Wesley Snipes - Talon of God

“Spare some change for a veteran?”

His words were empty, barely loud enough to be heard over the trains thundering on the elevated rail overhead. Some days, Lenny didn’t know why he bothered. No one listened. Most of them didn’t even look. They just walked by at top speed with their eyes locked on their phones, the sidewalk, the sky— anywhere but the homeless man huddled in his nest of newspapers, rattling his paper cup.

Lenny didn’t blame them. He couldn’t stand the sight of himself, either. Or, at least, he couldn’t when he was there . Present. Sometimes he drifted away, lost into memories that felt more real than the late November cold. When that happened, he didn’t care about anything. This afternoon, though, he was most definitely here. Here and hungry, so he kept at it, repeating the words and rattling his cup at every person who passed.

“Spare some change for a veteran?” Rattle rattle.

More shoes walking by. No one stopping. No one caring . Sure, they were cold, too. But theirs was a temporary inconvenience. For him, this was as real as it got, and it was about to get worse. The sun was getting low. He needed to head for a shelter—November nights in Chicago were no joke—but he couldn’t go in with nothing, so he decided to push, raising his raspy voice over the roar of the trains in the growing evening cold.

“Spare some change for a veteran!” Rattle rattle. “Spare some change for…”

His voice faded. Someone had stopped, a young black man in a heavy, black coat with the shiniest shoes Lenny had ever seen. That was a good sign. Stopping at all was a good sign, but shiny shoes meant money, so Lenny rattled his cup again, giving the smart-looking stranger a snaggletoothed smile. “Spare some change for a veteran, sir?”

“I can do better than that,” the man said, reaching into his pocket to draw out a crisp, folded bill. “What’s your name?”

“Lenny,” the homeless man replied promptly, reaching eagerly for the bill. He so rarely got paper money, but when he did, it was usually good. A five, maybe even a ten. Enough for a hot dinner, and maybe coffee tomorrow, too. But when his fingers closed around the money, the man with the shiny shoes didn’t let go.

“Tell me, Lenny,” he said, crouching down so they were at eye level. “Are you a God-fearing man?”

Lenny knew how this went, and he nodded rapidly. “Go to church every week.”

The man arched a skeptical eyebrow, but Lenny wasn’t lying. He hadn’t believed in God since the war, but when you were homeless you spent a lot of time in churches because they were open, they were warm, and that’s where the food was. Unfortunately, technical truth didn’t look like it was going to earn him dinner tonight.

“Is that so?” the young man said, gripping the offered money tighter than ever. “Show me. Quote me some scripture, and the money’s yours.”

Lenny didn’t know a word of scripture, but he tried anyway, reciting some phrases he’d seen typed on the church bulletins he took for fire kindling. It must not have been good enough, because the man snatched the bill right back out of his hands, making Lenny cry out. “Come on, man,” he begged, watching the man pocket the money again with loss in his eyes. “Have a heart. I’m just trying to survive.”

“Really?” the man said. “Just survive?”

Lenny nodded. “Ain’t we all?”

For some reason, this made the man smile. “And what if I were to offer you something better?” he asked, reaching his gloved hand inside his heavy winter coat to pull out a small glass bottle filled with a liquid so bright green, it almost seemed to glow in the dim light. “Something new?”

Lenny recoiled at once, swearing to himself. Just his luck. The one bite he got tonight, and it was a pusher. Unlike a lot of people he’d met on the street, though, Lenny didn’t truck with drugs. He’d had enough chemicals sprayed on him in ’Nam to last five lifetimes.

“Nah, man,” he said, scooting backwards farther into the shelter of the bridge. “I don’t touch that stuff.”

“It’s free,” the man said, tossing the green vial casually in his hand. “Try it.”

The first hit was always free. “Nah,” Lenny said again, backing away. “I’m clean, man. I don’t do that.”

Even if he had been a druggie, he wouldn’t have touched the stuff in the man’s hand. Lenny had never seen anything like the green liquid in the bottle, but it reeked of rotten eggs. Yet another reason to get out of here quick, before things got weirder. But as Lenny pushed himself off the pavement to walk away, the man in black grabbed his arm.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” the stranger said softly. “That wasn’t a request.”

Lenny swore and yanked, trying in vain to escape. It should have been easy. He’d been a soldier once, and still made a point to keep himself in decent shape, despite his life on the street. But the man in black was freakishly strong. No matter what Lenny did, the stranger moved him as easily as he’d move a child, letting go of his arm to grab Lenny by the jaw. He started to squeeze then, forcing Lenny’s mouth open with one hand as he popped the lid off the vial with the other. Eyes wide, Lenny lashed out with his feet and fists, but the man just seemed to absorb the blows as if they were nothing as he poured the green substance down Lenny’s throat.

It tasted as vile as it smelled, and Lenny tried to spit it up, but it was as if the liquid was climbing down his throat. Worse, it hurt . The burn was so bad that Lenny couldn’t even scream. His body had clamped up the moment the green crap touched his tongue. He didn’t even feel the sidewalk when he fell backwards, his body convulsing in the alley as the burning liquid rolled down his cheeks and sank into his skin. He was still fighting to take a breath when he heard the man whisper in his ear.

“Thank you for your service.”

Lenny’s eyes bugged open, but he couldn’t say a word. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but lie there and watch the stranger’s shiny shoes as they walked away, vanishing into the crowd of oblivious evening commuters pouring down the stairs from the elevated train station across the street.

No one caring at all.

Lauryn didn’t know it was possible for a cell phone ring to sound furious until hers went off, screaming like a banshee through the heavy fabric of her winter coat. She grabbed it as fast as she could, smiling apologetically at her clearly annoyed fellow commuters cramming the Chicago L car before turning to the window and whispering into the receiver, “Not now.”