"The Committee wants you to protect a Iraq veteran." He paused watching me. I shrugged. Clients were clients to me-rich, poor, good, evil, hero, or coward was for others to decide. My job was to protect them not to judge them. The only reason I cared why was to determine the potential level of the threat and the working environment. When I said nothing, he continued. "He's a Medal of Honor recipient and currently homeless. He received a medical discharge due to his injuries and has been forgotten like so many before him. That would have been the end of story except he wound up in a San Diego hospital. He had been beaten by unknown parties. The police believe its gangs of youths. It has become the latest fad to terrorize the homeless. The Committee has decided a Medal of Honor holder deserves the same protection he gave his country."
"Where's he now?"
"As soon as the police discovered he was a disabled veteran, they transported him to Camp Pendleton's naval hospital. He will be discharged in two days and taken to the Bread of Life Rescue Mission. You'll meet him there."
"I guess I need to go shopping," I said, now that I knew the client and his environment.
"Where are you going shopping and why?"
"Salvation army. If I'm going to be his homeless friend... You want the people who are attacking the homeless, don't you?"
"So you plan to live on the street?"
"Unless you want me to put him up in my condo. Based on what you said, it doesn't appear to be personal. More like being in the right place at the wrong time. Of course, someone might be after him specifically and attacking homeless people to cover up the real target. The only way to find out is to make him accessible."
"I can't be sure, but I doubt the Committee is concerned about the homeless, just Technical Sergeant James Hearn."
"Surely, there are other veterans out there decorated and homeless."
"It's a tragedy that so many of our veterans are homeless after serving their country. We tell them we are a grateful nation but it doesn't seem to be little more than cliche." Witton didn't seem to be talking to me since he was gazing out his window. I try not to judge people. I find staying with a person night and day reveals things not apparent from their day-to-day facade. What they say and what they think are often not necessarily the same.
"If you find out what the Committee wants, call me." I waved as I left. I was probably a good choice for this assignment. I had lived in some pretty run-down neighborhoods and had been homeless for a while. And I enjoyed playacting.
I spent the next day shopping for used-pre-owned-clothing. Rather than search for the best, I collected the most worn and out of date clothing. Watching the people in the shops, it reminded me again how fortunate I was. The next day, I left for San Diego. Ann Marie had booked me in first class, which got me plenty of stares although I wore the best of my pre-owned clothes. Not too surprisingly, I had the overhead luggage rack to myself. My fellow passengers seemed reluctant to put their designer luggage next to my raggedy backpack, and the guy next to me tried so hard to distance himself he must have had welts from the seat's armrests. The flight attendant and me were the only ones that enjoyed the flight. She and I found the situation amusing.
***
I arrived just after noon, knowing the hospital wouldn't release him before then. After about an hour sitting on the sidewalk towards the end of the building, an elderly woman came out and approached. She stood there inspecting me before speaking.
"You needn't sit outside...young lady. Meals won't be served for a while but you could wait in the chapel. It's better than sitting out in the street. Besides, it doesn't look good."
"I'm waiting for a friend." I wouldn't mind the chapel. I liked the quiet of churches. They were good places to meditate. My temple on the Hill had always been a place of renewal.
"You can wait inside just as well. If you tell me who your friend is, I'll let her know you're here." She sighed. Just then a black SUV with US Army printed on the side pulled up to the curb. I rose and walked over to the vehicle as a lieutenant stepped out of the back followed by a short, thin man. He didn't look like what I would've thought a Medal of Honor holder should look like. Of course, I didn't look like what people thought a Kazak should look like. His sneakers, army pants, gray long-sleeved shirt, and army jacket appeared two-sizes too big and had seen much better days. But he and they looked clean. His dark-brown hair looked like it had been recently cut and his long angular face clean-shaven. The lieutenant looked around and settled on the woman and me.
"Are you Hearn's...friend?" He had obviously been briefed that someone would be waiting at the mission, but judging by his wide-eyed, open mouth expression, not who.
"Yep. That's me." I rose and walked over to the car. "Hi, Jimmy."
