Chapter 11
“Summer in the City”
The Lovin’ Spoonful
~~~

 A Whole New Park in a Different Part of Town,
Just as Steamingly Miserable in July,
As the First Had Been Frigidly Miserable in February.

“THAT’S IT, THEN. Two more for the week.” As he walked alongside Jake, Dodger busied himself writing something down in the little spiral notebook he referred to as his journal. They’d called it a day and were heading toward their latest favorite in a long list of Atlanta diners, chatting back and forth with easy familiarity.

Jake watched the boy out of the corner of his eye, marveling at what five months of clean living and plenty of food had done for his protégé. Dodger had put on at least twenty pounds and had lost the starved, stray-dog look he’d had when Jake first saw him. With color in his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes, no one would ever imagine he’d been an addict such a short time ago. Of course, Jake had Azrael to thank for the light speed version of a detox program, but the fact that it had worked was all that mattered.

“What’s our total for this week?”

Dodger flipped back a page in his notebook. “Twenty-one talked to, fourteen you said you felt pretty good about.”

“Sooo . . . two-thirds who might have listened, then?”

Beaming, Dodger nodded. “Hell, yeah. One of our best weeks.”

“I’d never have found that many kids to talk to on my own, you know. Probably not even in twice the time. You’re doing a great job, Dodge.”

The boy grinned, then grew silent, his brows coming together in a look that Jake knew would soon result in questions, some of which he wasn’t prepared to answer. Dodger had a never-ending curiosity and was far too smart to lie to, not that Jake ever intended to do so, but he’d better be on his toes. No way to guess what was on the kid’s mind, but he didn’t ask. Dodger would pursue his questions in his own good time.

It turned out Dodger’s own good time was between home-style roast beef hash and homemade bread pudding with caramel-cinnamon sauce on top. As soon as the waitress said “I’ll be back with your desserts in a minute,” and walked away, the boy pounced.

“How do you do it?”

Jake feigned innocence. “Do what?”

“Don’t jerk me around, dammit. I wanna know how you get through to so many of these kids. Ain’t never seen nobody else come close.”

“Yeah? Well, I want to know how come you pretend you’ve never had an English lesson in your life and talk like you were born in the ghetto, when I know better. And even though I’ve asked you about this several times, you still haven’t given me a straight answer.”

The boy’s face flamed, but this time, he didn’t try to deny it. “That’s different.”

“How?”

When Dodger spoke again, he’d transformed into someone else, entirely. Oh sure, he was a Georgia boy through and through, so he still dropped his g’s and softened his r’s, but the sharp-edged street twang was gone, along with the lousy grammar.

“If I don’t speak like everyone else, I stand out, Jake. I learned that the hard way, the first week I was on my own. It was a matter of survival then, and now, it makes it easier for me to fit in. How did you figure out it wasn’t the way I’ve always talked?”

“Been around a lot longer than you, kid. I’ve got a good ear for accents, and now and then, I’d hear something else under there. A bit more Buckhead and a little less Grant Park.”

Dodger was quiet for a long time, then he shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to work harder, won’t I? It wouldn’t do to alienate the kids we want to help, nor to make myself a target for anyone else.”

“Now there’s the real Dodger speaking.”

The boy’s voice held a bitter note. “No, that’s the real David speaking. The real Dodger is the loser you carried out of that alley last February.”

Jake leaned across the booth to grasp Dodger’s shoulder. “Not true. People have many facets to them, Dodge, like jewels. We can be one thing in one light and something else in another. But underneath it all, we’re still ourselves. I see who you really are, no matter the name, no matter the place, and no matter how you speak. And I value you for your own special gifts. And your unique worth.”

Dodger’s head dropped low, and he stared at the table without speaking. Dessert arrived and he still didn’t look up—a dead giveaway that something was really wrong.

“Hey? Dodger? You okay?”

No response at all, and something told Jake it was finally time to reach out. He took a chance, but he had to be careful not to overstep the boundaries. Slipping out of his seat, he slid in beside Dodger and whispered softly, “If you don’t want that bread pudding, I’ll take it.”

Dodger’s hand shot out and grabbed the bowl. After a minute, he glanced up at Jake. His eyes shone with tears, but a tiny, wistful smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I wish I’d had a dad like you.”

And there it was. Everything that Dodger was—or wasn’t—went back to whatever had gone wrong between the boy and his father. Jake’s throat tightened and his own eyes stung, but when he could breathe normally again, he draped his arm across Dodger’s shoulders. “I’d have been proud to have you for a son.”

And he was only a little surprised by how much he meant it.

Carrying a to-go box full of bread pudding, Dodger sauntered alongside Jake in companionable silence as they returned to their room. Jake treasured those moments of perfect harmony, when their bond was so strong, they had no need to speak at all. 

After they’d settled in their beds for the night, Jake spoke into the darkness. “I wish I could turn back time, Dodger, and fix the things that went wrong for you. Hell, I wish I could fix the things that went wrong for me, too.”

Dodger took so long to reply, Jake thought he’d already fallen asleep. He should have known the boy was listening carefully. He always did.

“What went wrong for you, Jake? What would you change, if you could?”

Stumbling over words that didn’t come easy to him, Jake told Dodger about his past—about the death of his family, about finding his Saving Grace, and about losing her, as well. This time, he expected the long silence, but not the tears he heard in Dodger’s voice.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how you keep going, Jake. How do you get up every day, just wanting to help others, after so many bad things happened to you? Why do you try so hard?”

“I try because I promised Grace. But also because in helping others, we save ourselves.” And Jake knew that part was true, even for those who hadn’t made a deal with an angel. “None of us can change the past, but I promise I’ll be here for you as we go forward, no matter what comes next. I’ll always be on your side. Count on it. We’re partners now, kid, and I’ve got your back. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Jake pretended not to hear the catch in the boy’s voice. “Okay, then. Goodnight, Dodge.”

“Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you do it? Is it hypnotism?”

Jake laughed. That was Dodger, through and through. Never give up, never let go, and always, always figure out the answer.

“I’m not sure, myself, you know. Hypnotism just might be part of it. Now go to sleep. Tomorrow’s another day, and we have work to do.”

For the next three months, Dodger and Jake were a staple here and there all over Atlanta, talking to runaways and working their magic like the perfect team they were. And then one cool, crisp, and beautiful October morning, everything changed again.

