A Vagrant Story (11 page)

“We won’t know any better tomorrow,” Sierra said. “We may as well get a lead tonight and work on it tomorrow.“

“But I’m hungry and cold now.”

Alex eyed the old man, how he bundled into himself, stammering feet to keep his circulation going. “Calm down Rum, we don’t need to have a plan. Every step no matter how frivolous has the potential to take a man closer to where he needs to be. Sometimes the random pointless things are more important than those you plan.”

“Drop the Eastern medicine. Why do I need to be here then? Why am I standing on this path with no food and no drink? Tell me, why are we at this spot right now!?”

No reply came, only silence. The others stood staring upwards, eyes glazing straight over the old man. Baffled at their lack of acknowledgment Rum turned to inspect for himself, finding nothing of interest save a billboard on the side of a red bricked building. It depicted the badly worn image of a cartoon sumo-wrestler, grinning while holding up a Chinese brand bottle of liquor. It took the old dimwit a moment to notice those words at the bottom: for a taste of the orient come to Jack Matters’ club and off-license. The address line followed.

Alex shrugged. “Case in point, old Rum.”

“I hate you,” Rum sniffed back.

Taking shortcuts through the more unsightly back-roads they arrived in the area foretold by the bill board. Surely they would find their guy in no time. Then again that theme had been running a while now.

Shivering tight into his green trench coat, old Rum released a sneeze. A string of snot dangling from his nose, he wiped it on his sleeve.

“Damn it’s cold.”

Sierra held her face in disgust. “Just hold it off till we’re done. If you behave yourself I’ll give your whiskey back.”

He sneezed again. “Whoever used that bottle last probably had a cold.”

“Or maybe pulling it from a bin has something to do with it,” Alex stated.

“Chances are I caught it off you. You’ve been sick as a dog for weeks.“

“I’m feeling better lately.”

“Yeah, you haven’t coughed since leaving the hospital. What did they give you? Give me some.”

“They gave me pills to make it go away. I’ve only a few left and they’re not for you.”

“So everyone has their own private stash of pills now. Great, you‘ve all gone turned into junkies while my back was turned. Man, that hospital’s a joke.” He sneezed. “Some food would re-energize me.”

“Out of money,” Sierra said.

“Or even if we got the bus…”

“Out of money.”

“Out of money,” Rum huffed. “When I was someone I had money.”

“What did you do?” Sierra asked.

Rum propped up as if realising he spoke out loud. “What did I do? I … gambled, with money. That’s what I did. I gambled then hit low. Life’s a bitch. I told you all that before.”

“That‘s about all you‘ve told. You don’t talk about your old life much. A summary of fifty words or less is not explanation.”

“Well you hardly ever ask much else.”

“You always seem so intent on keeping it to yourself. Well … go on then.”

“Go on? Not much to say. I gambled and lost.”

“But what about your family?”

“Blondie … don’t ask.”

“You told me before you had a wife and kid. Don’t you miss them?”

“They’re dead … like I told you before - an accident at work.”

Alex frowned. “But you just said you were a gambler.”

“Well … I called it work. That’s how much I loved gambling. Work-gambling, it’s all the same to me. A day at the races was like a day at the office,” Rum said, stuttering his way into an awkward laughter.

“And how pray-tell do you die at a race track?”

“Stranger things happen.”

Sierra cupped her hands in anticipation. “Does that mean we get a story?”

“Yes Rum,” Alex said. “Do give us a story.”

“You cut that attitude, Alex. What freak jokes about something like this?”

“A very unconvinced freak. You don’t believe my story but at least I’m capable of keeping it straight. You haven’t even started yours and we’re already bogged down with inconsistencies.”

“Alex, drop the interrogator act for a while. I’m sure Rum won’t mind clearing things up. Will you, Rum?” Sierra said.

Rum sighed. “You ain’t gonna drop it are you?”

“Not until next time I feel like it.”

“Fine … if you want it that badly, I’ll tell you a little. It’ll be better than Alex’s story anyway that’s for sure – no girly tantrums over stolen poetry.”

“They’re called novels, Rum,” Alex felt inclined to point out.

Rum scratched his head in an attempt to remember. “It must have been, over a decade now. Without telling my wife I withdrew our life-savings … There was this race see … a definite win. I bet the whole lot.

Well … right after the race started my wife showed up at the track … still don‘t know how she found out about it. She even showed up with our kid, you know, to make me feel bad. The woman looked ready to dump me right there and then … but my pick came through. I won and our money tripled. Suddenly she weren’t so mad no more. We celebrated right there and then – my wife was already listing the things she’d buy.” Rum paused. “Another guy wasn’t so lucky. He’d bet his life savings as well, but lost the lot. He started shooting off his mouth at us. I told him to push off so he pulled a gun, started demanding the money.” Rum sighed. “And that’s how things go wrong at a race track.

“What happened to the money?” Alex asked.

“I tell a story like that and you ask about the money!?” Rum replied. “The money was stolen, what do you think happened?”

Sierra edged in. “Loosen up, Alex. You can’t expect him to remember every little detail. I doubt the bookies would be in a rush to reissue the money. Everything doesn’t have to be a lie.”

“Every story is half-truth,” Alex said. “

“Yours especially,” Rum said. “Now, have I earned a reward?” He looked to Sierra.

The girl released her shoulders in compassion. She’d always felt pity for the old bum, right now she felt a different kind of pity. Reaching into her coat, she took out Rum’s whiskey bottle. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

No sooner than she held it out, did it vanish in a flicker of Rum’s snatching hand. He slurped a portion away. Watching him drink the binned whiskey, Sierra’s original sense of pity came rushing right back.

