Page 75 of See My Words

“I can get you a ride over to the women’s shelter right now,” Scott broke in. “A shower, a meal, a cool night’s sleep.”

She spat on the ground. “Gotta listen to a fuckin’ sermon first, though.”

Scott shrugged in acknowledgment. “I know. But listening to a few Bible verses in exchange for what you get? Can you get through it just for tonight?”

The woman gave him a crafty look. “If’n I do, and I put up with the Jesus bullshit, I want him to come take better pictures of me.” She pointed to Rylan, who immediately agreed.

“I promise,” he said, putting his hand over his heart. She narrowed her eyes at him and slowly nodded.

“Great!” Scott said. “I’ll get the van over as soon as I can, okay?”

“Ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby. I be here.”

Rylan trailed after Scott as he handed out bottles of water and cheap packs of baby wipes. He took photos the whole time, and to his satisfaction, he’d soon faded into the background as far as the people around him were concerned. The shots he got were candid, open, the sort of pictures that made his heart pound with excitement.

By the time Scott’s wagon was empty, it was full dark, and Rylan could barely breathe because of the heat. All he wanted was a shower, a cold beer, and to lie naked under his ceiling fan. Then he instantly felt ashamed. He’d been outside, what, all of an hour?

“How did you do it?” he burst out. “How did you live like this?”

Scott glanced at him. “Little tricks I learned. Panhandling and then buying an all-day pass for the light-rail. For four dollars, I could sit in icy-cold AC and ride all over the city. Looking back, I had it easy compared to most, Ry.”

The wagon rattled over the cracks in the sidewalk, and the dust and exhaust in the air, combined with the oppressive heat radiating off the concrete, made Rylan feel ill. “Easy?” he croaked.

“Yeah. I could ride all day, and I didn’t get run off or harassed. If I approached someone with a sob story about losing my wallet—‘Oh, can I have a few bucks to get back to my dorm room at ASU?’—most didn’t hesitate to hand it over.” His lips twisted. “Hot white guys can’t possibly be dangerous, right? And nobody ever screamed at me or told me to get off my lazy ass and get a fuckin’ job. Yeah, I’m goddamn lucky. For the first time in my life, I was grateful to have this face, so thanks, Dad, for your dominant genes.”

They rounded a corner, and Rylan heard the distinctive sound of a generator rumbling right before an old RV parked at the curb came into view. It was rather decrepit-looking, rusted out, with a sagging awning that jutted over the sidewalk. There was a long folding table set up underneath the awning, and a group of people gathered around it.

Scott strode over without hesitation, dropping the wagon handle as a petite, gray-haired woman wearing cargo pants and a white T-shirt detached from the crowd and launched herself into his arms. “Scotty!” she exclaimed in a rich, husky voice, hugging him tightly.

“Hey, Beej.” Scott gave the woman a squeeze before setting her gently back on her feet.

“What’ve you been up to, boy? Ain’t seen you around here in ages.”

Scott gave her a wink. “Oh, you know, this and that. Beej, this is Rylan.”

She stuck her hand out for Rylan to shake, and as he took it, he murmured, “Nice to meet you, Sister.” The only indication of her profession and faith was a thin gold necklace with a tiny cross hanging from it, and while he hadn’t exactly been expecting her to be wearing a habit complete with wimple, her casual dress did surprise him a little.

Beej scanned him in turn, taking in the camera around his neck, and his heart sank when the initial friendliness faded from her eyes, replaced by an almost weary resignation.

“Lemme guess. Graduate student?” she asked Scott.

He quirked his lips. “Nope, not even close. My boyfriend.”

Beej raised her eyebrows. “Well, then. This should be interesting. Gimme a minute to get these guys settled and then we’ll talk.” She turned and headed back toward the folding table and the women milling around it.

“Yo, Sister Beej, where the fuckin’ condoms at?” one of them called to her. “I got a ’ppointment.”

Beej held up her hands in a ‘wait a minute’ gesture. “Anyone working the stroll at 7th and Roosevelt, there’s been an addition to the bad-date list, okay? Skinny white guy, short brown hair, no visible tattoos, has a goatee. Drives a big silver pickup with a kid’s car seat in the back.”

“What he do?”

“I think I seen him before.”

Beej waited until the muttering died down. “He refuses to wear a condom, and he smacked Sylvie around when she tried to sneak one on him.”

“Fuck, I remember that dude.” A woman spat into the gutter. “He absolutely will not wear no rubber, and he knows all the tricks for sneaking one on. Watches for it.”

Beej leaned into the open RV door and grabbed a box from inside, hefting it over to the table. “Just be aware, okay? Use your best harm-reduction techniques if you accept a date with this guy, or avoid him completely.” She reached inside the box and tossed several handfuls of condoms down.