. “This was a lovely idea. Go on. We’ll be around. Come see us when you’re done.”
Drake gave a bow of his head, then tilted his head invitingly toward the corridor leading inward, gesturing for Tricia to follow him. “I think it’s this way.” He led her through the halls and along the back of the building. The place resembled an old hospice, with dark halls, old wood and a smell that suggested it could be aired out a little more. Not old or special enough to be a heritage house. No doubt part of Molly’s headaches in running this place was to maintain the flow of charitable donations and support from the city in order to keep the doors open and the lights on.
They found the kitchen quickly enough, which backed onto a storage area with a garage door. A small door joined the kitchen to the storage area, left open, letting in a bit of the cold but allowing some of the food to be carried right in from the truck.
A half-dozen people in white aprons and shirts and hats that proclaimed them cooks were rushing about, getting things organized. One of them was standing a little more centrally, pointing and directing more than he was carrying.
Able to recognize a drill sergeant in all its forms, Drake stepped up to the directing guy. “Morning. Name’s Drake, and this is Tricia. We’re here to lend a hand. Heard there was carrying to be done.”
The head cook held out his hand to both of them, shaking their hands in turn. “Glad to see you. Name’s Chuck. Yeah, we’re expecting to see about four hundred or so today, and we’re going to make sure each one gets a bit of bird, a scoop of mashed, some carrots and stuffing. Sounds like a fancy feast, but actually most of it is pretty easy to make. Bulk items. Potatoes. Carrots. Bread. Onions. Cheap enough but a great end result.” He chuckled. “Problem is we first have to break our backs hauling that stuff in. We make 600 portions so we can hit the streets after and walk some more out to anyone who doesn’t make it in.”
Tricia smiled. “Happy to help. Anywhere we can hang up our jackets? It isn’t that cold outside, and we’re about to start sweating.”
Chuck laughed again. “Sure, dear. Right there in the storage locker, you’ll see some hooks. Pick an empty one and go nuts.” He pointed at the kitchen counter. “Turkeys go there. The rest get stacked on the mats in the storage locker until we’re ready to bring it in here.”
Nodding at the directions, the two slipped into the back and took off their outer coats. Drake paused before doing so. His outer coat might be ripped up a little and disreputable, but it was fairly typical dun blue, fading with all the baked in dust and grime. His other layers were a little more embarrassing. He had picked them for warmth, not for style. Deciding there was no way to get around it, Drake shucked off his coat and tossed it onto the hook.
He turned around to find Tricia staring at him, mouth open. She looked frozen halfway between laughter and the realization that she really shouldn’t be laughing at someone who lived on the streets.
Drake snorted. “Get it out of your system. Go ahead.”
Tricia brayed out a truly obnoxious laugh. “Where did you get that?” She gestured expansively at his chest.
In the middle of the dark green sweater he was wearing, there was a faded, half-falling off face of a monkey declaring ‘This Shit’s Bananas.’ Whether it was referencing a song, an old saying, or a random meme, it didn’t matter. Nothing could be more mismatched with Drake’s general personality. The monkey itself was too cute, too happy and perky to go with his bold jawline and broad shoulders. It belonged more properly on some out-of-control millennial tween.
Drake suffered through her laugher, then
the sniggers he got from the other workers as they noticed what Tricia was laughing at. “Almost done?”
“Almost.” She giggled a little more.
Drake finally had a chance to say, “It’s made of thinsulate and devil magic for all I know. Makes it warm as sin.”
“Oh, it’s sinful alright.” Tricia laughed a little more, then fell against him a little fondly. “Thanks. I needed that.” She grinned. “Come on. Before we start freezing.” She had removed her own bomber jacket, showing off her white sweater with a dark black pattern of diamond shapes. The white color wasn’t going to hold up well to the menial labor, but Tricia didn’t seem all that concerned about stains. She marched out to the truck, stooped down, and plucked a large bag of carrots off the ground.
