Jake snorted, and sank farther into the folds of his sleeping bag. He took a long pull from the bottle, then passed the libation to Wally. “What the hell you kids doing out here all by yourselves?”
“What are any of us doing out here?” Wally boomed, his voice echoing in the dark recesses of the warehouse. “Trying to stay warm, dry, and fed.” He tipped back the bottle and grinned at the two children across the glowing heat of the fire. “Look how skinny these little angels are. Stick with us, kids. We’ll fatten you up.”
Wary as she was after weeks of living on the streets, Greta was also tired. She felt exhaustion creep over her as the warmth of the soup and fire crept over her body. Already Hank was asleep, his little body burrowed into her side, like a puppy pillowed on its mother’s belly.
“Look at ’em,” Elva said. “Just babies. What you got in that bag, girl?”
“Clothes.” Greta’s tongue was getting tangled up in the word.
“Not even a sleeping bag, and winter coming on.” Elva shook her head. She pulled a raggedy square of cloth that looked like a piece of an old blanket from the depths of her sleeping bag. Then she scooted forward and used it to cover Hank, fussing with the edge as she tucked it around his neck, just the way Mom used to. “Where’s your folks?”
“Gone,” Greta said, and the word seemed to echo around the warehouse.
Elva frowned and looked at her companions. “All alone? How long you been out here, girl?”
Greta found that she didn’t have strength enough to answer. She felt all her caution fall to the onslaught of sleep.
“We can’t be baby-sitting a couple of kids.”
Greta’s eyes were shut, but she identified the voice. It belonged to Jake, the skinny one.
“No one’s asking you to look after ’em. They can go with me.”
That was Elva, the woman. Greta opened her eyes just a little bit. It was morning, cold gray light filtering into the warehouse. The fire was out, cold gray ashes swirling along the concrete floor. Greta felt warm, though. The children were tucked into Elva’s sleeping bag. Hank was next to Greta, curled up in a ball and still asleep.
“Just slow you down,” Jake growled as he rolled up his sleeping bag. “Make you a target for the cops. They don’t even look like they’re yours.”
“What the hell do you know?” Elva scowled at him. “All anybody’s gonna see is some poor homeless woman with a couple of kids she can’t feed. Which ain’t far from the truth. With Christmas coming on, people feel generous and guilty. I’ll just park the three of us out in front of San Francisco Centre where all those rich people ride that fancy curved escalator up to Nordstrom. You just see how many handouts I get. Take my word, these kids’ll be worth their weight in greenbacks.”
“More trouble than they’re worth, you ask me,” Jake grumbled as he tied his sleeping bag with rope.
“Nobody asked you,” Elva shot back.
“Now, friends, friends. Let’s not come to blows, whether with words or fists.” That was Wally, the big guy with the beard. “I agree with Elva. We should care for these little angels. I’m sure we’ll be handsomely rewarded. Yes, indeed.”
Wally laughed. He was pretending to be nice, Greta decided, but he wasn’t. She didn’t like the way his eyes glittered when he looked at her and Hank. She abandoned all pretense of sleep and sat up. The nylon bag was no longer beside her, but next to Elva, who had rummaged through its contents. Greta snatched up the picture of Mom and hugged the frame to her chest.
“That your mama?” Elva asked. “She was real pretty.” The woman reached over and shook Hank awake. “Let’s put another layer of clothes on you, ’cause it’s cold out there this morning.”
The three grown-ups stashed their sleeping bags in a small room in the bowels of the abandoned warehouse and set out with the two children. In the bleak daylight the south of Market neighborhood didn’t look as scary as it had last night, just dirty and down at the heels.
Jake set off on his own, heading up Mission Street, but Wally stayed with Elva and the children until they reached Market. Then he bid them an elaborate and flowery farewell, lingering until Elva told him to get the hell on with it. He bowed, crossed the street, and headed for the Tenderloin.
Then Elva took Hank and Greta another block down Market and did just what she’d said she’d do. She took a position in front of the San Francisco Centre and started cadging handouts from well-heeled shoppers. Soon she had enough money to send the children across Market to the fast-food burger place. Hank ate two cheeseburgers and a big order of French fries all by himself.
“I like Elva,” he declared, wiping ketchup from his mouth.
He doesn’t know things the way I do, Greta thought. He’s just a baby, not experienced, like me. I’m not so sure but what we’re better off on our own.
She brooded as she finished her hamburger. Then she cleared off the table and stepped up to the counter to buy another one, for Elva.
But even if Greta had her doubts about staying with the trio from the warehouse, it was easy to slip into the routine, the next day and the day after. They worked the streets with Elva during the day, going from store to store, hotel to hotel, then met Jake and Wally back at the warehouse. Wally found a sleeping bag for the two children to share, and each day the three grown-ups managed to find enough food to put into the kettle. It was so easy to feel comfortable and safe, huddled in the warm circle of the fire on the warehouse’s concrete floor. In the morning they’d roll up their sleeping bags and stash their gear in the little room, then head out for a day on the streets.
The two children had been staying at the warehouse for a couple of weeks when Greta saw Wally talking with the tall man from the Tenderloin, the pimp who had all those hookers working for him. She and Hank and Elva were working the Geary Theatre that day. It was a natural, Elva told them. Theater patrons left the comfortable confines where they’d seen a seasonal matinee of A Christmas Carol, and stepped onto the dirty city streets and came face-to-face with a couple of contemporary urchins.
“Guilt and generosity,” Elva said confidently. “It’ll do it every time.”
After the matinee Elva led them down Taylor toward Market Street, through the Tenderloin, where Greta saw Wally. He spotted the children and waved. Why was Wally talking to that awful pimp man? Why did Wally’s eyes glitter like that, above his white beard? She didn’t like it. Especially since Wally came back to the warehouse that night with a big bottle of brandy, evidently the kind Jake and Elva liked a lot, because they drank the whole bottle that night, laughing loudly and acting silly, so drunk they finally passed out and Greta had to finish making dinner under Wally’s watchful eyes.
When she woke up the next morning, her head pillowed on the nylon bag, Jake and Elva were still asleep, a couple of lumps in their sleeping bags, snoring like they were sawing logs.
But Wally was gone. So was Hank.
Greta kicked her way out of the sleeping bag and put on her shoes. “Hank?” she called. There was no answer. She darted around the bottom floor of the warehouse, looking for her brother, getting more frantic as she looked in all the shadowy places.
On her third circuit she encountered Wally, who was making his way back into the warehouse with a bag and a large container that smelled like coffee. “What’s the matter, little angel?” he asked jovially.
“Hank’s gone,” she cried.
“I’m sure he’s just wandered off.” Wally waggled the bag at her. “Doughnuts, little angel. Jelly doughnuts and chocolate bars. I know you like chocolate. Want one?”
“He wouldn’t wander off,” Greta said stubbornly. “He knows he’s supposed to stick close to me.”