Seattle Blackie's WINO CHRISTMAS Greetings! Although many events chronicled here did indeed happen, this story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people living or deceased is coincidence. I hope you enjoy this story as much as I relished creating it. All rights are reserved and the story is copyrighted © 2016. Bobby Blackie Banks, storyteller

2 This book is dedicated to all who withhold judgments on others who are struggling. Life presents constant challenges. No person gets out of life unscathed. We need compassion, understanding, and help.

3 Table of Contents Chapter 1-Lucky Ferry Ride...... 1

Chapter 2-Momentary Christmas Angel ...... 65

Chapter 3- Weird Introductions & Secret Plans...88

Chapter 4- Cheerless Jerry...... 114

Chapter 5 Pike Place Showdown...... 154

Chapter 6-Waterfall Park Wonders...... 175

4 Scene: The Great City of Seattle from the Seattle Center to Pioneer Square. Chapter 1-Lucky Ferry Ride

Someone had shadowed him? The cautious plan had unquestionably gone haywire, for streetwise Blackie didn't believe in coincidence. “Who put the damn locks and chains on the gate? Bullshit. Been going by this corner for years. Never happened before. Just my shitty luck. Seriously, who could know?” he mumbled to himself in his low tone. This non-stop whispering aloud habit had become ingrained during his umpteen years as a confirmed Seattle drifter. Day after day of being a lonely hermit soul can cause such behaviors. The muttered suspicion wasn't merely his standard paranoia. The

1 measured—not impulsive—justification for selecting Waterfall Park to stash it had seemed flawless. His mind raced through a checklist of suspects or likely scenarios and came up blank. “Methinks, I be screwed. Must be time for a drink.” He pulled out his dented flask, took the last gulp, and flopped on the bench. The locks laughing at him were no big surprise. The last check had been childlike magical thinking, for he had strolled by three times earlier in the daylight. There had been no darkness- induced abracadabra moment. In his rowdy younger days, busting off the locks or boldly scaling the back wall would have already happened regardless of the possibility of arrest or giving away the hiding spot. He knew better now. Perhaps it was a mechanical problem, but he could see and hear the water cascading down the boulders like any other time. Yanking one of the locks with his always gloved gnarled fingers did nothing, so he flipped it away and booted the metal gate with his scuffed combat boot.

2 “Fuck it. Damn place bolted up tighter than a Baptist preacher's asshole.” Disappointment was no stranger. He shrugged off the mystery as creating a scene or encouraging suspicions had to be avoided. The expected Bainbridge Ferry's horn in the distance echoed off the Puget Sound water, which transformed his outlook. A rare smile appeared. “Okay, time for Plan B.” He made it to his hideout in five minutes. After checking around with more caution than usual, he pushed back the branches of the thriving, protecting rhododendron bush, grabbed the key hidden in the fake rock, and rushed down the seven stairs. “Mom, I'm home.” He snickered at his daily joke and prepared for a possible late night by folding up his cot, coiling up his slightly damp bedroll, and dropping them in his crude plywood supply box. He pulled out his nighttime coat along with his lucky, tattered San Francisco Giants baseball cap.

3 “Damn, I love this time of year.” He buttoned up the coat, adjusted the ball cap on his shoulder-length gray hair, and broke into an off- tune rendition of his favorite childhood carol. ♪“Must Be Santa, Must Be Santa, Must Be Santa, Santa Claus.” ♪ Fumbling in his coat pocket, he found a crumpled pack of Old Golds and checked its inventory. Six smokes left. “That will do nicely,” he said, and got one lit after trying four times with a moist book of matches. He paused and took long drags while leaning against the uneven, chipped bricks of the Cadillac Hotel, that, like Blackie, had seen better days. The half-smoked cigarette found a dirty puddle after an impulsive flick. He stretched again, adjusted his belt, and retied his combat boots. “I am ready, Freddy,” he announced. Tall and still physically fit, he scanned the world with his intimidating, hawk-like eyes. He gave off an aura of confidence, imposing strength, and potential

4 violence. This potent combination acted as his first defense. The holidays had become a favorite time for Blackie, a master of many survival tricks and skills. Seattle seemed a safe enough city. He had the touch with the mostly friendly residents and numerous tourists whom he could, on his best days, con into being generous. The cops left you alone if you behaved by not causing any public disturbances, although, on a rare occasion, a rookie cop might act all hard-ass. If you had a good hideout or two from the incessant rain, life could be almost comfortable. Blackie had weaseled his way into a near streeter penthouse, an old janitor's closet from a defunct business. It had a locked door, a luxury for a street dude. Been using it—rent free—for almost seven years. A car alarm screamed its obnoxious warning close enough to both startle and irritate him, and he took out the stress by chastising himself, another habit inherited from dear old dad. “Thought I had enough. Should have at least

5 bought a couple carton of smokes, for shit's sake. I'll get to it. Been dead broke thousands of times.” He picked up the pace by taking long strides toward the ferry dock, looking forward to pulling off one of his favorite tricks. He had scrounged up the $5.90 needed to ride the ferry back and forth for hours, warm and secure. The calendar read December 23, and he planned on celebrating the dawning of Christmas Eve by enjoying the twinkling city lights from the view on the Bainbridge Ferry. He had done it for years.

“I love this time of year,” he repeated as he turned the corner, increased his pace , and headed to the waterfront.

6 ♪“Who’s gonna make some money tonight? Blackie’s gonna make some money tonight. Who’s running around with a beard so white? Blackie’s running around with a beard so white. Money tonight, beard that's white–must be Blackie, must be Blackie, Blackie Claus ♪ “Well, ain’t you a happy camper tonight. Got a smoke?” called the voice of a wheel-chaired older street guy known simply as Psycho. “Sure do, Psycho.” Blackie flipped out one of his last cigarettes. “Don’t have a light though.” “Bless you, brother. I’ve got fire.” Psycho pulled a lighter from his camouflaged Vietnam cap with the ’69 hatband. “Hey, when the hell you gonna get a new hat, for Christ's sakes?” Blackie asked. “It’s part of my street charm. Better than that lid for losers you keep wearing around. The Giants ain't been shit since Mays and McCovey. How come you

7 don't wear a military cap? You're a vet.” He twisted around in his chair and blew an impressive smoke ring. “Hey, watch your mouth. This cap matches my snappy wardrobe. And no slandering my Giants. They signed me...” “No, No, not the fucking Hank Aaron story again.” “Damn good story.” “Whatever. What you so happy about, Blackie?” “Simply a romantic, my friend. Love the holidays.” “Bullshit, you've some scam going on, don’t you?” “Why, I’m insulted. I’m an independent entrepreneur living the American dream.” “Yeah, right, and I’m the mayor in disguise. Hey, I ran into Balloon Billy. He just got out of the Vet's Hospital and they gave him a new chair. Fancy one, too.” “Hell, you could use an upgrade on that old thing you wheel around in, right? When I win the lottery, I'll get you a new one. How is old Billy boy? God, I hope

8 they gave him a bath or two and washed his damn clothes.” “Yeah, he can get pretty ripe. Seemed to be doing okay. Has he been out here on these streets longer than you?” “We started roaming around these parts about the same time. He had a way worse 'Nam experience than me. Almost as bad as yours. Fucked him up for a while. He'd get all wound up on Thunderbird, pain pills, and other shit. Get just fucking crazed and go violent once in a while. That last prison stay got him straightened out some. But he paid the price. Asshole prison guard who beat the hell out of him got off free. Billy ain't been the same since. Then he got into that balloon stuff he likes to do. Mellowed him out. Acts like a kid most of the time.” “He can make all kinds of stuff, can't he? He'd get more customers and such if he'd find a shower now and then. But, hell, don't even hint at that with him or he gets real pissy,” said Psycho as he shook his head. “Oh, I know better. Seems like a kind old geezer,

9 but he damn near knocked me out the one time I mentioned his fragrance. Gotta go, man. See you 'round.” Blackie tossed Psycho another smoke and took off toward the waterfront. His long strides got him across the street from the ferry terminal in minutes, where he could smell the saltwater air and hear the seagulls squawking. The temperature had dropped, but that hadn't stopped the last-minute shoppers from flocking to the shops nearby. Vehicles and people were streaming off the loaded ferry. Before he could cross the street, the lights from a police cruiser flipped on out of the quickly thickening early evening fog. Out stepped the massive blue-uniformed Officer O’Malley. “Hold it right there, scumbag,” O’Malley said, blocking Blackie’s way. “Fuck off. You ain’t tough enough to take me alive, sucker.” They laughed at the banter game they liked to play. “What you doing for Christmas? Want to come up,

10 have dinner?” the officer asked. “I’m touched kind sir, but can't ruin my street cred, know what I mean? Can't be thought of as a cop lover.” “Want me to take out my billy club and work you over? Be fun. You could at least go to confession. Only take a few hours ... or days,” O'Malley said. “Hey, my taxes pay for your salary, buddy. So watch the threats and insults.” “Holy shit, when was the last time you paid taxes, Blackie, 1964?” “Officer, I'd like to continue this raillery, but I have an appointment to keep,” said Blackie. “Raillery? Well, pardon me, Mr. Big Shot. Hey, why not get a room at the mission for a night or two? Rest up, take a shower. That would be a gift to the entire community.” “The fucking mission? Why? I’d smell like dried piss and puke for a week. I got a great Christmas coming on. By the way, if you get any bigger ...”

11 “No fat jokes, dammit or I’ll run you in.” “Oh, no worries officer. You ain't fat. Pleasantly plump, perhaps. Might want to watch the doughnuts, buddy boy.” “Hey, smart-ass. I've ate no doughnuts for years.” “Bullshit, you liar. Seen you scarf down a maple bar in two bites the other day. Looked like a starving dog with a ham bone.” “Are you an undercover spy? For your information, maple bars aren't doughnuts. They're maple bars, a completely separate food group. Damn, you street dipshits don't understand nothing. Fuck that, I need to ask you something. Got time for a quick smoke?” “Sure, if you buy me one of those gourmet coffee drinks.” “You've memorized all the tricks to being a bum, haven't you? Guess sleeping in alleys and scrounging from dumpsters for old pieces of pizza for a few decades teaches some skills. Yeah, I'll buy, you cheap bastard.” The two men walked a half-block and stood waiting

12 for an opening in the heavy traffic. “Damn, what a crowd, huh, O'Malley?” “Yeah, holiday time on the waterfront. Kind of Seattle at its best. Never gets old.” O'Malley grabbed his flashlight from his side, flipped it on, and swung the light over Blackie. “Well, look at you. What the fuck are you wearing today? A Christmas sweater? And you're wearing slacks? Holy shit, ain't you cute.” “Told you I have an appointment.” A car stopped and waved at them to cross. They hustled across and headed for Starbucks. “You look like a kid going to sit on Santa's lap. I'd better check the crime reports again.” “Hey, where's my smoke? What about crime reports?” Blackie asked. “Evidently, you got money from somewhere. Rob an old lady?” He flipped Blackie a cigarette and lit one for himself as they strolled down the waterfront past the

13 ferry terminal until they came to the coffeehouse entrance. O'Malley pointed at an outside table. “Be right back. Try not to get arrested.” The cop marched inside as Blackie followed orders and took a seat enjoying a Camel which tasted way better than the harsh smokes he could afford or bum. He had been the toughest guy and a natural leader in any situation, be it a seedy flophouse, an illegal poker room, a minor league ball team, a federal prison, a fighting military platoon, or the streets of a major city. But watching O'Malley's immense mass heading away gave him pause. “Damn, O'Malley is one mammoth hombre. No way I'd been able to take him even in my heyday.” Sizing up people and analyzing possible fight strategy was like breathing to him. Having a raging alcoholic Marine sergeant—who thought he should have been a general—as a father had ingrained such primitive thoughts The bozo had moved Blackie and his quiet, frail mother all over the world so no bonding or friendships could be nurtured by any of them.

14 His father's frequent, severe beatings not only taught Blackie to ignore and accept pain, it also developed in him the ability to quickly and accurately read people. He also learned early on the effectiveness of hiding his intelligence. Acting dim often worked to his advantage. Gabby, a well-named old gal, parked her loaded up shopping cart filled with her possessions, and limped over as O'Malley returned with the steaming coffee. “Hello, Blackie. Don't you look handsome today.” O'Malley set the coffee containers down and pulled up a chair. Blackie took a sip. “Hope I'm not interrupting, kids. Is there romance in the Christmas air?” the officer asked. “Oh, Officer, don't be silly. Nobody, even handsome devil Blackie here, could compare to my Harold. Me and him was truck drivers and traveled all over the country in our Peterbilt. Heck, I started driving my dad's rig when I was a thirteen-year-old, if you can imagine that. Been all over the place. One time...”

15 “Hey, Gabby, we're trying to have a private conversation here. O'Malley's feeling generous. He might buy you a coffee or hot chocolate, if you give us an early Christmas gift and leave us alone.” The cop shook his head, pulled out a ten-dollar bill from his pocket, and slapped it in her hand. “Yeah, go get yourself something, Gabby, and keep the change as my holiday gift.” “You're always joking, Blackie. Thanks, officer. Never had a cop give me a gift before. Got plenty of tickets, but never a gift. Hey, watch my cart and don't steal nothing, Blackie. Be right back.” O'Malley looked over at Blackie with a huge grin. “Don't say it. The woman can talk non-stop about nothing for hours. Bet ol' Harold slashed his wrists with a dull, rusty knife. Guess what her latest thing is? She's making Christmas ornaments and other gifts out of her used colostomy bags, no shit.” O'Malley spit out some coffee that steamed up into the dark foggy sky and released a roar of laughter. “Did you say, 'no shit,' on purpose?”

16 “Ain't funny. Crazy bitch came over by me one day with her bag full. The thing gurgled like it was alive. Said she had drank too much grapefruit juice. Gross as hell and damn near scary.” An ambulance raced by with sirens blaring. The cop's radio went off seconds later and he answered. “Gotta run, Blackie. Balloon Billy got hit trying to cross the street in his wheelchair up by the market.” “Oh, hell. Hope the old guy's okay.” O'Malley took off running and called back. “Hey, Blackie, somebody's been looking for you. Fill you in later.” He disappeared at a full sprint as Blackie watched the sidewalk crowd part to get out of the cop's way. He didn't notice Gabby's return until her wide shadow covered the table. “Where's he going in such a hurry, Blackie?” “Sounded like Balloon Billy got hit down by the market entrance.” “Dang, poor old Billy. Sweet old guy. Only one

17 who's nice to me out here. Sits out day after day making animal balloons and giving them away to kids. Hell, he just got out of the hospital. You can be nice, but not too often. But I made you a Christmas present anyways. It's on my cart. I'll go get it and we can have a nice chat. I wanna tell you about the time we got stuck up on White Pass up there near Yakima in a big old snowstorm that one Christmas with a full load. You know about Yakima, right? I'll be right back.” Blackie dashed toward the ferry terminal stairs. “Hey, where you going, Blackie? I made this special gift for you.” Escaping another Gabby tale had distracted him from O'Malley's last words. What did he mean, somebody's looking for me? Another shittin' mystery? What the hell is going on? Blackie checked the clock which caused relief. He had plenty of time. The now relaxed man shuffled to the ticket office, ambled on the ferry passenger only entrance where he found a folded Seattle Times and fleeced a coffee refill for the first trip.

18 Balloon Billy

19 With legs crossed while reading, he sipped coffee as the craft headed out of Seattle for the second time and later napped in a booth next to a heater. The ferry staff would leave him alone on this special night, so he rode back and forth until the vessel loaded up for the last return trip of the evening. He tossed the paper and started his casing of the boat by cruising from one end to the other, observing people and sizing them up. At the far end of the ferry, two large Native Americans sat in the night air illegally sharing snorts off a bottle of Jack Daniels, chain-smoking, and loudly laughing. He noticed three duffle bags stuffed to the brim next to them. This could turn out well. “Are you guys down from Alaska?” Blackie asked with his eye on the bottle of Jack. “Yeah, got in yesterday. Blew most our money at the casino, but got more coming in a few days. Decided to ride this ferry for a few hours. Know a place we could crash tonight?” spoke the smaller of the two as he handed Blackie the bottle of Jack. “Oh, thanks,” he answered as he took a sip, “sure

20 do. The small city park on the water. No one will bother you there. Take a right off the ferry. Walk down four blocks. Can’t miss it.” “Thanks, only a couple of blocks, huh? Hey, go get us something to eat, would you, buddy? Get something for yourself, too.” Blackie's heart jumped when he caught the crinkled up twenty-dollar bill tossed his way. He faced a decision for a clean twenty-buck score could get him a pack of smokes, a cheap bottle, and a Christmas Eve breakfast. Tempting, as he'd only have to hide for an hour. But he'd noticed their size and figured there would be way more than twenty bucks worth of trouble if they caught him. Hence, that plan fizzled. He felt pangs of hunger, so he ordered a hot dog and another coffee while getting them cheeseburgers and fries. He pocketed two bucks and skimmed a handful of the fries before delivering the food and remaining change. He ate, took a few sips, and excused himself after one last swallow. “Whew, enough hooch for tonight,” he said as he

21 took a seat at the front of the vessel, enjoying his booze high and the beauty of the city lights reflecting off the smooth dark water. The evening fog had burned off. The steady hum of the motor calmed him, and the wind dried his sweaty hair. The ferry chugged into port with Christmas Eve two hours old. Blackie exited first and watched the now small crowd departing, confident presents were coming his way soon. Yawning strangers smiled and wished him a Merry Christmas as he resisted the temptation to panhandle. He merely grinned back and nodded at those who made eye contact. His eyes focused on a guy—perhaps late thirties— and his much younger woman companion each hauling plastic garbage bags and comforting a child. The man carried a sleepy little girl on his shoulders. His woman friend or wife kissed the cheek of a six-year-old, blue- eyed boy. The man put his heavy bag down. “Excuse me, mister. Could you guide me and my family to the mission?” “Sure, turn right at the bottom of the stairs. Walk

22 up six blocks. Turn left on James and walk up three blocks. It has a big neon sign. Can’t miss it. ”Thank you, sir, and Merry Christmas.” His shy woman companion and the blue-eyed boy smiled at Blackie as they took off on the march to the mission. The little girl gave him a weak wave and dropped her head on her dad's shoulder. “Shit, how pathetic. Looked like nice people. They have no damn business on these streets, for Christ's sakes. They’ll get robbed tonight in that mission shit hole. What's this country coming to?”

