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No questions asked. The kids didn’t have to register, didn’t even have to give a name. She didn’t question why they were here, what circumstances had led them to her. She fed them and gave them clean sheets and towels. No lectures, no calls to authorities.She had six beds, a small kitchen, a small bath. Usually a full house.Just a much needed respite for a desperate kid leading a desperate life.I showed her Mindy’s picture. “Missing six days. Mission Hills.” One glance, a head shake, “Nope, sorry.”“It was a long shot.”“She could be hooking by now. After six days.”“Maybe. Harold still the man around here?”“Prick. Yes.”I hit five more shelters, most of them small and sad. I’d do the pimp in the morning, Harold hated being awakened early. Like before 4 in the afternoon.I drove west, back through the downtown Power & Light District, jogged north over those fucking freeways to the stockyards and my office. Office, sweet office. I worked the phones until around 9 and called Walker, “Order. I live here. Welcome to America.” “My name is Alec, short for Alexandra. But, honestly, the artist has the scene all wrong.”“Yes, that may be true, but the victors get to write the history books.” “Good enough. Victors also get to paint the murals. Pleasure to meet you.” With that, she sort of bowed her head, then walked off toward the elevators. The exchanged lifted Karl's spirits. He might have been insulted but he liked her attitude. Karl went back into the lounge bar to join the party of two, his wife and Rex. A while later, the newly-formed couple left. By eleven, Karl was alone. He would wait for his wife, as promised, and he moved to the bar counter, stopped drinking alcohol and switched to coffee. He had company, three stools down. He caught a British accent, slightly slurred. He had two drinks in front of him: a Guinness and a shot of Dewars. One sip of the small container, one gulp of the beer. “Cheers!” He raised a glass in Karl's direction. “Cheers!” Karl answered. The.
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