~~~

The Cool, Beautiful October Morning Mentioned Above,
Viewed from a Seat Next to a Grimy Diner Window,
While a Pathetically Mediocre Lunch Grew Cold.

JAKE WAITED, FAR too nervous to start lunch without Dodger. The boy was late, and growing later by the minute, which wasn’t like him at all. They’d agreed months ago that they’d rendezvous at lunch time, and again at mid-afternoon, no matter what, and they’d stuck to it.

Something was wrong.

Jake cursed himself for going along with Dodger’s new plan. He hadn’t liked the idea from the start. They should have stayed with the parks, with territory they knew. Yeah, maybe they risked becoming too familiar around many of them, but the parks were safer.

Working back streets in neighborhoods this bad was a terrible idea, and he should have insisted they stick to the system they’d perfected. After all, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Now that was a maxim Jake believed in.

But had he stood firm? No. He’d let Dodger’s enthusiasm for spreading their work into a larger, needier area sway him, and now, here he sat. Worried sick.

The boy had been right about the numbers of homeless teenagers slouching along these grim sidewalks, though. Jake had already seen several in serious trouble pass by this filthy window, one of which he’d manage to nudge as the kid rested on the curb outside the diner. The boy had gotten up, shaken himself like a wet dog, and walked off at a fast clip, as though he’d made a decision to do something else with his day. Jake hoped he had.

He looked at his watch again. Over an hour late. He’d learned to trust his instincts, and they were screaming at him to get up immediately and go find Dodger, even if it meant messing up things for whoever the boy was talking to.

By the time Jake walked away from the diner, his need to find Dodger had turned into a physical pain. Standing at the corner, he looked both directions, then flipped a coin in his mind and headed east. After ten blocks, he knew he’d chosen wrong. The streets were cleaner, with fewer and fewer homeless on them, and it felt like he’d left Dodger far behind.

In a panic, he raced back to where he’d started, and this time closed his eyes as he stood on the corner, concentrating as hard as he could. North. He should have gone north, dammit.

After twenty minutes, Jake found himself in the worst part of Atlanta he’d ever seen. The dirty streets were barely wider than alleys, and the alleys were mere footpaths between dilapidated, condemned buildings. Here and there, eyes stared out through cracks in the boarded-up windows, and the smell of rancid cooking oil seeped under padlocked doorways. Condemned? Perhaps. Empty? Not so much.

Dodger was here, somewhere in this cesspool of dirt and despair. Jake knew it all the way down to his bones, but he had no idea which snaky little alley to check first. He blinked back tears of frustration and kept going, searching around and behind every crumbling corpse of a building, hunting Dodger up one alley and down another.

Would calling the police help or hinder his search at this point? Unsure, Jake argued the issue with himself for another long block, then he peered down an exceptionally dark and dirty passage and came to an abrupt halt. A knot of kids wearing the matching bandanas of a local gang kicked viciously at something on the ground Jake couldn’t see. Fear clutched at his heart, and he charged down the alley like a rampaging bull, screaming at the top of his lungs. The startled boys flew up and over the fence at the alley’s end.

Jake skidded to a halt. No, no, no. God, please, please don’t let that mangled pile of rags be Dodger.

Kneeling, he reached out a shaking hand and turned the bruised and bloody face toward him. The boy—his boy—was almost unrecognizable under a welter of cuts, bruises, and every kind of contusion. Blood dripped from the back of his head. It trickled from countless injuries on his face and arms. It even leaked from his ears. A phrase ran through Jake’s mind, over and over—Beaten to a bloody pulp. For the first time, he knew exactly what that meant.

He’d found his boy, yes, but he’d arrived too late, and his world collapsed around him, as he knelt in a squalid Atlanta alley and sobbed over Dodger’s broken body.

Jake’s cries and curses and vows of vengeance became so loud, he nearly missed the faint whimper. Dodger’s eyes were open. At least, one was. The other was swollen shut, with blood seeping beneath the lid.

“Jake? I’m . . . sorry. . . so sorry.”

“Hush, now,” he choked out, fumbling for his phone. “My fault, Dodge. Not yours. Don’t move. I’m calling for help.”

“Too . . . late . . .”

“No! It’s not too late! You hang on, you hear? You’re going to be fine.”

Dodger smiled. “You were . . . a great dad . . . Jake.”

And then he was gone.

The pain ripped Jake in two. Clutching Dodger to his chest, he screamed into the void where his heart had been, and he knew it was all over.

This time, he was done for good.

---

There you have today’s offering.
Stay tuned for Chapter 12 tomorrow!

THE EMISSARY