Rise of the lowly janitor

Thief

One year ago…….

*Jake POV*

“Thief! Catch him! He took my wallet…catch him!”

I can hear the old man yelling but pay no attention to the commotion. I am learning that being in the streets can do that to one and make you insensitive to the suffering of those who are well off than you. I have probably not been here long enough though because I am usually willing to assist anyone in distress, despite the status but I am utterly exhausted today. I have not eaten anything in two weeks and have absolutely no energy to spare.

Q, the petty thief from the main road tower bridge whisks past me, panting and drenched in sweat. He is hugging a clearly expensive leather briefcase on his chest as he runs. That must be the reason for the commotion. It’s the same story everyday just a different victim with him. I am pretty sure that he is a few years younger than me yet he looks much older. The ugly scars on his face and arms tell a story of a body that’s been through a lot. Add his really filthy clothes, long unkempt hair, beard and disgusting nails, the boy is a typical hobo. He has apparently been in these streets since he was ten years old. I wonder why he ended up here at that age but I also envy him in a way. Had I chosen to be homeless than being sent from one foster care to another after my parents died, I probably would not have gone through all the s**t that still haunts my dreams.

“It will be alright. You will be part of a loving family,” the social worker said and I believed her. How naive I was!

I can’t blame her though, that disgusting pedophile who was my first foster mother knew how to pretend in front of the officials. House full of religious quotes, paintings and posters, she had everyone fooled and would have gotten away with it too had we not all contracted her STD.

“I am so sorry kid but the next lady is a real angel.” The same social worker said and the gullible me believed again and walked right into another psycho’s door.

I push away the disturbing memories of my childhood and look curiously at the mob of angry men who are carrying all sort of weapons and running towards Q’s direction. Soon after, a limping grey haired man passes, heading towards the same direction. His silver suit with a red handkerchief on his left pocket look old-fashioned but elegant and expensive. He definitely does not belong here. Oh! How I envy him. I bet he does not have to worry about his next meal or winter.

“Q might have run out of luck today,” I think to myself before retreating into my tiny, cosy corner where I pull my backpack, lay down and rest my head on it. I was really lucky to find an unoccupied space with a roof to shield the water off on rainy days. The tenants of this flat don’t mind me either. I do share it with some cats but no one has ever challenged me for it. It, unfortunately, gets really cold in winter. I don’t know how many times I woke up with a frost bite. It’s been almost a year since Bra Joe’s arrest and I ended up here. I really hope I won’t spend another winter here. I will wake up very early tomorrow morning and explore the southern part of the city. Hopefully I will find a job there. It’s been two weeks with nothing, not even a car washing gig. That’s also how long since I have had something to eat. I close my eyes for few minutes before hearing something landing on top of me. I jump up to find the expensive briefcase Q was holding next to me. I get out of my corner with it to see Q running away.

I don’t manage to completely turn around when I hear multiple voices behind me and my body flys off the ground to hit the wall really hard. I feel like I have just been hit by a truck and my head is still spinning when sjamboks, sticks and stones land on my body.

“Kill him!”

“Bloody thief!”

“We are tired of them!”

“Kill him!”

Angry voices erupted. I instinctively cover my head as more and more assaults come, each one tearing my flesh open. I don’t have to look to know that the wetness I feel around me is my own blood oozing.

I did nothing wrong, why on earth is this mob attacking me?

“Stop! Bloody fools! Stop!”

I know that voice. It’s that of a widow, Mrs Pule from the first floor of the flat whose roof I use as my home.

“Shut up and let us deal with this thief,”someone snaps at her and more latches land on me. I guess this is the day I die and I have no idea why.

A gunshot startles everyone, stopping my assault and I hear another familiar female voice. “Touch him, I swear I will blow your heads off,” the voice threatens before the familiar coughing spasms begin.

“Why are you protecting a thief?” someone from the mob asks angrily.

“That boy is no thief. He helps everyone here.”

“Yes, he got my bag back from that filthy hobo just yesterday. He’s been real help keeping our stuff safe from the petty thieves. Leave him alone!” Mrs Pule yells, angrily but they pay no attention to her. I guess she’s too poor and irrelevant to be listened to, but a low baritone voice gets all of them attentive.

“s**t! What did you do?”

It’s the limping grey- haired man on a silver suit.

“We got your briefcase, Sir, but this old woman won’t let us sort out this lowly filthy skunk,” the leader of the mob reports.

Now I get the reason for my assault. That scumbag, Q, set me up. He hates me because I have caught him a multiple times and returned the stuff he snatched away from his victims. Old Mrs Reed with the gun and the widow, Mrs Pule are one of those I have helped get their belongings back from him. This must be his revenge on me for that.

“You rich folks think you know everything, don’t you? Touch him again and I swear on my life that I will kill all of you!” Mrs Reed warns before her coughing attacks start again.

The grey- haired old man closes his eyes and shakes his head. “It’s not him. He’s not the guy who snatched my briefcase.”

“But we found him carrying it, Sir.” It’s a defensive answer that irritates the old man.

“Was he running away when you found him?”

“No, Sir.”

“You think a thief would wait around for you to get here?”

They all look down. “Sorry, Sir. It won’t happen again.”

Sorry Sir? What the f**k? They just beat me up and tore my skin. My blood is painting the pavement and I am still curled up on the ground because I can’t even move, but they are apologising to him!

“Get the f**k out of here!” the grey-haired man roars and the mob quickly disappears, leaving me still bleeding and coiled on the floor. The old man stands there looking at me with an expression I can’t quite read while Mrs Pule and Mrs Reed help me get on my feet. My whole body hurts like hell, my face is so swollen I can’t even see properly. I guess I should be grateful for being alive. I lean against the wall to support my unsteady feet.