23 He almost chased after them but decided against it. “I ain’t no damn do-gooder. Yeah, all of you keep voting for those same rich dicks.” He said this too loudly. A few heads swung in his direction, so he ducked behind a large pole. He peeked out in time to witness the two native guys—the last ones left—involved in a dispute with a ferry worker. Blackie heard the exasperated worker threaten. “If this wasn’t Christmas Eve, I’d call the cops. This is the last ferry of the night. For the last time, get off.” They picked up their gear and headed toward the steps, dragging their bags with Blackie hot on their trail. He stayed a safe distance behind and spotted them turning into the park as he had suggested. Now the wait. “Jesus, I need a smoke bad.” After walking down five blocks, he stopped beneath the roof of the outdoor section of Ivar’s Restaurant, locked up for the night. The seagulls were still out searching for the last possible French fry or fish morsel and squawking. He paced, picked up a few

24 rocks, and gave them expert tosses into the water. His mind wandered back to his baseball days.

He had been a competitive young pitcher with a major-league-level fastball good enough to get a cheap pro contract. He had struck out Hall of Fame member Hank Aaron in a spring training game and recalled every detail. “I busted him inside with my best fastball and he fouled it off. I came further inside and nearly hit him with the second pitch. I threw him a slider that caught the outside corner. Finally, I rocked and fired high heat. Froze him for strike three. He tipped his hat to me. Henry Aaron tipped his hat.”

25 Thousands of times he had repeated the story, always acting out the windup and throwing motion. He buttoned up his coat all the way to the top this time. “Damn, I need a new coat and sweet Jesus, I've got to find a smoke. Why in the hell didn't I keep a bit of that money out? Man, what a dumb ass. I should have at least gotten a carton of smokes.” He no more than voiced these words of regret when he found tobacco gold. In the corner on one of the more remote tables sat a completely dry three- quarters of a fine cigar. It passed Blackie's rapid, uncritical examination, so he flipped it between his lips. “Maybe there is something to this Jesus thing.” He bummed a light from a nervous guy rushing by and smoked it down to a nub. It was four o'clock and time for action. He flicked the cigar butt into the bay, which caused a gathering of the seagulls. One came out with it in its beak and flapped off. “Stupid fucking bird, don’t you know smoking’s bad for you?”

26 He snickered at his own joke and headed to the park. He arrived at the entrance, listened, and pussyfooted up to the public restroom which gave him cover to spy. Two figures in sleeping bags weren't moving. Holding his breath, Blackie tiptoed up hoping they couldn’t hear the thumping of his old heart. He snatched one bag and started slinking off when the big native guy sat up, grabbed a bottle, took a quick chug, and collapsed back on his sleeping bag. “Feet, don’t fail me now.” He hugged the heavy bag containing unknown treasures and waddled his way back to the safety of Alaskan Way. “Hey, Blackie, what you doin'?” The voice of a young street guy called Jimbo had drifted through the darkness. Without hesitation, Blackie pounced on him. “Shut your shittin’ hippie mouth.” “What’s wrong with you?” asked a surprised Jimbo, covering his head with his arms.

27 “Get out of here, or I’ll smash in what’s left of your crooked teeth.” “All right ... okay ... Jesus,” Jimbo managed to get out before sprinting up the street and disappearing into one of the narrow, dark alleys. “You'd better run you shit-for-brains druggie.” Wondering for a moment if the quick scuffle's noise had alerted anyone, he darted toward his favorite nighttime sanctuary. A wave of energy took over when he got three blocks away from his hideout. He grunted the bag onto his shoulders and hustled to the rhododendron bush and got out his key after a thorough scan convinced him all was safe. He bounced down the steps, excitedly rolled out his bedroll, and began the inspection. A carton of Marlboro's, a Zippo lighter that lit on the first flick, and a new pair of wool socks were the first things out. He tore off his old, holey socks and tossed them in the corner. “New socks. Damn, do these feel good.” He tore open the Marlboro carton, tapped out a

28 cigarette, and lit it with his new lighter. With satisfaction, he let out a puff of smoke and kept opening his presents. A nearly new work coat came out next, and although slightly big, it felt warm and comfortable. He found a pair of boots which were a little loose, but some newspaper in the toes did the trick. A colorful wool blanket and a small pillow became part of his cot bedroll. Next were two bags of peppermint candy, a jumbo Hersey bar, three new towels, a flashlight, and a new wool cap. The last three items were a still-sealed bottle of Baileys, a half-full bottle of Jim Beam, and a jar of instant coffee. Blackie leaned back on the cot, sipping the Bailey’s and snacking on the Hersey bar while flipping the Zippo lighter open over and over again when his hand discovered some paper in an inner pocket of the coat. Upon closer examination, he held up two crisp, half- folded hundred-dollar bills that the beginning sunrise light allowed him to recognize. “Well, Merry Christmas to me.”

29 Sleep could wait. He plotted out his day. “This is going to be a Christmas Eve to remember.” His first stop would be the Cooper Kettle Restaurant, which made his mouth water with anticipation. He marched right over and ordered oatmeal, a three-egg omelet, French toast, sausage, bacon, and a large orange juice and began eating away when they walked by. The couple and kids from the ferry the night before moved as one unit down the street, looking confused and tired. The man wore a brand new purple eye, and the kids were whimpering. Blackie shook his head. “Families out on these damn streets, Jesus Christ.” He devoured the feast, almost licking the plate, threw down two bucks for a tip, paid the bill, and zipped up his new coat. He halfheartedly looked for the traveling family before heading to the waterfront. Hundreds of last-minute, excited shoppers loaded down with their colorful purchases filled the streets and sidewalks. Music, friendly greetings, smiles, and

30 laughter floated around like a happy fog. The street folks were out in force on this productive, active day, like their Super Bowl equivalent. It turned into a bizarre cacophony of the best of the street people featuring mimes, dozens of open guitar cases, bold beggars, and a few bullshit artists with their rehearsed lines trying to sell near-wilted flowers. A juggler in a bright red outfit had a circle of admirers cheering his tricks. Looking like the sweetest Grandma ever, a Salvation Army volunteer smiled and rang her bell as people dropped bills into her black kettle. One college-aged, long-haired blonde girl dressed in a wool hat, a white flowing dress, and red tennis shoes strummed a ukulele as she filled the air with her voice that sounded like liquid gold. A rosy- faced teacher got her first-grade choir lined up as proud parents snapped photos of these cute-as- cupcakes kids, all wearing red. The usual morning fog burned off, revealing a typical Seattle gray, cloud-covered sky. The crisp wind dropped the temperature and a few flakes of snow fell.

31 Blackie ran into Bill, once an Alaskan bush pilot, until the booze had taken over. His clean Santa suit and fake beard had been his tradition for several fruitful years. “Have you been a good boy this year?” “Yeah, Santa. Are you making any cash today?” “Some,” he said as he pointed at a sharply dressed unsuspecting man walking solo in the throng's mist.

“Hey, young man, could you help ol’ Santa get back home to the North Pole?” “Wow, one of the best lines I’ve ever heard,” the young man said with a chuckle.

32 “Here you go, Santa. Get Rudolph some fresh hay.” He pulled out five bucks and dropped it in Santa Bill's nearly filled hat. “You're a good boy. You can expect some fine presents under the tree this year, son.” “Ah, Santa ... you can skip my house this year. Your firewater breath would knock the tinsel off my tree.” He pointed at Blackie. “Who’s he? One of your elves? Here you go, amigos, have a fine cigar on me. Merry Christmas.” He tossed them each a black, bullet-shaped cigar, waved, and continued on his way. “Got a light, black man?” Santa Bill asked as he bit off the tip of the cigar. He snatched up his hat, now flush with change and more than a few bills. “Sure do,” said Blackie proudly pulling out his new Zippo, “here you go.” They puffed on the gourmet tobacco while leaning

33 on the rail of an abandoned dock gazing at the gray water below. “How you been, Bill?” “Okay, but O’Malley ran me in yesterday. Had to spend most of the night in jail. God, it was a zoo in there. He bailed me out and dropped me off as he came on shift. He’s a good guy, O’Malley, especially for a fuckin' cop.” “Oh, yeah, he’s decent, ain’t he? What did you do?” “Shit, doing my Santa thing ... noticed some poor sucker along with his little son, maybe seven or eight years old, sitting out with a hat and a sign: 'Please help us get back home.' He was doing everything wrong, and I knew he wouldn’t get no cash at all. Moved over to give him some tips as two yuppie couples came by. One ass-wipe took out a penny and dropped it in the guy’s hat while the other three laughed. Hell, the women had on probably five hundred bucks worth of clothes each and the guys both wore expensive leather jackets and they thought it funny to fuck with some poor dude stuck on the street.”

34 He took a couple of puffs and continued. “I heard the one guy say, 'Wonder how much he’s pulling in today?' Comment got me pissed. Followed for a couple of blocks yelling shit at them all the way to their cars— both shiny new, dark-colored gas hogs of some kind.” He paused for a long drag on the cigar. “Were you in your Santa suit still?” Blackie asked, attempting to visualize the scene of a pissed Santa screaming cuss words at some yuppies. “Yeah, sure was. About to turn around and go talk to the guy when I saw the bumper stickers. Really set me off. One said: 'I Choose Life' and the other said: 'What Would Jesus Do?' I turned over a garbage can and started throwing crap at them. They had to wait for traffic to get on Alaskan Way as I pelted them with all kinds of messy crap. The last throw was a half-eaten apple which I hit their back window with dead center. The thing exploded. Scared bastard burned rubber for nearly two blocks.”

35 “Jesus, did the pissed Santa draw a crowd? I know I’m sorry I missed it,” Blackie asked as he took a big toke on the cigar. “Oh, yeah. One of the crowd contained our hero, O’Malley. He gave me a fine lecture and a ride to jail.” “Oops. Hey, did you ever make it back to the guy?” “Nope. Oh, here’s the five bucks I owe you from a bit ago.” “Forget it. I’m golden for today. Hey, let’s go find the dude.” The two characters strolled down the waterfront. Six blocks later, they spotted the guy and his little son. A pathetic cardboard sign and a flimsy basket sat on the ground holding a few coins that didn’t add up to three bucks. Blackie spoke first. “What’s the story, boss? You’re doing this all wrong by the way.” “I know, I know. Ain’t never been this broke before ... embarrassed as hell,” answered the man, while readjusting his stocking cap.

36 He sighed and continued. “I spent my last few bucks getting up here 'cause I heard Boeing was hiring—damn lie. My truck broke down and there was no work anywheres. Trying to get us back home to Denver.” “Santa, give him the five bucks you owe me.” Blackie pulled out another five and tossed it in the basket and immediately went to work. The two street veterans stopped every soul—they spared nobody— who happened by and shared the guy’s story. The basket quickly filled with bills including four twenties, one fifty, and tons of change. “Well, our work is done here. Bless you, brother,” said Blackie. He got his cigar butt going again. The sea lions were being rowdy today and the light breeze accented the wonderful smells of the water. This moment of relaxation disappeared when he spotted Gabby pushing her cart only a block away. He hustled toward the Pike Place Market stairway after he pitched the last of the cigar in the water.

37 “See you, Santa.” “Wait up. I'm thinking those Pike Place people may need a visit from Ol' Saint Nick.” Blackie took the stairs two at a time up the steep climb from the street to the market and waited. Santa Bill huffed and puffed behind him.

“Holy shit, Blackie, how did you do that? Climb almost killed me,” said Santa Bill, now covered in sweat with his beard on slightly sideways, looking like he had fallen out of his sleigh. “I was a professional athlete ... ” “Oh, no. Not the Hank Aaron story.”

38 “It’s a good story. Hey, Sly,” Blackie yelled to a small Hispanic man in his thirties puffing on the butt of a cigarette so short it was nearly burning his fingers. No answer. “Sylvester!” Blackie moved up next to him. “Oh, hi,” he whispered, barely making eye contact. “Why are you back on the streets? Heard you was in a group home.” “No coffee. Can’t smoke inside,” he answered. “Sly, let me buy you a coffee.” “Oh, yeah. Need coffee. Can I buy cigarette?” He held out seven sad pennies. “Here’s a Marlboro, keep your money.” “No, I buy smoke.” He showed the pennies again. “Okay, here you go but for that much money take three,” Blackie insisted. Sly carefully pocketed two after flipping one in his mouth which he lit and took a long inhale that would

39 have caused most people to convulse into a coughing spasm. “Buy us each an apple and coffee would you buddy?” Blackie lobbed him ten bucks. Sly disappeared and returned taking sips from a 24-ounce Styrofoam steaming cup. He held an unlit cigarette in his mouth and handed over the change, apples, and coffee. In clear English with proper volume, and steady eye contact, he spoke rather than use his normal mumble. “This is pretty good but the coffee from the War of 1812 was quite a bit better.” “You don’t say, really?” Sly wandered off into the holiday crowd without another word. Blackie shrugged and took a bite from the apple. “Jesus, poor kid. I know his problem. He’s a schizophrenic. If he simply took his meds ...” Santa Bill’s voice trailed off. How do you know that for sure?”

40 “It's what I got; when I take the meds for a few weeks in a row the voices and distorted thinking stops. But, I'll tell you, drinking on those things makes wild things happen. I’m gonna get back on the meds after the holidays. Try to get my shit together again. Wonder how that kid knew about the 1812 coffee era; might be smarter than he comes off.” “What do you mean? He was talking shit.” “No, he wasn't. During the War of 1812, the army lost its coffee source after a freeze wiped out the crop all over. The only place that didn't get hit was the blue hills of Jamaica known for some of the best java in the world. That's where the army got their coffee during that time.” “Seriously, is that true?” “Yeah, I read about it years ago. I know some shit, Blackie. I have a college degree. I'm mentally ill not fucking stupid. They ain't the same thing, you know.” They sat against the wall with their legs crossed half-listening to a fiddle player, watching a really bad mime attempting to do his thing, and trying not to yell

41 insults at the street rookie when Sad Sally found them. “What’s the word? What’s the word? ... Wait, one minute ... What’s the word?” She pointed at Santa. “Santa. Is that the word, Sally?” Blackie asked the short, stubby woman. She wore a once-white dress, knee-high wool socks, hiking boots, and an over-sized black-and-red- checkered coat. A red plastic hat with furry ear flaps covered her white hair. “Yeah, Santa, Santa. I got to remember... Santa.” Blackie pulled out a twenty, slipped it to Santa Bill, and gave a nod toward her. “Sally, here's your Christmas present from Santa. Merry Christmas,” said Santa Bill as he pressed the twenty into her hand. She looked at the men and pointed at the money as if it were a secret message from Zeus. “Yeah, that's yours, Sally.” “Santa, Santa, remember the word: 'Santa'.”

42 She wandered off muttering to herself, still staring at the bill like it was a piece of glittering gold and got swallowed in the sea of people milling around. “Okay, Einstein. What’s her problem?” “Oh, she had a stroke and with good reason. I heard she took a trip from her Las Vegas home to a small town in Eastern Washington to visit her elderly parents. After driving for two days, she showed up to a heap of still smoldering embers from a fire that had burned down her parents' house. Killed 'em both. She fell over on the spot.” “Sad songs don’t play too well on broken radios. Hell of a thing to happen. But I have a question.” Blackie stood up and stretched. “Are you still fucking her?” “God damn, Blackie, that ain’t even slightly funny.” “Is so. Hey, I gotta go find my friend. Know he’s up here somewheres. Here's a present.” He handed him a twenty. “Bill, spend that one. Here, I'm trusting you with

43 another twenty. See if you can find Jerry around. Tell him there's a family out wandering around down in Pioneer Square that needs the money. He might help them. Deal?” “Thanks Blackie. I'll find him. Merry Christmas.” “Okay, see you later, Santa.” He hopped up and walked down the aisle where the fresh fruit, vegetable, and seafood vendors were located. The crowd flowed along and came to a complete stop when the fish guys started their popular throwing show that visitors enjoy.

