by Cora Brent
“Oh, hey,” he said suddenly, reaching for his back pocket. “Ran into Culver this morning.”
“Culver? Where?”
“Scoring a handful of happiness from the junkies on two. He tried to scamper away but I grabbed him by the neck and gently suggested that if he has enough green on hand to pay for his habit then he ought to settle up with my buddy.”
Kilt raised a bushy red eyebrow and withdrew a wad of cash. “He got the hint and swore on his mother’s life that he’d find the rest of what he owes you by Sunday.”
I took the money, which I didn’t really give shit about because I already had more than I knew what to do with. Sure I would have gone after Culver sooner or later but that was more about respect than a need for cash. A few nights ago I’d creamed his pus-pimpled ass in a street race. It wasn’t much of an event; spontaneous, small stakes, no crowd. I’d rehabbed a classic GTO over the past six months and it made short work of Culver’s lousy Chevy pickup but I didn’t grab him by the throat when his pockets turned out to be empty. I’d known him for a few years and he seemed all right; worked as a mechanic a few blocks away and sometimes got in over his head. Now it made perfect sense that he was hanging around looking for some cheap crystal. Habits like that made guys desperate enough to make shitty choices. And betting against me while driving that rusting hunk of junk was betting against sanity.
Kilt had been there and seemed equally entertained and irritated when I didn’t pound Culver into a greasy spot because he couldn’t cough up the proceeds on site. On the drive home Kilt had grumbled something about ‘going soft as a grandpa’s cock’ but he let it go when I didn’t argue.
Maybe it was true. Maybe I was going soft. Maybe I was tired of the stink of a world that only promised blood, prison and maybe an early grave.
Kilt elbowed me on his way out the door. It was really more of a gentle nudge but because Kilt was rock solid it bruised a little.
“How about some breakfast?” he suggested. “Your treat since I chased down your profits for you.”
“Sure,” I agreed. “Let me go shower off first.”
“You do that,” he said, heading toward the stairwell. “You fucking stink. I’ll be waiting across the street at Pancake Palace.”
“Don’t you need to shower, tough guy?”
He turned around and flashed me a wooly mammoth kind of grin that managed to be charming. “No need. My shit smells like a fucking rose garden.”
He didn’t wait around to hear any smart remark from me. Sometimes Kilt reminded me of Creedence, one of the Gentry triplets who still assumed that they were my cousins and nothing more.
Since elevators were for pussies and the main one was out of order again anyway, I jogged up the stairs. The stairwell was bleak, dark and smelled like a public restroom. Last year some poor confused junkie had pitched headfirst from the fourth floor railing and fell to his death. Some people swore he haunted the hotel ever since but they weren’t the kind of people anyone with half a brain would take seriously. Right now, looking up at the dimly lit stacks of stairs I could almost believe that a ghost really was watching. I shook off the macabre feeling and quickened my pace.
The sixth floor had seventeen rooms but at the moment my buddies and I rented them all because we had the cash to burn and because we didn’t feel like fucking with anyone who might have something to prove. We’d all taken our lumps and understood each other well enough by now to make a comfortable space. It wasn’t heaven but it was good enough.
The whole floor was quiet. I passed the small lounge just to the right of the old elevators where Jackson was sprawled on a couch, taking a nap beside a bottle of Jim Beam.
A few months back Kilt had done some strong arm favors for the owner of a local furniture store and in gratitude the man had sent over a set of three Italian leather couches and a seventy two inch plasma television. That quality leather was rather wasted on a pack of animals like us who fucked and smoked all over it but the setup was nice just the same.
I thought of relieving Jackson of his bottle but coffee sounded better than bourbon at the moment so I just let him be and headed to my room. I’d almost forgotten about the girls who’d hijacked my bed but there they were, naked and entwined in the middle of my mattress. The blonde stirred, opened one eye and smiled at me invitingly as she opened her long legs. It was a nice view and immediately my dick started begging me to do something exciting but instead I jumped into the bathroom, locked the door and took out my frustrations on myself in a cold shower.
When I was done with that chore and had moved on to soaping up my chest I thought about all the empty, latex-wrapped fucks I’d ever had. Every thrust had been hollow and mindless, just satisfaction of a carnal need.
The girls were both awake now and horny. I tried not to listen to the noise they were making as I ransacked the dresser for some clean clothes.
“There you are,” one of them purred as she paused in her straddled position, tossed her long hair over one shoulder and looked me up and down.
Her friend shifted underneath her and the sight of all that skin and all the promises it came with was enough to get me hard again.
“Come here, Con,” the girl on the bottom said and then moaned as manicured hands cupped her pert tits.
I paused with my jeans around my hips, considering. I couldn’t have remembered their damn names with a gun to my head. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t be difficult to get in the middle of that and pass a fun hour or two. I’d done nastier shit before. Kilt would be down there at Pancake Palace grumbling through his red beard but I could toss him a bag of hamburgers later to make up for it.
I zipped up my fly before I could change my mind.
No, I’d been better lately.
