A Long Way Down

Chapter 1-2

There was no sign that the heat wave would break anytime soon, at least according to a story in a discarded newspaper Daw retrieved from a trash container outside a convenience store two days after he’d run into Jamie.

He’d spent the daylight hours seated in the shade in front of one restaurant or another along a street where he often panhandled, his cup between his feet as he read a paperback thriller he’d boosted from a table in front of a used book store. Once the sun went down, he’d moved to a park where it was minimally cooler, hoping to hook up with a john looking for a blowjob. He got lucky, once, and spent the money the guy had paid him on a burger and fries at an all-night diner, relishing the cold from the AC almost more than the food and the chance to use the restroom to clean up and brush his teeth.

He decided it was time to hit up a shelter for another hygiene kit. A necessity since he only had one condom left, and the small tube of toothpaste that came with the kits was almost empty. In general he had no use for shelters. He didn’t own much but what he had was his and he didn’t intend on losing it to some punk who decided to walk off with his pack while he slept. That, and the bugs and diseases rampant in some of them meant he’d rather take his chances sleeping rough.

The only advantage of the one he headed to the following morning was that it had a walk-in clinic. The nurses who ran it accepted the fact that a lot of homeless guys had no other recourse than selling themselves to keep body and soul together, so they handed out the kits and condoms without questions or lectures.

While he waited his turn in line, Daw listened to what the other men were saying. Mostly it was pissing and moaning about the weather, which didn’t surprise him. Then he overheard two guys talking about another man who had apparently jumped off the roof of a building about a mile from the downtown area of the city.

“Jumped or was pushed,” one of them said.

“Yeah, I hear you,” the other guy replied. “Not that the cops give a damn, even if it was the third one this month. They figure the less of us the better, and I bet they’re writing it off as a suicide or to the dude being drunk or high and stupid.”

“No shit.”

Daw frowned, wondering if he knew who it was. Not that he had many friends on the streets, but he’d been around long enough to know names, if nothing more. He’d known Wink—and had decided he didn’t like him. The feeling was mutual. Still, that’s a hell of a way to die. And if you didn’t, you’d probably be handicapped for the rest of your life. If I decided to kill myself, sure wouldn’t take that route.

As horrible as his life had been since escaping the terror of his final night at home, he had never once considered killing himself. It’s not me. Someday things will get better, I hope. I won’t find out if I’m lying in some unmarked grave.

He walked out of the shelter with two kits, thanks to a nurse who took one look at him and said, not unkindly, “I’ve got the feeling you’ll need them if you’re going to make enough to put some meat on your bones.”

She had a point and Daw knew it. He’d never been a heavyweight, but now he was more scarecrow than lion, to hark back to Jamie’s reference to that old movie. At least I’ve got more brains than the scarecrow.

That evening, he got lucky again—If I can call it that. Two johns approached him, guys he’d dealt with before so they knew the routine and what it would cost them. With money in his pocket, he went back to the diner, had a real meal—meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and corn, with a soda—and still had some cash left. He stuck it under the insole of his well-worn tennis shoes, and then decided to return to the rooftop he and Jamie had used a few days previously. He didn’t expect to find her there, so he wasn’t disappointed when he clambered up the fire escape and found he was the only one around. He was a bit surprised about that, however. On a normal night there would have been at least a couple more homeless guys, or women, staking their claim to a section of the roof.

“On the other hand,” he said under his breath, “this is the first time I’ve been on one since Jamie told me about guys who’d fallen or were pushed to their deaths. Over-cautious, maybe, but why take a chance?”

He went onto the higher roof, savoring the thin breeze that had sprung up. He knew it wouldn’t last for long but he’d take what he could get. Crossing to the parapet, he dropped his pack beside it, knelt, and leaned over, looking at the street several stories below. It was late enough that there was minimal traffic and the only people he saw were a group of four men wearing dark blue slacks and shirts. Daw figured they were janitors, heading home from cleaning one of the buildings below him.

He was tired, probably because he’d had a full meal for the first time in forever. Turning away from the view, he took a short metal bar from his pack then laid down, using the pack as a pillow after he’d put the bar under it where he could reach it instantly in case of trouble. Closing his eyes, he fell into a fitful sleep.

Then, he didn’t know how much later, he felt a hand covering his mouth right before he was pulled to his feet. All he could think of was how he’d been dragged from what he’d thought was a safe hiding place, the second night after ending up on the streets, and like then, he fought back. Whoever had him released their hold and he dropped to one knee, scrabbling under his pack for the bar.

“Looking for this?” The man’s voice was cold and angry as he pulled Daw up again. Then, he swung the bar. It hit Daw across the side of his head, dazing him. The next thing he knew he was flying, headed straight to the pavement several stories below.