by Kate Kinsley
Pulling Saje aside, he’d uncovered her purpose, happy that she wasn’t a reporter.
“I wouldn’t let you come down here alone.” Kane touched the handgun he openly wore in his shoulder harness. Although Guardian Security had their own gold badges, the company also insisted their employees have a concealed weapons license and carry when not on duty. He chose to wear his completely visible while walking through the camps. He knew firsthand that many of the residents owned weapons and not all of them were sane.
“Mikey’s place is there at the end.” He put his non-shooting hand at the small of Saje’s back, using the motion to look over his shoulder, checking his six. He automatically scanned his surroundings, especially the deep dark shadows.
“Do you think he’ll even talk to me?” Saje was persistent and dedicated to her job. The Veterans Administration employed her to contact homeless veterans and convince them to take advantage of the available services. Through a grant from the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, the two D.C. agencies were finally working together to help homeless veterans.
“You’re a beautiful woman. He’ll see you just because you’re pretty to look at. But like I told you before, he might not listen.” Kane gestured to the surroundings. “He’s lived on these streets for over forty years since he came home from the Vietnam War. This is all he’s known for the majority of his life. He’s experienced failed promises from Washington D.C. many times before.”
“You’ve checked him out. He’s a real veteran?” Large green eyes looked up at him. Saje had already experienced stolen valor. She’d gone above and beyond to help one man who appeared ancient and had told her stories of his World War II experiences. He had a set of old medals that he kept in a hidden cigar box. When she finally extracted his real information, she discovered he was only seventy-eight years old, too young to have served in that war…but his father had died during the Normandy invasion in 1944. The man had fooled thousands over the years begging with his US Veteran - Need Food sign.
“Oh, yes, he’s real.” Kane had taken the man’s picture and essential information, running it through not only the VA but Guardian’s database as well. USMC Staff Sergeant Michael O’Connor had made it through two tours in Vietnam only to come home and find out that his parents had passed away. His family home had been sold to pay the hospital bills and taxes. His much younger sister had gone to their only aunt who wanted nothing to do with Mikey. Like so many returning from that war, employers were extremely unfriendly toward those who’d risked their lives for the United States in that unpopular, undeclared war.
As they approached the end of a row of tents, a thin but muscled man sat on an old wooden chair that had lost its varnish and antique status decades before. Several rugs, browned by the surrounding dirt, lay underneath his chair and small folding table. Two shopping carts filled with God only knew what formed a wall along one side. Open-shelved plastic racks created another wall where clothes dripped dry. A few feet away, three hotdogs sizzled in a frying pan over a small fire built inside a wheel.
“Hey, Mikey. Looks like we came just in time for supper.” Kane gave the man a huge grin. He’d found Mikey’s neighborhood his second night on the streets. The old jarhead had taken Kane under his wing and showed him the ropes of living off the grid in the middle of the city.
“Kane, my boy. You clean up pretty good for a squid.” Mikey’s low laugh echoed off the concrete.
“Come on, Mikey, you know I’m a frog.” The former SEAL held out his tattooed arms and embraced the man pushing his mid-seventies. Sweat, body odor, and the dank smell of old clothes attacked his nose, but he didn’t care. He’d once smelled worse, and this man had shown him kindness. Mikey had taught Kane how to hide the needles and medicine necessary to keep him alive.
“Oh, you brought me a pretty lady.” Standing, he offered Saje the only sturdy chair as he grabbed two folding chairs missing most of their webbing. “Sit. Please. You’re my guest.”
Kane leaned over and whispered in Saje’s ear, “Sit down. Don’t embarrass him.” Louder, he continued, “Believe it or not, he really is a gentleman…when he wants to be.”
“Don’t believe anything that jackass tells you.” Mikey and Kane situated themselves in the uncomfortable excuses for chairs.
Saje gingerly sat down. “Thank you, Mr. Mikey.”
The old Marine burst out laughing. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me Mr. Mikey. I think I like it.”