44 The crowd thinned out after the fish show and Blackie eased down the block when he heard some special sounds. He followed the pleasant music playing in the distance and hurried toward it. No doubt it would be one of his all-time favorite pals. Nobody played the sax like his buddy. A crowd had gathered around including a circle of dancing little kids all of them singing. In the middle of the circle stood an elegantly dressed, elderly black man blowing a sweet jazzed-up version of Rudolph. He held the finishing high note for an incredibly long time which got him screaming cheers and loud applause that lasted for almost a full minute. People lined up to toss coins and bills into the open saxophone case. He plopped down after hugging most of the kids and took a drink. Few, if any, in the crowd knew what they had just heard and witnessed. He had the skill of an old pro which he was. He had once scored a long gig with Lionel Hampton and backed up numerous artists including Ray Charles, Freddie and Albert King, and the great

45 Etta James, before his world fell apart when his only daughter, a talented singing star, took her own life. Blackie had been with him the night he got the news. “Hey, don’t you know any better songs?” “My God, it lives! The infamous Blackie man.” “Hey, Kool-Aide. Looks like a good day. Balloon Billy told me you was back around. Been a couple of months man. Good to see you. So, how you doing?” “Blowing tunes and feeling the love today. How is old Billy, anyways?” “Shit, don't know for certain. Walking down on the waterfront last night and heard he'd been hit trying to cross the street.” “Oh, man! Hope he's okay. Probably took him to the Vet's hospital if it was serious. I need to call over there. I can't tell you what that old guy means to me, Blackie. Always brung me little gifts after we lost Tina. Hell, I had him up to my little dump when I first got back. Fed him and made him take a shower. I love the dude, but boy he goes nose blind and gets mighty funky. So bad it would bring tears to me eyes.”

46 I'M SWEET AND REFRESHING

47 “Oh, I know. Could smell him two blocks away. He'd make those cool balloon animals and pass them out to the kids for free. Didn't know how to tell him that people avoided him, you know. 'Nam fucked him up more than me,” Blackie said. Blackie and Kool-Aide circulated in slightly different worlds now blocks apart but had known each other for years. Both were well-known and confirmed streeters and had shared many a drink and puffs of reefer together. Blackie had once beat the hell out of two young punks who had tried to rob the horn player one dark evening which sealed the friendship. He thought back to their first meeting. “Why do they call you Kool-Aide?” “Because I’m sweet and refreshing.” “Let’s go to lunch, Kool-Aide.” “Nah, no can do. Gotta keep playing tunes for the folks.” “Come on. You can take a little break. Be my treat.” “What? You've got money? Whose mother did you

48 steal it from?” “Nobody's mother. Does this count as money?” Blackie showed him a handful of bills. “Come on, we can catch up and call over to the hospital.” Kool Aide nodded, the sax found itself snapped into its case, and they were off walking up the steep hill the two blocks to Brownstone’s Restaurant and Bar. They took one of the few remaining tables and were sipping on beers and waiting for their food when the owner, Big Al, approached with a severe Christmas cheer deficit. “Blackie, what you doing in here? Better have cash and don’t start no trouble or Christmas or no Christmas, I'll gladly throw your ass out on the street.” “I’ve got cash,” Blackie said and flashed the bills, “and fuckin' Merry Christmas to you, too, man.” The two old pals shared a seafood platter and Blackie filled his friend in on the happenings down by Pioneer Square. Kool Aide shared a couple of stories about his area and some possible music gigs in the

49 works. The first shot of whiskey went down smoothly. “Shouldn't be pounding the hard stuff, not while I'm on these meds. Ever see that woman you brought from Vietnam? Mary? No, Marlene, is that right?” “Nope. Hey, you were in rare form out there playing today. The crowd loved it. What's the best gig you ever did?” “In Seattle? Well, I did the anthem at the last Sonics game before that Starbucks dick sold the team. I got it on pretty good that night. Hey, there's Billy on TV.” “Hey, turn up the TV,” Blackie yelled.

50 After the fourth shot, Kool Aide took out his sax and announced to the crowded room: “This is for my buddy, Billy.” He blew a soft, sweet version of a classic and stopped to sing in his rich baritone this ending verse.

“Wow, man. I forgot how well you can carry a tune. Awesome,” Blackie said. “Should have heard my Tina sing it. I gotta go.” As he walked out, the packed bar started applauding and too lightly for Blackie's taste. He stood up on the table, a major error, and started clapping loudly.

51 “Come on, let's hear it for Balloon Billy and my sax playing friend.” “Fuck your Billy. Every time he came in here we had to spray the place. Get off the fucking table. I warned your sorry ass,” said Big Al who grabbed Blackie's sweater, which ripped on the way down to the floor. And it was on. Big Al was well named but Blackie had been a highly trained special forces marine and it still showed. The big man had been outside having a smoke and failed to remove his coat. Big mistake. Blackie spun him around, snatched his coat, and pulled it over his head in one quick move which made the experienced bouncer defenseless to the series of savage blows that landed time and time again. Blackie may have killed him if a worker hadn't come to the rescue. He poached the cue ball from an eight-ball game and one good smack on the skull had Blackie seeing cuckoo birds and stars. Big Al opened the swinging door with Blackie's

52 head and dumped him outside. Blackie landed on the now white, slippery sidewalk and when he tried to get up the potent combination of the icy sidewalk, the cue ball hit, and his severe intoxication proved too much. He moaned and crawled to a set of dry stairs, sat up, and found a few smokes that hadn't been broken and puffed two in a row. The snow continued to come drifting down and took Blackie with them. Covered in white with a near terminal case of dry mouth, he woke up and stumbled from building to building until he got to a church and had to sit. Six more blocks. His head pounded and not merely because of the cue ball. He had let his guard down and shared a secret with Kool Aide which he now regretted. The old streeter cussed at himself while trying to remember how detailed he had been in his sharing but his memory had gaps, so he shrugged it off as whiskey paranoia and just wanted to sleep it off. In the distance, a clock chimed eleven or twelve times, he lost track. When he didn't think it could get

53 any worse a savior appeared. “Blackie, you messed up your new sweater. Boy, ain't you a sight. Need some help? Wish I had one of my trucks still. We could go anywheres in them trucks even in snow like this. My daddy and me used to have to chain up in weather way worse than this. Here grab my cart.” Blackie looked up in horror to see Gabby gazing down at him with her shopping cart stuffed with her now plastic-wrapped treasures. He grabbed her cart and hung on as she grunted and pushed. “Sure you can make it the rest of the way? I got to make it back for midnight mass. I'll wash that sweater for you tomorrow and bring you your gift.” His recovery started the last block with his balance returning. Even in his state, he stayed alert. At the top of the stairs, he heard something that didn't fit.” “Shit, someone’s in my hideout.” He exploded down the stairs ready to fight when he noticed some bright blue eyes. “Hi, mister,” a boy's voice said.

54 It took Blackie a few moments to understand why this little boy seemed familiar. Yeah, the kid from the ferry. He relaxed his clenched fists. “What you doing here? This is my spot and everyone knows it. How the hell did you get in?” “We meant no harm; we had no place to go. Jerry let us in. I can’t take my family back to that mission,” said the man from the ferry who had stepped out from the shadows. Blackie shook off his confusion and tried to get his heart rate back to normal. He had been seconds from switching into complete psycho fighting mode again. “It’s okay ... you can stay the night here.” He unfolded his cot and got out blankets and two sleeping bags from his box. He motioned for the woman and toddler girl to take a seat on the cot. He tossed the man and boy each a blanket and grabbed the bags of candy. “Here, give them kids some. Be right back.” Two dozen streeters stood around a small fire they'd built in a rusty fifty-gallon drum. Blackie

55 approached. “Hey, guys, I need some help. There’s a family of four in my hideout. They're down and out and need some food. There's two kids and one of them's still a baby. Here’s all I got.” He took out his pitiful two bucks worth of coins. “Will you help out?” The group looked around but nobody responded until Jerry pulled out his fist filled with a few coins and some lint. Other hands followed, thirty cents here, a quarter there until everyone except one had given. The holdout, Bad Oliver, finally announced, “This better not be no scam. Been saving this for a good bottle for tomorrow.” He popped the cap from a bottle of MD-20/20 and took a long pull, emptying the bottle. He gave out a loud, contented sigh and smacked his lips. “I'll get rid of the bottle, big guy,” said Blackie as he held out his hand. “Not yet. Watch this. Lend me your lighter.”

56 Blackie handed the Zippo to him. Oliver screwed the cap on the tightly. He took the lighter and swung the flame around the bottle, and up each side. When done, he held up the bottle and there sat a small swallow that had appeared like magic. “Cool trick, Oliver.” “I didn't invent it. Has a name. Called 'sweating the bottle.' Surprised an old coot like you don't know about it. I repeat, this better not be no scam.” He pulled out three wadded-up dollar bills and some more change. “I'll remember it for future reference, you can be sure. Thanks, big guy.” Jerry said, “Bill found me. I gave them the twenty and showed them your hideout. Picked the lock. Hope that was okay. Let me help.” Blackie nodded and sat down with Jerry. They counted the change. “We've got $9.43. Let’s go.” They hiked to the 24-hour store and picked out a

57 half-gallon of milk, a dozen powdered donuts, four apples, four corn dogs, and had enough left over for two balloons. They headed to the hideout and passed out the gifts to their adopted family. Jerry even ran over to the Interstate Bank lot and kicked up a small evergreen tree from the landscaping. “Here’s their Christmas tree.” The family started munching on the food and the young wife said, “Bless you two men for helping our family. We love you for it. Don't we Willie?” “Yeah, thanks, mister. I love them corn dogs,” the blue-eyed boy said while wiping off a milk mustache with his sleeve. The little girl smiled bashfully and hugged her mommy. This caused Jerry to begin sobbing and he ran from the scene, probably back to the safe fire. “Did I say something wrong?” the woman asked. “No, Jerry's a kind, tortured soul. Used to be a fireman in a small town a couple of hours from here. One day he got a call to an accident on the highway and raced to the crash.”

58 Blackie paused, removed his hat, and brushed at his hair. “When he got there, he realized it was his own wife, his teenage son, and their new baby who had been hit and killed. He's never recovered.” “Oh, how sad,” the young woman said. The man spoke in his thick southern accent, “Sir, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you and Jerry done for us tonight.” He patted Blackie's arm. “I saw you last night. Should have helped right then. Got to have a smoke.” He groaned his way up, gave out a burp, tapped out another crooked Marlboro, and popped it in his mouth. He stretched and clapped his hands before taking the steps to the street. The snow had been falling at a steady pace and sticking, unusual for Seattle. Blackie began puffing on the cigarette enjoying the snow while admiring the Christmas lights nearby and their colorful reflections off the distant skyscrapers.

59 “I guess I am a damn do-gooder after all.” He started humming his favorite Christmas carol which turned into full volume singing, his drunkenness completely butchering the tune and altering the words.

♪“Who blew two hundred bucks today?

Blackie, blew two hundred bucks today. Who

was the guy who saved the day? Blackie was the

guy who saved the day. Who laughs this way:

'Ho, Ho, Ho?' Blackie laughs this way: 'Ho, Ho,

Ho.' Must be Blackie, Must be Blackie, Must be

Blackie, Blackie Claus.”♪

60 He didn't see the glint of the knife until it was too late. A MOMENTARY CHRISTMAS ANGEL

PART TWO OF THE TALE Chapter 2-Momentary Christmas Angel

Nancy had no business wandering the dark streets of the Pioneer Square section of Seattle this time of night alone. But shock can cause lapses in judgment, and this had been a shocking and emotional night. She stopped, held out her gloved hand, and allowed the snowflakes to hit in sparkles. She soon had a handful to enjoy and raised her eyes toward the sky, inviting the flakes to tumble onto her face. They joined the remnants of recent tears that had accompanied her last series of sobs and wails a block

65 or two ago. She had wiped them with the sleeve of her stylish but too thin new waist-length coat that concealed her white nurse’s uniform. Shivering, Nancy fumbled with the top two buttons, wishing she had put on the thick Christmas sweater left at the foot of Sarah’s bed. This brief visual of the skinny bed—Sarah’s constant home and their meeting place leading to the final transition—caused a sharp flutter in her chest. It had probably already been stripped of the bedding that had captured the aromas of Sarah’s favorite lotion and Nancy’s expensive perfume. “Nurse Nancy, please read it again.” The echo of these familiar words provoked no tears, but only because Nancy shook her head to prevent them before she broke down. She tried to pick up the pace but concentrated on not slipping on the now white sidewalk. Nancy, a southern gal, born and raised in the Atlanta area, hadn’t seen, felt, or experienced snow more than six or seven times in her life. She reflected on trying to reach husband Jerome on

66 the phone, but she had already tried four times earlier with no success. She figured it to be three o’clock back home and didn’t want to disturb him or talk about it all yet. That Sarah had taken her first steps into eternity after the killer leukemia attacked the second grader’s frail body and won, would not be surprising news, for she had been ill for months. Nancy had held the sick little one’s hand until it turned cold at the Seattle Children’s Hospital two hours ago. She hitched a ride on a Virginia Mason Hospital van to get out of there. It got her closer to Lloyd’s Inn near the Seattle Center —her home for weeks now. Desperate to be alone with her thoughts, she walked toward the distant Space Needle over twenty blocks away. She tried to get her bearings. In her free time, she’d strolled the area, but not in the dark. Confidence kept her moving, for she knew she’d figure it out. The walking helped her think. Trying to make sense of how the staff-training job she had been recruited for by the hospital had turned

67 into more of a mission to help Sarah die in peace had become clearer. Her work in Seattle had concluded tonight. She felt a wave of relief as she longed to get home to Jerome. The relief turned to guilt as she flashed back to little Sarah. Nancy had felt a familiar love for the smiling blonde angel from the moment she spotted her ten weeks ago. She spent most of her free time—between running staff-training seminars—reading Sarah books, playing games, laughing, sharing meals, and wiping her tiny brow or holding her hand. This fragile girl, out of treatment options and with no parents alive, needed someone. Nurse Nancy took control, for she had become a reluctant expert in grief and loss and how to deal with it all. Savannah, her daughter, had died two years earlier after her brittle, tiny body had been ravaged by the evil known as chronic lymphocytic leukemia. This evil was almost the same cause of Sarah’s suffering and premature death. Nancy had responded to the tragedy of Savannah’s passing by pouring her energy, pain, and

68 insights into writing about the process. Savannah’s Song became a bestseller and turned her into a popular spokesperson for others touched by grief or loss. Nancy turned the corner at Jefferson and paused before heading down Fifth Avenue, where she noticed a crowd in a circle. In response to the frantic shouts for help, she rushed to the scene and was administering to a bloody, unresponsive body seconds later. Blood covered her new coat.

69 “Got the damn devil once and for all. Always following me around. Spreading his bad luck to all of us,” slurred a deep voice speaking to an audience that wasn’t there.

70 His breathing and heart rate returned to normal as he wiped the blood from the blade with the sleeve of his handsome topcoat. He slapped the knife shut. From the middle of the alley, he took a deep bow toward the frantic, growing circle a mere block away. Nobody had noticed his dark presence behind the dumpster or seen his exit after the brutal assault. “Thank you, thank you,” he said as he waved and tipped his hat to his legion of invisible admirers. He strolled off, undetected, puffing on a victory cigar, waving, and smiling. He turned right at the end of the deserted alley and headed back toward Pike Place Market. ♪“The devil’s gone, oh yeah, the devil’s gone. Thank God, the devil’s gone,”♪ he sang repeatedly in his once professional baritone voice. He stopped at the top of the hill a block from the market. Snow fell and the stage lights shone in honor of his brilliant performance. He reached up with both hands toward the sky, bowed, and laughed. He folded back the left sleeve of his topcoat, which revealed the

71 tattoo on his forearm: ‘Sweet & Refreshing’ in faded blue ink. He held his arm up to the sky, then kissed his tattoo. The sidewalk descent had become icy, and he slipped a few times before getting to his room. He brushed off his precious topcoat and hung it up with care in its usual spot. He didn’t notice the blood spots. ♪The devil’s gone, oh yeah, the devil’s gone,”♪ he sang while taking some fancy dance steps. He crawled under his covers and let the waves of applause wash over him.

72 Nancy tried to find the sources of the heavy blood flow as another pair of skilled hands helped. A skinny older guy making all the right first aid moves had placed a coat under Blackie’s head and started CPR and mouth-to-mouth. There were a dozen punctures, including one that had severed an artery on his right arm. She cried for a shoelace and tied it off. His shirt got ripped open, which exposed a serious chest wound. Nancy and the skinny guy called for clothing at the same time. They got a sweater and ripped up a blanket, and both started pressing and cleaning the wounds..