Jimmy stared at me for a long while. He too had been told to expect someone, just not me. Typical Witton, leave it to me to explain all those annoying details.
"You're my... Lynn?" He and the Lieutenant stood shaking their heads.
"But-" The lieutenant began. I cut him off with my hand.
"Jimmy and I will be fine. You can tell your superior, that his friend will take good care of him." I hooked my arm inside his and pulled him along, leaving the lieutenant and woman speechless, and avoiding more questions.
"Well Jimmy, where to?" I planned on getting him back to his old routine, since that was where the trouble began.
"You're my bodyguard? You don't look like a bodyguard." He was a head taller than me and was frowning down at me.
"You don't look like a Medal of Honor holder."
"I guess not. I don't think any of us intend to be heroes. It just happens. You're pinned down, your buddies are getting killed and wounded, and you just react without thinking. If you thought, you probably wouldn't do it."
"I can relate to that. What exactly did you do?"
"I kind of distracted the Ali Babas by running around shooting and throwing hand-grenades while my buddies withdrew back to the main unit. We were a recon unit."
"How did you survive?"
"They left me for dead. They were in a rush to chase after the others. They found me the next morning when the main unit advanced."
"Did you do something to annoy the gang that put you in the hospital?"
"Nothing. Wrong place at the wrong time. They were looking for someone to amuse themselves with and found me."
"Did you hurt any of them?" I asked. He was ex-army and a hero even if he didn't think so.
"Nah, I didn't try to fight back. There were three of them and one had a bat. I knew I couldn't win and figured it would just be worse if I fought back. I thought they would loose interest faster if I didn't. They would have, but they found my ATM card and dragged me to one of the machines. There is a limit on how much you can take at one time but they didn't understand. So they beat me more thinking I would tell them how to get the rest. I woke up in the hospital. By now there will be no money in the account."
"Have you canceled the card?"
"No. I hadn't thought about it until now." He said in a normal almost disinterested voice. I wondered if he had just given up on life and no longer cared what happened to him. I fished out my iphone. Ann Marie answered.
"Ann Marie, it's Lynn. The gang that attacked Jimmy took his ATM card and knows his password. Can you get his card deactivated and a new one sent to his bank nearest the Bread of Life Rescue Mission in Oceanside."
"Can do. I hear you're living on the streets now," she snorted. "That's some come down from a visiting dignitary from the Arab world, who traveled first class and had a private plane at her disposal."
"I'm reduced to the streets because Witton doesn't pay me enough to rent a decent apartment and eat more than one meal a day." I smiled, remembering the grand tour of the United States' major attractions while pretending to be an Arab woman rights activist as a diversion to protecting a major mob informer who pretended to be part of my security detail. In reality, on my salary I could have afforded to pay for the meals and accommodations.
"I'll tell Mr. Witton. I'm sure he could raise you to minimum pay per hour. Oh, don't let the bedbugs bite." She hung up before I could answer. I wish she hadn't mentioned bedbugs. The very idea made me itch.
"I hadn't thought about canceling my card. My disability check goes into that account."
"What do you spend your money on?"
"Odds and ends. Coffee, snacks, clothes, occasionally a room," he said looking down in deep thought. "My next check doesn't come in until... What's the date today?"
"April 27."
His head jerked up and his eyes misted. That generated the most emotion I'd seen from him.
"My next check isn't until the middle of the month-the third Wednesday. I need a new backpack and to replace the things they stole."
"Don't worry, Jimmy. Your friend has money. What do you need?"
"Blanket until I can afford a sleeping bag. It's still cold at night. A bottle for water, some containers for food, extra clothes, soap, flashlight. My God. I don't have anything except what they gave me at the hospital."
"I'm going to need the same things, so lead on. Where do we get them?"
We spent the rest of the day visiting dollar stores, Salvation Army, and an army surplus store. I had to admire him, we walked miles and I never heard one complaint. As evening approached, we magically wound up back at the Rescue Mission for the nightly meal. I was seriously considering buying two bicycles.
