A Vagrant Story

by Paul Croasdell

  “It’s winter now,” Alex said. “They’ll sprout again in Spring.”

  “I can only hope.”

  Sierra made way quietly out the front door to the memorial on the driveway’s end. She sat before the framed photograph, brushing shrubs aside for a better look at the picture.

  She could hear the lulled steps of the old man approaching behind. Other, heavier, footfalls reeked of her three companions coming to her side. So they all gathered there in the front of the house, staring silently at the memorial.

  “She’s kind of pretty,” Sierra said regarding the photo. “What was she like?”

  The old man sighed. “She was sweet. Chatty. A little obnoxious at times but … we didn’t see much of that toward the end. She was sick y’see – cancer. We always thought it would claim her in the end. Now we wish it had.”

  “Cancer … so she couldn’t defend herself.”

  “The police said that might be why he targeted her. He singled her out just to flex his muscles before moving onto the stronger prey.”

  “Coward. He never moved onto stronger prey. All he does is target women when they’re alone.”

  “She used to be a strong and assertive person but became such a frail little thing – poor girl. Before the end she rarely left this house - couldn’t risk taking her to hospital so doctors from across the city would visit her home. Most of our communication with her came through them.”

  “Couldn’t you speak to her family?” Sierra asked, still looking at the picture.

  “Not much left of them. The day after her diagnosis her husband died in an accident. Her parents were older than myself and didn’t last much longer after. She lost her whole life and all she got was this house in the inheritance. In the end it became her grave.”

  Sierra stood round to face the old man. “She wasn’t alone. She had her brother, John … surely?”

  “Right … she had John.”

  “Then he looked after her?”

  “Sure, he did as a brother should for his little sister.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “She was better off without him, that’s the problem. John was a leech, plain and simple. He took money off his parents when they were alive and gambled it away. When they died the torch was passed onto his sister. Even when Annette was at her worst we’d often see him driving down to the track with her money, wasting it away. He couldn’t even leave it for her treatment. Sure he’d kneel by her bedside, but only to beg for more money.”

  “All the treatments in the world wouldn’t change the way she died,” Alex said.

  “The way her life ended doesn’t change how her brother treated her. The only reason I never labelled him a suspect in her murder was because even he wouldn’t dumb enough to cut off his only source of income.”

  “You’re holding quite a grudge for a man you’ve never spoken to,” Rum said.

  “I did keep an eye on him after his sister died, you know. It looked like it hooked him pretty bad. He lived down a bottle for days after, never leaving his house or turning on the lights. We’d see him through the windows moping around his home like a ghost in the shadows. I even saw him crying once. Really felt bad for the guy. Some of us were even starting to worry he might do something stupid.”

  “And what happened?” Sierra asked

  “He went and did something stupid, but it wasn’t what we thought.

  He sold this house to a foreign land owner, then up and ran out of here. Yup, all that time we thought John was in there grieving for his sister. He wasn’t grieving for her. He was grieving for his empty pockets. Turned out the only reason he kept the lights off was because he couldn’t pay the bills. The whole scheme had been set in motion not one week after Annette’s death. It sickens me to think I actually felt sorry for the guy. He’s got a one track mind straight to scum.” The old man sighed. “Naturally the sale wasn’t applicable. John still got away with the buyer’s money though.”

  “And he sold it for less than quarter the full house price?” Rum asked.

  “That’s right. The house is worth three hundred thousand but he only took a down payment for fifty thousand. How did you know?”

  “Typical con stuff. Fifty grand is chump change to rich people and not worth chasing after. Conning for a greater amount would have attracted too much attention.”

  “Clever. I always figured he’d miscalculated the price, or done it in a panic. Certain people had already informed us John was something of a con-man, but they said his cons always backfired. Guess he finally managed to get something right in the end.”

  “I’m amazed it worked,” Rum added.

  “Amazing he could ever get anything to work. Sort of demonstrates the man’s character, I’m actually glad he managed to work something out.”

  “Quite the sad-case, John, wasn’t he?” Rum mumbled.

  “There’s only one word for a man like that. John was a los-“

  “Don’t say it,” Sierra interrupted. “Everyone keeps saying it.”

  “I’m sorry but it’s true. His parents were well loved here. His sister was a kind hearted woman despite illness. John was a selfish person and, and to be honest, we just didn’t like the look of him.”

  “Didn’t like the look of him? Sounds selfish alright,” Henry said, turning and walking away with total indifference to proper etiquette.

  “I’m sorry if I struck a chord,” the old man said.

  “It’s okay,” Sierra replied. “No reason to get mad at you. Everyone seems to be saying the same anyway. You just cleared it up a little more. Thank you for all your help. Goodbye.”

  Sierra bid farewell on that note, leaving Rum and Henry to clean up.

  “Look,” the old man said to the remaining pair, “I’m not able to tell you where John went off to, but I can direct you to his ex-wife’s apartment. If anyone knows where he is it’s her. I hear she’s real pretty too so she’s bound to help you.”

