and crushed it with a beat-up athletic shoe, âI got no place to go.â
Chapter 9
Jeremiah glanced through the window of the Angels office. On Sunday they only saw clients in the morning. The rest of the day they mostly caught up on paperwork. He could see Red sitting on the edge of a desk talking to a guy in dreadlocks whom Jeremiah recognized as one of the volunteers. He didnât go in, but passed it, crossing at the street corner, and headed back to San Pedro Street a few blocks away.
When he reached Bucketâs area, he studied the boarded-up building again, then decided to approach it from 5th Street. He went down 5th and didnât see any alley, but knew there had to be one. Most of these buildings were serviced from the rear for trash removal. He continued down 5th on foot, passing closed business with their steel barricades down and locked, and an open one that didnât appear to be busy. He made his way past dozens of homeless people, men and women, milling about in small groups or sprawled on the sidewalk next to their makeshift shelters. When he reached Crocker, he went right. If he turned left he would reach the Hi-Life Diner in about two blocks. A chilly breeze had picked up and Jeremiah turned up the collar on his jacket.
There were fewer people on Crocker as he turned away from 5th. He found an alley on his right and turned up it. It was long, running behind the buildings that faced 5th. The alley was filled with trash and a few Dumpsters of various vintages, some old, some fairly new. It smelled of urine, feces, and rotten garbage. The walls of the alley were covered with graffiti. Next to a Dumpster about halfway up the alley, a man was rolled up in a plaid jacket like a discarded burrito, sleeping off something with loud snores and snorts. Jeremiahâs boot steps on the gravel made no difference to him.
The alley was dim and partially in shadows, the afternoon sunlight barred by the buildings surrounding it. The alley dead-ended at the backside of another row of buildings. These had to be the abandoned buildings just behind Bucketâs area. Jeremiahâs suspicions were confirmed when he read what was left of the businessesâ names in faded peeling paint.
Under a sign that indicated it once was an establishment called Soap ân Suds, he found a beat-up gray double-wide door with a bar across it secured by a padlock. The bar and lock didnât look like they had been disturbed in years. Jeremiah looked around for another entry. An old battered Dumpster was pushed against the wall. Pulling out the flashlight, he trained it inside the bin. It was empty, except for a few small pieces of cardboard and long-petrified garbage clinging to its inside walls, indicating it was long out of use. He moved the small beam of light along the ground until it caught on something. Jeremiah crouched down and examined the wheels of the Dumpster and curving ruts made in the broken asphalt. The Dumpster had been moved recently and from the depth of the tracks, it looked as if it had been moved often, like a door on a hinge, deepening the tracks with each swing. He slipped the flashlight back into his pocket and tried to move the Dumpster. In spite of its decrepit appearance, it moved away from the wall easily and the wheels made no sound. Jeremiah bent down and touched one of the wheels. It had been recently oiled.
Behind the Dumpster was another door of a standard size and shape, covered with scarred gray paint like the largerdoor. This one had no bar or padlock. The door handle was old and of the lever type. Above it was a rusty dead bolt. Both needed keys he didnât have. He grabbed the handle and pushed down, expecting resistance, but getting none. It moved downward easily and the door released. Not even the dead bolt had been engaged.
Then he caught it. The smell of rotting flesh spilled out of the open door and greeted him, along with the smell of human feces. Granny had been
Chapter 9
Jeremiah glanced through the window of the Angels office. On Sunday they only saw clients in the morning. The rest of the day they mostly caught up on paperwork. He could see Red sitting on the edge of a desk talking to a guy in dreadlocks whom Jeremiah recognized as one of the volunteers. He didnât go in, but passed it, crossing at the street corner, and headed back to San Pedro Street a few blocks away.
When he reached Bucketâs area, he studied the boarded-up building again, then decided to approach it from 5th Street. He went down 5th and didnât see any alley, but knew there had to be one. Most of these buildings were serviced from the rear for trash removal. He continued down 5th on foot, passing closed business with their steel barricades down and locked, and an open one that didnât appear to be busy. He made his way past dozens of homeless people, men and women, milling about in small groups or sprawled on the sidewalk next to their makeshift shelters. When he reached Crocker, he went right. If he turned left he would reach the Hi-Life Diner in about two blocks. A chilly breeze had picked up and Jeremiah turned up the collar on his jacket.
There were fewer people on Crocker as he turned away from 5th. He found an alley on his right and turned up it. It was long, running behind the buildings that faced 5th. The alley was filled with trash and a few Dumpsters of various vintages, some old, some fairly new. It smelled of urine, feces, and rotten garbage. The walls of the alley were covered with graffiti. Next to a Dumpster about halfway up the alley, a man was rolled up in a plaid jacket like a discarded burrito, sleeping off something with loud snores and snorts. Jeremiahâs boot steps on the gravel made no difference to him.
The alley was dim and partially in shadows, the afternoon sunlight barred by the buildings surrounding it. The alley dead-ended at the backside of another row of buildings. These had to be the abandoned buildings just behind Bucketâs area. Jeremiahâs suspicions were confirmed when he read what was left of the businessesâ names in faded peeling paint.
Under a sign that indicated it once was an establishment called Soap ân Suds, he found a beat-up gray double-wide door with a bar across it secured by a padlock. The bar and lock didnât look like they had been disturbed in years. Jeremiah looked around for another entry. An old battered Dumpster was pushed against the wall. Pulling out the flashlight, he trained it inside the bin. It was empty, except for a few small pieces of cardboard and long-petrified garbage clinging to its inside walls, indicating it was long out of use. He moved the small beam of light along the ground until it caught on something. Jeremiah crouched down and examined the wheels of the Dumpster and curving ruts made in the broken asphalt. The Dumpster had been moved recently and from the depth of the tracks, it looked as if it had been moved often, like a door on a hinge, deepening the tracks with each swing. He slipped the flashlight back into his pocket and tried to move the Dumpster. In spite of its decrepit appearance, it moved away from the wall easily and the wheels made no sound. Jeremiah bent down and touched one of the wheels. It had been recently oiled.
Behind the Dumpster was another door of a standard size and shape, covered with scarred gray paint like the largerdoor. This one had no bar or padlock. The door handle was old and of the lever type. Above it was a rusty dead bolt. Both needed keys he didnât have. He grabbed the handle and pushed down, expecting resistance, but getting none. It moved downward easily and the door released. Not even the dead bolt had been engaged.
Then he caught it. The smell of rotting flesh spilled out of the open door and greeted him, along with the smell of human feces. Granny had been
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