73 The ambulance spun around the corner and loaded Blackie onto the stretcher. “Good work, you two ... and Merry Christmas,” an EMT warrior cried as the ambulance rushed off with sirens blazing. Nancy collapsed on a bench and found herself covered in snow, coming down hard. A smelly but warm blanket materialized around her shoulders. The skinny helper covered her legs and lap with his coat, leaving him with no protection from the cold and flakes. A crowd gathered around the bench. Bad Oliver handed her an open bottle in a brown paper bag. Shrugging off her cautious nature, she took a long drink from the bottle, which made her gag and cough. She made eye contact with the helper and tried to hand him the bottle, but he shook his head. “Lady, are you okay?” spoke his voice that came from underneath a set of dim, gray-blue eyes. “You saved him. How did you know what to do?” “You’re the one who saved him ... If he makes it, that is. What you doing out on these streets at this

74 time of night?” “Well, I have no idea. I was walking back to the motel from the hospital when I heard the shouts.” “Lloyd’s? Doesn’t matter. Come on. I’ll walk you there,” he said, helping her up. Psycho came racing up in his wheelchair and patted her arm. He cried out, “Lord, you’re a for-real angel. You and Jerry saved Blackie.” There were other pats and approving murmurs. She returned Jerry’s coat but kept the blanket, and they headed toward the Space Needle. Silence for a full block before Nancy stopped. “Hi, I’m Nancy. Who are you?” “Nice to meet, you ma’am. My name’s Jerry.” He smiled, exposing several chipped, discolored teeth. “Glad to know you, Jerry.” She offered her hand, and he took it. “Well, the pleasure’s all mine. I’ve seen you walking around here before. I’m ... well ... I’m kind of the area’s

75 busybody. You’re staying at Lloyd’s Inn, right?” “Busybody, huh? I can relate. Yes, it’s not the most glamorous joint, but I like the location. Has a place to cook. Tire of eating hospital and restaurant food all the time. You’re a good busybody and an expert in emergency medicine, it appears. How did you learn your skills?” “Well, thanks. The busybody stuff is, well, a sorta natural skill. And my hometown sent me for some great training years ago when I was the fire chief. Seen a few wrecks and injuries in my time,” Jerry said as he looked up at the sky and flashed Nancy a shy grin. “Wow, what a bunch of snow for Seattle. Goodness, you look like you’re freezing,” he said, changing the subject. “I am. Don’t see this stuff in Atlanta.” The door of a restaurant flew open, almost hitting the two walkers. Seconds later, a half dozen joyful people ran out on the sidewalk cheering, “Merry Christmas to all,” and started throwing snowballs at each other.

76 “Greetings, you two,” said a man with an obvious abundance of holiday cheer wearing a bright red holiday sweater and a Santa hat he snatched before it blew off into the night. He pointed at Nancy and Jerry. “Come on in and have a hot-buttered rum on the house. We’re one minute into Christmas Day. Time to celebrate. Come on, take a break from this snow and warm up,” he said while holding the door open. A snowball smacked the cement wall, missing his head by inches. They accepted the surprise invitation and found themselves across from one another in a booth sipping hot-buttered rums. Nancy held up her steaming mug. “I’m not a big drinker, but this is exactly what I needed. Merry Christmas, my new friend.” Jerry tapped his mug to hers and took a swallow. “Merry Christmas. I so agree, ma’am, this hits the spot. Are you in a hurry? If not, I want to hear about how an Atlanta beauty queen made it to my city in the middle of winter and saved one of my better friends.”

77 “What a sweet thing to say. I don’t care one bit if you’re lying. I have no place I’d rather be. Let’s have a couple more of these hot toddies and share some stories. What do you want to know?” “Well, lots of stuff ... tell me about life in Atlanta.” “Oh, an easy one. Born and raised minutes from downtown Atlanta, became a nurse, married my childhood sweetheart Jerome, who made it in the NBA for eight years, lost a daughter to cancer, and wrote a book about the experience ... about it, I guess.” She took a drink and noticed his stare. “I read your book. It helped me ... I mean really helped me. An honor to be talking with you.” He touched her arm. Nancy stirred her drink before looking up to Jerry’s wet eyes. “Oh, my God. What a glorious thing to say,” she whispered. She covered her mouth to trap the sobs, but it didn’t work.

78 “How you folks doing back here? Couple more? I’m still buying,” said the still cheerful bar owner. “Want another one, Nancy?” She nodded, trying to compose herself. “Two more hot toddies for the midnight walkers, Sammy,” the owner yelled. Two tables of celebrators shouted approval and held their glasses up. “Geez, I didn’t mean to upset you.” “Oh, sorry ... It’s just been one hell of a night and your words touched me. In fact, I’ll never forget them. How did you know?” “Let me help. I kept seeing you around and wondered about you. Always walking alone, looking kind of lost. I recognized that look, for I know it well. Did my busybody deal and discovered you’re an author. Got your book. Did nothing but read for two days. Felt like I knew you and your Savannah and your basketball star husband, Jerome, right?” He took a sip.

79 “Jesus ... yeah, it’s Jerome. Loved that boy since eighth grade. Tell me what happened... what made you need my book? I want to hear.” “ I lost some people too. I’ll tell you about it, but not tonight. Might even write it all out if we lose contact, I promise. Sorry, but excuse me, need to use the restroom.” “Wait, some people? What's that mean?” A wave of grief hit him so he stood, took three steps, and looked back. “Nancy, when I get back, I want the whole story about how you got here. Got something to share, if I don’t lose my nerve.” He rushed off. “My God, what a sweet man.” Jerome’s powerful arms holding her close became an almost desperate demand. She put her head on her folded hands, closed her eyes, released a sigh, and let her mind travel.

80 “But Nancy, I’m trying to understand. Why Seattle, of all places? You’ve never even been there before,” Jerome asked as he flopped down on the couch next to her. “Honey, the head of the department called begging me to give the hospital staff some training and help with a girl who’s receiving some experimental treatment. I know in my heart I should take this job.” Jerome started pacing. He grabbed a basketball from among the trophies and spun it on his finger. He slapped the ball down on the hardwood floor. “Look, Nancy, I admire all you’ve done after we lost Savannah. Don’t want to be selfish, but I’m worried. You’re barely over the operation, don’t have a clue how you’re dealing with the emotional part of it all. And it’s close to the holidays and all ... Plus, you’d be so far away.” “Wait a second, honey. We’ve been apart on the holidays before. You had games on Christmas a bunch of times. Is there something else?” “Look, I’ve told you a thousand times it doesn’t

81 matter that we can’t have more kids. I’ve loved you since junior high ... will always love you. Look at our place. The money from my last contract is enough for us to live in style forever. You don’t have to work. You aren’t doing this to push me away, are you?” She looked at this enormous man who despite his 6’10” height and bulging muscles seemed childlike and vulnerable at this moment. “You’ll think I’m weird,” Nancy said. “You’ve always been weird, so out with it.” “I keep having these repeating dreams. I keep seeing these same three girls. One is a little blonde in a bed, another is young with crutches, and some teenager black girl. I see the Space Needle thingy in the background. It’s not a normal dream. Full color and vivid. I can’t explain it, but something odd is happening. You know me. I’m no religious or spiritual person. In fact, I’m pragmatic to a fault. Believe we make our own world.” She rose to get some water and took a sip. “I would never push you away. We’re kindred

82 spirits. I love our life and having you hold me. Some little girl with no support is dying and for whatever reason, they called out to me. Yeah, you’re right, I’m still processing the reality of not being able to have another child, but I’m at peace with it. Can you try to understand? You know, it could well be I’m feeling more stress from the operation than I admit, but I think going to Seattle for a few weeks will be a good thing.” The tall one stared down at her. “My God. What a year, huh? First, I blow out my knee for good. You go through the operation, and getting recruited from across the country after your book, and now you’re seeing visions. You say it’s only a three-month job? I’d miss you every single day.” He scooped her up in his arms. “Jerome! What are you doing?” Nancy asked. “Oh, I'm having a vision of making love to this crazy woman who’s evidently going to Seattle.” They made love for hours.

83 “I don’t think it’s fair, Mr. Busybody, demanding I do all the talking.” This greeting stopped Jerry’s march back to the booth, but only for a second. “I saw you in a dream. You walked by me one day down by the aquarium and I almost passed out,” said Jerry as he slid into his spot. “I saw you in a dream before you came here. All you get until you tell me the entire story. Sorry, there’s my deal.” “What? This is getting weird. But okay, get us one more toddy and I’ll tell it all.” Jerry got up and returned with two more drinks. “Go, I’m a good listener, want it all.” Jerry listened as Nancy talked. The alcohol had freed up her tongue and she shared until the place closed an hour later. Jerry only nodded or said, “Keep going,” the entire time. They headed back out into the night, this time walking arm-in-arm. He pulled on his stocking cap and stopped.

84 “She has curly hair,” he said. The snowfall continued to fall but had become less intense. Nancy turned to him. “What? Who has curly hair?” “The little one with crutches.” Nancy slapped him on the arm, hard. “Good Lord, do you tell fortunes or read palms too? Now you have to tell me all you know. I’ll be the listener.” She locked arms with him, and they took off laughing. They didn’t notice the teenager coming out of the dark doorway until she almost crashed into them. A harsh voice followed. “Tanya, get your black ass back here. I mean now.” The owner of the voice came out of the doorway shadows, grabbed the young girl by her hair, and yanked her around to face him. “Keep your fucking hands off me, Tony.” “What did you say, you little bitch?”

85 “Go fuck yourself, Tony, you asshole. Told you I didn’t want to do none of this bullshit tonight. Jesus Christ, it’s fuckin’ Christmas you stone-hearted motherfucker. I’ve got to get home. ‘Bye asshole.” He wound up and gave her a vicious backhanded slap that spun the young woman around. She stumbled, rolled on the ground for a moment, lost her stocking cap, sprang up, and started kicking and clawing at the guy. She got in one good knee to the groin, which doubled him up. He recovered and belted her in the gut with enough force to knock her off her feet. She fell to the pavement and started coughing. Jerry had seen enough. He launched himself into the guy’s stomach head first. The younger, meaner, vicious-faced, unkempt man knocked Jerry down with ease to the slippery sidewalk, kicked him a few times, and soon had Tanya pinned on the cement with his hands around her neck. Nancy started punching at him, and he noticed. “Why you fucking black bitch. Wanna play, huh?” He growled and grabbed her by the coat. His

86 forceful grip made her struggling futile. He stayed on top of the thrashing Tanya and smacked Nancy across the face, sending her to her knees. She wiped the blood from her mouth with her glove, looked down at her red dripping hand, and knew she should run but couldn’t move. “Get your fucking hands off her, you cocksucker!” screamed a deep, thundering voice. The disreputable supposed tough guy flew off into the night air like an exploding ember in a forest fire. The bricks of the fleabag hotel wall stopped him. Two massive hands banged his head against the old bricks that turned brighter and brighter red with each blow. Nancy looked up in horror and wonder, simply not believing what she was seeing through the flakes. “Jerome? ... Jerome? ... Oh, my God! Stop Jerome! Jerome, stop! You’ll kill him!”

87 Chapter 3- Weird Introductions & Secret Plans

88 The next blurry moments seemed unreal to Nancy until she heard the sirens and saw the blue lights in the distance. The teenage girl had recovered enough to sit up, rubbed her neck, and began groaning. Jerry tried to help her, but limped off into an alley and disappeared as the sirens drew closer. The unconscious, bloody body Jerome released slumped down the wall where it landed in an unresponsive mound. He turned to Nancy and caught her as she jumped into his arms. They raced over and helped up the girl. Nancy took charge of the situation as the sirens and flashing lights zoomed closer. “Come with us,” Nancy ordered, and the three of them took off running hand-in-hand. They turned right, dodged a taxi, and a honking newspaper delivery truck before taking a quick left leading them to the Seattle Center. Across the slippery blacktop still holding hands, they sprinted with Jerome in the lead urging both women on. The group paused to gather their breath beneath the Space Needle.

89 “Jerome, how did you get here? How did you find me? Thank you for finding me. Oh, my God, what just happened? I can’t breathe ... Oh, my God. I’m so glad you’re here,” were the confusing words that cascaded out as she tried to regain her breath. She flopped into his arms. “Wow, look at the fuckin’ thing. Jesus, never been this close at night before,”said the teenage girl. She caught herself, embarrassed for yelling bad language, and looked at the couple. “Hi, there. Tanya, is it? I’m Nancy and this is my husband Jerome,” Nancy said. Her heartbeat sped up even a tick more and her ears starting ringing. There stood the girl in her dreams. The one holding the hand of a little one on crutches with leg braces, a detail she now remembered. The girl didn’t respond. Rather, she stood staring at Jerome. “Holy shit, you’re nearly as tall as this here space deal. You play ball somewheres? You kinda look like this dude who played against my daddy from Georgia

90 Tech,” she blurted out. “Well, yeah, I played there a few years ago. Who’s your dad?” “Dalton Pierce, ever heard of him?” she answered, “he had game.” “You’ve got to be kidding me? Seriously, Downtown Dalton, from Mississippi State? Best shooter in the entire South. You’re his daughter?” “Was his daughter. He fell over dead two years ago. Blew out both knees; lost all his money and pride, I think. My worthless mother said it was because of cocaine. Don’t never believe nothing coming out of that slut’s mouth, trust me. How ‘bout going somewheres to get something to eat? Jesus, I haven’t run so far in years.” Jerome shot a quick glance at Nancy, who nodded. “Well, we’re far from home and would appreciate the company. My treat. I’ll get you a cab afterward.” “Thanks, but on second thought, I gotta roll. That cockroach, Tony, will come after me tomorrow so I gots to find a place to hide away for a few days. You did

91 a number on the prickless dickhead. Damn fun to watch.” “Oh, come on. It’s Christmas. Know any place open?” Nancy asked. “Yeah, maybe. Clear downtown. I never turn down a free meal, but I gotta warn you, trouble follows me like a white Mississippi cop shadowing a Negroooo.” “Well kids, us three Negroooos had better quit standing underneath this thing. Enough people have noticed us already, might gather a crowd soon. Come on. I'll hail us a cab. By the way, I upgraded to a suite at the Hyatt,” he said looking at Nancy. “A cab? Are you shittin' me, Ace? It's past midnight and you think a cab's gonna pick us three blacks up? HA! ... I know, let's take that thing. It's running tonight and stops close to the Hyatt. There's an all- night restaurant right next to it. Don't know if it will be open on Christmas, though.” She pointed up at the monorail.

92 “What do you think, Nancy?” “Hell, why not? For all I know, the thing will take off flying.” The snow had melted, replaced by a typical Seattle drizzle. They purchased tickets from a suspiciously happy worker, thrilled to see someone who wanted to chat. They sat together, the only passengers on this space-age looking vehicle flying toward the heart of downtown Seattle minutes later. “Jerome, I repeat, what in the name of God are you doing here? How did you find me?” Nancy asked as soon as they were settled on the monorail.

93 “What, you think you're the only one with visions in this family?” he said. “No, really ...” “ Well, it's like this. I didn't want to spend this Christmas or any Christmas without you. I hopped on a flight as soon as I tried to call at the hospital and heard Sarah was in trouble. I couldn't bear to imagine you alone if the little one died on you during the holidays. I raced over to the hospital, but they said you'd left after Sarah passed and jumped in another van. Tried to retrace your steps, had almost given up, and headed back toward the hotel. Your phone jumps to voicemail,” he said. He rubbed the knuckles of his right hand before continuing. “What's with your phone? Anyway, I started patrolling the streets—even got the cops out looking for you. One kind guy told me a black woman had helped save a stabbing victim. He was pretty sure that some guy named Jerry was escorting you back to your motel. I raced up there, but nobody answered at your room. I

94 decided to walk down the streets until I found you. Been looking for hours. Turned the corner just as shithead cuffed you,” he said. He grabbed her and gave her a long kiss. She dropped into his arms. “Jerome, this is weird. Look at that poor kid. How did we meet her and why? Like some ridiculous game show. Oh, sorry ... I forgot I turned off my phone in Sarah's room.” “Honey, she looks exactly, I mean exactly like you did in high school. You know, before you blossomed some.” “Blossomed? What in the hell does that mean? Don't say, 'pleasantly plump' if you want to keep your balls intact,” she said, smacking him in the arm hard. “Wow, a real hero's welcome, I see.” The monorail cruised to a smooth stop, and the door poofed open. They walked down the stairs and there sat the Daily Grill Restaurant. The red neon sign thankfully blinked out the word open. “Let's get something to eat,” said Jerome. This

95 suggestion met with earnest nods of agreement. They were eating from platters and sipping Starbucks coffee minutes later.

96 It took him several minutes to figure it out. An IV dripped something into his left arm. He felt around his body. A large, uncomfortable wrapping on his other arm covered up the part pulsing with the most intense pain. It hurt something fierce when he took a deep breath and got even worse when he attempted to move around on the hospital bed. He moaned, and a nurse popped over to him. “Welcome back to the world, mister. You're one lucky man. With as much blood as you lost, you should have been a goner. Don't move around much now. Oh, an officer wants to speak with you. Are you up for

97 it?” the nurse asked. Blackie nodded. Officer O'Malley's face appeared in his line of vision. “Hey, Blackie. Never thought I'd see your ugly mug again. You're the luckiest man around town. Jerry and some nurse walking by saved your sorry ass. Luckily, the hospital was close. They say you're stitched up pretty good. How you feeling?” “Not fine, but pretty fucking dandy, O'Malley. Jesus Christ, what kind of dumb question is that anyways?” He twisted around to get comfortable but fell back. “Get out of here, go bug your wife and kids. I'll be okay.” “Have any idea who did this?” “Nope. Don't know ... remember nothing but falling. Don't know what happened. Think it was some midgets who escaped from the circus. Wanted to steal all of my many riches,” he moaned out. “You really are a piece of work, aren't you? Should I call anyone?”

