Fostering Death (26 page)

Silence surrounded us, broken only by raindrops beginning to hit the glass of the window.

“And maybe the goddess is just a cat?” he said in a small voice.

“Maybe.”

“So how do I go about doing something else?” he asked. “I mean, I got nothing, nowhere to go.”

I’d faced the same questions when I was up for parole. But at least then, I had a place to sleep, even if it was a bunk in a prison cell. And the food, unappealing as it might be, was going to show up regularly, three times a day.

Isaac couldn’t count on any of that.

“You probably got to go to the Rescue Mission,” I said. “They got a shelter for homeless men.”

He wrinkled his nose. “You mean down on Main Street? Next to Goodwill?”

“Yeah. They got a place for you to get a shower and sleep. They’ll feed you. If you work with them, they’ll help you find a job. Day labor at first, but it’s money at the end of every day you work. It’s a start.”

Isaac looked down at his dirty robes. “Can I go in these? They’ll think I’m a weirdo.”

I refrained from saying that was
exactly
what they would think. With a great deal of justification. I got up and opened the drawers of my battered dresser.

Isaac was about my height. He was a lot thinner, but that couldn’t be helped. I tossed a pair of jeans I’d gotten at Goodwill that were worn thin in the seat, and a grey hoodie that was a little small for me. I didn’t know what the Brethren did for underwear, but whatever it was, Isaac would just have to keep on wearing that. Or go without.

My supply of clothes was pretty meager, especially the jeans. I only had two other pairs. I’d have to do the laundry more often if I had to wear one pair of pants while I washed the other. But Isaac had less than I did. When I got paid again, I could go to the Goodwill store again and see if they had any in my size.

“Go take a hot shower,” I said. “And put this stuff on. You’ll have to wear the sandals, though. All I got is my work boots.”

A half hour later, Isaac stood in front of me, dressed in the jeans and sweatshirt. He’d trimmed his bushy beard. I handed him a hair band, and he pulled his flowing, but now clean, hair back behind his head. He looked hollow and gaunt, but he was clean, and he was dressed reasonably. He looked only a little demented, not totally crazy like he had before.

“You sure you want to do this?” I asked, giving him a chance to change his mind. We could always look for the collar if he wanted to go back. I had no doubt it was around here somewhere.

Isaac nodded. “I’m sure. I’ve thought about it. I don’t think I’d
ever
really be a son of the Tabernacle. Not as long as Father Peter’s in charge. He doesn’t really like me. If someone else took over, as long as it wasn’t Xavier…” His voice trailed off.

I didn’t say that there probably wouldn’t
be
any Tabernacle if it wasn’t for Father Peter. Crazies like that don’t come around often, and when they do, they usually have their own ideas.

He stood by the door, tugging on the sleeve of the hoodie and staring at the empty bowls on the table, then he turned to face me. “Thanks.”

“I won’t pretend it’ll be easy, and it’ll take you a good while, but you’ll be all right, Isaac,” I said, holding my hand out. “Good luck.”

He took my hand. “My name,” he said, “is Roger.”

Chapter 19

L
OOKED
L
IKE
I W
AS
B
ACK
in the cat tending business. I fixed up the litter pan again and put some dry food in a bowl. Maybe I could spring for another half-gallon of milk tomorrow.

My midnight shift would come around soon enough, and I needed to be alert. I straightened up my room, set my clock and lay down to catch as much sleep as I could.

A shrill noise woke me up before the clock went off. I lay there for a minute, trying to place the unfamiliar sound. Some kind of alarm?

The phone. I’d had to get the phone when I was on home detention. Then it would ring every once in a while when whoever was monitoring the signals from the ankle box decided to check on me. The installation was really expensive, so I’d left it in, even though I had to pay a monthly bill, in case I was returned to home detention and needed it again.

But I’d never in my entire life gotten a personal phone call.

How crazy would a telemarketer have to be to call this time of night? Had to be a wrong number.

I struggled up anyhow and answered it. “Hello?”

“Jesse?” a female voice asked.

“Kelly?” I said cautiously.

“Yeah. Were you sleeping?” Her words were slurred.

“Yep. Have to be at work tonight. You should be, too.”

“Are you mad that I called?”

“No. How’d you get the number, though?”

“You wrote it down for me once. Said to call whenever I wanted to.”

“Oh.”

“And now I wanted to.”

“Okay.”

“Can you come over, Jesse?” she asked.

That caught me off guard. “I thought you wanted me to stay away. You even told me that in front of a cop. Remember?”

“Yeah. Well, I been thinking.” That slurring again.

“Thinking or drinking?”

“Both.”

This wasn’t good. “Kelly, we got to be at work—” I checked the clock “—in less than two hours. Why aren’t you asleep?”

She didn’t answer for a minute.

“Kelly?” I said.

“I’d get fired if I went to work like this,” she said. “I’ve had too much to drink to drive a forklift.”

“Well, at least you know that.”

“Can you come over here?” she asked again.

“I don’t think I could make it to your place and still get to work by midnight.”

“You could skip work.”

I couldn’t see that would help either of us. “I can’t, Kelly. Tonight it’ll be three months since I got hired. First night I won’t be a probationary employee. I don’t know what’d happen if I didn’t show up.” Nothing good, I was sure.

She sobbed. “I’m so
lonely,
Jesse.”

