“What’s early?” Digger asked.
“Nine?” Granite asked back.
“That’s not early but yeah, I guess,” Digger said.
“Digger, thanks for telling us that story. For telling me,” Granite said.
They just looked at each other then an’ it was diff’rent from how they looked at each other before. I can’t explain it except that it was different an’ it made me feel funny inside. Good, but funny, inside.
“Are you sure you want to go wherever it is you go?” Granite asked us. “I mean, you have money now. You could get a room. You don’t have to be outside.”
“We haven’t any money,” One For The Dead said.
“No, well, not now. But you have the ticket and tomorrow you’ll have a lot of money. Tonight, I mean, I could spot you the cost of rooms.”
“It’s a nice night,” Timber said. “And I just want to be by myself.”
“Me too,” I said.
“Same,” Digger said.
“But you could think, you could be alone, in a room with a bed and sheets and a television,” Granite said.
“And walls,” I said.
Everyone looked at me. There was another one of them moments when nobody said nothin’ again. The words just slid outta me an’ even I was surprised to hear them. But I knew what they meant, though, on accounta rooms made me nervous at night an’ I know they made the others nervous too. I didn’t know how money was gonna fix that. Granite just nodded finally like he got what I said, waved, an’ drove off slowly. I watched his car all the way up the street until he turned at the lights an’ disappeared. Digger handed out smokes an’ we smoked and had a gulp from Timber’s mickey. Nobody still knew what to say. Me, I wished we could go to a movie. Me, I wished I had a story I could tell. Me, I wished we could just stay together that night but I knew it wasn’t gonna happen on accounta even though we was hangin’ on an’ not headin’ off on our own we all still wanted to be doin’ that an’ I could feel that. I felt my insides wantin’ that, anyhow.
“Well, fuck,” Digger said, crushin’ out his smoke with his foot. “I’m gone. Been too weird a fucking day for me and I gotta cash it in.”
“It feels like the tracks,” I said so fast it scared me.
“What tracks?” Timber asked.
I gulped all nervous and looked around at them hopin’ maybe they’d just nod an’ pretend they never heard. But they did. “Railroad tracks,” I said.
“Okay,” Digger said. “What railroad tracks?”
I gulped again. I didn’t like goin’ where the words was gonna take me on accounta I try’n never go there with people around. I told them, though.
“There was some railroad tracks near where I lived when I was small. We wasn’t supposed to go there on accounta there was a big turn an’ the driver of the train couldn’t see us when it was coming around. But we usedta go anyhow. We usedta go an’ kneel down beside them tracks an’ put our ears on the rail on accounta someone said you could tell if the train was comin’ on accounta it made them rails hum. So we’d kneel down an’ try’n guess how big the train was. I never could. The other kids got good at it an’ always said before it got there how big it was an’ even sometimes what kind it was. Like a grain train or a cow train or just boxcars. I could hear the hum an’ all but I never knew how big the train was. Never. This kinda feels like that. Like I know there’s a train comin’ but I don’t know how big.”
They all just nodded an’ we went our separate ways.
“All aboard,” Digger said as he walked away, one hand reachin’ up and pullin’ a invisible bell. “All board.”
One For The Dead
JAMES MERTON was good man. I could tell by his face when I met him. He didn’t half look away like most people when they meet us for the first time. No. James Merton came around from behind his desk, greeted us, shook our hands, and looked each of us square in the eye. It wasn’t because of the ticket. It wasn’t because of the money. It was because he was a good man. Pure and simple. His hand was warm and strong and when he asked me how I was I knew that he wanted to know, not giving me that pinched look at the corner of the eyes that people do to fake concern.
“I’m feeling like a fish out of water,” I said. “This is all pretty new.”
“Yes. It would be. And it will get a lot stranger as we go,” he said. “The media will badger you pretty good today.”
“They know?” Granite asked.
“They know that the winners of the draw will be there at eleven to claim the prize. They don’t know anything other than that.”
“So what’s the deal here?” Digger said.
“Well, the deal is that you don’t have what it takes to get this done, Digger. But I do. You pay me a fee to represent you, to act as your power of attorney, and I set everything up that you need. That’s the deal.”
“How much?” Digger asked.
James gave Digger a look that said, I see you. Digger gave the same one back. “Ordinarily, a percentage. For you, because you’re friends of Mr. Harvey, you cover my costs, buy me a dinner with a nice bottle of champagne to celebrate your win, and I’m all yours.”
“That’s it?”
“For now. If you want to keep me on to help you with this, I’ll charge you what I’d charge anyone else for the same services.” James went back to sit in his chair. “Coffee, anyone?”
I liked him. Straightforward, strong, and he smelled nice. I could tell that the boys were impressed, and despite their discomfort at the strange surroundings they settled into the chairs James had arranged around his desk and listened. There were papers to sign that he said would let him set up bank accounts for each of us, and other papers that said he had the power of attorney over the money for now so he could do that. Granite explained whatever we needed to understand. He told us that the papers were only temporary and that once we had the accounts set up for ourselves, James would step aside and we’d be on our own. James was only getting us started. We filled out the papers. It felt odd printing my name, and the boys seemed awkward with it too. We handed the papers to James when we were finished so he could sign them.