“Well, you are the mayor of this tent city. People should show you more respect.” At Kane’s declaration, both men laughed heartily.
When Mikey finally regained control, he was able to ask, “Well, tell me, little missy, what can I do for you?”
“Please, Mr. Mikey, don’t let us stop you from eating your supper.” Saje gestured toward the hotdogs that looked to be nearing crisp.
“Mighty kind of you.” Mikey slowly scanned the area where most people had retreated to their tents, boxes, or piles of rags. He threw an old T-shirt onto the table before he laid the pan on top. Seemingly out of nowhere, silverware appeared, as did a nearly empty bottle of ketchup and another of mustard.
Condiments were a staple in street life. Two packets of ketchup could quickly become tomato soup. Mustard made anything taste edible. Hot sauce from Mexican takeout was often prized above money.
After devouring his second hotdog, Mikey looked up at Kane. “Boy, you didn’t make the trip all the way down here to watch me eat. Be straight. Why are you here?”
He was there to protect Saje. He glanced at the young woman who was becoming more important to him every day and gave her a nod.
“Sir, Mr. Mikey—”
“Wait right there, little missy.” Mikey held up his index finger. “First of all, never call me sir. I am not, and have never been, a fucking officer. I’m also not into that BSDM shit.”
Kane gritted his teeth to hide his laughter. He wasn’t sure which was more amusing; Saje’s huge green eyes or the mental picture of Mikey in the lifestyle’s leathers. He needed brain bleach.
“Call me Mikey.” The white-haired man emphasized his words by poking his fork at Saje.
“Yes, s— Mikey.” Saje took the next ten minutes to explain the new VA/HUD program. She’d lost her audience by the second sentence, but he was kind enough not to roll his eyes like he had so many times when the two of them had discussed an endless line of issues.
Mikey held up his hand. “Now, little missy, I’ve been around twice as long as you’ve been alive. Heard all this bullshit at least a dozen times before. You know what these programs really do?”
Saje looked up at him timidly. “Yes. No.”
Her pleading eyes met Kane’s. He gave her a small shrug. No telling what was going to come out of the man’s mouth next.
“They give the people who live here…hope. Hope’s a terrible little bitch. She’ll break your heart every single time.” Mikey shook his head slowly. “Some bleeding heart up in the head shed decides they have the answer to cure homelessness. Millions of dollars are thrown at the cities. They might manage to build a new shelter after they’ve given huge kickbacks to their contractor friends. There’s a big splash in the newspaper. Mayor shows up and cuts a red ribbon in front of dozens of finely dressed men and women. Inside, they paid some designer thousands of dollars to pick out paint colors and wall art.”
Mikey’s attention went to the glow of flashlights in the three-dozen tents. “What they paid some designer could’ve fed these people for months. The money paid to the architect could’ve clothed every homeless child in Dallas. And for what? One hundred new beds? A new food line serving the same old shitty food? There are close to five thousand homeless men, women, and children in this city alone.”
He shrugged. “Even on a freezing winter night when churches illegally open their doors to the homeless, they’re about a thousand beds short. There’re dozens of organizations that provide free food every day, and there’s still not enough
food to go around. Nobody grows up wanting to be homeless. Most Americans don’t see us. They think we’re lazy…or crazy. What they don’t understand is that at any moment they could easily become one of us. Lose your job and lose your house. Get sick and lose both your house and your job. Have a car accident without insurance and watch some slick lawyer take away your meager home. And why don’t you have insurance? Because you barely make enough money in your two minimum wage jobs to cover food and rent. When you’re given the choice to feed your children or pay a rich corporation just in case something bad happens while you’re in your decrepit old car, hungry bellies win every time.”
Mikey waved his hand, pointing to the line of tents. “Every one of those people has a heartbreaking story…that nobody wants to listen to. Nobody fucking cares.”
“You’re wrong, Mikey.” Saje stood up so fast she knocked over the chair.
