Chapter 1

The world spun out of control as she attempted to stand up. Her attempt was a failure and she fell back to her knees, her hand sliding across the puddle of vomit on the ground. Disgusted, she wiped her hand on her jeans as she sat back on her heels. She closed her eyes hoping that would make the world stop spinning, but it didn’t help. Instead, it made her feel like she was the one that was spinning.

She bent over and vomited. Her stomach and back hurt with the effort. Her throat was already raw and her sinus cavities burned. Even as she voided the last of the food, she felt the cramps coming on again. She fell over to her side as she held her stomach unable to believe how bad she felt. She cried out, “Oh, God.”

“Shouldn’t eat food that has been thrown out from a Chinese restaurant.”

She looked in the direction of the voice thinking that it sounded like her father. She cringed as she saw two copies of the figure swirling in front of her. It looked like a woman wearing a sack, but the voice was male. Here she was, sick to her stomach, and an old pervert in a dress has shown up to take advantage of her. She had no doubts that this pervert would kill her. In a way, it fulfilled the prophecies that her father had made when she threatened to leave home. She mumbled, “I’m really fucked now.”

The man approached her, taking his time as he stepped around pieces of trash in the alley. His walk ended with him standing beside her. He looked down at the young woman taking in her attire. Her jeans were a little dirty, but weren’t worn out. The tee shirt was rumpled from being worn for several days. He guessed that she had run away from home two or three days ago. Considering that she had been desperate enough to eat food out of a trashcan, he guessed it was closer to three days. He observed, “You’re pretty sick. Have the cramps started yet?”

Summoning her strength, she sat up and wiped the vomit from her face with the back of her hand. Defiant, she answered, “I’m feeling fine. Get away from me.”

“You’re going to be throwing up again any second now,” replied the man looking down at her. She was an attractive enough young woman, the kind that pimps liked to put out on the streets. In the dark, it was impossible to tell what color her eyes or hair was. He added, “You really shouldn’t eat food that has been thrown out from a Chinese restaurant.”

She stared at him, unable to make out his features in the dark alley. Her forehead broke out in a sweat as her stomach churned. As if to confirm his words, she started dry heaving. As she attempted to void an empty stomach, she noticed that the man had backed away. At least that was a positive change. It gave her hope that if he was disgusted enough that he would leave her alone.

Rocking back on her knees, she saw that he was holding something out to her. The first thought that flitted through her mind was that he was going to stab her. It took a minute to make out that it was a bottle of Gatorade. Holding it so that she could see the label, he said, “Drink this. Take small sips.”

“Oh, fuck. You’re trying to drug me,” cried the girl feeling helpless. It wasn’t the first time over the past few days that she had felt that she was in over her head. She realized now that she had been stupid when she had decided to leave home. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. She would run away from home and sign up to be a model at the agency that had promised her a great future as a fashion model. The first thing they wanted from her was money. When she said she didn’t have any, they suggested that she model nude.

“This is Gatorade. You need to drink it in small sips,” said the man as he knelt down next to her. Shaking his head, he said, “Dry heaves, huh? Your bowels will let loose soon.”

Even as he spoke, her intestines boiled. It was as though the suggestion was enough to trigger the need. She grunted, “Get away from me!”

“You need to take a drink of this,” he replied in a soft gentle voice trying to get her to trust him. It was always this way with young runaway girls. They were afraid of everyone and everything. Almost without exception, they chose to trust the wrong person. Pimps knew all the right things to say to them. After the pimp spent a few dollars on food and clothes, the girl would find herself walking the street because the pimp needed her to do that for him. After a while, it was a matter of control that often relied upon emotional abuse backed by physical violence.

She pushed his hand away, rejecting his offer. She said, “Get away.”

Looking down at her, he asked, “So where are you going to go to the bathroom? Everything around here is closed.”

She groaned as another cramp gripped her. The urge to shit hit her like a ton of bricks. Clenching her anus, she tried to control the urge. She hadn’t realized when she left home that if she were sick, she was going to be sick in a public place. Throwing up behind a building was one thing, suffering from diarrhea was another.

The man saw the pained look that crossed her face and knew what it meant. He stood and faced away from her, spreading his robe to hide her from view. He said, “Go ahead. I won’t look.”

Grimacing from the effort to control her bowels, she spat, “Fuck you.”

