Page 14 of The Guy in the Alley

Still nothing from Angie.

I scrolled through my messages, partly relieved. I didn’t want her to worry. It wasn’t like I could get a message to her now anyway. I’d have to wait till I found a hot spot. Maybe they had Wi-Fi downstairs. I hadn’t thought to ask earlier.

I was so goddamn tired.

Just in case, I checked for Wi-Fi. Network after network popped up, all of them locked. And there we go. The Dearborn Clover GUEST Wi-Fi. Also password protected.

I returned my phone to my boot, then rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling.

It was painted in the same muted green color as the walls.

A breath gusted out of me, and I carefully brushed my hand over my wound. The pain had faded into a dull, constant ache.

Could I actually sleep here?

The silence was deafening. I couldn’t handle silence. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d experienced it.

Maybe Trace didn’t count it as silence. I mean, there were some faint sounds—plumbing, the occasional squeak, the wind whipping up against the building… But it was silence to me, compared to what I was used to.

Ah, there. The distant call of sirens.

I breathed deeply and closed my eyes.

Trace Kalecki.

Under no circumstances could I stay here for long. A night or two, tops. I’d help out with the soup kitchen, of course. It was the least I could do. He’d done way too much for me. And then I’d be on my way. I had to see Alvin on Friday anyway. Even if I had to walk all the way out to Elmwood Park.

CHAPTER THREE

Trace Kalecki

“Ben, can you look outside and give me an estimate on how long the line is?” I asked.

Four giant stockpots, each one holding approximately seven gallons of chicken and vegetable soup, usually cut it. But we always circled back to the same sentence.

This fucking weather.

Everyone was cold. Everyone was seeking out heat, whether they came right off the streets or they’d traveled far for food they couldn’t afford at home. Most visitors weren’t actually unsheltered; they just didn’t have enough money for food.

The alley had been filled with people of all ages coming and going since we’d opened, some of them sticking to the heating vents for extra warmth when the booths in here were full. We tried to ensure that those who arrived with kids could sit down at a table.

Marisol and Julie stepped up the pace to empty bags of bread, and we were running low on that too. Four slices per head, and I didn’t wanna make cuts on carbs in this fucking weather. Coffee and tea were easier; we had tons of packets of insta-coffee and way too many tea bags. Ben had spent an hour bagging insta-cocoa and marshmallows for the kids as well.

He leaned out the door. “The line still goes around the corner. I’ll go out and check.”

“Thanks, man.” I wiped my forehead and asked Sandy to take over for me. I had to go check with Petey in the kitchen if we could make more food magically appear. “Oh, and when Ben comes back, tell him to find me in the kitchen.”

“Will do,” he replied.

I hurried out of the Green and into the…rest of the establishment. And talk about a different world. At this hour on a Thursday—the place was almost dead. The lunch rush was long gone, and it’d be another hour before early birds and tourists braved this fucking weather.

Adam perked up from the bar. “Do you need help, bud? I just got the Senior Circuit here.”

“I resent that!” Jerry groused.

“Senior, my ass,” Malcolm huffed.

I grinned, out of breath, and shook my head. “We’re good, but thanks.” Then I jogged out into the kitchen and headed straight for Petey’s station. “We need more food.” I bent down and dug out our last two stockpots that size and put them on the counter.

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