The Billionaire Bum (3 page)

I did as he asked and was on my way fifteen minutes later, a new employee of the 31st Street Bar and Grill. My new employer’s name was Buddy, or at least that’s what he said that everyone called him. It was perfect. I was starting tomorrow night. My hours were going to be 8pm to 2am. I thought could survive for the rest of the week on the tips that I would make. I wasn’t worried about the hourly paycheck; by the time I would get it, I would be back to my old life anyway.

There was only one small problem. He said that I needed to bring my social security card before he could put me to work. I had one, of course, but it was in my apartment, out of reach. I was going to have to have a new one issued from the social security office. I didn’t know where that was, but with any luck it would be between here and the men’s shelter.

Things were definitely looking up.

Jackson

I had no idea that payphones still existed, but apparently they did. I located one outside of a convenience store that had about three quarters of a tattered phone book still attached. A quick search, although not as fast as Google, and I had an address for the social security office. It was not within walking distance, and unfortunately nowhere near the shelter, but I still had my subway pass so it was accessible.

My stomach was grumbling, but I wanted to make sure that I had my employment and sleeping place all squared away before taking any more time off today. Skipping lunch probably wouldn’t kill me. Jason was right though; food was a definite concern with this lifestyle.

I found the social security office with little trouble and took a number from the machine.

The electronic counter on the wall said 26. My number was 34. That didn’t seem so bad.

An hour later the number on the wall was 31. I was still 34.

An hour later the number on the wall said 33. I was next, and I was impatient.

Where the hell are all of my tax dollars going? This is ridiculous. No one should have to wait this long for anything.

“Number 34,” the woman behind the glass called. Finally!

“Yes,” I said. “I need to get a copy of my social security card, please.”

“I need a driver’s license, birth certificate, and a personal check for $36,” she said.

“Um,” I stuttered, “I... here’s my ID. And I can give you cash?” I hadn’t really meant for that to sound like a question. Shit. How was I going to pay for this? I needed that card to be able to work, but I needed to hang on to my money. This was going to wipe me out.

“And, um, I don’t have my birth certificate on me...”

“Well, you need to get a copy of your birth certificate, and we don’t take cash. It has to be a check or a money order for thirty-six dollars even.”

“Where exactly do I get a copy of my birth certificate?” I asked, trying to keep the anger from my voice. Could no one have told me this before I waited for over two hours?

“Department of Health, Center for Health Statistics. It’s in the courthouse,” she said automatically, as if she gave this information two hundred times a day. Which, come to think of it, she probably did. But the courthouse! The damn courthouse was all the way back over by the bar.

“Do you know what a copy of your birth certificate costs?” I asked.

“No idea,” she said. She pushed a button and the number on the wall flipped over to 35.

“Number 35.”

I had clearly been dismissed.

“Wait! Are you sure?” I pleaded. “There’s nothing you can do without a birth certificate?” I gave her the best puppy dog eyes I could possibly muster, but she simply shook her head and looked to the next person in line.

I looked in my wallet as I stepped back into the street. I had $42.34. I needed $36 for the social security card, plus the fee for getting a money order because they wouldn’t take cash, which I thought would probably be a dollar or so. So that left me about $5 with which to buy a birth certificate, dinner, and hopefully a meal tomorrow before my first shift at the bar.

Somehow, I didn’t think that was going to work.

I was going to have to prioritize. Without the job, I would be screwed for the rest of the week, but getting the job was going to cost me more than I had. I needed to know how much more. I got on the subway again.

When I got to the courthouse, I was forced to take another number, but I had learned my lesson the last time. Instead of sitting idle, I went over to the rack of forms and attempted to decipher the requirements for obtaining a birth certificate. I needed form 103-B, a driver’s license (man was I glad that Jason let me keep mine) and a check or money order for $20.00.

Well, it could be worse.