  Rum sighed irritation, following in the footsteps of the others.

  Alex considered doing the same but harboured appreciation for the old man’s tolerant aid. Unlike the others Alex returned thanks, then followed Rum, Sierra, and Henry.

  The old man remained standing on the driveway’s end, watching the four walk back the way they came. “Well, goodbye to you then. Sorry I couldn’t help you find the man, though you’re likely better for it,” he mumbled for none of their ears.

  ***

  They retreated from the private estate. For a change they found themselves moving from a safer destination back to one more dangerous. It seemed everyone they’d met around John lived in notorious areas, except for John himself. Unlike their other destinations they now left slowly, half-heartedly with nowhere else to go. The first place to sit down became their next objective.

  It so happened to be at the mall which held them prisoner during the snowstorm. All four seated themselves about the rim of the penny fountain which entertained earlier.

  Henry stared into rippling water. Many thoughtless people came and tossed change to the bottom. He couldn’t help but see the senselessness in their actions, yet at the same time couldn’t understand why he himself didn’t just reach down and grab a handful. The money was meant for charity - Henry was a charity, of sorts. A passing security guard did grant him a good reason to stay out. It only made him wish he’d grabbed the change on their first visit, when the guard was absent, but he wasn’t so hungry then. In any case the allure of cash kept him busy during the grim silence his allies seemed intent on maintaining.

  There wasn’t much to say, even Rum could appreciate that. Sierra sat hunched with head bitterly held between knees. Alex remained in his usual thought filled state, apparently unlikely to break from it soon.

  “Waste of time,” Rum mumbled. “All a bloody waste of time.”

  For the first time no-one could disagree. Sierra did seem about to speak up but Rum had started walking away toward the entrance.

  “Wher
e you going?” Sierra called from her seat. A cry crossed over by a church bell ringing in the near-distance.

  “Nowhere important,” he replied, stepping back outside. “Just got some stuff to think about.”

  “Okay,” Sierra replied. “We’ll be getting something to eat soon. Look for us in one of the diners when you get back.”

  The main door closed without response from the old man. It didn’t seem clear whether or not he heard. It didn’t matter. Sierra wasn’t going to chase him regardless.

  “He’s taking it bad,” Sierra said. “What’s up with that?”

  “The man’s been sober all day,” Alex replied.

  “It’s not that. There’s something else.”

  “He has his own demons. Let him sort them.”

  “Alex?”

  “Rum seems to know his way around here pretty well, doesn’t he?”

  “You think he used to live around here?”

  “I said let him sort it.”

  “I see.”

  “So … about this food proposition. I didn’t know you had money left.”

  “Henry’s got it covered.” She nodded his way.

  Henry sat with arms half-lunged into the penny fountain, reaping up change to his pockets. He stopped upon noticing the attention coming his way and froze like a fasting monk caught rapid with teeth wrapped around a juicy chicken leg.

  “You’ll do Buddha proud,” Alex said.

  Henry shrugged.

  Chapter 28

  Rum followed the sound but the church bell stopped ringing by time he arrived. It was quiet when he arrived and stood below the church door at the bottom of the church steps. The silence became worse when he mounted the steps and opened the door. It was a deadening quiet inside. No movement. No life.

  As he walked the aisle between pews he considered his long driven fear of churches. That was wrong. He didn’t fear the churches. He feared the silence within church walls. It was the sound of presence, the constant presence which watched in eternal muteness. The sound of a church.

  Nobody came to greet him so he entered the confessional of his own accord. He sat there waiting in deeper silence, until footfalls began tapping this way. The door opposite opened and a shadowed figure entered into a blessing. When the blessing ended the silence returned.

  “Have you something to confess?” the shapeless form asked.

  “I … I’m not too sure how to go about this.”

  “You don’t need to recite anything.”

  “I know. I’m just not used to it.”

  “You could tell me your name.”

  “No.”

  “Then how long has been since your last confession?”

  “Not since I was a kid. Never cared for it.”

  “Then why have you come here?”

  “On a hunch. I want to tell a story but I’m not sure how I should start.”

  “Forgive me father for I have sinned, is usually a good starting point.”

  “I’ll think of something better.”

  “Of course you will.”

  “Before I begin with my story I need you to know a few things. I’m a bum. I wasn’t always a bum but I’m a bum now.”

  “The good lord doesn’t care for titles.”

  “Figured you’d say that. How old are you father? You sound young.”

  “I guess I am young. I’m twenty five.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’ll continue. I’ve been a bum for quite a while – ten years nearly. Ten years … Never thought about the time much, but it is a long time now that I think of it. I want you to know how I got this way, so I need to tell you something of a story first. It’s not that I want to waste your time by rambling about my woes, but if I’m to ask for your forgiveness I’d at least like to tell the truth once. I’ve been telling people lies and half truths for so long, I’d like to speak honestly before I ask for anything more.”

  “Then tell me about yourself.”

