meeting Dio at last and what I will see in his eyes and his nose and his skin, how far gone he'll be.
The serving was over and the nonresident recipients were reluctantly scattering for their beds in doorways and Dumpsters and the bushes of Golden Gate Park when Kate blew into the Haight/Love Shelter. Grace Kokumah stood with her hands in the pockets of her sagging purple cardigan and watched without expression as Kate came to a halt next to the thin and already-yellowing Christmas tree and dropped her burden with a clatter before beginning to strip off the astronaut helmet, the dripping and voluminous orange neck-to-ankle waterproof jumpsuit, and the padded gloves. When Kate had popped open the snaps on her leather jacket and run a hand through her brief hair, the woman shook her beads.
"The city's finest, a vision to behold."
"Do you want the buckets or don't you?" Kate growled.
"Where did you find them?" She studied the waist-high stack, no doubt wondering instead
how
Kate had managed to transport them without being lifted up, cycle and all, by their wind resistance and dropped into the San Francisco Bay.
"Stole them from the morgue; they use them for the scraps. Joke! That was a joke!" she said to the horrified young people at Grace's back. "Macabre cop humor, you've heard of that. The cleaners buy soap in them, nothing worse than that. Do you have anything to eat? I'm starving."
"This is a soup kitchen, despite the temporary absence of stockpots. We have bean soup tonight, which has had a dry ham bone waved through it, we have white bread with margarine, and we have weak orange drink."
"The season of plenty, I see. Do I have to wash dishes first?"
"A person who brings us eight five-gallon buckets is permitted to eat before she labors. Kitty, would you please show Kate where to wash her hands, and then give her a bowl of soup?"
Once in the cramped corridor that wrapped around the kitchen, Kate touched the girl's arm.
"Grace tells me you might help me find a boy named Dio."
The girl cringed and fluttered her hands to shush Kate. "Not here. Later. I'll come to Grace's room." She scurried off.
So, Kate thought, I wash dishes after all.
After bean soup, and after a largely symbolic contribution to the piles of dirty dishes, Grace rescued her and sent her off to the room she used as counseling center, doctor's examining room, office, and, occasionally, extra bedroom. Within five minutes Kitty skulked in, shutting the door noiselessly behind her. She wasted no time with small talk.
"You're lookin' for a guy named Dio?"
"That's what he called himself last summer, yes."
"What do you want him for?"
"I don't, particularly. Why don't you sit down, Kitty?"
"God, I don't know if I should do this. I mean, I don't know you."
Kate reached into the pocket she'd taken to using instead of the awkward handbag and held out her identification folder between two fingers, mostly as a means of keeping the girl from bolting. Kitty took it, looked at it curiously, handed it back. She sat down and studied Kate's tired face, recently cropped hair, and biker's leathers.
"You look different."
Kate snapped shut the picture of the good Italian girl with the soft hair and the wary smile without glancing at it.
"Don't we all."
"You
are
that dyke cop whose girlfriend got shot?" she asked uncertainly. Kate did not wince, did not even pause in the motion of putting the ID back into her pocket.
"Yep. Now, tell me, how did you hear I was looking for Dio?"
"Grace put it on the notice board. Course, I don't know if it's the same guy, but it's not like a common name, is it?"
"She posted a notice that I was looking for Dio?"
"Not you. Just that there's word for him. You haven't seen the board? It's in the dining hall, just a bunch of those really ugly black cork squares Grace glued up and sticks notices on, like if someone calls her from Arkansas or something saying, "Have you seen my little girl? Tell her to call Mummy." There's just
The serving was over and the nonresident recipients were reluctantly scattering for their beds in doorways and Dumpsters and the bushes of Golden Gate Park when Kate blew into the Haight/Love Shelter. Grace Kokumah stood with her hands in the pockets of her sagging purple cardigan and watched without expression as Kate came to a halt next to the thin and already-yellowing Christmas tree and dropped her burden with a clatter before beginning to strip off the astronaut helmet, the dripping and voluminous orange neck-to-ankle waterproof jumpsuit, and the padded gloves. When Kate had popped open the snaps on her leather jacket and run a hand through her brief hair, the woman shook her beads.
"The city's finest, a vision to behold."
"Do you want the buckets or don't you?" Kate growled.
"Where did you find them?" She studied the waist-high stack, no doubt wondering instead
how
Kate had managed to transport them without being lifted up, cycle and all, by their wind resistance and dropped into the San Francisco Bay.
"Stole them from the morgue; they use them for the scraps. Joke! That was a joke!" she said to the horrified young people at Grace's back. "Macabre cop humor, you've heard of that. The cleaners buy soap in them, nothing worse than that. Do you have anything to eat? I'm starving."
"This is a soup kitchen, despite the temporary absence of stockpots. We have bean soup tonight, which has had a dry ham bone waved through it, we have white bread with margarine, and we have weak orange drink."
"The season of plenty, I see. Do I have to wash dishes first?"
"A person who brings us eight five-gallon buckets is permitted to eat before she labors. Kitty, would you please show Kate where to wash her hands, and then give her a bowl of soup?"
Once in the cramped corridor that wrapped around the kitchen, Kate touched the girl's arm.
"Grace tells me you might help me find a boy named Dio."
The girl cringed and fluttered her hands to shush Kate. "Not here. Later. I'll come to Grace's room." She scurried off.
So, Kate thought, I wash dishes after all.
After bean soup, and after a largely symbolic contribution to the piles of dirty dishes, Grace rescued her and sent her off to the room she used as counseling center, doctor's examining room, office, and, occasionally, extra bedroom. Within five minutes Kitty skulked in, shutting the door noiselessly behind her. She wasted no time with small talk.
"You're lookin' for a guy named Dio?"
"That's what he called himself last summer, yes."
"What do you want him for?"
"I don't, particularly. Why don't you sit down, Kitty?"
"God, I don't know if I should do this. I mean, I don't know you."
Kate reached into the pocket she'd taken to using instead of the awkward handbag and held out her identification folder between two fingers, mostly as a means of keeping the girl from bolting. Kitty took it, looked at it curiously, handed it back. She sat down and studied Kate's tired face, recently cropped hair, and biker's leathers.
"You look different."
Kate snapped shut the picture of the good Italian girl with the soft hair and the wary smile without glancing at it.
"Don't we all."
"You
are
that dyke cop whose girlfriend got shot?" she asked uncertainly. Kate did not wince, did not even pause in the motion of putting the ID back into her pocket.
"Yep. Now, tell me, how did you hear I was looking for Dio?"
"Grace put it on the notice board. Course, I don't know if it's the same guy, but it's not like a common name, is it?"
"She posted a notice that I was looking for Dio?"
"Not you. Just that there's word for him. You haven't seen the board? It's in the dining hall, just a bunch of those really ugly black cork squares Grace glued up and sticks notices on, like if someone calls her from Arkansas or something saying, "Have you seen my little girl? Tell her to call Mummy." There's just
Similar Books
