Chapter Eleven
Lucky walked slowly and haltingly back to Cortland Street, biting his nails and dragging his plastic garbage bags behind him. His ripped sneakers were hurting him, and the wad of bills in the bottom of his shoe didn't help. He chuckled as he recalled his chosen hiding place for the bags. He'd stuck them in a trash bin near the free-clinic. Mr. Obvious, that's me.
Lucky was walking with his head down, staring at the uneven sidewalk, and almost bowled over a slower moving lady in front of him.
"Oh!" Lucky exclaimed as he placed his hand on her arm to help steady her. "I'm so sorry."
The woman looked up at Lucky with fear and revulsion marring her face. "Get away from me!" she yelled as she swatted at his hand and drew her purse closer to her body, scurrying to place distance between them.
Lucky looked at her with his mouth open in shock. He was used to being "the nice guy," the one that others sought out for help. He glanced over at the storefront display window across from him and saw a pale, beat-up, homeless street punk dressed in ill-fitting, dirty and bloodstained clothes standing beside a frightened, middle-aged housewife.
He approached the window with careful steps and reached out a soft hand to brush his fingertips on the reflection in the glass. He stayed there with his fingers motionless on the glass for a few seconds until his hand dropped to his side. Who was this person that he was looking at? Was this Lucky Spencer? The man/boy staring back at him filled his heart with grief and fear. Lucky did not recognize the pained eyes, thin frame and the marked, soulful heaviness of his mirror twin. His mind could not register who this person was. But, his heart knew and constricted and hardened just a bit more.
Lucky turned away and started back down Cortland Street with a destination in mind. On the corner of 10th and Cortland, he passed a man with no legs, black glasses and a psychedelic beret selling pencils for 20 cents apiece. Lucky doubled back and dug into his front jeans pocket.
He deposited forty cents into the man's cup, and said, "Hey, how's it going?"
The man smiled, handed Lucky two pencils, and replied, "It's goin' and you?"
"Same here," said Lucky. "Have a great day!"
"You, too," grinned the legless man.
I've got to find some way to make some money and get off these streets, Lucky thought. But, he was so tired. He just couldn't focus long enough to make any plans. It seemed like it took all he had to just put one foot in front of the other and breathe.
Lucky finally reached his destination.
Lucky swung open the door of JR Cooper's Guns and Ammo.
The ringing doorbell alerted the same fat, balding sales guy that had waited on Lucky five
days earlier.
"Hi there. Here to collect your gun?" asked the slimeball.
"Yeah." Lucky replied.
The slimeball looked over Lucky, noting his blood-streaked and torn clothing, and exclaimed, "Looks like you needed that gun yesterday. Someone give you trouble?"
"You could say that," Lucky said wryly with a small, tight grin.
"That's why those five day waiting periods are crap," sneered slimeball. "A man needs his protection at all times." The slimeball moved over to the layaway area to retrieve Lucky's gun and slapped the gun in his hand for emphasis.
Is this guy talking condoms or guns? Lucky laughed to himself. Maybe it's like they say, the bigger the gun….
"That will be $80 remaining on your layaway," slimeball stated, smiling.
Lucky removed his shoe and rifled though the bills to retrieve four twenty's. He unwrinkled them and handed the bills over to slimeball, who didn't even flinch at a little foot odor.
"Want any ammunition to go with that beauty?" asked slimeball.
"That's a good idea," said Lucky. "I don't have any."
Slimeball loudly thumped a box of bullets onto the counter and opened the box to show Lucky the gleaming rows of firepower.
"Here's how you load your gun," slimeball said, demonstrating by placing one bullet with his thick finger into a chamber and twirling the chamber around. "You load each chamber, then you'll have six rounds. You can shoot six times before you need to reload." Slimeball then removed the bullet and placed it back into the box. Lucky's thirty seconds of firearm safety and training were complete.
"Do you need any targets for practice shooting?" asked slimeball, perfectly aware of the municipal laws against firing guns within city limits.
"Sure," said Lucky, who was looking forward to tacking one on a tree and aiming.
Slimeball finished writing up the transaction and smiled brightly at Lucky as he handed him his registration and receipt and a bag full of gun and ammo. "Have a nice day!"
~*~*~*~
Lucky exited JR Cooper's Guns and Ammo with another heavy bag to carry. He looked up at the setting sun and wondered where he'd sleep tonight. Walking down the street, he couldn't avoid staring again at the ascending Jesus, shining light into the coming night.
~*~*~*~
Tony Jones waited impatiently at the PCPD. So far, no one had been interested in helping him file a missing persons report. He'd been hanging around for two hours now. Finally, a junior police officer came over to him with a notepad and pen and a willingness to listen.
"I'm Dr. Tony Jones. I'd like to file a missing persons report on my nephew…or, former nephew, Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Junior," stated Tony.
"How long has he been missing?" asked detective Price.
"About ten hours," said Tony worriedly. "He is homeless and physically and mentally ill. I just diagnosed him with pneumonia this morning, but he left before I could give him medication."
The detective said, "Dr. Jones, I'm sorry, but you'll need to wait 24 hours before we can file a report. Right now, he's technically not missing."
"It doesn't make any difference if he's in trouble?" Tony asked, surprised.
"I'm sorry," detective Price smiled sadly. "Come back tomorrow, and I'll personally help you." She handed Tony her card.
What if tomorrow's too late? Tony worried as he looked down at the card.