Kane sprang to his feet and picked it up.
“I care.” She hit her fist to her chest. “Kane cares. That’s why we’re here. Our program is modeled after the success they had in Houston where thousands are now living in homes. We’ve already got buy-in from hundreds of local organizations, churches, the mayor, and more importantly city manager, HUD, and the VA. This program isn’t just about putting homeless people into a house. It’s about teaching usable, salable skills. It’s about coaching people to get along with one another. Helping develop social skills. There are so many working parts to this plan I can’t explain them all to you because I don’t fucking know what they are, either.”
She gasped in a breath and calmed herself. “Now, Mikey, I completely understand if you prefer to live here rather than take advantage of the many services provided to veterans.”
She put her hand on Kane’s chest and his heart beat faster. He felt the warmth of her body even through layers of clothing.
“But if you know any men, or women, like Kane, who just need a break in life to get back on their feet, I’d appreciate it if you’d direct us to them.” She looked down the row of tents. “There have to be veterans out there interested in taking advantage of the services offered by the VA.”
Mikey drew his attention to Kane and smiled. “Your little missy is a spitfire. She’s a keeper.”
Kane wasn’t about to embarrass himself and tell his friend that Saje wasn’t his, but he’d certainly like her to be.
“Sit back down there, little missy.” Mikey pointed to the chair. “I’ll give you a list of names, at least what we call them, and tell you where to find them. Kane here, he’ll know where I’m talking about.”
Saje extracted her hardback journal from her gigantic ever-present suitcase she called a purse and started writing names. Kane gave her a few short words so he would remember the location. He wouldn’t allow her to go into these places alone.
Thumping music from broken speakers and a nonexistent muffler announced the presence of the young gang before they could be seen.
“Fuckers.” Mikey disappeared into his home and reemerged carrying a gun.
“Mikey, do you even have bullets for that thing?” Kane had seen the old rusty revolver when he’d lived in this tent city. The old man’s eyesight was so bad Kane was more afraid he’d shoot him rather than the intruders.
“I got a few in there.” He shook the pistol and the bullets rattled.
Fuck. They weren’t even the right caliber, but they were bullets and could kill if the old man got lucky.
“Who the hell are these guys?” Kane pulled his own weapon and checked the magazine. He watched as a dozen young men leaped over the sides of the rattletrap pickup that may have been assembled before he was even born.
“A bunch of teenage boys whose bodies grew faster than their brains.” Mikey headed down tents rows where people were starting to stick their heads out. Some of the men stepped out with baseball bats, two-by-fours as long as their arms, even a few had weapons.
The jeering voices of the new arrivals echoed off the interstate above them.
“Mikey, what the hell do these kids want here?” Kane tried counting but the boys swarmed like angry bees.
“They’re all homeless, too. Many of them are foster care kids who got kicked out the day they reached eighteen. Some are runaways. A few of them started out with their families living on the streets but left for the camaraderie of the wannabe gang.”
“What the fuck are they doing here? They know these people don’t have anything.” Kane couldn’t think of a single thing that anyone living in that tent city had to offer these boys.
“Oh, but they do.” Mikey’s grin was fierce. “These people have been out begging all day, checking Dumpsters as soon as the sun started to set. They probably even have a few dollars squirreled away in some tiny hole. Those kids figure they’ll steal whatever they want from these people. If they don’t give it willingly, they beat the shit out of them.”
Kane looked at the young crowd starting to move to the first row, beating on the tents and demanding food.
“They’re kids. Some aren’t even old enough to shave. There has to be something they could do for money.” At Saje’s light voice, Kane whipped around and grabbed her elbow.
“These young boys could be dangerous.” Kane took her by the shoulders and parked her behind one of the huge pilings. “Stay out of sight. Hopefully, with Mikey and some of the other men in camp, we can make them turn around and leave.”
Saje had her phone in her hand and was dialing nine-one-one.