An older man with thinning gray hair met us at the door. He stood about my height, round chubby body and face, and a pleasant smile. It seemed a bit strained as his eyes settled on me. "Hello, Jimmy. I hear you were attacked by a gang of youths and had to be hospitalized." Without waiting to hear Jimmy, his eyes turned back to me. "Who's your...friend?"
"She's...Lynn. She's visiting me for a few days," he said. The idea of some woman coming to visit a homeless man seemed ludicrous, until I realized men weren't the only homeless people. Not only women but also whole families were homeless.
"Have you known her long?"
"Seems like forever." He smiled at me. I smiled back. Jimmy had a sense of humor under that blanket of resignation. I decided to help.
"Yes, Jimmy and I go way back." All the way to noon. "What's for dinner?"
"Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, mixed vegetables, and green salad. I hope you and Jimmy will join us for services." I caught Jimmy's slight nod.
"Wouldn't miss it, reverend." I grabbed Jimmy's arm and headed for the serving line. After filling our plates, I steered him to the end of a long table in the rear so I could see the entire room. I didn't think anyone in this place wanted to kill him, but I'm naturally paranoid, which I thought Clare would approve.
"Why back here?"
"So I can keep an eye on everyone."
"No one here would hurt me. Maybe a few might try and steal something."
"Someone almost succeeded in beating you to death. Until I know who, I'll watch everyone. It maybe a gang of youths like everyone seems to think. But someone may hold a grudge against you and is using the youths as a cover," I said and waited to see what kind of response I would get.
"I don't have any enemies. In a war, you have enough enemies without fighting with your comrades. In peacetime, maybe. I wouldn't know. The Army is only life I've known for the past eight years, until I was discharged. A homeless person may be willing to kill you for any number of reasons, but they couldn't afford to pay someone to do it." He laughed quietly. Obviously an amusing thought.
"I don't suppose you have any rich relatives that might leave you money or property?" The most likely culprits were the youth gangs either out for fun, bored, or paid by someone to harass or move the homeless out of the area. But I had to explore the possibility someone was targeting Jimmy specifically.
"My parents died in a car accident while I was in Iraq. After everything was settled, they left my sister and me around fifteen thousand. I told her to keep my share. She has two small kids and her husband's an auto mechanic, so they can use the money. I was in the military and had everything I needed: good salary and free medical."
"Does your sister know your homeless?"
"No. She has her hands full without me. Besides, her husband and I never hit it off. It would just cause trouble between him and my sister. He likes to fix things; I like to read about things."
I was fast learning that Technical Sergeant James Hearn was a very complex individual. He cared for his sister's well being above his own and was willing to die for his comrades in arms yet, he didn't seem to care or willing to fight for himself. I could relate to that. After running away from my foster home, I felt my life had no meaning, and I merely existed. The difference was that I had a job, lived in an apartment with other women, and a led a relatively normal life-if not exciting. We had both been abandoned-me by my parents and him by the military.
"Well, Jimmy. Where are we going to sleep tonight," I asked. The Rescue Mission only provided a place to sleep in the winter months.
"You're going to sleep with me on the streets?" He stopped and looked at me with wide eyes. Then his eyes narrowed. "How do you think you're going to protect me? There were three of them and they had weapons. One had a club and another a knife. Anyway, we aren't likely to see them again."
"I'd say you were very likely to see them again now that your ATM has been canceled, and they realize you have money deposited in the account regularly." That would be the magnet that would draw them back to Jimmy. His eyes were again wide and his face had lost color. His mundane existence had suddenly changed for the worse. Jimmy had been right. He had done a heroic thing, but he was neither the hero type nor wanted to be. He had crawled into a hole and just wanted to be left alone.
***
After we attended the evening services, I followed him through a break in a fence onto the Center City Golf Course just off Interstate 5. He found a cluster of trees and shrubs and we set up camp. I didn't see anyone else, but I suspected Jimmy wasn't the only one to use the golf course. I sat with my back against a rough-barked tree of some kind and slept Kazak style-lightly.