“Poor thing,” Mrs Pule says sympathetically.

The old man throws a roll of bank notes at me. “Take this and get medical treatment.”

In another world I would tell him to go f**k himself but in this one I am homeless, starving and badly hurt. I quickly cash the roll and look at him. I hope he is not expecting a thanks from me after his men did this.

“Is that your apology? Throw money at everything?” Mrs Reed asks, glaring at him.

She has guts alright. Unfortunately, she can’t hold her gaze because her coughing starts and she launches down. I am no doctor but this bold old woman needs medical attention.

The old man shakes his head and walks away. I bet he is not used to being challenged like this, worse of all by a poor, sickly old lady.

“Bloody rich people! No regard for anyone else!” Mrs Reed shouts when she finally stops coughing while Mrs Pule shakes her head.

“Let it go, Diana,” Mrs Pule urges softly.

“Come on kiddo, let’s take you to the medical centre. Diana needs that cough checked out as well,” she says and drags me along.

“Okay, but I need to take my backpack,” I stumble towards my corner. That backpack has my last set of clothing and my identity documents. I will definitely not find it if I make a mistake of leaving it here.

Crawling into my corner hurts so bad I have to catch my breath now and then. I find the two old ladies, my saviours, arguing.

“I told you that I’m good. My doctor said it’s asthma,” Mrs Reed says dismissively.

They both hold my hands and start walking but continue with their argument.

“You are not good and asthma does not sound like that. My little sis had it and yours is not.”

“Are you a doctor now Silvia?”

This back and forth goes on until it’s apparent that Mrs Reed has not seen any doctor for her cough and I can guess why. Affording any medical attention in this neighbourhood is an unknown luxury even for those with roofs over their heads. Choosing between buying food and paying for medication is a daily struggle for many.

I drag my feet and ignore the curious stares from passers-by. Blood-soaked, battered man being dragged by two old ladies must be a peculiar sight.

We walk for three kilometres before we arrive at the Lily town medical centre where a male nurse rushes to us with a wheelchair.

“Now this is odd,” Mrs Reed says.

“What now Diana?”

“Him, running to us like that. We don’t get that welcome here.”

“Don’t start with that now Diana,” Mrs Pule warns.

“Come Sir, let me help you to a wheelchair,” the nurse says. I have never been here before but I must agree with Mrs Reed that the welcome sounds too good to be true.

“Really? You are not going to ask for money first?” Mrs Reed asks and the nurse shakes his head while pushes me towards the bed.

“No, Ma’am. Let me help you to the bed, Sir.”

“Really? No ‘we will need 200 dollars up front before letting you in’ this time?” Mrs Reed asks in disbelief.

“No Ma’am. Let me help you off those clothes and the doctor will be with you shortly, Sir.”

“Sir? What happened to you people?”

The nurse does not respond. I tug on his shirt.

“Hey man. She is here for medical help too.”

I don’t know what happened here but I might as well get Mrs Reed help while they are acceptive.

“No, I am not!” Mrs Reed responds.

“Yes, you are,” Mrs Pule says.

I look at the nurse and he stammers. “I…”

“What?”

“The truth is, Mr Smith has already settled your medical bill,”the nurse confesses.

“Who’s Mr Smith?”

I am now wondering if it’s not a case of mistaken identity.

“It’s that rich asshole,” Mrs Reed responds before the nurse could. “No wonder you are all nice and calling him Sir. Did that bastard tell you that his people did this?”

“Diana,” Mrs Pule calls her softy.

The nurse sighs. “Look, I am just an employee. I don’t make the rules. We will need money upfront before treating her or we will all lose our jobs,”the nurse explains and I believe him. I give him the ball of notes the old man threw at me.

“Here, please help her.”

“No, no, no. You need that money. I told you that it’s asthma, nothing serious,” Mrs Reed objects but I already know that she is lying about asthma.

“It was for medical help, my bill is already settled, please.”

“You are homeless, I can’t take your money.”

“I am looking for a job and I will find one soon. Mrs Reed, please. You saved my life. Let me do this for you.”

“Diana, please. You are sick,” Mrs Pule also pleads with her friend.

“Fine, but no one must tell me to stop smoking my cigarettes.”

“This side, Ma’am. The doctor should be with both of you shortly,” the nurse announces and helps her to another bed.

Two hours later, we walk out of the medical centre and head back home, where we find a crowd staring at someone on the floor. It’s not a rare occurrence here. A body can lay in the street for hours before the cops show up. This neighbourhood and its people, sadly don’t matter much to anyone. We are so insignificant that even politicians don’t come here to canvass for votes.

One look at the lifeless body and I know who it is. I guess his deeds have finally caught up with him.

“That’s the scumbag thief, good riddance,” Mrs Reed sneers and spits on the floor.

“You can’t celebrate a lost life, Diana,” Mrs Pule reprimands her.

They are ice and water these two, yet they are best of friends.

“How many times did he steal from you?”

“A multiple, but still…”

“But nothing. Good riddance,” Mrs Reed insists.

I quietly walk forward not knowing where I stand on the matter. I should be rejoicing because Q is partly to blame for my attack. This neighbourhood will definitely be better off, but I am sad at the background that shaped and lead to him being this way. I can’t help wondering if he was once trying to find a job, like me, and longing for a better his life. How many times did he get turned down and how long did it take for him to finally break and decide to steal from others? Would I one day turn out to be like him?

My mind trails to the old man. Who is he? He seemed to be powerful, that mob trembled when he yelled. He did not have to stay back when his men left and he had already thrown the money at me for medical help yet he still settled my medical bill. Why?