Ambrose Bierce - San Francisco Noir 2 - The Classics

“Just slow you down,” Jake growled as he rolled up his sleeping bag. “Make you a target for the cops. They don’t even look like they’re yours.”

“What the hell do you know?” Elva scowled at him. “All anybody’s gonna see is some poor homeless woman with a couple of kids she can’t feed. Which ain’t far from the truth. With Christmas coming on, people feel generous and guilty. I’ll just park the three of us out in front of San Francisco Centre where all those rich people ride that fancy curved escalator up to Nordstrom. You just see how many handouts I get. Take my word, these kids’ll be worth their weight in greenbacks.”

“More trouble than they’re worth, you ask me,” Jake grumbled as he tied his sleeping bag with rope.

“Nobody asked you,” Elva shot back.

“Now, friends, friends. Let’s not come to blows, whether with words or fists.” That was Wally, the big guy with the beard. “I agree with Elva. We should care for these little angels. I’m sure we’ll be handsomely rewarded. Yes, indeed.”

Wally laughed. He was pretending to be nice, Greta decided, but he wasn’t. She didn’t like the way his eyes glittered when he looked at her and Hank. She abandoned all pretense of sleep and sat up. The nylon bag was no longer beside her, but next to Elva, who had rummaged through its contents. Greta snatched up the picture of Mom and hugged the frame to her chest.

“That your mama?” Elva asked. “She was real pretty.” The woman reached over and shook Hank awake. “Let’s put another layer of clothes on you, ’cause it’s cold out there this morning.”

The three grown-ups stashed their sleeping bags in a small room in the bowels of the abandoned warehouse and set out with the two children. In the bleak daylight the south of Market neighborhood didn’t look as scary as it had last night, just dirty and down at the heels.

Jake set off on his own, heading up Mission Street, but Wally stayed with Elva and the children until they reached Market. Then he bid them an elaborate and flowery farewell, lingering until Elva told him to get the hell on with it. He bowed, crossed the street, and headed for the Tenderloin.

Then Elva took Hank and Greta another block down Market and did just what she’d said she’d do. She took a position in front of the San Francisco Centre and started cadging handouts from well-heeled shoppers. Soon she had enough money to send the children across Market to the fast-food burger place. Hank ate two cheeseburgers and a big order of French fries all by himself.

“I like Elva,” he declared, wiping ketchup from his mouth.

He doesn’t know things the way I do, Greta thought. He’s just a baby, not experienced, like me. I’m not so sure but what we’re better off on our own.

She brooded as she finished her hamburger. Then she cleared off the table and stepped up to the counter to buy another one, for Elva.

But even if Greta had her doubts about staying with the trio from the warehouse, it was easy to slip into the routine, the next day and the day after. They worked the streets with Elva during the day, going from store to store, hotel to hotel, then met Jake and Wally back at the warehouse. Wally found a sleeping bag for the two children to share, and each day the three grown-ups managed to find enough food to put into the kettle. It was so easy to feel comfortable and safe, huddled in the warm circle of the fire on the warehouse’s concrete floor. In the morning they’d roll up their sleeping bags and stash their gear in the little room, then head out for a day on the streets.

The two children had been staying at the warehouse for a couple of weeks when Greta saw Wally talking with the tall man from the Tenderloin, the pimp who had all those hookers working for him. She and Hank and Elva were working the Geary Theatre that day. It was a natural, Elva told them. Theater patrons left the comfortable confines where they’d seen a seasonal matinee of A Christmas Carol , and stepped onto the dirty city streets and came face-to-face with a couple of contemporary urchins.

“Guilt and generosity,” Elva said confidently. “It’ll do it every time.”

After the matinee Elva led them down Taylor toward Market Street, through the Tenderloin, where Greta saw Wally. He spotted the children and waved. Why was Wally talking to that awful pimp man? Why did Wally’s eyes glitter like that, above his white beard? She didn’t like it. Especially since Wally came back to the warehouse that night with a big bottle of brandy, evidently the kind Jake and Elva liked a lot, because they drank the whole bottle that night, laughing loudly and acting silly, so drunk they finally passed out and Greta had to finish making dinner under Wally’s watchful eyes.

When she woke up the next morning, her head pillowed on the nylon bag, Jake and Elva were still asleep, a couple of lumps in their sleeping bags, snoring like they were sawing logs.

But Wally was gone. So was Hank.

Greta kicked her way out of the sleeping bag and put on her shoes. “Hank?” she called. There was no answer. She darted around the bottom floor of the warehouse, looking for her brother, getting more frantic as she looked in all the shadowy places.

On her third circuit she encountered Wally, who was making his way back into the warehouse with a bag and a large container that smelled like coffee. “What’s the matter, little angel?” he asked jovially.

“Hank’s gone,” she cried.

“I’m sure he’s just wandered off.” Wally waggled the bag at her. “Doughnuts, little angel. Jelly doughnuts and chocolate bars. I know you like chocolate. Want one?”

“He wouldn’t wander off,” Greta said stubbornly. “He knows he’s supposed to stick close to me.”

Greta ran back to where Jake and Elva still lay snoring. She shook Elva, but the woman wouldn’t wake up.

“Oh, I wouldn’t bother,” Wally said, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. “When those two get a snootful of brandy it would take an earthquake to wake them. Maybe two earthquakes. Have a doughnut. We want to fatten you up.”

Fatten me up for what? Greta glared at him. “I don’t want a doughnut. I have to look for Hank.”

“Have you looked on the second floor? Maybe he went exploring up there.”

“How would he get there?” Greta knew there was another floor above this one but she hadn’t seen any stairs or an elevator, not that an elevator would work in this place.

“Why, there’s some stairs down at the other end, next to what used to be the elevator shaft.” Wally laughed and pointed into the dark bowels of the warehouse. “Wait, I’ll come with you.”

Greta ran ahead, frantic with worry about Hank. She found the stairs and clambered up them, calling for her brother. She heard Wally behind her, chuckling to himself as he climbed the stairs.

Hank wasn’t on the second floor of the warehouse. Or if he was, he wasn’t answering her. Greta felt tears prickling behind her eyes as she searched the big empty space, skirting the hole near the stairs, where Wally said there used to be an elevator.

“Why, look at this,” Wally said. She looked in the direction he was pointing. There was a doorway, open, with blackness beyond. “There’s rooms back there. Maybe that’s where your brother’s gone.”

She didn’t trust the bearded man, but she had to find Hank. She walked toward the doorway and peered into the dimly lit chamber, her eyes adjusting, picking out shapes. This part of the warehouse had been used as offices, about a quarter of the floor carved up into cubicles by partitions. There was a door on the far side next to a dirty window.

“Hank?” she called, her voice echoing against the walls.

Was that a voice she heard, just a whimper? Maybe he had wandered in here and gotten hurt or something. She moved into the divided-up room, heard Wally step in after her, then whirled in alarm as she heard the door shut. Wally laughed. A few seconds later this portion of the room was brightened by the circular glow from a big flashlight.