“That’s the alcohol talking, Kelly. You’ll be fine.” My stomach tightened. If I went over now, we’d be in bed in an hour. Guaranteed. Was there
any
way I could skip work tonight?

“No, I won’t. I’m gonna miss work again, and I can’t afford that.”

“Show up drunk, and you get fired. Stay home.”

“I have a custody hearing tomorrow for the kids.”

“Then get a good night’s sleep. Where are they now?”

“In bed. I didn’t
really
start drinking until they were asleep.”

“That’s good, at least.” I wasn’t sure it was entirely true.

“And that new system at work is messing me up bad.”

“What? The new forms? I know they’re a pain. But why are you getting all bent out of shape over something stupid like that?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Talking
wasn’t what was on my mind. “I
got
to go to work tonight. You get some sleep. Get the kids up and on the bus. I’ll come over as soon as I get off work, okay?” Would she still be feeling “lonely” then? I hoped so.

“I don’t know if I can do it, Jesse.”

“You can do it. You just got to stop drinking
now
and be ready in the morning.”

Her voice broke. “It’s no use.”

I gripped the phone and tried to keep my breath and my voice steady. Was she suicidal? She was strong, and I couldn’t see her as that type. But then, what
was
the suicidal type?

“Look, Kelly. The kids need their mother. That’s you. And tomorrow morning, they need you to be clean and sober.”

“You don’t understand!”

“Maybe I don’t. But I
do
understand that you need to get a grip and stop feeling sorry for yourself. For Brianna and Chris. And for you.”

All I heard in response was a few heaving sobs. Maudlin drunk stage. Even if I went over, there wouldn’t be much I could do to help. She’d probably be asleep by the time I got there, anyhow.

“I’ll be there in the morning,” I said again. “Then we can see what’s up with work. And get you to the hearing on time.” And see if we could squeeze in a quick romp in her bed.

She sobbed once again. “I guess.”

Maybe in the morning she’d be more sober, and I could make some sense out of everything.

Or maybe she’d forget she told me to come over and call 9-1-1 when she saw me on her porch.

I wasn’t going to get any more sleep, so I got dressed and made a couple of peanut butter sandwiches for lunch.

What was I going to do about the wallets? Checking to make sure no one was around, especially that mysterious box truck, I went into alley and pulled them free from beneath the dumpster.

Getting caught with them wouldn’t be good. Even if they hadn’t been reported stolen, I would never be able to come up with an acceptable reason for having four wallets that didn’t belong to me. And four sets of ID.

I tucked them into the voluminous pockets of my jacket and set out for work early. They’d fit through the slot under the window in the timekeeper’s office and they’d end up in the lost-and-found box. If any of them said anything, I’d tell them where to go look. If not, sooner or later somebody would look in them and figure out who they belonged to.

That didn’t take as long as I thought it would. When John came out of the office, he had a plastic shopping bag in addition to his usual clipboard.

When Ramon, who worked four to midnight, drove by on his lift, John waved him over. He checked the ID in the wallet and handed it over to him. Ramon flipped it open and stared at the cash and cards still in place, disbelief on his face. John held up all the sets of keys, and Ramon took one.

Then when Marcus showed up, the bruises fading and the swelling on his face almost gone, John repeated the process.

I didn’t wait to see Clay and Aaron come in.

Because Kelly was out, I had to handle the trucks at the loading docks in addition to whatever loads John couldn’t move with a hand lift, so I didn’t have much time to worry about anything else. I did ask Hank, the plating room lead, to stash my lunchbox in his locked office.

Midway through the shift, John found me and handed me a union card and a health insurance card. “Congratulations,” he said. “You made it.”

I thanked him and put them in my wallet.

When I picked up a full pallet of heavy cabinets from Clay’s plater, he didn’t stop work—that would be next to impossible while the plater ran—but he did look at me with a thoughtful frown. The noise level prevented either of us from making any comments, which was fine with me.

Aaron never did show up.

At the end of the shift, I got the lift plugged in and made myself go through the checkout carefully, but I did it as fast as I could. I needed to get over to Kelly’s as soon as I could.

Still pulling my jacket on, I hurried out the factory door.

To see Clay and Marcus waiting for me.

I didn’t need this.

They stepped forward.

Shrugging my jacket over my shoulders, I felt for my gloves. They wouldn’t provide much protection for my hands, but they’d help a little. Maybe keep my knuckles from getting all skinned up.

I moved next to the building. With the wall beside me, they couldn’t attack from that side, at least. Maybe I could slide past them.

Wasn’t gonna happen.

I stopped, keeping the wall to my back. Were they really going to make an issue of things here? It was daylight. People walked past at the end of the block. A tractor trailer slowed as it rounded the corner, positioning itself to ease through the shipping yard and back into a loading bay. A damn
patrol car
cruised by. We’d all get in trouble. Were these guys crazy?

Marcus shifted nervously from one foot to the other, not meeting my gaze.

Clay looked over his shoulder, than back at me. “You gave us back our wallets.”

“Yeah.” Where was this going?

“With all the cards and everything. Even the cash.”

“Yeah. What of it?”

“We thought you’d take whatever you could use or sell.”

I glared back at them. “I may be on parole for a
murder
conviction, but I ain’t no thief.”

“And you never reported nothing. Not the fight. Not the blunt we was smoking at work.”

“Well, I ain’t gonna start nothing. But I ain’t no snitch, neither.”

They glanced at each other. “We was wrong about you. Sorry about that, man.”