I wasn’t going to backpedal by diving into another worthless escapade. Instead I was going to walk across the street and have breakfast with my friend.
“Sorry,” I tersely said, “I’ve got an appointment to keep. Feel free to use the room as long as you want.”
They looked at me like I was speaking in tongues.
I hastily grabbed shoes, pocketed my wallet and closed the door behind me. I wasn’t worried about them stealing anything because I didn’t keep much around to take. I’d filled safety deposit boxes at two different banks and excess cash was kept in a fireproof safe that was bolted to the wall. Besides, I knew my own reputation. Stealing from Conway Gentry wasn’t a risk for the faint of heart.
My stomach grumbled as I jogged down the stairs and out to the street. The sun was shining like it did three hundred plus days a year in this part of the world. It all but vanquished the early morning gloom I’d felt as I sat on the roof and brooded over loss, regret and terrible fairy tales.
As for the guy in the story, the one who’d braved the underworld to find his girl only to lose her again because of one careless second?
I thought about it for a minute and then remembered what happened to him.
He eventually lost his mind and was ripped to pieces by a traveling pack of warrior women. I hoped for his sake it was quick. He’d sure as hell suffered enough already.
CHAPTER TWO
ROSLYN
She was young, likely only a year or two older than me, but her eyes told a difficult story. Her limp dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her clothes looked like they were meant for someone else, someone shorter and heavier.
Yet she broke into a relieved smile that showed how pretty she could be and she nodded eagerly as I explained the rules.
“Average stay here is six months but there is no pressure to move on,” I said. “Our goal here at Homestead is to keep families together and assist them in becoming self sufficient. Overnight guests who are not on the original family registry are not permitted as we need to respect the privacy and safety of the other Homestead families. Food distribution is on Wednesday with supplements available upon request. Donations are regularly received in the form of clothing, school supplies and othe
r necessities so obtaining anything you need won’t be a problem. Your unit is furnished with one bedroom and a sleeper couch with a fully functional kitchen. The daycare facility opens at six a.m. and closes at nine p.m. for our working parents.”
I paused and smiled at the two little girls who clung to their mother’s side like frightened rabbits. Their solemn brown eyes stared back at me. But when I withdrew a large jar of lollipops I kept underneath my desk their faces lit up. I raised an eyebrow at their mother in question and she gave a smiling nod so I offered the jar to the girls. They made their choices carefully, as if they weren’t used to such treats, which they likely weren’t.
In her interview their mother had confessed that the three of them had been living out of her car for the past three months, ever since her latest bum of a boyfriend had smacked the youngest girl across the face. To the woman’s credit, she had taken her daughters and moved out within the hour even though she had nowhere to go and no money to get there with.
I tried to imagine it, living on the street with two young children. I couldn’t.
Once I put the jar away I slid a key across the table. “You’re in unit forty two,” I said cheerfully as I stood. “Let’s walk over there now.”
The woman, Krista, held the key in her palm. She gazed at it in tearful awe for a full minute. I waited patiently because I understood.
Whenever I checked in a new resident the reaction was similar. These were families after all. Families who had fallen on hard times and just needed a small boost to get them over their personal hurdles. Homestead was able to house one hundred and twenty seven separate families. In order to maintain a safe environment all applicants were screened for criminal backgrounds and drug abuse. For the most part these were not people who were used to life on the streets. They’d tumbled into one of those small cracks that sometimes sideline the best of us.
My father still didn’t understand why I chose to work for peanuts at a non-profit organization. Last year when I returned to the Phoenix area he assumed I’d accept a generous position at his commercial real estate office. The thought had never even crossed my mind.
Krista trailed me shyly, hand in hand with her two babies, as we walked over to their unit. Evening was closing in and other residents were arriving home. Some of them greeted me by name and a few of the children regarded the little girls with frank curiosity.
Unit forty two was a one tiny bedroom with a sleeper sofa, a full bath and a kitchenette. Once we were inside I looked around approvingly at the neat condition, thanks to the housekeeping staff that had finished a thorough cleaning only an hour ago.
The little girls held on to their mother as she wandered around the small apartment. To a lot of people it wouldn’t look like much but to this little family a safe place to sleep, a door to close, and a private bathroom meant the world.
Krista grabbed me in a sudden hug. “Thank you so much,” she said and I heard the emotion in her voice. “My girls and I are so grateful.”
Her accent was familiar. After four years of college at UNC Chapel Hill I’d learned to recognize the soft drawl of the Carolinas.
“Here’s my card,” I told her. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll check in once a week to make sure all is well.”
As I shut the door I heard Krista and her daughters break out into happy laughter. I smiled.
Phoenix had homeless shelters but there was never enough space and they tended to be harsh places for women with children. Homestead was not a shelter, not exactly. We provided transitional housing with access to medical and childcare as well as career counseling. For the overwhelming majority of our families a few months of gentle assistance was all they needed to get back on track.
Sure, my job didn’t pay much but that didn’t mean the rewards weren’t rich. My father couldn’t seem to understand that. I’d already learned the sad uselessness of money when it came to the worst things that could happen. Money couldn’t save the ones we loved from tragedy.
