He was always careful not to have all of his money, little as it was, in only one place, whether on him, or stashed.
“Might as well get up,” he thought. He wouldn’t go back to sleep now, anyway. The sun was up. At least it hadn’t rained. He would have had to leave the culvert if it had rained during the night, or drown.
Bones aching and ligaments and tendons popping, Charlie crawled out of the culvert and looked carefully around. Nothing stirring, except some birds. He put out two rat traps the evening before and he decided to check them. Nothing in one, but the other had killed a pigeon.
Breakfast.
It didn’t take long to set up his tin can stove and start a few sticks burning using newspaper as tinder. He contemplated his future as he grilled the pigeon breast. He took a drink from one of his two bottles of water. He’d been able to keep them filled from partially full ones he often found in trash bins.
Things were getting bad in the city. More homeless than ever, and they were getting meaner. So were the cops. Not much tolerance anymore. The shelters were full, and he’d had to shave his head and privates after the last time. He’d wound up with lice from the blanket in the shelter. He’d borrowed a pair of scissors, and used his last disposable razor to do it. At least he’d been able to take a shower afterwards, but he’d immediately left the shelter afterward and hadn’t been back.
Maybe along the border between the city proper and the ‘burbs. Enough city stuff to keep him fed and housed, but close to good handyman work. He checked his cash. The stash in the hidden pocket inside the sleeve of his jacket, above the elbow, held a twenty in a zip-lock sandwich bag.
He had three dollars in his wallet in his left hip pocket. He never kept much in his wallet in case he got rolled. But he always kept a little in the hope that they would take it and not search much more. There was a five in the bottom of his left shoe.
Two fives were wrapped around his hickory walking staff, hidden under the leather handgrip. A ten was folded and in the palm of his left hand, under the fingerless, skin tight, leather glove he wore to hide the burn scars on the back of that hand.
Not much, but more than what many had. He still had a half of a pint of whiskey in the pocket of his jacket and the water, but no other food left. The others had got what little he’d had when they chased him from his other spot. At least he’d had his bottle of vitamins in one of the stashes.
His kit was divided between two 5-gallon buckets that had once held drywall paste. He’d made a couple of bucks helping clean up that construction job, got the buckets with lids, and a perfectly good closet rod they were going to just throw away. One of the carpenters had drilled quarter-inch holes an inch from each end for him. He bought two quarter-inch J-bolts from a discount store, two extra nuts, four washers, four feet of light chain, and two S-hooks. With the J-bolts mounted and the middle of the rod wrapped with cloth padding and duct tape, he had an over the shoulder carrier for the two buckets. Had to be a bit careful with his pace to keep the buckets from swinging on the chains and throwing him off balance, but it let him carry and use them easily.
There was a pretty decent set of Dickies tan work clothes in one bucket. It also contained an extra pair of underwear and a tee-shirt, and two pair of socks in a gallon zip-lock bag. That bucket also held his tin can stove when he wasn’t using it like now, a lidded pot, steak knife, spoon, a zip-lock with his small stash of toiletries, the bottle of vitamins, and one water bottle.
The other bucket contained the two rat traps, a small roll of duct tape, the other drinking water bottle, another pot, several pads of toilet paper in a zip-lock bag, a small box of zip-lock bags, coil of mechanic’s wire, multi-tip screwdriver, pair of water pump pliers, a very good carpenter’s hammer, and a hacksaw blade. There were a few odds and ends of screws, nails, and bolts. Another one-gallon zip-lock bag held his other change of underwear and socks, two bandanas, and a half roll of quarters for the Laundromat.
Along with the clothes he was wearing, a-bit-worse-for-wear set of Dickies work clothes, tee-shirt, insulated shirt, boxer shorts, insulated long handles, three pairs of socks, insulated gloves, stocking cap, heavy jacket, and boots, with a bandana around his neck and another one in his left hip pocket, and the contents of the buckets were the sum of his worldly goods.
Fed, morning ablutions taken care of, and buckets repacked, destination in mind, Charlie headed out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Edward Baumgartner had it made. A luxury SUV, a Mercedes sedan, and a Corvette. Paid off house with a pool. Money in the bank. In two banks. Both of which he owned. Of course, he did have a wife and two bratty kids. He grinned as he drove the SUV toward the bank that he considered his base of operations. There were other positives, though. His secretary was ambitious and beautiful. More importantly, she was willing to bargain her way up the ladder. He had a standing arrangement with her for a weekly frolic at an out of the way hotel.
His grin faded as he listened to the news. Things were getting bad. Maybe he should get out of some of his growth stocks and put the money in blue chips. T-bills, too. And that one teller, Angela, was always talking about being prepared. Like she was a boy scout or something. But still… He’d do a search on the internet and see what he could find.
When he saw the hobo walking along, looking like a coolie without the hat, checking trash receptacles as he went, Edward frowned. This was a decent part of town. They didn’t need his kind around. Along with the other things he planned for the day, he would write a letter-to-the-editor of the paper and give his opinion on the situation. It was important for people like him to help keep a handle on the goings-on in the area.
He winked at Courtney as he went past, and then frowned at Angela. There were two people standing with her and they were looking at some kind of catalog. Probably one of her survival equipment catalogs.
Edward changed course and headed for the three. Things were set up for opening time, but he couldn’t let them just stand around like slackers. “I’ll take that. You can have it back after work. All of you find something to do until opening.”
Angela didn’t protest. She knew it wouldn’t do any good. She was looking for work at another bank, but things were pretty tight. The pay was decent here, the working conditions were good, and her workmates were great, except for Mr. Baumgartner and Courtney. She sighed and went to count the money, again, in the till at her teller station.
Dropping the catalog on his desk, Edward went around the desk and sat down. In moments his computer monitor was up. He checked the banks accounts for the night’s transfers. Everything was fine. After a look at the clock on the wall, he got up again and made his usual inspection of the bank just before opening.
By ten he’d taken care of all the routine business and nothing special had come up. He picked up the catalog he’d put on his credenza when he was working on bank business. It was a survival equipment catalog. Edward noted that it was listed as preparedness items, but he knew they really meant that survivalist nonsense.
He thumbed through it, stopping here and there as particular items caught his eye. Edward noted a year supply of food for a family of four and whistled. But he thought about it for a moment, mentally calculating how much they spent in a year on food. Not that much difference, he decided. Something to think about. It was getting hard to find some items when he wanted them. He’d had to get on to his wife more than once for not bringing home the foods he liked on what was now a regular basis.
Of course he knew he was too smart to fall for the ads. No way it would be as good as the pictures looked. But still… He tossed the catalog aside and turned to the computer. He pulled up the internet search engine he used and typed survival and shelter into the search bar.