Kane ended the call. “Police don’t come down here unless there’s a dead body or a shooting.” He glanced over his shoulder. Mikey and his men were fast approaching the ruckus mob. “Stay here.”
“Get the hell out of here.” Mikey’s voice boomed, echoing around the encampment.
As Kane started to leave, Saje grabbed his arm. “Do you have another gun?”
He hesitated.
“I was on the firing range just last week, remember?” Saje had done well but didn’t have a concealed carry permit. Given the current circumstance, he didn’t care. Her safety was more important.
He reached down and grabbed his smaller gun from his ankle holster. She’d do better with it anyway since it was similar to the weapons she’d used while in the Navy to small arms qualify. Even though he’d seen a picture of her in uniform, Kane often had a hard time believing that Saje had served four years…as a yeoman performing secretarial and clerical work in the public affairs office.
Their naval experiences were on opposite ends of the spectrum. Kane just hoped that she’d never have to fire that gun.
As he watched the growing hostility, he couldn’t wait any longer. “Promise me you’ll stay here.”
Nodding, she promised. “I will. And I’ll use this if I have to.”
Kane trotted through the shadows, watching as the leader got into Mikey’s personal space.
“What ya gonna do, old man? Shoot me with that piece of shit?” The man-child pulled a forty-five caliber from the back of his pants and aimed it right at Mikey’s head, grinning as though he wanted Mikey to try to shoot him.
Shit was getting real. Kane stepped in and tried to take the weapon away from the young man, who was stronger than he’d imagined. As they fought, rolling around in the dirt, several other gang members joined in the fight, kicking and punching Kane whenever they could get close enough.
The gun went off.
Kane knew the second he’d been shot. It wasn’t the first time. All it did was make him angrier. The rush of adrenaline gave him the ability to overpower the smart-mouthed hoodlum. As he beat the kid’s gun hand against the dirt, Kane heard fighting all around him. Residents of the tent city had decided to force the gang out.
A familiar female boot stood on the man’s wrist as a delicate hand took the gun from the gang leader.
Sirens screamed in the background.
“Kane, he’s out.” At Saje’s declaration, he stopped punching the kid and looked into his bloody face. Christ, he hoped he h
adn’t killed the guy.
Staggering to his feet, Saje screamed his name. “You’re shot.”
“Yeah, it’s nothing.” He looked around at the young bodies on the ground. Men and women old enough to be their parents and grandparents had several of the juvenile delinquents on the ground. At least two were unconscious.
The sirens were getting closer.
“Did you call the cops?” Kane suddenly felt very weak but Saje slipped under his arm to hold him up.
“No, I called Guardian when I heard shots.” The tiny sprite of a woman helped him away from the barely breathing body.
Fuck. Quin, his boss, was going to be really pissed at him. Kane couldn’t stop his head from spinning. “I need to—"
He collapsed on the ground. He’d just sit there for a few minutes and recover.
“We need a medic over here. My boy’s been shot.” Even in his dazed state, Kane knew that Mikey would make sure the EMTs knew that he was a type I diabetic. Gunshots and fights really fucked with his glucose level.
He felt someone holding up his wrist, probably to get a pulse. “This guy wants to make sure we know he’s a type I diabetic. Got an emergency medical bracelet tattooed onto his wrist.”
“Pretty fucking smart in my opinion.” Someone close on the other side said.
“Find a vein and get some glucose into him. His levels are dropping fast. He’s already at fifty.”
Saje’s voice was insistent but so pretty. “You need to take him to UT Southwestern. He’s a patient of…”
“Saaaj.” Kane knew he wasn’t going to stay conscious much longer. The speech portion of his brain was already shutting down as unnecessary. “You’re soooo pretty. I’mmm goin’ kissss you.”
“Not tonight, frogman.” Her voice sounded like a song, but those weren’t the right words to any song he never heard.
“But I can kiss you.” Kane felt the heat of her breath on his ear just before he felt her lips touch his.