“Happy Christmas, Rum,” she said.

“I’ll say,” Rum replied. “We’re already here.”

He pointed across the road to a neon lit sign, reading: the Ro’s. A board out front depicted the same smiling sumo wrestler from the billboard - how the owner saw the connection they could only wonder.

It looked like a club annexed to a bar, and then attached to that, a smaller building – an off-licence. The total scale of the combined structure was quite impressive, really unlike anything else in this area. These three interconnected buildings may have only been the front sections.   

Sierra stared daftly at the building, caught off guard by the size. “It’s really big. Maybe we should re-think our strategy here. I was expecting something more … local.”

“Not really,” Rum said, tossing his now empty bottle to the ground. “We can either pick a door or stand around wasting more time. I for one am not standing outside to discuss background stories.”

Almost as if spurred by Rum’s words a group of seven or so youths emerged from the club section of the building. They stood conjugating there, each with their heads tucked low beneath the same dark blue hoodies. They didn’t appear to be going anywhere soon and seemed more intent on showing their prescience than anything. At this point the homeless group noticed further youths scattered around the main building like soldiers at a barracks, all of them wore those same blue hoodies. On the positive side of things none of them seemed particularly alert, more interested in chatting amongst themselves and snorting certain substances in their own tight little circles.

Alex inspected the scene. “Looks like we might have a bit of trouble getting into the club section. Doesn’t seem like they’re too interested in who’s coming and going but I‘d rather not risk any hassle.  Let’s try the off-license first.”

“At last we have direction!” Rum yelled, staggering toward the off-license.

Rum led the group inside, arrival announced by a tinny bell ring. The old man rubbed his eyes to adjust to the indoor lighting, and to wash those beer goggles away. It might have been a bad idea drinking whiskey before coming in. To make amends he chose to remain near the entrance, out of the way. No way he’d risk navigating the vulnerable stacks of beer bottles dotted around the shop.

Alex, Henry, and Sierra paced eerily toward the clerk.

He was an elderly man, bald headed and dressed in suspenders like those from the previous century. He watched their approach, staring them down through thick spectacles. Drawing nearer, they noticed a golden retriever resting by his feet. It batted an eye to address their presence.

“What do you want?” the clerk demanded. “By god, my eyes might nearly be shot but my nose is better than ever. And right now I smell street scum. You ain’t got no business here. Get out or I’ll sick my dog on you.”

Alex stepped to the counter. “A golden retriever? What’s it going to do, demand attention till we get bored and walk away?”

The clerk sighed defeat. “Fine, what do you want?”

“Sorry sir,” Sierra said. “We were looking for the owner of the shop.”

“The owner? Ain’t here. That boy’s gone off somewhere. Not that you need to know. I’m the one left in charge of this here shop. I’m the one you talk to.”

“You … You’re in charge?”

“Wanna make something of it? Just because I’m old don’t mean my wits are gone.”

“Of course not,” Sierra replied, trying to prevent herself looking back at Rum’s mischief. The clank of rattling bottles suggested he bore ulterior motives for staying out of sight. “Could you tell us when he’ll be coming back?”

“Beats me. He went off to check on one of his other businesses down near the city centre. Should have been back yesterday actually. Don‘t know what‘s taking him so long now.”

“He‘s all the way back there?“ With a sigh, Sierra rested her head on the counter. “Why? Why does every little thing have to be so hard?”

Alex took her place. “Wait … we’re looking for a man named John. We think he was in debt to the owner of this place.”

The clerk pulled a dramatic pose for thought, scratching his head and humming. Alex studied his elaborate movements carefully. It seemed intended to distract them while he slipped a ledger under the counter.

“People in debt? A lot of people are in debt these days,” the clerk continued. “It’s nothing for me to speak of though.”

Sierra winced up from her despair. “Please, it’s very important. You have to help us, please.”

“I’m sorry young miss, but them’s the rules. And these rules above all others ain’t meant to be broken. If you had half a brain on your shoulders you’d stay well away from people like mister Matters. Know what I mean? He might be my nephew and all but … well just stay away is all I‘ll say.”

Sierra breathed inward. She found herself standing on the edge of reasoning with him, yet unsure on how to proceed. Salvation came with the smash of a bottle. Seemed Rum’s busy hands had become butter fingers.

The clerk perked up. “What the hell is that!? Who’s down there, thief!” He called for the dog to strike. “Go get him Jess! Make him sorry.

Rum had already fled outside when the clerk rolled out from behind the counter to give chase – yes, he was in a wheel chair too. He gave up around where the liquor bottle smashed.

“Now I’ve to handle this mess. My back hurts when I lean down,” he moaned.

The clerk distracted, Sierra leaned over the counter and grabbed the ledger. All three of them at once flushed straight out the door.

The room now empty, the old clerk glanced around. “Hello?”

Chapter 7

They didn’t stop running until making good distance from Jack Matters’ bar. The wheel chair stricken man might not give chase, but henchmen were abound these days. Something indicated this ledger would be worth chasing after.

They needed a place to blend in, the nearest one being an arched rail bridge. It ran over a road, providing a natural shelter for several homeless men huddled around a bin fire. Their boisterous cursing, while a suitable distraction from Sierra’s own yelling, ensured most passers-bye took the long way round.

“Rum you idiot! We leave you alone for a few seconds and you rob the store!”

“What can I say? I saw an opening.”

“And provided one,” Alex said. “At least we got that book.”