“Ms. One Sky,” he said, handing me a copy of mine.
“Mr. Dumont,” he said to Dick, who just blinked and blinked, trying to keep up with the happenings around him, and tucked his papers in his pocket.
“Mr. Haskett.”
“And finally, Mr. Hohnstein.”
“Hohnstein?” Digger said to Timber. “Your name is Hohnstein?”
“Yeah,” Timber said, folding his papers and putting them in a pocket. “Jonas Hohnstein.”
“Jonas,” Digger said. “After all this time. Jonas. Fuck me.”
Timber looked at me and I just smiled. He looked at the floor.
“Nice to meet you, Jonas,” I said quietly.
He just kept looking at the floor.
“That’s all we need at this end,” James said. “But we need to discuss how we’re going to deal with the media. There will be television cameras there and news photographers, so you’ll have to be okay with having your pictures taken.”
“We gotta?” Timber asked.
“Unfortunately, yes,” James said. “The government wants everyone to see how good they make things for people by allowing them a chance to win a lottery. In order to do that, they ask that winners have their pictures taken and their stories told in the media. The rules state that you have to agree to go along with it.”
“Train a’comin’,” I said quietly.
“What’s that, Amelia?” Granite asked.
“Nothing. Just something Dick told us last night.”
“Nervous?” James asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, try to relax. I will handle anything that comes up that any of you don’t want to deal with. The news people only want to sell papers, get viewers, get listeners. They only really want you for a few minutes and then they’ll go away and write their stories. For those few minutes, I’ll be right ther
e. And so will Granite.”
We all stood up. None of us seemed too eager to walk out the door, though. I guess somehow we knew that as soon as we did, our feet would be touching a new kind of ground, a ground none of us had ever walked on before. Even James and Granite would be on different footing today. I felt like the old people must have felt when they struck their lodges at the end of a hunting season and headed for a new territory, each step bringing them closer and closer to a different landscape, each step coaxing their feet onto a new moss, a new ground where every skill they’d learned would be called into play and all the teachings would have to come into practice if they were to survive. As I looked at the faces of my boys, I could see the desire to run from this etched in their faces. I could see the uncertainty. I could see their hunger for the feel of the familiar—the streets, the alleys, the shelters and drop-ins they were used to—for the city, alive as an animal and all of us grown used to it, needing the reassurance of its presence, the feel of its wildness at our backs.
“Let’s fucking do ’er, then,” Digger said.
“Yes,” Timber said quietly.
“Okay, then,” Dick said.
And we stepped forward onto different ground.
Granite
WE PULLED UP in front of the lottery offices and the limo driver opened the door. Along the block I could see media vans parked already. We walked into the building and as we entered the reception area I could see a large crowd waiting in the main lounge. A nattily attired man and woman moved forward eagerly when they saw us. They were Sol Vance and Margo Keane, and as introductions were made I felt myself growing as nervous as my four friends appeared to be. Vance took control effortlessly and guided us to a small, comfortable anteroom. Timber, Dick, and Digger all asked for drinks and then gulped them down hurriedly. Amelia watched over them and murmured quietly to them while they drank. Merton busied himself making arrangements with Vance.
“You’re Granite Harvey. The journalist. How are you connected to this, Mr. Harvey?” Margo asked me.
“I’m a friend,” I said. “I arranged the lawyer for them.”
“You came to my school to speak when I was trying to decide between journalism and public relations. I loved your work.”
“Thank you. What did you decide?”
“After hearing you speak, I chose PR.”
“That compelling about journalism as a life, was I?”
She laughed and reached out to touch my forearm. “No, no. I just decided that I wasn’t cut from a responsible enough cloth to cover events. I was better at planning them. I was better at people than stories about people. But you were compelling. Maybe we can talk more later?”
“Sure,” I said. “This is going to get crazy once we’re in there.”
“Got that right, bucko,” she said and touched my arm again.
Vance and Merton had finished making their agenda arrangements and were ready to meet the press. The boys asked for another round of drinks, and gulped them down as quickly as they had the first.
“Vance and I will go in, make a general statement, and then Granite, maybe you could bring them out,” Merton said.
“Sure,” I said. “No need to cue me. I’ll listen for it.”
“Okay, then we’re a go.”
When they made their entrance, the babble of voices died down slowly. Vance introduced himself and announced that the winners of the thirteen and a half million–dollar prize were there to pick up their winnings, then introduced Merton.
“I have been instructed to speak on behalf of my clients today,” he said confidently. “They are not like previous winners you’ve seen. They are not like people you may have met before. They’re unique. They’re special, and today they are exceptional.
“My clients are not working-class people trying to make ends meet. They are not single mothers struggling to maintain a life for their children. They are not students toughing it out for tuition and rent. Nor are they settled families content in their financial security and amazed at their luck. They are none of these. My clients are homeless people.”
There was an instantaneous babble again throughout the room.
