Resurrection Man by K.Z. Snow

Author:K.Z. Snow [Snow, K.Z.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2014-08-05T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

THE NEXT day, Monday, Michael picked me up at the designated time. Neither of us mentioned our sexual marathon. It seemed we were determined not to equate encounter with involvement. In our minds, all we’d had was a prolonged encounter, because we’d both been tormented too long by our “pent-up, aching rivers,” to borrow a phrase from Walt Whitman. Some great physical chemistry existed between us. And that was that.

Our outreach tour took place after dark, although this was a departure from normal procedure. “A lot of homeless people aren’t in their bunkers during the day,” Michael explained. “They’re out panhandling or working or hanging at more comfortable places, like the library.”

He drove through the shabbiest parts of the city—the near north and south sides, primarily—as I directed a flashlight beam toward possible hiding places and looked for lights where lights shouldn’t be. The majority of street people we discovered were black men who shunned shelters as much as Dizzy. One clearly suffered from some kind of mental illness.

“They’re the hardest to help,” Michael told me. “It’s tragic how the system has failed them.”

We found one woman living in a rusting shell of a car beside a boarded-up duplex; a mixed-race couple in a makeshift tent—tattered tarpaulins draped over a tangle of branches—beside the river; an inebriated man, a veteran like Franklin, in a fortress of cardboard boxes and fallen leaves, also beside the river; then a shockingly old-looking white guy, who turned out to be only fifty-three, beneath a viaduct, bundled in blankets and surrounded by plastic bags stuffed with his meager stock of possessions. The man, whose name was Jim, became misty-eyed as he told us his story. Michael gave him a hug. Jim said, “God bless you,” and I silently blessed Michael too.

With every stop I felt increasingly morose. “It’s tough seeing them,” I said as Michael continued to drive around.

He squeezed my knee—his first touch since the day before, but not what I’d call intimate. “Hey, if just one of these people can be persuaded to check into a shelter or enter a program, we consider it a triumph.”

We. I looked out the window and smiled with fondness. Michael already saw himself as a foot soldier in the MCH army. And damned if he wasn’t.

He handed a brochure to everyone we encountered and spoke encouragingly of the services available to them. The list was pretty impressive, and Michael tried to tailor his information to each individual’s needs. His manner inspired trust too, from his patience as a listener, to his soothing voice, to those kind smiles that had won me over when we first met. My respect for him bloomed larger. I couldn’t say I was in love with Michael—in fact, I didn’t think love would ever come easily to me again—but that hole in my soul continued little by little to fill in.

Maybe it was the result of being around a genuinely good person.

As we neared the end of our circuit, we came upon two teenagers named Logan and Tess in an alley.

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