98 “Yeah, the President. Tell 'em I might be out of commission for a few days.” “Seriously, are you certain you don't know who came after you?” “No idea ... gotta sleep, man.” “Okay, don't tell me anything, you piece of shit. You know who did this to you. Why you won't tell me proves how fucking stupid you can be. Someone damn near killed you. You damn moron. Oh, fuck it! I've wasted enough time up at this damn hospital. Heading home. Try not to be too much of a pain in the ass to the nurses,” said O'Malley. He stomped off. The cop had been right. He knew exactly who. Fucking Kool Aide, his old street pal. He already had a plan hatching. After a few winks, he planned to crawl out of his bed and get the damn coward. Fuck the pain. “Nobody gonna take a knife to me and get away with it. I'm going to fuck him up good.” The meds did their work, and he passed out even as he tried to fight off the drowsiness. Blackie didn't have any idea O'Malley stood out in

99 the hallway speaking to someone on the phone a few minutes after he left. He filled this someone in on Blackie's serious condition. A careful or even casual listener would have found out his room number and the severity and detail of his injuries. It sounded like the someone might be to a woman and one with a hearing problem as he had to repeat the details several times. He listened without speaking. “Sounds like a perfect plan. I'll keep a lookout and be there myself. And Merry Christmas to you, too.” The cop got off the phone, took a long stretch, and wondered if he had done the right thing by making contact. He knew it likely would be awhile before he got any proper sleep. He strolled to the lounge, got a coffee, and two donuts, laughing at the stereotype he resembled at the moment. “Well,” he wondered, “what has ol' Blackie got going on? Damn Balloon Billy and now this.” The old wino could be a pain in the ass, but he also did a lot of undercover good in the neighborhood. The cop liked him. But he did keep an eye on him regularly,

100 as he knew Blackie kept aware of anything and everything going on. A hit-and-run accident and an attempted murder in his area? Not acceptable. He flopped down on a chair, rubbed his temples, and nodded off. He shook himself awake and yawned. A stretch, another gulp of coffee, and he headed home to catch a few winks. **** They ate in silence. Tanya gobbled down her meal, almost licking the plate. “Wow, kid. When's the last time you had a full meal?” Jerome asked. “Damn good. Can I get some more pancakes?” Tanya said, not answering the question. “Sure, get whatever you want.” He yawned and stretched out his long arms. “What you doing hanging out on the streets? Who's the creep you were with anyway?” he asked as he took a drink from the Starbucks container and pushed his plate away. “Ah, it's a long story. Have a place up on Capitol

101 Hill. He's just an asshole friend of my mom's.” Jerome didn't press it. He glanced over at Nancy, fast asleep with her head on the table. “We've got to get Nancy to bed.” “Yeah, she's out, ain't she? I need to be heading home. Could I bum a few bucks first?” Tanya asked, not making eye contact while stuffing a huge forkful of pancakes into her mouth. “Oh, come on. I could use your help. Hang out with us for a while. There's a spare room in the suite. Bunch more food up there.” “Yeah, okay, I'll help out some,” she said, “soon as I finish these pancakes.” Tanya chewed slowly while plotting how to pull off making a good score from this obviously rich couple. If she could only get her hands on the big guy's wallet. She had another few blocks to the Hyatt to figure it out. She took her last bites, wiped her mouth, and got up. They made it to the Hyatt in less than five minutes and buzzed up the elevator to the suite in seconds. The sky was turning pink.

102 “I had them bring your stuff over from your hotel.” Nancy nodded and began telling Jerome about the passing of her Sarah. “She was so brave. Told her auntie it was going to be okay. Said she'd be with her mommy and daddy soon. The elderly lady couldn't handle it. Didn't blame her. Poor old lady left in tears. Ended up being only Sarah and me.” She walked toward the window and continued. “I kept reading from her favorite storybook, Blueberries for Sal. Read it over and over. When I closed the book the last time, I looked at her and knew

103 she was gone. The monitor buzzed at almost the exact moment I finished the thought.” She sighed but didn't cry. Jerome moved toward her, held her, and let her rock. Tanya broke the silence. “I wanna be a nurse someday. That's my goal,” she said from her spot on the expensive couch. This interrupted the spell. The couple stared at her. “Hey, stand next to each other,” Jerome gently ordered, waving Tanya over toward them. The two women cooperated and brushed shoulders. “Wow, this is plain weird, girls. You're exactly the same height, same skin color, same eyes ... unreal.” “I could never be as pretty as her,” Tanya said. “You already are, kid,” Jerome said. “Tanya, do you have a younger sister?” asked Nancy. “Nope, only me and my twin brother.” “Know anyone with a little girl who needs crutches, braces, or can't walk all that well?”

104 “Don't know nobody like that.” But the question had shocked Tanya. Nancy looked intently at her for a few moments, shrugged, and headed for the bedroom. “I've got to get some sleep but guess what? It's officially Christmas. I say, 'Merry Weird Christmas.' Jesus, can you believe the ride I've been on for several hours now? First, Sarah passes. I can't get a hold of my husband because he's flying at the time. I turned my phone off; couldn't get his calls. I come across a stabbing. Yeah, happens all the time? Right? Made friends with a street bum who ends up being the sweetest soul I've ever met. And just for fun? A girl— who looks like me, and why the hell not?— jumps out of the shadows. Boomo, bambo ... some goon starts beating us all up and get this, who saves the day? Well, none other than my darlin' husband who's supposed to be waitin' for Santa in our house in Atlanta. But no, for you see, he's somehow magically appeared out of the mist in Seattle in the middle of a snowy night. Merry Weird Christmas, Jesus!”

105 “Yes, honey. I am Batman,” Jerome interrupted while putting three ice cubes in a glass. “Honey, have you been drinking?” “Batman? You'd be one funky superhero. I mean, what kind of hero has to duck before entering every room? Batman? Try Storkman. By the way, husband dearest, exactly how many double scotches have y'all ingested today?” “Hey, Tanya, I'm not certain, but she may have insulted me a little there. Darling, I'll answer your question. Well, I've had two; if you're counting by fives. Now, you have to admit, that's funny.” “Yeah, I do admit it, but I wasn't asking to scold you. I simply wanted to know if there was any left, you dunce. Well, is there? If so, pour me one.” “Okay, one double scotch coming up for the queen of the hive. Do you want one, Tanya?” “Jerome! What are you doing? You can't give her alcohol.” “Oh, really momma? You don't think this young gal has ever had a drink before? Heck, I can already

106 tell I would never want to get in a Tequila shot- chugging contest with her,” Jerome joked. “Hey, forget it. She doesn't need a stupid drink. I'm the one who needs a stupid drink. And another thing, where are my things you said got sent here from my other room?” “Oh, geez. I either forgot, like a dummy, or put them all away in the dresser drawers and hid your luggage in the closet. One of the two.” He handed her a drink. “Here you go, love.” She took a sip and checked out the neatly filled dresser drawers. “Pretty nice there, Batman.” “Honey, you really have a way with words. Only one problem. There's simply too many of them is all.” “Oh, brother. Nice to meet you, Tanya, even though it was a pretty weird introduction. You're more than welcome to spend the night here. Goodnight.” She waved and headed to the bedroom. Jerome followed, leaving his expensive coat hanging on the

107 chair. He came out a few seconds later and sat down across from Tanya. “You can use the other bedroom, Tanya. We're going to take a nap. Watch a movie or TV; eat what you want. You know, your dad was one hell of a player and a good guy. We came from the same kind of background and I admired the way he played. He put it all on the line every time I saw him compete. I bet he loved you more than you'll ever know. Hell, the crazy dude smacking you acted like he owned you or something. Glad I was around to save Downtown Dalton's baby girl,” he said. He patted her on the shoulder. “Oh, sorry, I forgot to thank you. The guy gets pretty damn wacky. Hated him for a long time now,” she said. Jerome walked over to his coat, reached in the inner pocket, and took out two hundred-dollar bills. “Well, since it's Christmas Day, I'd like to give you this as a gift.” He handed her the bills, tapped her head gently,

108 and moved toward the bedroom. “Use part of it for your kid,” he added. “Okay, thanks ... very kind and thoughtful.” “So, you do have a child, right? Don't worry, I know nothing.” He raised both mammoth hands over his head, turned, and closed the door. Tanya clicked on the television and waited. But not for long. She felt impatient when she knew patience was needed in order to pull this off. Her babysitter, middle-aged friend Judy, was probably freaking out about now. The young mother had to get home, so made her way over to Jerome's coat. It took some tapping around, but she found the wallet in the inner pocket, opened it, and snatched a wad of bills. It had to be nearly a thousand bucks. Tanya stuffed the cash into her right jean pocket, flicked off the TV and lights, and quietly slipped out the door, feeling and then ignoring the throbs of guilt.

109 Zipping down the twenty floors using the steps, not wanting to risk the elevator, seemed like a good idea. She sprinted all out toward a yellow cab sitting in front of the Hyatt while waving one of the hundreds, and tapped on the window, which aroused the napping driver. “Merry Christmas, sir. This is all yours if you get me home as fast as you can.” “Hop in, love. Where to?” the now alert cabbie asked as he started the engine and stuffed the bill into his top shirt pocket. She had to get home to Emily—her not quite four- year-old baby—before her babysitter called the cops or welfare. She had been out all night.

110 They made it in record time. She vaulted out and got out her house key. How did the nurse Nancy know about a little, crippled kid? She pushed the thought out of her consciousness, opened the door, and hurried toward Emily's bedroom. Two arms grabbed her and spun her around violently. “I warned you before. You didn't listen, you little bitch. Now you're gonna pay.” He pushed her hard, knocking pictures off the wall, and followed with a smack to the side of her head that sent her sprawling. He limped over to her, holding his side, grabbed her arm, and raised his fist. His face was a mess of bruises, cuts, and both eyes were swollen almost shut. Jerome had done a number on this hombre. “Jesus, get your hands off me. Wait a second. I made you a bunch of money. Wanna see?” Tanya said. She detected a loud motor outside and figured it had to belong to his meth-head buddies. “You better have some money, you dumb bitch. Let's see it. Now!”

111 He shoved her toward the kitchen. “Knock it off and let me get it. Hid it in the cupboard. Over a thousand bucks.” He released her, and she moseyed into the kitchen where she snatched the cast-iron skillet from the stove back burner and without hesitation, smashed him in the face. This savage, surprising blow dropped him to his knees and blood flowed. The attack continued with five more brutal hits to his head. Her mother had taught her well how to survive around violent, stupid men. She hurried to the back bedroom, relieved to see her still sleeping daughter. Seconds later, out the back sliding glass door she sneaked carrying her little one, blankets and all. After racing through four backyards, Tanya hopped into the street where she could see the blue smoke leaking from the idling black van still parked in front of her apartment. She had no plan. No idea what to do. Pure panic was about to kickoff until a gray Chrysler van pulled up. “Get in!”

112 CCHEERLESSHEERLESS JJERRYERRY

PART FOUR OF THE TALE Chapter 4- Cheerless Jerry

NORM GATES, FELLOW EMT PARTNER, AND A CLOSE FRIEND DISCOVERED Fire Chief Jerry on his knees rocking in the middle of the county road that awful foggy Sunday morning. The emergency light from the pickup’s dashboard kept flashing blue, red, blue, red on the chief's hands covering his head. He didn’t respond to Norm's appearance on the scene. The admired, loved chief just kept rocking back and forth like the rhythm of a heartbeat. Norm leaned down to check on his pal but froze when he spotted the wreckage through the drizzle and

114 fog. His heart jumped when a nightmare scene popped into focus composed of a rusted pickup flipped sideways in the ditch and a few feet away, a smashed, still steaming, overturned dark blue Volvo station wagon. Jerry’s Volvo station wagon. With his flashlight on, he took a deep breath and crawled under the vehicle. He noticed the lifeless baby first. The one Jerry and his lovely wife Florence had wished for and so proudly shown off at the golf course restaurant six months ago. The car seat and bright red teddy bear hadn’t helped. His light and eyes moved to the driver’s seat where he found Florence, her head slumped to the side, not moving. He twisted around and detected more horror in the back seat. Sheldon, Jerry’s senior boy, on his back, his blue eyes open, looking straight up. A mere few hours ago Norm had watched the vibrant, happy boy swish five three-pointers in the second half at a Peninsula High victory. Tears dripped on the now shaking flashlight,

115 and a soft series of sobs from the soul erupted into a scream. “Oh, my God! This can't be happening!” Like a snake he slithered away from the horror show, jumped up and threw up in the ditch. He wiped his mouth after the last dry heave and shook his head, a primitive move to clear his mind. He had work to do. Norm moved to the pickup and opened the driver’s door. Old man Wagner’s dead body slumped against him. An empty Jim Beam bottle fell and broke on the pavement when he pushed the corpse back inside. A thundering door slam ended the inspection. Chief Jerry's right-hand man put it all together. Jerry had raced up, probably after getting the call at his weekly Sunday golf game, and came across the worst living nightmare. His entire family dead, less than a mile away from their cozy country home. Norm did his job. He checked the bodies for pulses, knowing he'd find none. Jerry and Norm had come across dozens of wrecks over the years and a few fatalities. He knew death when he saw it. As if in a

116 trance, he headed toward his pickup where he found two blankets. He took out his knife and split them in two, forced himself back to the vehicles, and covered each body with care and precision. He knew he would never forget the sad, gruesome images he had seen. The ringing in his ears wouldn’t stop. He left Jerry rocking and called for help on his radio. Norm wanted to say something wise and comforting to his dear pal, a man who had treated him like a son. A man he had often described to others as a living angel on earth. He had watched Jerry save lives and stay composed in crisis times. But who in this world could have possibly stayed cool in this unreal situation? Norm could find no profound words. He picked Jerry up in his arms and placed him gently in the passenger side of his Blazer. A Jefferson County Sheriff's car pulled up minutes later. “Jesus. I’ll take over, Norm. Get that poor man out of here,” said Sheriff Collins. He gave Norm a pat, looked over at Jerry, and

117 shook his head in disbelief. “Norm, what’s under there? Not the baby ...” Norm could only nod. “Oh, my fucking God. You had to crawl under there? Oh, I’m so sorry. Get out of here, right now. I got help coming.” He paced around, rubbing his head and wiping off what might have been tears. “Norm, I am so sorry you had to see that. Kind of lost it back there, my friend. I’m okay now,” Jerry said. He twisted himself out of the passenger side of the Blazer when they reached the hospital, took Norm’s arm, and leaned on him as they walked into the emergency room. But some wounds cut too deeply to heal. Jerry was never really ever okay.

118 Jerry lurched up, throwing off the covers. He tore off his soaked Seahawk tee-shirt and threw it on the one chair in the corner. Shaking his head to clear his vision, to reset his mind, had become his way of erasing the old repeating images he had seen and experienced yet again. His room felt chilly. Groaning on his way to his suitcase, which had become his permanent bureau drawer replacement, he took out a clean white tee-shirt, and a sweater, pulled them on, checked the chair that acted as his security system to see if it had remained stable underneath the door handle, and found his pipe.

119 The skinny guy loaded it with cherry tobacco. It took three wooden matches to get the bowl going as he sucked on the stem. A siren sounded nearby. He slid open the curtains to see if he could detect anything on the street. He hoped one of his pals hadn’t found trouble. The face of an old man reflected as he smiled, embarrassed by his discolored front teeth. “I need to get those damn things fixed.” The reality of that happening appeared dim, for he’d never have the money. This time, he forced himself to smile at his reflection with only his lips, taking care not to expose his teeth. He did this often in front of people he greeted twice a week at his part-time job as the Olympic Tower Hotel doorman. It had become time to look at himself. To the bathroom he strolled with a sigh. Jerry pulled the string, which popped on the uncovered bulb, splashed some water on his face, and with another deep breath, looked. What had happened to his blue eyes? When his hair had gone gray, it had dimmed their vibrant blueness, which had been his

120 most attractive feature. He remembered from one of his favorite detective novels if you dyed the hair the eyes changed color too. Recognition of himself now hidden behind the wrinkles and stubby white whiskers shocked him. “What do I expect? I am 61 years old.” He scraped the whiskers off with a cheap razor, dry with no water or shaving cream, and he waved at himself, before flopping back on the shaky bed. “How much longer, Lord? It’s been twenty-five years now. How much longer, Lord?” After a few seconds, he admitted that sleep wasn’t possible as his early nap had messed him up. He would be up late. The clock across the street showed only 10:05. He grabbed his coat and headed for his real home, the streets of Pioneer Square, where he had ended up after his stay in the mental hospital. At first, the outpouring of love from all in the small community had been constant and sincere. But the memory of such an awful event morphed into a distant abstraction—to most just a sad tale. But to Jerry, it

121 would be a concrete event reviewed several times each day. To cope, he started doing anything to stay away from the empty home, especially at night. Drinking until closing time almost every evening up at the golf course restaurant became his daily habit. The calls to attend to wrecks caused him too much stress, which made his resignation a requirement. Word got around and put the county in the position of discussing firing him, something nobody wanted to do. The day he resigned broke the rest of his heart. Months later, he noticed the whispering and heard about his nickname—Cheerless Jerry—which hurt the proud man to the core. The Cedar’s Casino, owned by the nearby tribe, five miles out of town, turned into his haven. People recognized his habit of sneaking whiskey into the place and mixing it in the free coffee. But they left him alone to sip coffee and spin the slot dials hour after hour. Jerry lost two or three hundred a night, and with no income it took less than three years for him to lose it all. When he couldn’t pay on the second

122 mortgage he had taken out, one of his old buddies had to serve him with an eviction notice. His last car sold for $2,000. He lost most of that money and found himself on a bus giving the finger to his hometown through the back window. Never that much of a city guy, he nevertheless ended up in Seattle, with less than three hundred bucks in his wallet and one suitcase. The mission provided shelter for the first week, but sleeping in hideouts on the streets in the day turned out to be more to his liking as he grew more comfortable and felt safer. The Pioneer Square crowd of characters like Blackie, Fingers, Bad Oliver, Psycho, Buckskin Bubba, Balloon Billy, Smokey, and others became his new family. Seattle’s usual drizzle, which never bothered him a bit, greeted him as he left the State Hotel. Bad Oliver s sat smoking the butt of a cigar on the steps and offered a drink from a brown paper bag, but Jerry refused. He roamed toward the lights on Alaskan Way, where Officer O’Malley hovered over a prone figure on the pavement. A circle of street people had formed. Jerry

123 eased his way through. “What’s up officer?” “Wish I knew, Jerry. Can’t see anything wrong. Can’t get him to respond. I called the damn ambulance ten minutes ago.” “Let me take a look,” Jerry said. Without waiting for permission, he checked out the basics. He found a strong pulse and noticed the shallow breathing. “He’s not breathing right, officer. Sit him up.” O’Malley shrugged and helped sit him up. Jerry grabbed the guy around the middle in a bear hug and squeezed. On the third squeeze, out popped what looked like a hunk of pizza crust. The guy started coughing. O’Malley looked at Jerry and gave him a pat. The guy on the ground started asking for water and with help from the circle got to his feet. Psycho in his wheelchair started moving around and yelled, “Did you fuckin’ fools see? Did ya? Jerry saved the dude’s life. Goddamn if Jerry ain’t a hero.”