Drake trailed after her, warmth spreading into interesting places as he fully appreciated the shape of her behind in the tight black jeans as she bent over. It was hard to see much past her sweater, but there was a lean power to her limbs. She didn’t struggle with the carrots. He expected a little strain. Instead, she flexed smoothly and returned into the storage area with the bag slung over one shoulder.
Tricia quirked an eyebrow at him. “Going to stand around? You didn’t drag us over here to be a wilting flower or anything, did you?”
Drake chuckled at her brash attitude. Yeah, she sure doesn’t mind speaking her mind. Aloud, he said, “No, Ma’am.” Stomping into the truck, he clenched a bag of potatoes in each of his hands, glad to find built-in straps to grab onto. Carrying them like suitcases, he hauled them inside. Two out of about sixty and counting.
For a little while, they got into the rhythm of heaving one bag after another. As the effort began to build, another layer of clothes came off. Drake surrendered first, stripping off the monkey sweatshirt.
Tricia tossed him a little more mockery. “You’re trying to hide the evidence!”
Drake found himself grinning. Drake had taken her teasing like a good sport, so she had removed her mouth filter. It was refreshing. She wasn’t hand-holding him. He was just a guy she could mock for being silly when he was.
He hooked the sweater onto the hook, actually careful to make sure it didn’t tear. Silly or not, that sweater was as warm as a dream about being under a blanket with Tricia snuggled up to him. He wasn’t about to lose it.
Fortunately, his next layer down wasn’t nearly so tragically embarrassing. It was a long-sleeved shirt that was once crimson red, now a washed-out, reddish brown, with enough tears and holes that proved it had been his spring/fall outer layer for more than a year. It had been washed, either in machines or on wash boards or by beating it against a rock if he had to more times than he could count. It was a different kind of embarrassing, because this was definitely the sort of thing a homeless guy would wear. Reality inserted its ugly head.
Not wanting to swell on that, he focused on Tricia instead. “Can I ask a question?” He asked on the way past her, heading for the truck.
The space wasn’t that large. They didn’t even have to raise their voices to hear each other. Tricia answered, “Depends. How personal?”
“More than a stranger should ask, probably. But you probably won’t want to run me over with Cara’s car.”
She hummed in thought. “We share the car, by the way. Under all our names. Cara’s just the best driver.”
That was unusual. Friends sharing property was normal enough, but usually one of them owned it officially. But these girls had actually split the lease among them. That implied a much deeper bond. “Huh, really? That’s close to what I was wondering. I mean, I appreciate you all being here. And I know last night was weird. But the first time Cara saw me, she mentioned it was going to be her and her friends for Christmas dinner. You’re roommates?”
Tricia confirmed, “Yeah. We have a great little duplex rental not far from here.”
“Can I ask what gives? I mean, I get moving away from family. But you’re all lovely young women. Where are the trio of young beaus showing you a hell of a time? Don’t tell me you skipped out on them to find my sorry ass walking around.”
She rewarded him with a wry smile. “Not too personal at all. Merely asking why our lives are so sad and pathetic?”
“Coming from me, that would be a little hypocritical.”
Tricia sighed. “Well, whatever you call it, we are maybe a little pathetic. But it has a purpose. We’re roommates, but we’re also business partners.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. We’re making a few sales, but it isn’t self-sustaining yet. Until we tick over into the next level of success, all the money is reinvested right back in. All our time and every spare bit of change goes into that. Trolling for guys is a luxury none of us can afford.”
Drake paused, giving her an unabashed, honest stare of approval. “It would not take that much time to find a guy who would want you.”
Tricia struck a mock pose, then laughed. “Yup. A dozen jerks, losers and abusers waiting around every corner. Pick one of them up, spend the rest of your life getting rid of him. Gotta find the right one, Drake. And that takes time.” She favored him with a smile.
She didn’t say more, but something about that smile suggested she wanted to say ‘unless one happens to whisk me out of a burning building’. It was the sort of look that made him swallow hard and wonder if he could handle what it implied.
But that’s not my life. So get your mind out of the gutter, he chastised himself.
