Page 3 of Hiding In the Dark (The Righteous 4)
“The building owner again?” she asked, closing the door behind her.
“That man doesn’t have a heart. He has millions, and this place is nothing more than a tax write-off, but now he wants to sell it to a developer unless we can come up with the rent money that’s past due. .” Dennis flopped down into the rolling desk chair, which complained at the added weight. “That would mean he’s going to kick us out before the new year. Merry fucking Christmas.” Dennis sighed. Tossing the phone on the desk, he stared up at her. “It is a problem for another day and not one you should have to worry about, but if you have some magic fairy dust, I would sell my soul for some of that right about now.”
“Sorry, no magic fairy dust, but I was coming to say that I can volunteer the whole day for the next couple weeks.”
“What about your work?”
As much as she hated to lie to Dennis, Ashley swallowed hard and stuck with her lie. “I have some vacation time coming to me, and this is how I would like to use it.”
“You do know most people actually take time off from work, right? Go somewhere tropical or kick their feet up and read a book. How about you spend time with your friends or go visit your family?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you not want me here volunteering, Dennis?”
“No, it’s just—” He waved his hands like he was swatting away a fly and closed his eyes. “You know we can always use the extra help. If this is the place you want to spend your vacation, who am I to tell you otherwise?”
A weight that she wasn’t even aware had been pressing in on her lifted as he agreed to let her come there. Sitting alone in her apartment with her terrified thoughts for the next couple of weeks would not have been healthy for her sanity. She was already struggling to hold it together.
“Thanks, Dennis. I will head out and help with dinner prep. Other than fairy dust, if you need anything else, let me know.” Ashley turned and opened the door but paused as Dennis called her name. She looked over her shoulder at Dennis.
“Thank you, I do appreciate the extra set of hands, and you know you are welcome here.”
A small, genuine smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she nodded and saw herself out. One battle was done, the rest of her life—well, that would have to wait for now.
Kes pushed his grocery cart along the wharf, hood up and head down, but he was very aware of everything going on around him in the darkness. A large ship was slowly venturing in to dock on the far side of the port—the massive hull was silent other than the soft sloshing of water that could only be heard if you were a good listener and bothered to pay attention. A loud horn sounded in the distance, a ship announcing its departure—that lone sound always made his heart ache.
He turned his focus on Greta, the homeless woman heading in his direction. As she neared, he slowed to a stop, and her cart brushed his slightly as she drew alongside him.
“Saint Nick,” Greta greeted, making the sign of the cross over her chest.
He was used to this. She had this thing where she thought he was a saint or an angel sent to protect the homeless. He’d tried to convince her many times that he was definitely neither of those things and that, in fact, he was probably the dictionary definition of a fucking dick.
Greta had unfortunately suffered a brain injury in a car accident which made it impossible for her to work. No family to speak of—she eventually ended up out here on the streets pushing a cart like himself. She drifted between reality and a false world that only her mind could unravel.
“Momma G, you have news?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but he knew she would hear. She hated loud noises and moved around according to how busy a location was at any particular time of the day.
Her frail-looking hand reached out and gently squeezed his forearm. “The rat you seek has his tail in a trap. A trap of string and tape.”
“Where?”
“555.”
Those that lived on the street would help him from time to time with his missions. Especially when his target happened to be hiding among those on the streets. He suspected that his target had taken to hiding among those on the streets while he laid low. This normally brilliant idea was hampered by the fact that Kes ruled the streets on this side of town. He was a dark shadow nobody ever saw coming.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a twenty and held it in his open palm for her to take. Greta made a scoffing noise, her lips pursing as she shook her head no. Her hood fell back, revealing the wild braid of unwashed grey hair that made her look out of control.
“No money.”
“Food, Momma G, for you and Big Dave. Take it. It is a trade, not a handout.” There was a misconception that those who lived on the streets were literally bums—didn’t want to work, worthless non-contributors to society. What he’d found since he returned from the Sandbox was the opposite. The majority of them were simply unable to fit into the confines of society as it was structured. This was something he understood better than most.
“Not a handout?”
“No, this is a trade. Words for money, yes?”
Greta slowly nodded and pulled up the hood on her long coat before taking the offering. “Saint Nick, our savior.”
Kes bit the inside of his cheek. He really hated to be seen like he was anything more than what he was, and that was a useless, walking mass of destruction. Saviour—those words should be saved for those that deserved them.
Greta’s cart rattled, the one wheel not turning properly as she moved on. He’d fix that one night when she was asleep. Resuming the pushing of his own cart, he focused his gaze on his destination, which was the fifth building, and then the fifth alley. He passed it to find the fifth cargo container. It had taken some time to learn the unusual way Greta would relay locations, but he’d become an expert over the years.