  “I wasn’t always a bum, of course. Time was I had a lot of change to spare. I wasn’t completely loaded, just well-sorted, more so than most men. But I never knew how to spend it. I used to gamble it away at the track all day. No not just the track. Anywhere they played I went looking for an easy win. Suppose at this point you’d like me to say I spent heavy and lost big, and that’s how I became this miserable wreck sitting here now? That would be too easy.”

  “It’s not my place to judge.”

  “Gambling became a rush for me. I became so arrogant that I actually grabbed our life savings and bet it all on one big race. My wife … she found out and hurried straight to the track to stop me. She even brought the kid along too, just to rub the guilt in my face – not that it changed anything. But the bet was already through. For the next hour my wife roared in my face non-stop, breaking between panic stricken fits and back to yelling. Then the bell rang and the intercom buzzed with our results. We won. Quadrupled our money. Suddenly she wasn’t so mad no more.”

  “She forgave you?”

  “Never. But with all that extra money who’s going to complain, right? Thing is, this other guy there wasn’t so lucky. He started running his mouth about how we must have cheated, and how he deserved the money. Things started to get ugly.”

  “He hurt your wife? Your child?”

  “No. He didn’t hurt the kid or my wife. He boxed me in the face, ploughed me straight to the floor then took off.”

  “Ruined the moment did it?”

  “No. It felt amazing, actually. I’d never been hit harder yet it really did feel amazing. I didn’t care about being hit, that’s why it felt so great. With the money I made, I never needed to care ever again. That’s what the punch made me realise.”

  “You became euphoric in your joy. Anyone would. If you really did gamble so much I’m sure you felt the opposite effect more than once before.”

  “You’re a priest not a shrink.”

  “Sorry. I used to council gambling addicts - old habits.”

  “I kept smiling even as my wife drove us home. The money made me feel … powerful – a little click in my mind that made me feel a little closer to invincible. I don’t know … it was a little dreamer’s click at the back of my mind which only served to enhance the big win. No. That little click, it became the purpose behind the win. The new, better high. It changed everything. I wouldn’t understand until I went back to the track with half my winnings.”

  “Surely you didn’t?”

  “I would have. I’d have tossed it back right then and there, when something caught my eye. The business section of the local paper had been left open on the betting shelf. Nobody came to serve me so I took the paper and sat down to wait.”

  “I’m to imagine this was an unusual action for you to take.”

  “There were all kinds of deals going on. Suffice to say, I realised the market in this city had fallen to something of a state. Local businesses were literally begging for investors and unfinished housing estates needed funding. And there was me with all that money.”

  “You decided to help fix the city?”

  “In a way,” Rum laughed. “It occurred to me then that if I gambled the money here and now I’d be risking it for what had become buttons to me. Sure, if I won the bet, money would be great. But it wouldn’t be the same as that first win. That day I had come to the track for another satisfying rush. I wasn’t going home without one. Funny, the things that went through my head at that time. By the end of the day I hired a guy and set about my investments.”

  “It does sound a bit more honest than gambling. I’m sure your wife appreciated it.”

  “My wife saw it as nothing but another crock. Sure I’d quit gambling but all she saw was a new way for me to catch another risk based high.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  “It was. Of course it was. Whether gambling or investing, my mind was always centred on the rush. Difference was, only one of them could cure that
little click that had been biting into me since that guy punched me. I began investing just to feel it again. No. More like I threw money into it. And that’s probably why my wife left me. Hell, I know that’s the reason. When I decided to invest all that money she went through the same motions as that night back at the track. She screamed. She panicked. Except this time when the good news came in she’d already packed her bags. Didn’t matter that I made profit, she took off with the kid without little much else to say to me.”

  “So you regret choosing power and money over your family. Time isn’t so forgiving but God will forgive so long as you are truly sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I didn’t give a crap about them.”

  “So … that isn’t why you came here?”

  “No. It never really fazed me.”

  “Didn’t you love them?”

  “Things had always been shaky with that wife of mine. My little summary didn’t show much of it, but she was a gold digging bitch, truth be told. She only ever worried when she stood a chance of losing big.”

  “But if she only wanted you for money then why would she leave you in the end?”

  “Because I’m a loose cannon. I was a gambling addict, no denying it. She couldn’t handle the stress that I might eventually take a gamble and turn up short. She was happy with my money. Of course she was also happier with more money but never at the risk of losing everything she had. She decided to throw in the towel and take everything she could before I wound up pissing it down the tube. She took half my money and fled into the sunset with some Spanish banker or something. That was the worst of it all.”

  “Losing the money was really worse than losing your child?”

  “Hey now, I didn’t say the kid was mine. The woman already had that kid before I even met her. He was a spoiled little brat too, I hardly knew him. He was worse than his mother.”

  “Surely she loved you, and at some point, you her?”

  “Reverse it, father. I loved her to bits when we first married - I was a fool to trust her. Sure I loved her, but at some point I had to grow out of being a fool. Frankly, it felt good to be rid of her. The separation opened doorways. I could do what I wanted without that greedy little nagging voice over my shoulder.”