124 The circle murmured approval. O’Malley’s radio sounded off. “Shit, I’ll be right there ... Motherfucker,” he yelled out to nobody in particular. “What is it, officer?” Jerry asked. “There’s been a big wreck on the freeway two exits down. A damn school bus, two little babies ...” He sprinted toward his car. Jerry chased him. “Take me, officer. I can help; I promise you.” The officer hesitated. “What the hell? Get your ass inside.” They appeared on the scene in two minutes with siren blaring. At least ten cars composed the pileup, including a smashed yellow school bus on its side where screams could be heard. O’Malley took off running. Jerry sprinted past him toward the bus, got there, kicked in a window, and crawled inside. It contained a high school basketball team and a squad of cheerleaders. A woman kept screaming for everyone to calm down, which wasn’t helping. Jerry got to her.

125 “Honey, stop yelling. We have to get these kids out of here, pronto. I’m here to help; now let’s get going.” She nodded. “Everyone be quiet and listen to me. We’re going to get this door open. Stay calm. We’re going to make it out of here one at a time. Get in a line. Right now. You come here.” He pointed at a tall boy who seemed to be okay. “Lift me up.” Jerry got on the kid’s shoulders and started pounding on the stuck door. His hand went through the glass at one point, but he kept pounding and the thing swung free. He jumped off. “You okay, big guy?” he asked the kid. The shocked kid nodded. “Hop on his shoulders and get out.” He pushed one pony-tailed cheerleader toward the boy who lifted her up and she disappeared through the opening. More and more followed. O’Malley flashed his light inside.

126 “How many more Jerry? The gas smell is getting pretty bad.” “I think that’s the last one. I gotta go check around one more time.” “Forget it, Jerry. This thing will blow any second. Get out now.” “Get on my shoulders,” Jerry ordered. The big kid did so as Jerry’s old knees almost buckled under the weight. The big kid scrambled out. Jerry searched through the aisle, dodging broken glass, and checking under each seat. At the second-to-last row, he spotted a hand. Under the seat lay an unconscious kid with a head wound bleeding something fierce. He grabbed the kid’s feet and pulled him through the aisle, kicking out as much glass as possible. An exhausted Jerry got him up somehow. Strong arms reached inside and took the unconscious kid. “Grab my damn arms,” O’Malley said, and with a tremendous grunt and show of raw strength, pulled Jerry out.

127 They sped to the side of the road, huffing and puffing. The back end of the bus exploded in flames a minute later. The woman from the bus came over and hugged Jerry. “You’re an angel. You saved my kids. All of them. Oh, thank you! A thousand thanks!” Her face looked so familiar. A similar fresh, lovely appearance, like the one who had given him his children and welcomed him home each night. Tightly, he held the young woman and never wanted to let go. He had not held a woman close in a quarter of a century. “Jerry, over here. Two babies in this station wagon.” Jerry checked the first baby slumped in the car seat. He found a weak pulse, but no breathing. He checked for bleeding or broken limbs and started doing CPR, ever so gently. The baby began crying, and he handed her to O’Malley. The wreck had covered the other one in glass, and his tiny right leg oozed blood. He found the source of

128 the bleeding, grabbed his handkerchief, tied it around the wound, and pressed his hand down while running toward the ambulance crew. They took over. Several State Patrol vehicles and ambulances had pulled up to the scene and assumed control. The street bum turned savior stood alone, looking up at the rain. O’Malley hollered at him, which broke the trance. Jerry got in as the cop started the police cruiser, then shut off the engine. “Fucking great. You are so fucking great. Do you have any idea what you did tonight? Saved lives, brother. You saved dozens of lives. I’m buying you the biggest steak in the world.” He flipped on the siren and sped off, shaking his head and smiling over at the skinny old-timer with astonishment, admiration, and wonder. The two men got back to Pioneer Square and walked arm in arm toward a circle of streeters around a barrel fire. “Goddammit Oliver, get this man a drink,” O’Malley shouted, “hell, get me one too.”

129 The popular bar, Doc Maynard’s, had turned out their open sign and locked the doors. A couple sat on the bench outside smoking. “Look at those damn bums over there. And look at the cop. Ridiculous. We pay for him to serve and protect, and this is what we get,” the young punk sneered to his adoring gal friend. Psycho often made it a point to hang out at closing time because it could be a bounty of free smokes on busy nights. He overheard the comment. “Hey, you ass-wipe. That old bum over there and the cop saved dozens of lives up on the freeway tonight. What the fuck have you ever done for anyone?” He slapped them both from his wheelchair with his Vietnam Vet. ‘69 hat and gave them the finger. The KIRO news truck found Jerry working the next day and put him on the nightly news. The reporter had a last question. “Jerry, the community appreciates what you have done. What could we do to reward you?”

130 Jerry smiled his lip-only smile. “Could someone help me get my teeth fixed? I want to smile again.” About a week later, Jerry had another dream. He had forgotten to take his nighttime meds, so it’s hard to believe in the reality of his vision. In the mirror, Florence’s face popped into focus. Sheldon held the baby next to her and waved. “We're so proud of you,” he heard, or so he claims. The night up on the freeway and the vision of his lost family changed Jerry. He rarely drank anymore, at least to excess. Thoughts of moving back to the small town and starting over were rejected. Jerry embraced Seattle, his city. When not working his shifts at the hotel, he wandered and guarded his twenty-five block area from the Seattle Center to Pioneer Square, picking up trash and greeting tourists. When he had them, he passed out smokes and chatted with the lonely ones. Crime and people getting injured in his neighborhood, he took personally. If a scuffle broke out, Jerry would be there to keep

131 the peace. If someone got hurt he administered first aid. He comforted the lonely ones on rainy, dark nights if he thought they needed it. His purpose in his twilight years became clear. To hell with the rest of the world; he'd keep his area safe and peaceful with a fierce dedication.

132 Jerry’s side throbbed. Cracked ribs he figured. The goon's kicks had done a number on him. He'd heard the shouts and watched in amazement as a giant, he assumed Jerome, beat the guy’s head into the brick wall. Certain Nancy, the young girl, and the immense man would make a safe getaway, he headed back to the bleeding, unconscious man. After checking the prick's vital signs and propping up his head, he stepped aside as the cops took control. The jerk refused an ambulance ride after coming to and limped upstairs.

133 Jerry waited for the cops to leave before following the drips of blood to room 212. He heard moans and swearing. After his detective imitation, a plan took shape while soaking in the tub back at his dump. “Okay, Mr. Bad Ass in room 212. Let’s see what you’re up to in my neighborhood.” Trying to ignore the pain when he woke up early didn’t work, so he swallowed three painkillers and opened a new pouch of pipe tobacco. He hobbled down to the van jingling the keys to Smokey's old Chrysler van, parked in the lot Jerry had requested, eased in, and flipped on the radio. This parking spot afforded him a view of the only exit and entryway to the Lewiston Hotel, the worst dive in the area. He felt nervous and excited about driving, which he hadn’t done in years. A black van with a muffler problem, pulled up and started honking an hour later. The guy from room 212 came limping out, holding his side. Camouflage pants and a cheap imitation leather coat probably purchased at a Meth-head thrift store was the fashion for today.

134 His swollen, battered face looked dreadful even from a distance. Jerry could see his messed up teeth as he lit a cigarette and smacked the top of the van’s hood. “Wait, a damn minute. Jesus Christ, take it easy. Let me get this smoke going, motherfucker. I can barely see.” The van zoomed off, took a right, and roared up Denny’s Way. Jerry would have never caught up if they hadn’t stopped at one of the few neighborhood stores open on holidays. It gave him time to adjust to driving again. He hoped like hell they weren’t headed toward the freeway. Freeway racing in Smokey’s old van would be terrifying. The guy came out, took a slug from a bottle of wine, and got back in. Jerry blew out some air in relief when the black van took off up Broadway toward Volunteer Park. Two blocks behind, he stayed. The van cruised by the park and pulled up to an apartment house. The guy crawled out, took another swallow, and tossed the bottle to the man in the passenger seat. An older woman answered his knock, and he pushed his

135 way in. She came out seconds later and with furtive glances backward bustled up the street, struggling to get her coat on. The door of the apartment slammed. Jerry turned off the engine and ducked down. He lit his pipe and smoked one full bowl and loaded another. The running van’s driver and passenger disappeared from view, which caused him concern at first until he figured out they were probably stoners or meth-heads taking a toke in the back while they waited. His focus on this made him not notice the girl from the night before hurrying up toward the apartment door as a cab took off. The cabbie gave her a little honk, but she didn’t respond. No chance to warn her. The bum turned detective thought about calling O'Malley but knew the cop would be out of his area. He opened the van door to investigate and started to slip out when out of the corner of his eye he spotted the girl carrying a bundle of blankets, hot-footing it out of the area, her eyes glancing back at the still-running van. Jerry drove up to her.

136 “Get in!” The girl froze and started to run, but bounded into the back seat. Jerry sped off as fast as a guilty Catholic heading to a much-needed confession. He didn’t slow down until back in his safe neighborhood. He heard some sobs coming from the back seat, pulled the Chrysler over and looked back. “Are you Tanya?” he asked, wondering if he was remembering last night correctly. “Yeah, who the hell are you? A damn guardian angel is all I know. You saved my ass, mister. Can you take us to a restaurant? I’ll buy. I got some money with me.” “You bet, how about McDonald’s? There’s one over there near the Space Needle. Who’s making those sad sobs?” “This here is my Emily. She needs something to eat and a place to go back to bed. Emily, say hello to our guardian angel.” “Hi, mister,” a little voice simpered. “Well, hello, Emily. I’m glad to meet you. I’m Jerry.

137 Ready for a happy meal, kiddo?” asked Jerry. He concentrated hard on his driving. “Here we are, the golden arches.” The three spirits roamed into the fast-food joint where they ordered and got a booth. “I will never know why I got in your car. I was desperate and sensed you was safe. Been a weird last few hours. First, Tony goes all gangster on me, then I run off with this black couple, and now you appear like some fairy tale character. I may never understand this life.” “I know what you mean,” said Jerry as he blew on his hot coffee. “This has been one wild night and day for me too. I haven’t even driven a car in years. Have you ever seen a bigger man than Jerome? Jesus, he would have killed the guy in another few seconds,” he said and took a big sip. “I don’t know if anyone or anything could kill that cockroach. My damn mother hooked me up with him. He got me pulling this rip-off scam. I would walk around and get some poor sucker to follow me back to

138 that hell-hole. Then he’d jump out and beat the poor bastard senseless, steal all his money, credit cards, and jewelry. A few times, he even took their shoes. I felt like shit every time I got involved in one of those ugly scenes.” She stopped and took a few bites. “You know, he wasn’t such a bad guy at first until he got into that stupid meth shit. He’s so hooked now that he couldn’t even take Christmas Eve off from stealing. He threatened me. I don’t need no drama around Emily on Christmas Eve so ...” She grabbed little Emily’s hands before continuing. “And ... oh yeah, Jerome. Damn, I’ve seen some big guys before but holy moly, that dude’s big, as in jumbo. My dad stood 6’5”. In fact, I used to watch the stud play basketball against my Dad if you can believe that shit,” Tanya said. She speared a sausage with her plastic fork. “Hey, Emily. How are those pancakes? Should I get you more syrup?” Jerry asked the little one. Emily nodded and smiled. Jerry vaulted up and

139 came back with four packets and placed them one by one in front of the little girl. Tanya watched and shook her head. “Jerry, what the hell is going on? How did you get involved in my soap opera? I can tell you’re a kind old guy. Look at you, an angel in a damn stocking cap. What gives?” He shook his head. “I could tell you, but you’ll think I’m off my rocker. I’ve seen you before in my neighborhood. Wondered if you were in trouble, is all I’ll say right now.” He took another gulp and headed for a refill. “You’ve seen me before near the center? I’m sorry, but I got trapped by the threats and violence of that asshole,” Tanya said as he sat back down. Jerry stopped in mid-sip. “I figured something like that. Did he threaten your daughter too? This has been one strange day and night.” Emily perked up. The food had disappeared and

140 Emily grew restless. “Momma, can we go to the park or down by the water? Can we go back later and get my presents?” “Sure, honey. Let’s go down by the water and we’ll get your presents. Don’t worry. Well, Jerry, you stocking-capped angel, I guess this is it. Could you do me one more favor? Please, don’t think me a terrible person, but I need to set something right. I don’t know why, ‘cause I never feel guilty about a damn thing usually ...” She picked up Emily and started toward the door Jerry held open for them. “I ripped off a big chunk of money from that Jerome dude. Over a thousand bucks. He bought me breakfast and my Dad knew him and stuff. It just don’t feel right. Guy saves you from an ass-kicking, buys you food, gives you two hundreds, and then I rip him off? It ain’t right. I went up to their suite at the Hyatt, hung out, and then snatched all the cash. Jesus Christ, I don’t wanna be like that. Oh, will you give us a ride?” “Sure, hop in.”

141 Tanya buckled up Emily in the back and Jerry got a good look at the leg braces for the first time. Tanya climbed in the passenger seat and continued. “They offered me the spare bedroom which would have been fun, but I had to get Emily. Could you return this money? Tell them I’m sorry. Eight hundred bucks. I need the rest to get us a place to stay for a few days.” “Okay, I’ll try to find them and return the money. How come you’d trust an old bum like me with so much cash? How do you know I won’t pocket it?” “I don’t. Willing to take the chance. You’d be one funky angel if you took it.” A few moments passed until Jerry spoke. “Tanya, you and Emily are coming with me. Come stay at my dump. You’ll be safe there. We can’t leave one another until this plays out. And another thing, where are Emily’s crutches? Don’t answer.” He started the engine. “I know she needs crutches and her presents. Okay, our first stop back at your place, then some fun. Emily, want to go to the aquarium, and feed the seals? I know

142 they’re having a Christmas Day session.” “Oh, can we, Momma? Please?” “Yes, honey, you bet we can. Do you promise to draw a picture afterward?” Tanya leaned over and gave Jerry a kiss on the cheek. “You drive and I’ll book in and get our stuff. Drive right on by if that damn van is still out front though, agreed?” “Agreed. But I already sent the cops up your way. Maybe they’ll bust the meth-heads. Hang on, I’m a terrible driver, just so you know. Merry Christmas to both of you

Emily's picture

143 Blackie Plots Revenge

Blackie kept buzzing the nurse’s station and begging for more painkillers. He hurt all right, yet he had another purpose. His plan included crawling out of bed and getting out of the hospital. He knew he'd need painkillers later, so he hid pills as fast as they'd give them to him. The guy had six OxyContin tablets but hoped for twice that. They were getting stingy on this shift. He waited for the early day shift to come on duty and buzzed enough to get four more stashed away. The hospital chow seemed like gourmet food to the street

144 bum. A cane sat in the corner behind a chair he had noticed. He wanted to know why? Why had he come at him with such vengeance? They had known each other for years. Blackie knew he wasn’t thinking clearly because the smart move would be to sleep, eat, heal up, and then go for him when at full strength. However, Virginia Mason Hospital sat only a few blocks away from where he needed to go. He figured he could do his duties and get back to rest without doing his body too much damage. He’d been hurt before and knew pain. Yes, revenge might be a big reason, but not the only one. Blackie had a secret nobody knew except Kool- Aide. He didn’t have the luxury of waiting to heal up for a few days. He had to get downtown. The street survivor had it planned. He’d sneak down the dark hallway pain or no pain at the eight am shift change. He made himself doze off even though his brain kept working non-stop, planning his next few moves. At 7:10, he unhooked his IV and crawled to the

145 cane. With the added support, he gimped to the closet and got his clothes. He took his pants, shirt, new coat, and boots back to his bed and slipped back in. He twisted into his shirt in no time, but the pants were a problem. It took some time to get his breath back, and the pain was intense. He took two of the OxyContins and persevered through the rest of the painful ordeal of getting dressed. He toweled off the sweat and looked at the clock, 7:40, and covered himself up for the anticipated visit from Ed, his night nurse. Blackie knew Ed got off at eight and would be ready to get out of there on Christmas morning. As if on cue, in popped Ed. Blackie waved to him and forced a friendly, “Merry Christmas.” Ed checked his chart, but Blackie stopped him. “Hey, Ed. I had trouble sleeping. Could you leave me be for a bit? I think I could doze off, finally. Besides, you could use a head start this day to get with the family. Am I right?” “Yeah, you sure are. I’ll leave you be, Blackie. You’re looking damn good for somebody who should