I left the courthouse and went across the street to the post office to have the money order made. The total in my wallet was reduced to $21.74, but I was one step closer to a job.

They still hadn’t called my number when I returned, but thankfully this line was not as long as the other. The birth certificate proved to be easier than I thought. I was afraid that there could be a waiting period, but they were able to print me a copy while I waited.

It was now 4:30 pm. I knew that I couldn’t make it back to the social security office by 5:00, and even if I could, I was short sixteen dollars. It seemed more logical to head over to the shelter.

Perhaps I could borrow the money from one of the shelter workers if I explained the situation? I could pay it back as soon as I got my tips the following night.

Ben

I had to give him some credit. Jackson hadn’t given up yet. Granted, he hadn’t come across any real trouble yet either. I hoped his luck would hold out.

I’d started following him last night as soon as Jason had called. Jason thought it was likely that he would head out to the airport. Apparently, it was one of the places that Jackson felt most comfortable, and Jason was right. We’d found him there, asleep, about an hour before the security guard woke him.

Once you lost a subject it was much harder to find them again, which meant that we were working around the clock. I had Sean, another bodyguard, following him during the day, and I was taking the night shift.

I’d placed a few phone calls today and had gotten a full report on the homeless scene.

Fortunately, my work didn’t usually require spending the night in shelters and eating in soup kitchens, but I knew from past experiences the right questions to ask. I’d gone through enough rough patches in my life to understand what it meant to be uprooted and alone in a city. It was not easy, but it was manageable if you could establish a routine that involved eating at least once a day, sleeping somewhere safe, and staying out of the elements.

According to Sean’s report, Jackson had actually done really well today. He’d found a bar-tending job and gotten a copy of his birth certificate. He’d need a social security card to be able to work, unless he found someone who was willing to pay him under the table. If he was able to work, he might just make it through the week. He was more resourceful than I’d given him credit for. I thought for sure he’d spend the first night in a cheap hotel and go home as soon as he realized that there were cockroaches in the tub.

What concerned me now, however, was the subway stop. I’d been sitting four rows behind Jackson on the subway talking with Sean, but after he’d finished his report he headed off home leaving me to follow Jackson alone. Sean hadn’t been sure where he was headed. He knew that Jackson had gone into a couple of churches earlier, but he hadn’t heard the conversations that took place indoors, so we weren’t sure what information he had obtained. We thought that it was safe to assume that he was looking for a place to spend the night, most likely a homeless shelter.

Homeless shelters were usually unsafe at best and could sometimes be downright dangerous. There were four in the city, and unfortunately, the subway stop where he was now exiting was only close to one of them—the worst possible choice. Most shelters would turn you away if you appeared to be high, severely intoxicated, or likely to stir up trouble for another reason. This one did not. For someone like Jackson, coming here was like begging for trouble.

Would he know that? I doubted it. I didn’t think that he would have had any reason to visit this place in the past. Shelters weren’t usually on the radar of the extremely wealthy. The Hayes were good people, they gave a lot of money to a lot of good organizations, but they were the type to hand over large checks at fund-raising banquets, not the type who volunteered to scrub toilets in homeless shelters.

My fears were realized when Jackson pulled on the locked shelter doors. This was going to be a long night.

I stayed out front and watched him walk up the alley looking for a back door. If he found one, it would be locked as well. Everyone planning to stay the night in the shelter would line up in front of the building starting around 7:30 in the evening. They would let the homeless guys in around 8:30. Lights out at 10:00. A privileged few would manage to get into the showers before lights out. The other would try in the morning before they were evicted. Only about a third of the guys would actually get a shower. During the colder months the shelters would be packed full.

They would still be crowded this time of year, but some people would prefer sleeping outside to being here, even if it did get down to about forty-five degrees at night.

Many of Jackson’s soon to be bunk-mates were eating at a church about six blocks from here, but Jackson didn’t know that. He had to be getting hungry by now. Sean said that he hadn’t eaten anything but pancakes all day.

