Chapter 8
“Takin’ Care of Business”
Bachman-Turner Overdrive

~~~

Under a Dreary Mid-February Sky,
In an Equally Dreary Mid-Atlanta Diner,
Having a Surprisingly Undreary Mid-Day Meal.

“MORE COFFEE?” THE waitress smiled as she held the steaming pot over his empty cup.

“Yes, thank you.” Jake hoped the weariness in her eyes reflected fatigue and nothing more. Tired himself, he wanted to concentrate on his hamburger and not on whether her soul needed saving.

As she refilled his cup, he studied her face. A bit careworn, definitely tired, but even when he made an effort, he didn’t pick up much else. Relieved, he went back to enjoying his lunch and thinking about what part of town he wanted to focus on next.

Jake had been in Atlanta for nearly six weeks. He could spend six years there and never reach all the people in need of help. The big question was, should he? Should he focus on one area, or would it be better to hit the road again? After all, Atlanta hadn’t cornered the market on lost souls. People everywhere struggled to make the right choices, but as he’d said to Azrael the last time they’d talked, he was only one man.

Why couldn’t the rest of the angels understand what Azrael wanted to do? Surely, they cared about saving souls? It was the reason most of them had been created in the first place, so it ought to be their first order of business. Why was it so hard for them to understand that a few more emissaries could make a huge difference?

He left a tip on the table and headed for the cash register, only to have a too-familiar sense of wrongness wash over him as he approached the woman standing behind it.

Focused on something outside the diner, she clutched a steak knife in her hand and whispered, “Go away, go away, go away.”

Jake glanced through the glass door. Across the street, a grungy young man paced back and forth, casting furtive looks at the diner. Even from this distance, the kid’s nervous twitching and slightly off-kilter movements left no doubt he was strung out on some street drug or other.

“Ma’am? Is there some way I can help you?”

The woman’s head whipped toward Jake, and the knife in her hand clattered to the floor. By the time she picked it up, she had collected herself enough to shake her head and hold out her hand for the check.

He gave it to her, then leaned a bit closer, and spoke softly. “Are you afraid of that guy outside? Should I call the police or someone?”

She shook her head again, though her eyes said something very different. “No. It’s okay. I mean, I’d rather not involve the law.”

“Is he your son?”

Her eyes flew wide in horror. “No! My son’s our busboy. He’s in the kitchen.”

Jake waited. He’d discovered it was a good way to get people to say more than they intended, and once again, it worked.

The woman checked to see where the other waitress was, then added, “I don’t want that guy anywhere near Donny. He’s a dealer, and my son’s just getting his life back on track. That bastard can’t come in here causing trouble. He’s already done enough damage to my boy.”

“Would it help if I spoke to the guy?”

She leaned away, looking Jake up and down. “Why are you so interested? You a narc? Oh, hell. Is this about Donny’s parole? He’s clean now, and he’s worked hard to make up for what he did. For the love of God, please don’t do anything to upset him.”

For the love of God, indeed. The irony did not escape Jake. “Don’t worry. I’m not checking up on your son, but I think I might have some business to take care of across the way. That kid over there needs to move along.”

Again, she made sure the waitress was still at the other end of the diner, then leaned closer. “I’m begging you, don’t make a scene. I can’t afford to lose this job, and Donny can’t lose his, either.”

Then the woman rang up his bill, and Jake paid it, letting his hand brush against hers for just long enough to give her a tiny mental nudge. Not a lot. Only enough to calm her nerves slightly—and to make certain she forgot about him as soon as he left.

That done, he walked out the door, looked both ways, and crossed the street.

~~~

One Hard Mile and A Sweaty Half-Hour Later,
Behind a Dumpster Filled with Week-Old Garbage,
At the End of a Filthy Alley Reeking of Urine.

“GET OUTTA HERE, man, before somebody sees me with you! I’m tellin’ you, clear out, or I’m good as dead.”

“So, you’re not in charge of this little operation, then?”

