Last call at the Mission of last resort, and only Macedonia, bedecked in her Hattie McDaniel-
esque ballooned headscarf remained beside her “Hero for Life,” Reverend Norman Rand.
Together they peered with concern down westward, beneath the sickly salmon trail of New York
Avenue ‘crime streetlights.’ “I’m uneasy over that new face, Macedonia, it appeared he wanted
to say something urgent to me, but then–”
“Oh. You must means dat Billy Luck. I believe he from someplace up the coast. Delaware, I reckon-”
“How the Hell–excuse me,” Rev Rand wiped his thin lips and went on, “H’how in Blazes,
Macedonia, did you ever,”
“I just knows things, Mister Rand, I gets around, know what I’m saying?”
Norman Rand blinked, turned briefly away, and snatched a gulp from his tiny paper sack.
“Hmmm, You’ve got definite abilities in those areas, I say, Macedonia..” His beloved lady
warden peered searchingly into his care worn face, but Rand waved her away insistently.
“It’s all right dear, I’d best be left with my own jumbled thoughts. The Lord shall provide, no?”
Ms. Green disappeared into the creaky sanctuary, glancing around once more as she went.
Rev’rend, alone with his haunted conscience muttered aloud. “Luck..BillyLUCK–0hh. He has
a familiar troubled mien. Yes, maybe in a way, as I was when I was forced to flee from
Hertsfordshire!” Just then, rand jumped a foot. A loud rattling behind him on the rickety
church stoop, followed by a not-so-subtle shove–why, it was Meals, a red-faced, slow of speech
regular.
“Hey rev, ya got a hot and a cot fer the night? I’m HONGRY!” Childishly, the bloated man
bit a fake gold chocolate coin for effect, to delineate the unsuccessfulness of some recent
panhandling at Ninth and Eye Streets. Rand at a glance knew Meals was too fat and old for
the male sex trade. He sighed and indicated the door was open.
Outside the “Capital Hotel,” Billy was embedded deeply into the workings of Skipper
Marsh’s big Buick engine. Skipper had eased out of the car to join him, and was now viewing the
bobbing of his faded, bluejeaned butt with mild interest. The alternator sparked, shuudered and
stopped. “Dang!” What, Skipper murmured, feigning worry. She was really a big girl, more than
she was a damsel in distress.
“Just a sec,” Billy indicated. Another spark, a “K-KOFF!!”,
and the big engine block shuddered back to life. Skipper inadvertently bent across Billy
Luck and gave him an impulse hug and peck on the lips. Billy didn’t quite know what to
say, but it felt kind of nice.
