Death of Innocence

Day 8

Homeless Encampment, November 2013, same night

"You sick, friend? Ain't lookin' so good."

Joan leaned over him on his sheet of cardboard on the cement floor. He'd drawn his legs up, lying on his side – shivering, and sweating out a cold sweat on his skin. His clothes were soaked underneath his coat. Her eyes were full of concern, pinched into deep wrinkles around the milky blues.

"– not a soldier, not a soldier, like you," he whispered.

He didn't look at her but seemed to be calling out from some kind of dream. She laid a hand on his forehead. Cold and clammy. Not well, she said to herself. Gotta do something.

Joan glanced around her. Didn't have that blanket of hers anymore. Someone'd run off with it one day while she was out on the streets. Only had her own long coat – and she'd give it up for him 'til morning, if she thought it'd help. Maybe she could work something out for the both of them.

Joan stood up and stepped inside her lean-to. It was held together with a few lengths of silvery duct tape, inside and out, and she started peeling away the two on the inside, where the roof attached to the wall. Then she stepped around to the outside and peeled off the ones out there. The roof lifted off in her hands, light as a feather.

Turned it like a blanket, and lowered it over the top of Reese, but it wasn't quite right. Stuck out too straight and the chilly breeze'd run right under the sides. Picked it back up and bent a fold right down the middle, the long way. Then she lowered it back down over the top of him. Now the edges went all the way down, close to the floor. Way less wind'd get in underneath that way. Best she could do with what was around.

Maybe he had something in that bag from the bodega. Said he'd gone there on the way in last night. She toddled around to the bag, leaned back against his pack, and lifted it in her hands. Another one of those sandwiches, wrapped in foil inside, and a round carton of something. She lifted it out and pulled the cap off. Gave it a sniff. Smelled good – chicken soup, maybe. Some good broth in there for him.

Joan carefully slipped the cap back on and put the carton back into the bag. She'd need to get the fire started to heat the soup. One of the burn barrels was right across the way, and Ol' Sam was there, sticking some torn-up cardboard down inside. He'd been watching her, hovering over her friend. When Joan looked up at him, he'd just nodded at her. He'd take care of starting the fire.

"Thank ya, Ol' Sam," in her raspy voice. Didn't wanna wake the rest of 'em nearby. Needed their rest to face the day.

She leaned down to check on Reese.

Seemed a little quieter now to her. Joan turned back to what remained of her lean-to. Had her metal cup in there, somewhere. Had to fetch it out.

Racing on foot, the two of them, coats flapping behind them, and the click of her shoes on the tiles. Down the ramp, nearly losing it in the turns. Wasn't wearing the right kinda footwear for this, she chided. Who knew they'd be running for their lives like this.

Supposed to be the easy part. The payoff moment – when she handed over the goods to the nice man who was supposed to be handing her a fat envelope of money.

Reese had warned her there'd be days like this, in her line of work. Hadn't actually happened to her until he showed up. Huh. And look at him – all armed and capable. Not like any chauffeur she'd ever met. But worth every penny, for sure.

Rounded the turn, her sliding on the tiles, and Reese grabbing for her arm to steady her. They raced along the straight part then and through the double-doors. Slowed to a walk inside, so they didn't attract attention. They both checked back over their shoulders. Couldn't see anyone coming up on them.

The waiting room was crowded. All kinds of people in there – sick ones, bent over in their chairs; a few with towels or cloths over whatever gross thing was hiding underneath the bloody other thing; some kids, flaming red cheeks and that fever-look to their eyes.

Reese pulled her sleeve, and hustled them along past the carnage, and they waded into the main part of the ER. Threaded their way along the aisles, people lurking behind every curtain, waiting. Gurneys stacked in the halls and nervous people standing there, with a form hidden under the sheet on the gurney – maybe a blanket, too, if they were lucky.

Zoe glanced around as Reese pulled her along. Jeez. Standard American Overcrowded ER. This is depressing, she thought.

"That way," Reese said. He seemed to know his way around. She wasn't gonna ask.

Down the aisle, then another, and another, until she thought she'd lost her way and they were really circling around the same path again. But no. There were the doors up ahead. Out to the lobby, the other side of where they'd come in. Then across to the doors at the hospital entrance. Looked all clear out there.

Before they stepped out, Reese stopped and turned to face her. He reached inside his coat and pulled his hand out with something half-hidden there. Stepped in close, like he was giving her a hug.

"Know how to use this?" he whispered, close to her ear. Zoe glanced down at his hand. A Sig-Sauer, sleek and snotty-looking in his grip. Looks like he knew how to use it.

"Uh-huh," she purred. Reese brushed his lips across her cheek and slid the gun into the pocket of her coat, then whirled around for the door.

Outside, he pulled her along to the side of a taxi, and opened the door for her.

"Catch you later, Miss Morgan."

"Let's find someplace where we're not so outnumbered, eh?" She said, smiling, with that little sparkle in her eyes.

"You're the boss," he said, holding back a smile.

"I'll call you."

"I'm counting on it," he said, and slammed her door closed behind her.

Off she went, and Reese turned back to the two thugs coming out of the lobby door. Well, at least they wouldn't have far to go for a little first aid.

Zoe sat across from him at their table. All shiny and velvety in her dress. Sleek, with her long, thick hair hanging down in those deep curls at the bottom. He liked to watch the way they moved when she turned her head – how the weight of them shifted and swung with every motion she made.

Tipped her glass to her lips and sipped. Those lips – the ones that had brushed against his and lingered there – a little too long for just a hello. Her perfume engulfing him in a cloud of temptation. Not bad, he thought, for just a chauffeur.

They talked a little. Some cat-and-mouse, for certain. Couldn't put all the cards on the table. He'd enjoy getting to know her, a little more, and a little more. Not too fast, though. Slow could be good, too.

She was definitely interested. She let her eyes give it away. Made his pulse move a little faster at the thought.

Later, after he'd teased her some, she slipped his gun under her starchy white napkin and shoved it across the table to him. While he was retrieving the item, and sliding it home into it's belt shank:

"Found that in my coat pocket. Must be yours."

"Hope you didn't need it?"

"Not at all," she said, smiling. Something about the smile. Felt himself melting a little more. Staring. Lost the thread of the conversation, about then. She knew what was happening and smiled some more.

"You know – I have a soul, but I'm not a soldier, like you," she said.

"Didn't notice."

"Soul, or soldier?"

"Maybe I just need a demonstration," he whispered. "I'm a little confused." She nodded agreement.

"Otherwise, all this? It's all for nothing." Her eyes narrowed in a silent challenge. Reese was game.

Joan sat down next to him with a steaming cup in her hands. Rested it down on the cardboard. She slid the "blanket" lower so she could see his face. His eyes opened.

"Warmed up some a yer soup, friend." She peered in closer. "Think ya can manage?"

"It's all for nothing," he whispered. Joan didn't know what to think about that.

"Don't be like that, now. Whatever's done is done. Today's another day, friend. How 'bout a little heat in them bones, eh? Good fer what ails." And she reached under Reese's head and lifted it up off the cardboard. Spooned a little of the broth into him.

At this rate, it was gonna take a while to get through to the bottom of the cup.

But, they had time.