The boy gaped at Jake. His dilated pupils confirmed substance use, but his shaking hands and the heavy sheen of sweat across his pasty skin told the rest of the story. The kid was coming down hard from his most recent dance with his drug of choice.

“In charge? You crazy? Hell, no! I ain’t in charge of nuthin’. I’m just a runner, man. If you ain’t arrestin’ me, go the hell away. They think I’m shootin’ off my mouth to some narc, they’ll kill me, sure.”

“I’m not a narc.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Look, kid. You aren’t doing so well. Maybe I can help.”

With a gasp and a shaky sob, the boy slid down the brick wall at his back, oblivious to the garbage and dirt he landed in. As his sobs turned into moans of pain, he clutched at his stomach, vomited down the front of his shirt, and passed out.

Great. He had no idea what to do next.

As soon as the kid had realized a man from the diner was coming toward him, he’d raced off down the sidewalk, heading straight for his home territory. Now, they were both in serious danger. Jake needed to get out of there at once, but no way would he leave the boy alone, unconscious and vulnerable.

He considered his options. Okay—option, since the only one he could think of was to carry the boy somewhere he could get help.

Jake scooped the kid up in his arms, then realized he had another problem. Carrying the boy was easy enough—he weighed much less than expected—but that didn’t mean he could waltz out of this alley and right down the street with him in his arms. It would attract far too much attention, even if they weren’t in danger from whatever gang controlled this part of town.

With no idea how much assistance he was allowed in a situation like this, Jake figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“Azrael, if you’re there, what do I do now? I can’t walk away from this boy, but I can’t walk away with him, either. Are you allowed to help me get him somewhere safe until I can figure something out? Please, Azrael? He’s just a kid, and he’s already so lost, it hurts me to look at him.”

Long seconds ticked by in silence, and Jake’s spirits sank. Then Azrael’s voice filled his head. “Close your eyes, Jake. Do not open them until I tell you to do so.”

Jake followed the angel’s instructions, ignoring the sensation of rushing wind and the loss of equilibrium that accompanied it. After what seemed like far too long, Azrael spoke again. “You may open your eyes now.”

He did. In spite of a brief moment of vertigo, Jake—and the unconscious boy in his arms—seemed to have suffered no ill effects from the journey. Better yet, they were standing beside his black BMW, which now occupied a space right outside the emergency room of a large hospital.

“Thank you, Azrael.”

“Thank me by saving this boy. I have smoothed the way for you inside. You will be attended to immediately with no questions asked. Take care of him. He is far more important than you might think. Do not lose him.”