Or bring them back.
My fingers flew to the chain around my neck and I pressed the small shape just above my breasts. Countless people had commented on it over the years, wondering out loud why I wore it so often, what it meant, what it was worth. There were no easy answers to any of those questions.
I wore it because it was given to me by the best friend I’ll ever have.
I wore it because it reminded me that she’d been real, that she’d lived, that she could never be forgotten.
I wore it because it was the most valuable thing I owned, but only if you’re speaking in a language more basic than money.
That was all so personal though, too personal to share with most. Typically I would just shrug at my inquisitor and say the crystal at the end of my necklace had been a gift from a friend. It wasn’t nearly the whole story but it usually satisfied them.
Mary Agnes Bustamante was waiting by my desk when I returned. She was my boss and had served as the director of Homestead for three decades. There were rumors she’d been a nun when she was young but that was a piece of gossip she wouldn’t confirm or deny. I’d been working for her for nearly a year and had never heard her discuss personal matters even once.
“New family is all settled into forty two,” I told her, “I’ll get the paperwork over to Phyllis before I leave today.”
“Good,” said Mary Agnes. She had a clipped way of speaking that made every word sound like a whizzing bullet. “Ninety six will be vacant next week. Mr. Juarez was promoted from busboy to cook at that restaurant by the ballpark where you put in a good word for him. He just signed a lease on an apartment on Central Avenue and will be moving his family over the weekend.”
“That’s terrific,” I said, sitting down and pulling out a heavy, tabbed binder. “You want to go over the waitlisted applicants now?”
“Monday would be better,” Mary Agnes said decisively. Her sharp, black-eyed gaze lingered on me for a moment. Mary Agnes was a difficult person to categorize. She’d dedicated her life to helping ease the burdens suffered by others but there was little hint as to what went on in her head.
“Thank you, Roslyn,” she said and the uncharacteristic warmth in her voice made me look up in surprise. “You work hard. You care about our families. It hasn’t gone unnoticed.”
She turned on her flat heel and started to walk away. “Please make sure unit forty two receives their welcome package,” she called without turning around.
I didn’t want to sound smug so I didn’t answer back that I’d already taken care of it. Mary Agnes wasn’t waiting for an answer anyway.
For the rest of the day I worked on completing volumes of obnoxious paperwork so I could turn it all in to Phyllis, the sixty year old administrative assistant who was sweet as cake and had lost her right leg to diabetes complications six months ago.
“Hey girl!” She beamed at me as I approached her desk. Phyllis had a knack for making it seem like no matter who you were, there was no one she’d be happier to see.
“Hi, gorgeous.” I waved the file folder I was holding. “Sorry to dump this on you so late but I’m sure the boss won’t mind if you wait until Monday to tie up the loose ends.”
Phyllis reached for the folder with a soft grunt of exertion. “That’s all right, sweetheart. I’ll be around for another hour.”
“You need a ride? I’d be happy to drive you home.”
“No, my grandson, Tyler, will be here once he’s done with classes for the day.” She winked at me. “Maybe you ought to stick around and meet him. About to graduate with his masters in mechanical engineering, and handsome as his grandpa was.”
I smiled. “I’m sure he is. I have dinner plans with a friend though.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Boyfriend?”
“No.” I shook my head, feeling my face redden. “None of that.“
Absolutely none of that actually. I’d barely dated since I broke things off with Caleb last year and moved back to Phoenix.
“Just
going out with my roommate,” I explained.
“You’ve told me about her. Emily, right?”
“Yup, Emily. She needs some cheering up so I promised her a wild girls’ night out, which probably means we’ll go pick at overpriced salads then grab drinks at some random bar before heading home to our lonely beds.”
Phyllis cackled and told me to have a nice time. I’d already stepped away from her desk with plans to visit the rest room before departing for the day when she called me back.
“Roslyn,” she said gently, “beautiful souls like yours always find love.”
They were strange words but sometimes Phyllis would blurt out things like that out of nowhere. Even though it was a cryptic, fortune cookie of thing to say the sentiment touched me anyway. Since I was a child I’d been told I was beautiful and although I’d always shrunk away from compliments I knew they weren’t all lying. Besides, I had access to mirrors and could admit that it didn’t hurt to look at my reflection. Phyllis meant something else though. She was talking about being a good person, someone worthy of love. That kind of struck a chord because I hadn’t had much luck in the love department to date.
“I hope you’re right,” I said wryly and blew the kind lady a kiss.
The streets of central Phoenix were clogged with rush hour traffic. I’d turned the car’s air conditioner up full blast but I still felt like I was being roasted in a slow cooker. Even though we were only in the middle of March a heat wave had pushed temps into the triple digits. I hoped Emily wasn’t in a rush to go out because I needed some shower time to clean off this sheen of city sweat.
Emily had once been a casual high school friend. She’d turned into more than that when she stuck around through scandalous times that chased me until graduation day with snickers of ‘Roe the Ho’ until I couldn’t stand my own name.