Chapter Four

Sarah had been right; the blankets were gone by 11am. "Hopefully, we'll have more tomorrow," she told Jaime. "Our truck should be here right before noon. We'll hand out sandwiches for as long as they last - probably about half an hour - then we see clients until it's time to go to the Armory at four."

"How many open beds do we have?" Jaime asked.

"They're all open: ten places for the men and thirty-two for women and children. They line up in the field in the afternoon and when we get there, it's first come, first served."

"So these aren't permanent spots?"

"No. Unfortunately, the facility is only ours from 4pm until 8am. When each client signs in, they receive a cot and bedroll from our storage room and we have volunteers from the local churches who bring dinner - usually soup or a casserole. Our night staff maintains order and makes sure everyone is up and out on time in the morning"

"That's a lot of beds," Jaime noted.

"They're packed awfully tight," Sarah told her, "but it's the best we can do, for now."

"How many do you usually turn away?"

"Too many."

"What happens to them?"

Sarah placed a pudgy, gentle hand on her new worker's shoulder. "We pray for them, Dear."

"You can stow your blanket over there by the cardboard piles for now," Benny said, pointing. "We don't spread out until after dark, when all the job-hunters come bac."

"Same group here every night?" Steve asked, stashing his blanket as instructed.

"Yeah, pretty much. Good bunch of guys, too - we take care of each other."

"There a lot of jobs around here?" Steve wondered.

Benny scoffed. "Maybe...but we never get 'em."

"How come?"

Benny waved a hand, motioning at Steve from head to toe. "Looking like we do, with no permanent address. no decent history..."

Steve nodded. "Gotcha."

The client consultations seemed to run one into the next - vouchers for children's clothing, a few meager groceries, a badly-needed doctor visit - then, at 3:15, a rail-thin woman with dirty blonde hair rushed in. She was only 29 but looked closer to 50; tears streamed down her face. She held a baby in her arms and two small children clung tightly to her hand. She gave her name as Sheila Gravis.

"I can't find my husband!" she wailed, sinking wearily into a chair and pulling her children close to her knees. "He didn't meet up with us this morning, he wasn't here for lunch and no one has seen him since last night!"

"Was he staying at the Armory?" Jaime asked.

"I...I don't know. The men have a separate line. Yesterday, he told me he'd found a way to make us some real good money and that he'd see me in the morning, but...he never came back!"

Jaime was instantly on full alert. "Where was this job?"

"He...didn't say. He told me not to talk about it, so we wouldn't get ripped off when he came back with money, but -"

"Let's ask Sarah if he checked in last night," Jaime suggested.

"No!" The woman shifted uncomfortably after her sudden outburst, then grew quiet again. "Sarah would kill us! I mean...we could be banned from the program for unreported income..."

"I don't think that should be a worry right now," Jaime told her. "Our main concern is to find your husband...right?"

"Y-y-yes...but..."

"Sheila," Jaime said very gently, "was your husband running drugs?"

"Oh, no! Roger would never do that!

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