He'd been watered.
Why he trusted Miss Jane to be in the spirit of the occasion and not pocket his vial for later, he didn't know. He cursed himself for his stupidity. Turning to confront her, his movement knocked her to the floor. Her eyes rolled into her head. Foam bubbled from the corner of her mouth. Her breaths came in rasps and fits.
"Miss Jane, wake up!" Tavon yelled.
A moan escaped her lips.
"Miss Jane! There's something wrong with Miss Jane!" he repeated to no one in particular. He studied his friends. The burnout had stopped breathing. Loose Tooth still convulsed, his old body dying in wracked spasms. Tavon panicked, flitting from body to body, splashing water on some, trying to get Miss Jane on her feet. Call 911, he thought, letting Miss Jane crumple into a pile. From where? No phones around here. He backed toward the front door. The police wouldn't come anyway. Maybe if he could phone from the KFC.
So he ran.
And kept running.
Wayne slammed the door of the Outreach Inc.'s minivan and tugged on it to make sure it was locked. Street nights were a series of rituals for him. Caffeine was his drug of choice these days. Even as he sucked down a venti caramel macchiato, he thought about the dark places addicts knew. The same sad, scared hole too many folks fell into. Some pushed there by drugs. Some stumbled there due to lack of love. There was always a hole they needed to fill with whatever they could; a need that overwhelmed them such that they pushed their jobs, their school, their friends, their family aside in order to have another attempt to fill it. Wayne knew about the holes and he knew he couldn't save anyone, much less everyone; but he knew what he was called to do. Someone had to step into the gap between the lost and the rest of the world which forgot them. Someone had to push the envelope and risk themselves to go where they were, to love them back to themselves. Someone had to intervene.
That night they went to a wooded area behind the Eastgate Mall. A place he knew well. He knew the temporary tent community that sprung up between police sweeps. He knew the dumpsters that could be scavenged from. A backpack of water, snacks, and socks in one hand and a Maglite in the other didn't seem like much, but with the right team of folks, it was a start. It always came back to who he worked with. Some volunteers were good to mark the location and drop off water. Others truly connected with folks there. Learned their names. Heard their stories. Heard their stories.. Treated them like they were human. Weren't afraid to meet them where they were, in the muck of their lives. A good team, the right team, could venture to the darkest places.
Despite the lateness of the hour, the night always left him energized so he had an evening ending ritual to help him wind down: dinner at Mr Dan's, a twenty-four-hour burger joint with homestyle fries and greasy burgers like your momma would have made. Strains of Outkast's "Bombs over Baghdad" squawked from his cell phone. Wayne sighed, his stomach already grumbling, fearing it would be some street emergency which would delay him sitting down to eat.
"Wayne?" King asked.
"Who you expecting?"
"You didn't sound like yourself."
"Cause I'm ready to find something to meal on and you holding a brother up." Wayne shoved his free hand in his vest pocket and leaned against the minivan.
"Mind if we hook up? I got some things I need to talk to you about."
"Like what?"
"Not over the phone."
Wayne hated these "there's something of cosmic consequence, the fate of the universe hanging in the balance until we talk but I can't tell you about it for a few hours so now you have to spend that time wondering what it is and if you've screwed up somehow" calls. "Long as you don't mind meeting me at Mr Dan's."
"Over on Keystone?"
"Yeah."
"Cool. We'll meet you there."
"We?" Wayne asked to an already dead connection.
Wayne pulled the door to the Neighborhood Fellowship Church which housed Outreach Inc., double-checking to make sure the lock caught. By the time he turned around, Tavon nearly bowled him over. Tavon didn't know what else to do besides run, unable to trust anyone at that point, especially considering that his social circle pretty much exhausted itself after fiends, dealers, and police. Wayne was familiar from around the way as one of the neighborhood do-gooders.
"They dead. They dead, man," Tavon stammered.
"Who you talking bout?"
"The fiends that rode that Black Zombie blast."
"Slow your roll, man. Talk to me from the beginning of the story." Tavon's dilated eyes and constant scratching told Wayne a story all right – he was a fiend in need. "Tell you what, I'm about to hook up with some people and get me something to eat. Why don't you come with me and tell us all about it."
Tavon wasn't without compassion, but in the final analysis, fiends did what they did. The need overwhelmed him, pushed aside all other thoughts. A meal here. A ride there. These man-of-the-people types could hook a brother up. Maybe get something he could translate into cash – a bus pass, a gift certificate – and maybe catch the same blast that had knocked the other fiends on they ass. In the end, it was all about getting over, no matter who had to be crawled over.
"You float me?" Tavon asked, suddenly more lucid. "I'm a little light."
"Yeah, I got you."
Lott arrived at Mr Dan's first. One in the morning and he was eating here; his belly and backside would pay for it tomorrow. Actually probably later tonight. He rather enjoyed the simplicity of his life. Having just got off his mandated shift, the gentle skritch of the fabric of his uniform with each step reassured him. He had a little job, was saving a little money, had himself a little place. With no drama and more importantly nothing he couldn't walk away from at any point, he was content within his lifestyle. That was the secret to life, he'd discovered. Folks fell in love with a certain way of living, things they had to have and wouldn't be anything without. That meant they'd do anything to protect it, get all crazy about shit that made no sense. Not Lott. When shit started stacking up, he could cut out any time and set up somewhere else.
Wayne came in next, a fiend trailing behind him. A head nod to Lott, Wayne marched to the counter to place his – and Tavon's – order, not playing when it came to his food. Lott could guard the booth if he wanted. Wayne was still waiting for his order when King arrived.
Lady G and Rhianna pointed at pictures of burgers – though they'd be disappointed by the reality that would show up on their plates later – then joined Lott at the table. Lott seemed to sit up straighter at their arrival.
"He with you?" King asked Wayne, but eyed Tavon.
"Yeah, sorta."
"Always bringing your work home with you."
"You one to talk." Wayne glanced at homelessass Merle who trailed King. The irony was not lost on Wayne considering his line of work versus his feelings for Merle, but some folks were hard to like. "Extra grace" folks, his pastor called them. Merle always irritated him, as if Wayne was the object of a joke only Merle got.
"I am ever the servant's servant," Merle offered.
Wayne sucked his teeth in response.
"I was hoping we could chat in private," King said.
"You the one with an entourage." Wayne nodded toward Merle and the girls. "I didn't know you knew Lady G and Rhianna."
"It's not like that." King glanced over at Lady G, mildly jealous that she sat next to Lott. "Things been going on and I'm trying to piece things together."
"And I thought 'let us ask he-with-the-woundedneck'," Merle added.
Wayne rubbed the keloid scar on the back of his neck. "Well, I couldn't leave him alone. I'm trying to get a story out of him, myself. Thought maybe time, fresh air, and a full belly might chill him out enough to be straight with me."