146 be dead. I’ll get the drapes closed so you can get some shut-eye. Merry Christmas to you, sir.” He waved and closed the door. Blackie willed himself up, got to the phone, and dialed. “Rocky, Blackie. Get your lazy ass up to Virginia Mason. I’ll be down there in a couple of minutes.” “I’m already here, you old wino, exactly like you requested. Are you getting forgetful, old man? Want me to come up and get you?” “Nope. Try to stay awake for a few minutes. I’ll be right down.” Blackie opened the door and shuffled down the hallway without being seen. He grunted himself into the elevator whose door kept closing before he could get all the way in. Boy, he had underestimated the pain. His clothes were wet with sweat and he leaned on the wall, shaking until the elevator door to the basement opened. It became a struggle to get to the to the street, where he spotted the cab. Rocky, the cabbie, owed him a favor or two. He had saved Rocky’s ass on over one occasion and knew he

147 would take him around today. Rocky had come through, which impressed him. Groaning, he flopped into the backseat. “Exit stage right, maestro. I’ll guide you to the first stop.” They drove for a few blocks to Waterfall Park, where Blackie had him stop. Thank god, the gates were open today. A quick check convinced him to take a chance, so he headed to the corner brick wall, the one covered up by a tall evergreen bush. Sliding the four bricks out was easy, and he grabbed a coffee can he had wedged in there. He struggled back to the cab, popped the lid, grabbed a handful of bills out, and tossed the can up to Rocky. “There’s your tip, asshole.” Rocky popped off the plastic top and took out the plastic bag filled with bills which he dumped on the seat. “Holy shit, Blackie. How much is that?” “Enough. Hope you’ve beat your coke attraction. Guess this is your lucky day, amigo. Take me to the

148 Rivera Inn up by the center. Meet me back there at noon. I repeat, come get me at noon. I might need help getting up. Merry Christmas, dipshit.” He stumbled out, chewed up two more painkillers, and walked in trying to look respectable. It didn’t work and took one of the hundreds to convince the attendant to give him a key. He'd need help with the major hiding spot and would not trust or tempt Rocky with that one. He hoped Kool-Aide hadn’t beat him to it. Blood got all over the place, most of it dripping from the one arm and he had to use almost all the towels to wrap himself up. Why had he tried to kill him? What had happened to him? Sleep came without a plan worked out on how to get the rest of the money. But sleep he did.

149 “Did she take the money, Jerome?” Nancy asked as she sipped on a glass of Riesling, even though it was only a bit before noon. “Yeah, she took it all. Hope she uses it for something good.” “Jerome, I get I helped Sarah pass away, and I helped save the one street guy’s life, but is that all we’re supposed to do with the young girl?” Nancy asked. “Don’t know the answer to any of it, honey,” Jerome answered. There was a soft knock on the door. “Who could that be?” Jerome said. “Hi, my name’s Jerry and I have something of yours to return,” Jerry said while standing at the door with his stocking cap in his hand. “Really? Come on in,” Jerome said and waved him inside the suite while shaking his head. “Ma’am,” Jerry said to Nancy and gave a little bow. “Oh, my! We meet again. What are you doing here,

150 Jerry?” Nancy asked. “I’m not certain.” “Have a seat. How did you find us?” She pointed at the round table. But he didn’t sit. Instead, Jerry reached for his wallet and counted out eight hundred-dollar bills on the glass table. “Well, I know the manager at the Lloyd Inn where you were staying. Told me he'd sent your stuff here. I hope I’m not intruding. A new friend of mine wants to return this to you. She said she'd pay the other two- hundred back if you'd leave your address,” Jerry said while twisting his cap in his hands. Nancy stood up. “You mean the girl who looks like a younger me? The one we ran into last evening? How did you get involved with her? And she’s paying us back?” “She’s had it rough, I can tell. She has a lovely daughter and is such a good mother. Hope you can forgive her,” said Jerry. “She has a little daughter?”

151 “Name's Emily. Four years old, crippled up, and the sweetest little soul you have ever seen. And she has curly hair.” He smiled at Nancy. “Know where they are? Think she’d talk to us?” “I can’t say for certain. Might be too embarrassed, but yes, Nancy, I know. They’re meeting me at Pike’s Place Market. We have enough time to make it, and I don’t want to miss them. Plus, I need a walk and it’s only a few blocks.” Jerome disappeared and returned with the coats. “Jerry, I want you to have the money. Do some good with it. Please, please no arguments. I have more than enough damn money. Take it and feed some people.” Jerry hesitated, then picked up the bills and folded them. “I would never take this normally, sir, but this is not a normal time, it seems.” “Jerry, nothing normal about any of this.”

152 Jerry put the bills in his pocket. The three tramped in silence toward the market with Jerry in the lead. He zigzagged around his neighborhood and got them there before one. They descended the last steep street and found themselves in the world of this vibrant outdoor market.

153 Chapter 5 Pike Place Showdown

A ROARING HEADACHE AND THE NEED TO VOMIT woke him. A desperate race to the bathroom ended with a violent puking session that filled the toilet with nastiness and his tiny room with sickening smells. He threw open the windows and door while spraying the room with an air freshener. Another gagging session began as he cleaned up the bathroom with his one clean towel, which he wrapped up in a garbage bag and tossed in the freezer to hide the smell. An Aleve container sitting in the mirrored cabinet seemed like a savior. He washed down four tablets by putting his mouth under the facet, slurping

154 the water like a man thirsty from wandering in the desert, and splashed some on his face. Didn't work, so he stripped and hopped in the shower. What the hell had happened? Had Balloon Billy really died? Remembered eating seafood and bullshitting with Blackie but things got fuzzy after that. Bunch of money hidden in a waterfall? A fight? People applauding? How did he get home? Slipping coming down the hill? Had he taken his nighttime meds? That last question caused a surge of panic. He shut off the shower and had to use a sweatshirt to dry off in his now freezing room. The med bottles were empty. Shaky hands found a set of clean clothes and he groaned into them. The market's early morning sounds of trucks unloading, people hollering, laughter, and Christmas song recordings from the large speakers floated through his windows. “Need some food. That should help.” The Aleve had done their magic, for his headache had disappeared. Getting his med prescription filled became the priority after food. He picked up his case

155 and took his coat off the hook. “What's happened to my coat?” There were red spots all over one sleeve and they wouldn't come off when he tried to scrub them with a wet rag. He loved this coat, and the stains bugged him, but he put it on anyway and headed toward his corner. He'd get some coffee and a bagel in him. The pharmacy opened at nine.

Rocky parked near the market and helped the moaning Blackie. It had taken them a full twenty minutes to get him ready and in the cab. The old streeter willed himself to stand tall. He moved down through the people on the opposite side of the street heading to the corner normally reserved for Kool Aide’s daily playing. He heard the soft, sophisticated sound from a distance. He used the mass of people to hide as he watched his ex-friend send perfect note after perfect note out into the afternoon air. “Yeah, blow your last tunes, sucker. I’m going to get

156 some damn answers before I take you out,” Blackie said comforted by the strength and resolve in his own voice. He started to gimp over and confront the musician but didn’t count on Jerry spotting him. “Blackie, what the hell are you doing out of the hospital?” Jerry bellowed, which startled several pedestrians. He raced over and made Blackie take a seat on the bench. “Jesus, you're bleeding all over. Nancy, this is the guy we tried to take care of last night.” Nancy sat down next to them. She automatically started checking out Blackie. “You should get down on your knees and thank this woman, Blackie. She saved your ass but here you are out running around. You were minutes from being dead.” “Hello,” Blackie groaned, “thanks for what you did for me.” “Well, sir, you could thank me by getting back to bed. You're tearing out the stitches. If that one goes on your right arm, you'll be in big trouble.

157 Jerome stepped over to look. “Holy shit! Is that Jerome Johnson?” Blackie questioned. “Yeah, how do you know me?” said Jerome. “You were my favorite when I lived down south. Made a lot of money betting on your games. Damn, you're a big dude. You get that a lot, I assume.” “Sure do. I have a policy to always listen to my wife, the nurse here. You should, too.” “Yeah, I will, but I have something to do first.”

Tanya appeared at the top of the stairs out of breath from the steep climb up from the aquarium with Emily giggling and riding on her shoulders. “Momma, listen to that guy playing music on his toy. Can we go listen?” “Sure honey.” They joined the crowd gathered around and Kool- Aide noticed. He pointed at Emily. “Here's one for you, little one.”

158 The sax player started playing Rudolph. He fingered the notes mechanically, as he couldn't see because of all the colors in front of his eyes. He could see the smile, however, through the color cloud and heard the cute giggles from Emily. He finished the tune. A voice spoke to him. “Good job, Papa. Play them that one from last night.” He began the first notes of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. He could hear the first verse: ♪ Have yourself a merry little Christmas Let your heart be light from now on, Our troubles will be out of sight ♪ It came out in Frank Sinatra's voice until the chorus joined in. Then there it came, the distinct heavenly voice of his daughter Tina. The memory came flooding back. “I just called to say goodbye, Papa.” “No, honey, don't hang up. No, talk to me. Let's talk it out, honey.”

159 The line went dead. “Tina, Tina, Tina,” Kool-Aide started hollering. He collapsed on the stool and began sobbing. The nervous crowd moved away, but not Emily. “Oh, why you so sad Mister Song man?” “Emily, we have to go. Here, give him a dollar.” She took the bill and placed it gently in the case. “Thanks for the reindeer song, mister. Hope you quit being so sad.” Tanya grabbed Emily's hand, and they glided away. Blackie got up when the saxophone notes halted. Kool-Aide had emptied the money from his case and started packing up his saxophone when a swat from a cane snapped it shut. “Going somewheres, cocksucker? Look, you still have my bloodstains on your fancy damn coat. Why in the fuck did you do it? For the money?” “You evil devil! First, my Tina and then Balloon Billy. Two of my favorite people and you got them both killed. You devil, you evil devil.”

160 He attempted to run, but Blackie stuck out the cane and flipped him. The sax player dropped, kept shrieking, and then sprang to his feet with a large, gleaming knife in his hand. “All you devils get back. Get back from me. You devils get back and leave me alone.” He slashed at the air with the knife and made stabbing motions toward the invisible demons tormenting him. There were screams from the crowd and the nearby walkers fled while pointing back at the once beloved, peaceful street musician who kept slashing at the air with the knife and shouting. Blackie stood back and understood. His friend had gone mad. All feelings of revenge left him like frost disappearing in the morning’s first sun. He felt only compassion for this tortured man. How long had he suffered? Losing his Tina in such a way with her on the phone while committing suicide as he tried to talk her down had to have been too much. Had he beat him to the money? A wave of pain and guilt hit him. He barely made it to the bench.

161 Two young cops had approached and ordered Kool- Aide to put down the knife. They had their guns pointed at him; he didn’t respond or even seem to notice. O’Malley showed up and took control. “Men, put the guns away. The guy must have quit taking his meds to get like this.” The cop glanced with surprise at Blackie now in real pain and too tired to stand. He grasped at his side, yet had enough energy left to call out. “O’Malley, don’t hurt him. He’s scared.” The other officers stayed focused with guns holstered as O’Malley approached. Jerry, Jerome, Nancy, and Tanya, this unlikely crew, watched mesmerized. Two other cop cars zoomed up. Nobody noticed little Emily hitch across the street somehow. One of her crutches slipped on the wet cobblestones, but she caught herself. “ Mister Song Man. 'Member it's Christmas? What’s wrong? Wanna go down by the water and see the birds flying?” spoke the little voice of Emily now only a few feet away.

162 Kool Aide stopped screaming and flashing the knife and smiled down at her. “Hi, darling. Merry Christmas to you too,” he whispered, sounding like the old Kool-Aide. He dropped the knife to his side, which gave O’Malley an opening. The burly cop launched himself toward Kool-Aide. He had the wild man down and handcuffed in seconds after kicking away the knife. Blackie made it up to his feet and limped over to his old friend. “Kool-Aide, can you see me? It’s your old friend, Blackie. Are you still sweet and refreshing, old pal?” The handcuffed musician smiled a faraway grin and repeated, “Sweet and refreshing,” over and over again as they loaded him into the police car. “Blackie, what in the hell are you doing out of the hospital?” asked O’Malley. “What and let you fuckers shoot my buddy?” Blackie answered back. “Oh, brother. Nobody would ever accuse you of being sweet and refreshing ... Tart and boring would be

163 your description.” “Not nice, officer. Hey, what will happen to him?” “He’ll go up to the hospital in Sedro Wooley. If they can get him to quit drinking and get on his meds, he could snap back to normal. However, there’s a problem now. He tried to murder you, Blackie, while in a psychotic blackout. Means he can’t be allowed to live out in society anymore.” “What? Who did he try to murder?” asked Blackie. “You, you damn idiot. You know.” “Don’t think so. I believe it was some gang members who got me.”

Jerry had snatched Emily from harm’s way and handed her to Tanya, who couldn’t stop kissing her. Nancy came over and started stroking Emily’s hair. “Merry Christmas, little one,” she said. The little girl looked up and smiled before crying, “Momma, I know her.”

164 The little girl gave Nancy an intense hug. Tanya’s heart raced. She had been glaring with disapproval at Nancy’s attention toward Emily. She wanted to get out of this place and away from all the confusion and crazy bullshit. “What, sweetie? How do you know her?” “Momma, she’s the Christmas lady. She comes sees me when I get scared at the nighttime when you not home. The giant is her helper.” She pointed at Jerome, who raised his enormous hands up over his head and let out a laugh. “Honey, want to go get a hot chocolate?” he said while bending down toward her. “You bet. Can I Momma?” Tanya nodded, and the two took off with Emily squealing with delight as Jerome hoisted her upon his wide shoulders. Nancy started to talk, but Tanya interrupted her. “No, I don’t want to hear any more nonsense. I want to get Emily and run away from you people. I don’t believe in any of this supernatural mumble- jumble.” Jerry took a seat next to her.

165 “Listen to me, Tanya. How do you explain it all? None of it makes any sense. But this is real. We all came together in this time and place, or so it seems. I’m an old bum, what do I know? I can’t explain much of anything.” He stood, held his hands up and continued. “You called me your stocking-capped angel, so I suggest this. Get to know these people. I can tell they’re good people. Might help you and Emily get out of this nasty life you’re living.” He stopped speaking and slumped on the bench. Nancy touched Tanya’s arm as the young mother fought back tears of confusion. “I don’t understand any of it either, Tanya. I have always believed you create your own life through the daily decisions you make. Never believed in some supernatural power and never asked for anything in prayer—it seems ridiculous to me. Please listen. I had an operation and can’t have kids, and I lost my only daughter two years ago. I so wanted to give Jerome, who is the finest man in this world, some children. All

166 I know for certain is I got called by some mysterious set of forces or circumstances to Seattle. I knew nothing about Seattle. Hell, I was born and raised in Atlanta and can’t wait to get back there.” Tanya looked up and smiled. “Atlanta was my daddy’s favorite city. He wanted to play pro ball there. His dream. I really need help with Emily; can’t give her all the care she needs. I hate my life.” She started sobbing. “You should go to Atlanta with them for a visit. Why not? You can always come back to all this rain anytime you want,” said Jerry, “stay for a week or two and see how it goes. Hell, the worst you’ll get out of it is Emily will get an awesome plane ride. I think it could work out great for you and your little one. Is she welcome, Nancy?” “Absolutely.” Jerome and elated Emily returned, hand-in-hand. “Momma, want a sip?”

167 “Here you go, kid. I got you one too. Thinking about your dad. Dalton Pierce was the best pure shooter I ever saw. I remember he told me he wanted to play in the pros for Atlanta.” This statement made Jerry and the two women double up in laughter. “What’s so funny?” Jerome asked. “Another happenstance in this never-ending string of coincidences. Tanya mentioned seconds ago that Atlanta was her dad’s favorite city,” Nancy said. “People, do you realize that today is still Christmas? I’m having this vision about all of us getting something to eat. You can all get some turkey, but I want a damn steak. Let’s go find a spot unless one of you psychics has seen a reason not to. Jerry, do you know a place nearby serving Christmas dinner?” asked Jerome. “Damn right I do. This is one Christmas I’ll never forget,” said Jerry. “Let's go then.” They all ate in mostly silence. Jerome finished his last bite, smacked his lips, and pushed his plate away.