All he ended up saying was, “I get it. Shame about having no time. Were you earning money as elves? Or was that volunteer work?”
Tricia snorted. “No way I would do that crap-job for free! Nah, it’s actually pretty good money. Plus, the kids are cute and it feels like a good cause. But you get paid well, and there are lots of opportunities for bonuses.”
Drake whistled. “Wow. I mean, it’s nice and all, but hardly worth dying for.”
“No kidding. I would have haunted the hell out of Patrick. I’m just saying.”
He lugged another bushel of carrots inside, then decided for a lighter round. He plucked up a crate with about a dozen loaves of bread in it on the next pass. “So, what’s the business you’re doing? Or can I ask? Is it a super-secret formula only you three know, patent pending?”
Tricia had stopped to take a quick breather after piling yet another bag of potatoes onto the growing stack. She answered, “Har har har. No. We have a business building guitars.”
That surprised him. “Really? Which one of you is the musician?” He held up a hand. “No, wait, let me guess. Karin.”
Tricia smirked at him. “Nice try. I’ll have you know, it’s me.”
Again, surprised, Drake’s eyebrows shot up.
Tricia demanded, “What? When music comes to mind, what do you picture?”
He shrugged. “Country music, mostly. I lived in Idaho, then my training base was in Alabama.”
Tricia shivered. “Well, I played lead guitar for a Symphonic Metal band called Angel Rain.”
Holy shit, I think I’ve heard of them! “Didn’t they… you… have a couple hits?”
Tricia sighed. “Yup, but it was all online. We posted some recording sessions trying to get noticed, and a few of them took off. Couple of our songs went viral, but every record deal the studios tossed at us was horrible. Finally, one of those snakes came along and made our lead singer a deal she couldn’t refuse. She’s hooked up with Tarantula Summer now, and the rest of the band got tossed aside.” She was clearly upset by it; this was her version of a sob story, and Drake thought it was better than most. She had a right to be upset.
He had heard of the other band; not ultra-famous, but their name was spread around enough to be in Tricia’s face constantly. That probably freshened the sting whenever they showed up on a live music stream or whatever. “Yeah, that all sucks.”
Tricia grunted as she plucked up a bag of onions, wrinkling her nose at the smell. “Yup.”
It was his turn to lean against a wall for a seco
nd, thinking. “So, guitar sales? Seems like a strange jump.”
Tricia smirked. “Everyone wanted to get their hands on our music. But two things took off from our viral videos. Karin is an artist, like you guessed. But she does electronics, molding, sculpting, woodwork… a real hands-on artist. She’s like the Hitori Hanso of guitar making. She made a couple axes for me, and the shape and style really caught on. People wanted to hear our music, but we had a slew of emails from people that wanted copies of my guitars as well. So, when the music fell through, we focused on that side instead.”
“Where does Cara come in?”
“Oh, we’ve been friends forever. But she went through business school, and she also knows a bit about web design. We’ve hired a couple contractors here and there, but she knows enough to do the daily updates and refreshes. She keeps the books and makes sure we don’t go bankrupt. Hummingbird Guitars is alive, and we’ve been a slave to it ever since.” She held up finger and thumb, just a little apart. “We’re about this far from our big break. If we could just tip over the line, then we’d be laughing all the way to the bank.”
Drake tossed a couple turkeys up on his shoulders. The birds were the last of the stack. The truck was nearly empty. “Guess that explains why you three hang around each other so much. Must be nice to be in this with your friends. Gives you all a lot more patience than if it was all business partners.”
Tricia’s smile was unforced. She grabbed her own turkey and walked with him to the kitchen. “For a while, I thought we were all going to drift apart. I mean, if anything good came from the band breaking up, it was that I had to fall back on their support. If Angel Rain had become big, where would I be? Karin might be in a tiny shop somewhere building her artwork by hand instead of helping build our own little factory. Cara might be hip-deep in a random cubicle job at whatever company she could get hired onto. Who knows? What we are doing is terrifying, but it’s ours.”