“You’ve got two choices. You can drop your pants or you can keep your pants on. Either way, your bowels are going to let loose,” replied the man. His voice had a factual tone to it that irritated her. It was the same tone that her father would use when he thought she was doing something stupid. She hated that tone of voice and wanted to react negatively to it.

She knew that she was losing control over her bowels and that he was right. She struggled to get up. Fighting the dizziness and spinning world, she managed to drop her pants. Her bowels boiled and she squatted down as she let loose with a watery movement. The noises her body made embarrassed her. She had never felt so humiliated in her life.

She glared at the back of the man as though blaming him for her current predicament. Why didn’t he just go and leave her in peace? She decided that he must be some really sick pervert if he got off on watching girls go to the bathroom. “I don’t have any toilet paper.”

Using his shepherd’s staff, he pulled over some loose sheets of newspaper without looking at her. She grabbed one sheet when it came close enough and muttered, “Thanks.”

“So what’s your name?”

“Sally,” she answered automatically and then mentally kicked herself for having told him. She tore a piece of newspaper off and wiped herself with it. It felt rough and she frowned as the thought occurred to her that she was wiping herself with a dirty piece of paper. Who knew what kind of germs she was going to get from it?

“It’s nice to meet you, Sally. I’m Harry, but most people call me Happy Harry.”

Another voice called out into the night, “Hey, what’s going on there?”

The girl tried to shrink into herself. All she needed now was a group of men watching her suffer. What was going to happen to her next? She was sure that she was about to be gang raped. She hadn’t realized that the world was filled with so many perverts. She wondered if she had been unlucky enough to find two of them.

Harry looked at the figure standing in front of mouth of the alleyway. The outline of his gun and nightstick was clear. He smiled when he realized that it was Officer Hogan. He called back, “Got a sick girl here.”

“Is that you Happy Harry?” called back the officer with an obvious tone of relief in his voice. He knew if Harry was around, that he was taking care of someone. If it required him to do something, it would be pretty minor.

“Yeah. It’s me, Officer Hogan.”

“What’s the matter?”

The girl stood to pull up her pants. Harry heard her and, over his shoulder, said, “Don’t bother. You’ll have to go again in a minute.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” She looked around Harry and spotted the cop. At least now she had found someone that would help her. She wanted to call out for the cop to help protect her from this pervert.

“Okay.” He knew that she’d be squatting again in a minute, but he didn’t want to rub it in. Harry called back to the policeman, “I found a runaway girl about fifteen or sixteen who’s sick as a dog.”

“You going to take care of her?” asked Officer Hogan.

Sally couldn’t believe what she had heard the cop say. He was actually going to leave her with this pervert. She was about to tell him off when her intestines boiled and she had to drop her pants. She moaned as her bowels released their load. This had to be the most miserable day of her life.

Harry said, “She’s pretty sick.”

“Let me guess. She ate Chinese?”

“Yeah,” replied Harry as he glanced down the alley at the rear of the Chinese restaurant. The food in the trash bins was incredibly foul and it was a wonder that she had been able to swallow any of it. She should have gone behind a pizza place to scavenge food.

“Does she need to go to the hospital?” asked the cop as he walked towards Harry. He’d call an ambulance if Harry said she needed one.

“Nah. She just needs to get some fluids in her,” answered Harry. He avoided the temptation to look back at the miserable girl behind him. He added, “She doesn’t trust me enough to drink the Gatorade that I have for her.”

“Little lady, he’s one of the good guys,” replied the cop knowing that she probably wouldn’t believe him.

“Ha!” She didn’t believe that for a moment. Even the stress of saying that sparked another boiling in her bowels. The world spun again and her vision doubled. She felt the urge to vomit again. She wondered if she would survive this.

“He’s a Druid and that makes him one of the good guys,” stated Officer Hogan in a tone of voice that brooked no arguments. As far as he was concerned, there wasn’t an argument that could be made. He had watched Harry change the lives of people that lived on the street.

Sally was stunned by the statement that the guy was a Druid. It had never occurred to her that he wasn’t wearing a dress, but a Druid robe. Druids worked with government to change things. They didn’t hang around in alleyways to take care of someone that was sick. She said, “I’ll take that Gatorade now.”