168 He pointed at Tanya. “I need a word with you. Order us some desserts. We'll be right back.” “Where you going, Momma.” “Don't worry, honey. I'll be right back.” But she was faking confidence, for she didn't want to go with this man after ripping him off. However, she joined him as he held open the door. They stepped outside. “Let's take a walk. First, forget the money deal. I set you up. I'd probably taken the cash in your position, too. I've been there.” “It was bullshit. You come to my rescue, and I pay you back by stealing from you? I don't want to be that way no more.” “Got you, girl. It's history. You blew my mind when you returned it and that's when I decided, right then and there. Listen, I'm not bragging, but Nancy and me have a ton of money. I blew my knee out and am done for good with basketball. Had a good run. We're going to spend money on giving out some help. We want to

169 help you. The money is going to be spent on someone else, if not you two. Here's the deal. I rented the other suite next to ours. I'm going to demand that Jerry, you and your precious little daughter come stay across from us for a week. I have four tickets back to Atlanta on the third of January. I hope you'll be with us. I want a week and it could be fun. That's all I have to say. Make no decision, now. Think about it for a week. Ready for some dessert?” They took a few steps in silence until Jerome started again. “I should just shut up, but I want to tell you this right off. My wife will do everything possible to get your Emily the care she needs. An operation? New equipment to get her around, whatever. She is the ultimate nurse and caregiver. You can't afford that type of care for her right now, can you?” “No, I can barely find the money for her meds and her braces are falling apart.” “Okay, so there is reason one, your daughter. But what about you? We'll send you to nursing school or

170 whatever you want. Get you out of this nonsense. Start a new life.” “That does sound tempting, but I don't know.” “I know, I know. So, we have two reasons. How about some more? I need your help.” “What could I do?” “Help my Nancy heal. We lost our girl, and she had a hysterectomy so we can't have kids. Seems so unfair. All the worthless people who abuse their kids and here's the kindest woman ever who can't have them.” “My Emily already knows her, or so she claims. Ain't that weird?” “Everything about this deal is weird. Think about my offer.” The night before the deadline, this conversation took place. “Okay, I guess you’re right, Jerry. Nothing much for me here, that’s for sure. Thanks, my stocking-capped hero. Hey, Emily, want to go on a plane ride?” Tanya asked.

171 “Oh, yeah, Momma. We can see what the birds see,” said Emily as she jumped onto Tanya’s lap. On January third, Jerome and Nancy held hands on the way home on the plane. Neither could stop smiling at their new potential family sitting across from them. “Nance, how did all this happen?” “How the hell do I know? As Jerry said, this is one Christmas I’ll never forget,” she said and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I had a few times while playing ball when it all seemed unreal. Everything slowed down, the basket seemed to be three times as wide as normal. I knew exactly where my man was going even before he did, it seemed. It never lasted for more than a few minutes, but it was an experience that seemed otherworldly if that’s a proper phrase. That’s what these last few days have seemed like.” “Jesus, honey, it just dawned on me. I’ve been so absorbed in my own struggles I have blocked out the fact that you can no longer play ball. Damn, I’m so

172 sorry. What’s it like for you to lose your great love, playing basketball?” “Well, I’m excited, scared, and confused, but the round ball made us a bunch of money and gave us options. After we lost Savannah, the games didn’t seem so important anymore. I’m looking forward to spending it on those two,” he said and pointed at Emily, who beamed. “You’re speaking my language, Batman. God, isn’t Jerry the sweetest man?” “Yeah, he really is a good guy.” Nancy put her head on his shoulder and soon fell asleep. Jerome looked down at his sleeping wife, gave her head a few tender strokes with his enormous hands, and a long kiss on her forehead. He then and only then permitted himself a private smile. Nobody would ever know nor even suspect that he had been in Seattle for over a week. The plan had worked to perfection. He thought, “Jerry’s not only a good man but one damn smart one too.”

173 174 Chapter 6-Waterfall Park Wonders

O'Malley offered Blackie a ride back to the hospital but got turned down. “Let me put it another way. I'll help your sorry ass into my cruiser. Got a warrant for your arrest. Seems there was a bit of a problem down at the Brownstone, huh?” “Guy started acting like an asshole. He attacked me first. Torn my sweater and started talking shit about Billy. Fuck 'em.” “I might get you out of trouble if you agree to pay

175 for the damages and do some community service. Otherwise, you'll do some time on this one.” “You know, O'Malley, you ain't half bad for being a fucking old fat cop,” Blackie said. “I told you, dirt bag, one more fat joke, and I'd run your sorry ass in,” O'Malley retorted. “You'd never take me alive, asshole.” “You cantankerous old prick,” the cop said as he put the car in gear and took off. “Hey, O'Malley. Can you turn the siren on?” “You know, you ain't only ugly but you're damn stupid too. Hell no, I will not turn the siren on. What are you, three years old?” “Could you do me one other small favor then?” “Let me guess. You want me to stop at Waterfall Park, don't you?” Blackie sat stunned. The last question had made him almost piss himself. “How in the hell did you know?” “I used to be a detective, you fool. Been watching

176 you sneaking around for the last several days. You seem to have developed this unusual fascination with that small corner park. What's there, your secret fortune or something?” He gave Blackie an exaggerated grin. “You ain't as dumb as you look, O'Malley.” “Well, you are, you damn sap. I'm merely fooling around with you. The only thing I know about Waterfall Park is they serve some damn good coffee there on rainy days. Here we are, sucker. Let me guess, you thought you'd charm me into helping you get whatever you have stashed away here. Am I right? Of course, I am. I'll help as long as it ain't too illegal.” Blackie had lost his usual confidence. He had definitely underestimated this officer, that much was obvious. “I got drunk the other night and told Kool Aide about my new banking accounts. I didn't get none of it illegally. Earned it fair and square. Don't trust any of them real crooks, the bankers, so I keep it tucked away. Thought Kool Aide might race down here and steal it

177 all. I need it, and for good reasons.” “I bet I can guess. Do you have some woman tucked away you kind of support? Am I close?” The cop looked over and smiled before getting out of the cruiser. He took his time walking around the car and held open the door. “Here we are, William. You're lucky, the gates are open today. I had them locked up tight for two days.” “Who in the fuck told you my name?” “Shit, I ran your prints years ago. Here, let me help you out, you poor cripple. I suppose I'm gonna get wet,” the cop said. Trusting his new life savings with this cop? Who knew what could happen? Blackie decided to play it out and accept the consequences. “Okay, I'll give you directions. You're going to need something to put the cans in. Got anything in the cruiser?” “Cans? You keep your secret treasure in cans? Jesus Christ, you're a dim old bulb, aren't you? How many are there?”

178 “Twenty-five, well, I got one out, so twenty-four.” “How big are they?” “As big as coffee cans, you dipshit.” “Why, of course. They would have to be coffee cans after all this is Seattle, the coffee capital of the world. You said twenty-five?” O'Malley got dressed in his rain gear and pulled out two large bags. Blackie called out instructions, and he followed them. The hiding spots were ingenious, O'Malley had to admit. It took him four trips climbing around to get all the cans loaded up in the bags, which he took to his trunk and slammed it shut. “Thanks, a bunch, Blackie. See you later.” He raced toward the driver's side, got in, and gunned the motor. Blackie stood silent. His worst fears were coming true. “Fuck, you look like a toddler who lost his new puppy. Stumble your ass out here. I ain't gonna steal your precious coffee cans, you idiot,” he called out the window.

179 “Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me.” “If I scared all the shit out of you, they could bury you in a matchbox. Come on, hurry up before somebody sees us. Consider this one damn fine Christmas present. By the way, you owe me a favor.” “I can't even argue,” he said as he fell into the front seat. O'Malley gave him a ride back to the hospital, helped him up the elevator, and into bed. “What do you want me to do with the bags? How much money is in each can?” O'Malley asked. “Exactly ten grand each. I ain't certain what to do with them yet. You could bring them up and put them in the closet.” “Put a quarter million in a hospital closet? Man, you need to stop drinking completely and forever. How about putting it all in the bank, like a regular person? Or you could give some of it to Marlene, now couldn't you?” There was a long pause and a smiling O'Malley stood there enjoying every second. “Who told you about Marlene?”

180 “I do my homework, partner. Always do my homework. Sweet woman. She used to come around in her wheelchair asking about you. Said she wanted you to come visit her. She's been around several times this month. We've become friends. Even took her to lunch one time. Tried to tell you about it, but you got all shitty with me, do you recall?” “Yeah, she don't need no bum like me screwing up her life.” “Did you meet her in Vietnam?” “Don't need to talk about it. Old news.” “Well, pal, it ain't as old as you think.” A hum came down the hall and stopped at the room. She wheeled herself in and stopped. “Hello, William, and thank you, officer, for calling me,” came a voice from the doorway. Marlene, a tiny Vietnamese woman, rode in on her electric wheelchair. She had aged some since their last meeting, yet her jet black hair and vibrant eyes glowed. She grabbed Blackie's hand and squeezed.

181 “It's time, William. Way past time. It was an accident. You, we, were so young. You didn't put me in this chair. Your government did long ago. I never blamed you. Not once. You got me to America, which saved my life. You need to let it all go, William.” “O'Malley, you fucker! How could you do this? She don't deserve to have some damn bum messing up her life.” “Bullshit. I've watched you. You're no common bum. You've helped dozens of people down on their luck. Stop this silly self-punishment. You served your country and saw things humans shouldn't ever have to see. I understand, Blackie. Look at this wonderful woman. Gaze her in the eyes and see what you've missed. It ends today. You damn near died yesterday and somehow got saved. Take advantage of the gift, you stubborn old fool.” “He's right, William. I'm leaving now. I want you to come and see me. Officer O'Malley said he'd bring you up. I won't beg William, not yet, but I will if you make me. You need to come and see what I've done with my

182 life. You might be proud. Now, get well. Merry Christmas to both of you. I coming down tomorrow to check on you, William. I'd stay now but I have a house full of visitors waiting for me. Wanted to see if you were okay. You seem cranky as ever.” She patted Blackie's hand, gave O'Malley a kiss on the cheek, turned around, and motored her way out. Her chair could be heard echoing down the hallway. “Never figured you for some damn do-gooder, O'Malley. Suppose I should thank you. I have one question, though,” Blackie said. “Yeah, what is it?” “Why aren't you home with your wife and kids on Christmas Day?” “Della and I split up. I only got to see the kids for a few minutes this morning. We're working on it but I don't know ... She's sick of me being a cop.” “Well, make it work again. If I can start seeing Marlene more regularly, then you can do what you need to do. Perhaps, you need some of your own advice. By the way, I got it figured out. The money

183 part, if you still want to help.” “Yeah, what you got planned this time? Gonna bury it on the beach somewhere?” “Save five cans out for Marlene. I'll take them up to her after I heal up. She'll put it to good use. Give five of them to Jerry and tell him to start serving food to those who need it. You might need to help him get started, being you're such a food expert.” “You think you're funny, don't you? Giving it to Jerry is a great idea. Okay, will do. What about the others?” “I'd like to take five grand or so and get a statue made of Balloon Billy. Think we could swing it with that amount of cash?” “Wow, what a great idea. Yeah, should be enough. One sad scene, losing that old guy. Damn, he smelled, didn't he? But what a sweet old guy. Hell, he was your age, right? “Oh, the smell was like a skunk's gym bag. Yeah, three years older is all. His 'Nam experience broke him inside.

184 “Tell me the story,” O'Malley said as he took a seat. “Fuck, okay. Billy was an athlete from Coos Bay or some shitty little place on the Oregon coast. Good old Catholic boy. Got thrown right into one of the toughest parts right off the bat and put in charge of the long distant artillery. Told me he saw the Viet Cong in a camp through his binoculars. They was kicking around a soccer ball, laughing, and cooking on an open fire. He radioed the coordinates and watched them get blown to bits seconds later. Catholic guilt took over after a few of those incidents. The one that really cracked him was when a group of our own troops begged for him to kill them as the Viet Cong had overrun them and were approaching with flamethrowers. The commanding officers ordered and then begged him to lob the artillery right on top of them. He had refused, until he heard the horrid screaming through the radios as the flamethrowers did their work. Hey, get me some water, would you?” Blackie squirmed around and took several long drinks before continuing.

185 “You don't just shrug off this crap, like so many think we should. Billy saw shit that no human mind should ever have seen. Yet, he is supposed to come right back and be his old golden boy self. Nope. Doesn't work that way.” Hey, Blackie, what about you? What happened to you over there?” “Not much. Fucked around mostly until I got trapped in a couple sticky situations. Psycho and Billy had it way worse, and for longer periods of time. Hey, take some cash and go get Psycho a new chair, would you? See if you can get him a new fucking hat, too.” “Hell, that will be fun. Get Psycho a new rig. Yeah, I'll love doing that. Didn't Billy get wounded?” “Yep, really badly in one of the firefights. Straight- arrow Catholic boy ending up in the hospital wired up on morphine. Didn't take long for him to turn to shooting heroin. Just before he got discharged, the dude almost died from an overdose. Passed out at a party one night and almost drowned in his own vomit in the corner. He turned all blue, before they used the

186 paddles to get him back. He took that as a second chance and got clean.” “Yeah, I'd like to hear more someday, but I better let you get some rest. Seems there are five cans left, what about them?” “Well, it's a problem. I know what I want to do with them, but there will be objections. Don't want to deal with 'em.” “What objections?” O'Malley asked. “These right here. I want you to have those last five cans, Stan. You can save the objections.” “I can't take the money, Blackie. It wouldn't be ethical. And how did you know my name is Stan?” “Yep, exactly as I predicted. I know your name 'cause I do my damn homework, too, Einstein. Send your kids to Europe, go on a vacation with your wife, give it to some orphans, or go gamble it all away at the casino. I don't give a shit. The money is yours and I want you to take it. Save the bullshit, buddy. If you don't take it, I'm gonna make up some wild story to tell your captain and get your fat ass in hot water. Trust

187 me, he will believe me. Might even make the papers.” “Blackmailing somebody is a crime and nobody will believe your bullshit. How did you get all that money, anyway?” “If a liar claims he's telling you the truth, how do you know for certain? Good philosophical question, don't you think? I could tell you any number of stories of how I was blessed with my new bounty. Let's save time and get to it. Karma. I got it because of karma.” “Who's Karma? One of those toothless old whores you get the crabs from all the time?” “Listen dick lips, I was due for a little ride on the up bucket of life's Ferris Wheel and I got it.” “Holy shit, exactly how many painkillers have you popped today, dude? You're making less sense than normal. Old hookers, carnival rides, the next thing you'll tell me is how you won it in a Bingo game down at Muckleshoot, or with an extraordinary spin on a dollar slot machine, or something wild like that ... ” He gave Blackie a sly smile before continuing. “You know, some bum could have hitched a ride

188 with the Wednesday bus that takes a load of blue- haired seniors down there for free because he wanted to sneak into the buffet and then got lucky or something,” O'Malley said and stared at him with a wide grin. Blackie couldn't conceal a quick flash of a smile in return. “Take the damn money; it's clean, I promise you. I'm a fucking street bum. I like being a street bum. The money will ruin me. I couldn't get to any of it because they, wait ... you it seems, closed up the place for the holidays at night tighter than ever and it drove me nuts. I had tons of cash for the first time in my life and couldn't get to it because I got so damn paranoid and hid it all. Didn't even hold back a few hundred to party around with. Thought I could get to it whenever I needed to. Didn't have any idea some snoopy, sneaky old copper would catch on. I repeat. That money will ruin me. I hate society and all the frivolous bullshit others think is important. I have no need for trinkets from Wal-Mart. I'm petering out, O'Malley. It's been a

189 long couple of days. I want to sleep. Take the money. Leave me be.” “I have to admit, I am tempted. But it's too big a risk. I can't take money from some senile old mongrel. You'd have me over a barrel forever. Threats of blackmail. Then I'd have to make you disappear. Might put your body parts in coffee cans and hide them in the waterfall. Hell, I'd already have a helluva time explaining what I was doing stumbling around a waterfall on Christmas Day collecting coffee cans for some derelict. Don't want to end up being a night watchman at a jockstrap factory. Besides, remember, you owe me a favor.” “What is it? Let me guess, you want me to come to your birthday party. Sorry, busy that day.” “I'll help on one condition. Use one can to pay the rent for a year at the Cadillac Hotel. You need to get off the streets. Sleep in a damn bed, eat breakfast once in a while and have a place for you to take a damn shower which everyone would appreciate. That's my favor. Getting old you off my streets. We'll have

190 Marlene manage the other four cans for future years, for your spending money, and emergencies. I'm offering this plan for purely selfish reasons. Is it a deal?” “The Cadillac Hotel? Never seen a worst named place in my life but sure, it's a deal with one small change. Go find that family at my hideout and give them two cans and send that Nancy lady a monster bouquet today. Also, plant a big old tree and get a plaque made for Kool-Aide's kid, Tina. Hell, I'd blow through the money in a few weeks and not do one lick of good with it. Never thought I would have a fat cop playing like a banker, though. But what possible selfish reasons could you have anyways?” “Well, it's simple. If you have money, then you won't feel the need to rob people you follow off the ferry or smack around hippies, and my neighborhood beat will be a safer, quieter place. Merry Christmas, you old, worthless dick.” The cop smiled, waved, and walked out.

191 “Hey, O'Malley, didn't I say I had a great Christmas coming?” called Blackie. The cop peeked his head back and responded. “Yeah, you did, old timer, and it's about to get even better. See you,” he said with a wide grin on his face. “Well, there you are, Blackie. Been looking all over for you in this place. Got your Christmas present for you. Been trying to look better. Like this makeup I got on?” Gabby said as she sashayed through the door. O'Malley's howls of laughter filled the halls as Blackie looked up with fist clenched at the heavens. “Come down here right now, and fight like a man!”

192 CHEERFUL JERRY'S SHELTER HOME Remember, everyone has hidden stories. Judging is dangerous business. Share the love; fight the hate. Enjoy your life. I hope you enjoyed this story. Come and visit me for dozens of other tales at : papabob44.net