“My clients are chronically homeless. I am here because they are so indigent that they had no identification. No way to identify themselves and so pick up the prize being awarded this morning. I am here to act as power of attorney, establish bank accounts for them, and instruct them in money management. I’m also here to help them through this process with you, because as I’m sure you can glean from what I have just told you, this will not be a standard grip-and-grin photo op. I will answer on their behalf when required, and I ask you to consider for a moment the tremendous sweep of emotion that must be present in my clients this morning. I ask you to consider their unfamiliarity with this process and the fact that you will be addressing persons from a socio-economic background totally displaced from any you have encountered in this room before. I ask you to be humane and gentle.
“With that, may I introduce to you Ms. Amelia One Sky, Mr. Richard Dumont, Mr. Mark Haskett, and Mr. Jonas Hohnstein, our newest millionaires.”
I led them from the anteroom and the pop and flash began long before we reached the table where six chairs and six microphones awaited us. Once there, I stepped back and motioned for them to move ahead of me. Their heads were down and they all stared at the floor as they took their seats.
Margo Keane and an assistant entered the room carrying a large cardboard facsimile of a cheque and made their way to the front of the room where Vance stood waiting.
“You never really get used to this,” Vance said. “You never get used to the idea that you change peoples’ lives when you make these presentations. But today feels even more powerful because of the lives of the people to whom we make this presentation. I can honestly say, in my ten years here, that I have never made so special a presentation. Thirteen and a half million dollars may not be the biggest prize in our history, but today it is certainly the most life-changing.
“It gives me great, great pleasure to present this cheque in the sum of thirteen-point-five million dollars to Ms. One Sky and Messrs. Hohnstein, Haskett, and Dumont.”
I motioned for the four of them to rise and make their way over to Vance. They crowded around the large cardboard cheque and looked sheepishly at the throng. None of them was able to look at the cameras. Timber winced at each flare of light. Amelia simply nodded at Vance and looked down. Digger shook hands limply without raising his head and Dick looked ready to bolt at any minute, his eyes darting back and forth across the ceiling. Margo Keane came over and stood beside me.
“They’re like frightened children,” she whispered.
“They are frightened children,” I said. “I hate this.”
“It’s good you’re here for them.”
“I hope so.”
Vance placed the cheque on an easel behind the table and my friends returned to their chairs.
“Questions, please,” Merton said.
“Mr. Haskett,” a red-headed woman said, standing to ask her question. “Mr. Haskett, how do you feel right now?”
“Digger,” was all he said, staring hard at the microphone when his voice boomed out over the speakers.
“Pardon?” the woman asked.
“Digger. My name is Digger. There ain’t no Mr. Haskett here.”
“Oh,” she said, scribbling a note in her pad. “Well, Digger, how do you feel?”
“Like I could use a fucking drink.”
There was laughter all around the room and Digger raised his head to glower at them all.
“Mr. Dumont. What will you do with your share of the money?” a well-built man with a crewcut asked Dick.
Dick gulped and looked at Amelia.
“Do you people have names?” she asked. “Dick likes to know who he’s talking to. He’s very polite that way.”
“Oh, quite right, I apologize,” the reporter said. “Mike Phillips, The Telegraph.”
“T
hat man’s name is Mike, Dick,” she said, and he nodded. “He wants to know what you want to do with your money.”
Dick kept his head down. “I wanna see Field of Dreams,” he said. “With my friends. We didn’t get to see it yesterday.”
“You want to go to a movie?” Phillips asked. “That’s all?”
“I like movies,” Dick said. “All of us do.”
“Do you go to a lot of movies?” Phillips asked.
“Every day,” Dick said. “Sometimes twice.”
There was a lot of note scribbling over that, and a large round man in a brown suit near the back of the room stood.
“I don’t mean to take attention away from the winners, but I have to ask,” he said. “Mr. Harvey, sir, why are you here? Are you returning to journalism and doing a column or a story on the winners?”
I grimaced. I had guessed that my presence would not go unnoticed but had hoped that the focus would remain on the winners. Margo Keane squeezed my hand and gestured with her chin for me to approach the table.
“No. I am not coming back. I’m here to support these people, that’s all,” I said.
“How are you connected, sir?” the round man asked.
“He’s our friend,” Dick said proudly. “We go to the movies together an’ he even showed us a boxin’ movie at his house while he was fixin’ up things with the lawyer guy.”
There was even more babble and a lot more note scribbling. Vance’s assistant brought another chair and I was squeezed in between Dick and Amelia. Margo gave me a thumbs-up from the corner.
“Hello, Granite,” said a tall thin woman standing near the middle of the room. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Jilly,” I replied in recognition.
“My name is Jill Squires,” she said to my friends. “I write for the same newspaper Granite worked for. So you are all movie buddies, is that it, Granite?”
“Jilly,” I said. “It’s not about me. It’s about these people here. The winners. I would be happy to speak with you after this is over, but right now it’s for them.”
“Fine,” she said. “I’d like that opportunity. Ms. One Sky, then.”
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