“Good. Drink it in small sips or you’ll be throwing it all up,” said Harry as he held the bottle behind his back. It was almost a full minute before she took the bottle from his hand.

Officer Hogan asked, “So how are things going at Hobo Camp?”

Hobo Camp was the name that the police had given for the homeless hotel that Harry had set up on some land that he had purchased using funds from the Fusion Foundation. Sleeping berths were provided in the form of a row of sewer pipes stacked three high. Each sewer pipe had a flat area provided by the wooden insert that kept the occupant off the cold cement surface. They were washable, an important consideration when the occupant were just as likely to get sick as not. With porto-potties, beach showers, and Fusion Well Outdoor heaters, the camp provided all the basic necessities associated with shelter. Harry smiled at the change of subjects and answered, “Things are going well. I’ve got a short list of people who will take over for me when I move on.”

The news that Harry would be leaving was a surprise. Officer Hogan asked, “I’m sorry to hear that you are moving on. When are you going?”

“When I’m called to go,” answered Harry. It was strange, but his service to the Goddess had not impacted his wanderlust in any fashion other than to allow him to wander further and quicker.

The pair of men talked as Sally continued to suffer through her bout of food poisoning. It took an hour, but she finally recovered enough to be able to stand without having the world spin. Harry said, “You stay here with Officer Hogan while I get you a change of clothes.”

After Harry walked away, Sally moved towards the mouth of the alley to get away from where she had thrown up and shit. She took another sip of her drink and listened to the policeman talk about Harry. It seemed that Harry was one of the good guys.

Harry returned to the alley to find the cop talking with the young woman. He took his time knowing that Officer Hogan would reassure the girl that she was in good hands. As he walked, he tried to decide what he would do with her. It was the first question that the cop would ask him when he returned.

As he approached, he heard Officer Hogan tell the girl, “Harry’s the last of the Hobos. His parents were Hobos and he was raised a hobo, but he’s a good man. He takes care of others and passes on his knowledge about how to survive outside the normal bounds of society.”

That he was the last of the hobos was a true statement in Harry’s opinion. It had been years since he had seen a Hobo sign although he still left the marks to warn others of towns that were hostile to vagrants. He doubted that any of the current generation that called themselves hobos knew the signs, the songs and the stories. He had even met a few of them that actually owned houses.

He approached and said, “I found something for you to wear. It’s not great, but it is clean.”

He handed her the gown and wasn’t surprised by the look of dismay that crossed her face when she saw what it was. Young women were always concerned about their appearance even if they were sick. She complained, “I can’t wear this.”

“It’s better than wearing your shit stained pants,” replied Harry without any trace of compassion in his voice. She had to learn to take care of herself and this included taking care of her body. Life was tough on the streets for a pretty girl. For that matter, life was tough on the streets for an ugly girl.

Shocked by his rough language, she realized that he was right. When the man turned his back to her and spread his robe, she turned away and removed her shirt and put on the dress. At least she had been wearing a bra. It was basically a sack with a hole for her head and two for her arms. Once the dress was on, she pulled her pants off. She was left holding her shirt and pants wondering what to do with them. It took her a minute to realize that Harry was holding a plastic bag behind his back for her to use. She grabbed the bag and stuffed her clothes into it. After a minute, she said, “You can turn around now.”

Harry turned and looked at her. It was definitely an ugly outfit and made her look like she was pregnant. At least now he could let her ride in the Roach Coach with him. Officer Hogan asked, “Are you going to take care of her or should I take her over to juvie?”

“I’ll take care of her,” answered Harry. She didn’t need to go into the Juvenile Lockup as a runaway considering her current state of weakness. They’d eat her up there. If she were worried about rape out here, she’d be shocked to have her fears become real there.

“Good. I hate to see girls like her go in there,” replied the cop. He turned to the young lady and said, “You do everything that Harry says. If you screw up, he’ll call me in and I’ll have to take you to Juvenile Hall. You wouldn’t like it there.”

Sally sat in the passenger seat while Harry drove the truck back to the homeless hotel. When they turned off the main street and headed to an area under a bridge, she started to get worried. This looked like a rough neighborhood and it was just as rough as it appeared. An industrial area on one side, a slum on the other side, and a river on the third bordered it. The ground was littered with trash. She hoped that it would look better in the light of day, but suspected that it didn’t.