“Got it.” Jake carried the kid toward the ER, not sure what would happen inside, but he would not lose this one. Azrael had spoken.

~~~

Three Frustrating, Argumentative Days Later,
In a Liver-Bile Green Hospital Room,
Redolent of Sweat, Antiseptic, and Bad Coffee.

“I KNOW IT’S crummy hospital food, but you have to eat it. They are never going to let you out of here until they see that you’re eating and that all bodily functions are in order.”

The kid glared at him. “You ain’t my mama, you know.”

“No, but right now, I’m your best friend. You nearly OD’d on whatever that junk was you were taking, you know. OD’d—as in died, Tony.”

“And Tony ain’t my name, neither.”

“Well, it’s the name I gave them when you were admitted, so while you’re here, I’d appreciate it if you’d answer to it.”

“Yeah, about that. Tell me again how I ended up in this place? And who the hell’s supposed to pay for it? I don’t get it, man.”

Jake sighed. “I told you several times, I brought you here when you puked all over yourself and passed out. It seemed like a good idea to try to save your life, though I’m beginning to have second thoughts on that one.”

“I know what you told me. I ain’t stupid. But say I believed your screwed-up story, whacked as it is. You coulda just dumped me off at the door and beat it outta here, but you stayed. That don’t make no kinda sense to me. I wanna know why you stayed.”

The kid, Tony for the time being, had been in the hospital for three days and seemed to be doing well, which confused his doctors no end. Apparently, whatever magic Azrael had worked to cover admissions included a near-instantaneous detox of some sort, and the physicians were all left scratching their heads.

Upon admission, they’d suggested Tony go through a weeks-long program to kick what they said looked like a pretty severe habit, and they were reluctant to let go of that idea, no matter what evidence they now saw to the contrary.

Tony had awakened a few hours after admission, bright-eyed, coherent, and loudly proclaiming he wasn’t a big enough dumbass as to take drugs at all, much less “get hooked on the damn crap.” Yeah, he admitted to smoking pot a bit but swore he’d never touched the hard stuff. Jake knew he was lying, but the doctors, while skeptical, couldn’t prove otherwise.

Now, as he waited for Tony to be released, Jake sincerely hoped Azrael had taken care of all of that, too. They’d be walking away from a significant hospital bill, and he definitely needed to ask the angel how this stuff worked. Did everything disappear after they left? Did the angel wipe the minds of all hospital personnel who’d been in contact with the two of them? Or did the bill mysteriously get paid somehow? He had no idea, but he’d have to trust Azrael to handle it. He had other things to worry about, like what he was going to do with the boy when they walked out the front door.

Azrael said the kid was important and Jake must take care of him. That pretty much ruled out returning Tony to his old stomping grounds. Better come up with a plan, and better make it a good one, too. Some way to keep the boy out of trouble while Jake tried to steer him in a better direction.

The door swung open, and a volunteer pushed a wheelchair into the room, smiling at Tony. “You’re all set to go.”

She gave the boy his freshly laundered clothing, pulled the curtain closed around his bed, and handed Jake a clipboard with some highlighted areas to sign. That was it. Oh, yeah. It was good to have friends in high places, all right.

Ten minutes later, the girl parked the wheelchair in the lobby, and Jake told her he had it from there. He helped his charge to his feet and led him out the door to the parking lot, never letting go of his arm until he buckled him into the BMW’s passenger seat.

As Jake inserted the key into the ignition, the kid made his pitch. “Wait a minute! Look, just gimme some money for bus fare, and I’ll take it from here. Thanks, and all that, but I gotta get goin’. Okay?”

“And where do you think you’ll go, Tony?”

“Told you, my name ain’t Tony. Just call me Dodger.”

“Dodger, huh? Okay, then. You think your pals will believe anything you tell them at this point, Dodger? If they were going to kill you just for being seen with me, how will they feel about you having disappeared with me for three days?”

Dodger’s face paled, but he soldiered on. “I can make up something, don’t you worry none. Just give me the damn money and let me get outta here, man. Please?”

“Call me Jake. And if you really want to go back to where I found you, I’ll drive you there, myself.”

“No, man!” With a vehement shake of his head, Dodger tried another tack. “That wouldn’t be good. Just let me find my own way back, okay?”

“I don’t think so. I think you’ll head anywhere but back to where you came from. You know why I think that? Because I believe what you told me in that alley. I believe if the guy in charge thinks you’ve been talking to a narc, they’ll kill you, just like you said that day. So, instead of doing that, how about we take a drive in the opposite direction, and you spend some time listening to some ideas I have. After two days, if you still want to go back to your old life, I’ll give you a hundred dollars and wish you the best of luck.”

A long moment passed in silence, then Dodger’s shoulders slumped, and Jake knew he had him.

“A hundred dollars, huh?”

“Yep.”

“And all I have to do is listen to you for the next two days, then I can take the money and go where the hell I want?”

“That’s it.”

“No funny stuff, right? Cuz I don’t do guys.”

“Neither do I, so no funny stuff.”

The boy chewed his lower lip, then gave a reluctant nod. “Okay. But if you try anything with me, I’ll hurt you bad. Just so’s you know.”

Jake nodded, though he couldn’t imagine Dodger being a serious threat. “Deal. Now we’re going to find us a safe, clean place to stay, get a decent meal, and talk.”

As they left the hospital parking lot, Jake said a little prayer that he could find the words he needed to turn this kid around. One way or the other, he had to. Azrael said to save the boy, and save him he would, no matter what it took.

---

There you have today’s offering.
Stay tuned for Chapter 9 tomorrow!

THE EMISSARY