When dinner was finished at the church, the homeless would congregate here in front of the shelter until they were allowed inside. We had about fifteen minutes to go until Jackson would encounter his first taste of what real homeless people were like.

He circled the building. When he didn’t find another open entrance he walked to the end of the block and back as if verifying that he was in the right place. A few minutes later the first man showed up with a plastic shopping bag under one arm. He ignored Jackson and shuffled back and forth in front of the shelter steps.

I pulled up the hood of my sweatshirt and moved closer. I doubted that Jackson would recognize me. We’d only met one time, and it had been several years ago. We were also at Jason’s wedding together, but we didn’t speak to each other as there were about seven hundred people in attendance, including half the politicians in the state. The Hayes family knew how to throw a great party.

I wanted to be close enough to save Jackson’s ass should he get into a fight, but far enough away to keep my cover. Jason had made the rules pretty clear to me. “Don’t let him get killed, but don’t help him either.” I chuckled under my breath. Jason was a riot.

That meant, though, that I couldn’t give Jackson the information that he needed. He was going to have to learn how to communicate with the homeless if he wanted to keep eating. It took a few minutes before Jackson even noticed that people were beginning to congregate in the street. He appeared to be in his own little world. That seemed pretty on par from what I knew of the guy–nice enough, but clearly self-centered.

Finally, he wandered over to a group of three guys who had all come together. I was fairly certain that they had walked up from the soup kitchen as a group. Homeless people had needs that went beyond food and shelter. Humans are pack animals. We all feel the need for social interaction, although some more than others.

“Is this shelter open tonight?” Jackson asked the guys.

They appraised him for a few seconds before one of them spoke up. “Yeah. They open up

‘bout eight-thirty.”

“Great.” Jackson smiled at them, and I had to stuff my fist in my mouth to keep from laughing. He clearly was not accustomed to making small talk with bums. He looked like he was about to hit them with a sales pitch. “Do you guys know where I could get some dinner?”

“You ain’t been around long have you?” another one of the guys mumbled. I think he was missing at least half of his teeth, so it came out as a mostly jumbled mess.

“Uh, no,” said Jackson. “I just recently… sort of… had well, uh… this is new to me.”

“I’ll say,” laughed the guy who had spoken originally. “But you just missed dinner. On Wednesday it’s at the church on Maple.”

“Oh,” Jackson was clearly disappointed. I wondered if this was the longest he’d ever gone without food. “What about Thursdays? Is there food somewhere tomorrow?” The three guys looked at each other, and I thought for a minute that they might lie to him and send him on a wild soup kitchen chase, but after a pretty lengthy pause one of them offered up the truth. “Yeah, the Presbyterian Church by the docks. It’s at noon.”

“Noon. By the docks,” Jackson repeated. He was shifting nervously from foot to foot. I was sure he was tired. The guy was used to sitting in meetings all day. He’d done a lot of walking and not a lot of eating. His body was working overtime. He was still incredibly clean compared to most of the guys who were now in line, but his fancy ass jeans were starting to show a little wear, and his hair looked dirtier than usual. If he didn’t find a change of clothes soon, he would start to look homeless.

Jackson kept to himself until they opened the shelter doors. He was close to the head of the line so he had a pretty good choice of sleeping space. The building used to be a convent, so there was a long hall with dorm-like rooms on each side that could house six guys in three sets of bunk beds. There was also an open area with four rows of ten cots. I waited to see where he would go before choosing my own space. He chose a top bunk in one of the smaller rooms. It wasn’t a bad choice, but the more private rooms were often out of the view of the shelter employees, which meant that there was a higher likelihood of theft. I would be surprised if Jackson made it through the night with his jacket still in his possession.

Sean thought he still had some money on him, and I hoped he had the sense to hide it.

Down his pants would be the best place, but Jackson didn’t strike me as the type to favor putting cash in his Italian silk boxers.