A Vagrant Story by Paul Croasdell Page B

thought it better to wait for you guys outside.” Henry laughed awkwardly. “What’s with all the questions anyway? Drop it already. So what are going to do now? I think we should leave.”
    That was enough to get them going. With Rum leading, they pushed through the remainder of the crowd until arriving back outside. When free, Rum halted like a captain relaying orders.
    “First order of business: we get the hell away from this place. Secondly, we have no idea what to do next.”
    “Shouldn’t we start looking for the shop from the note again?” Henry suggested.
    “Yeah about that,” Rum replied. “Blondie has something funny to tell you. You’ll love it - it’s a story that involves me being right and her being wrong.”
    Sierra scowled. “Don’t call me Blondie, prick.”  
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 6
     
    The tramps continued their search in an idle sort of way, dawdling along a sidewalk checking directories and signs. They didn’t need to rush, mostly because they weren’t sure what they’d be rushing to find. Besides, day was fading fast and the wavering light lulled their spirits as a night lamp would a child.
    Henry broke into a brief coughing fit induced by exhaust smoke from all the cars on the main road beside them. The fumes merged with one another, foaming over curbs to the sidewalk. Today the road bore thrice the average number of cars. Christmas should always be busy but that wasn‘t the reason for the clog. In this case a snow plough was clearing the road, simultaneously forging a traffic jam in its rear.
    Forcing those coughs down, Henry ran to catch up with the others. “So … Sierra read the name wrong. That wasn’t the right shop.”
    “I read it wrong, but that shop had the same name. That’s pretty strange when you think about it. I suppose … if destiny led me to find the suicide note, then it makes sense the whole thing could have been fate as well.”
    “It was still the wrong place. I think if there’s some divine purpose in all this, God should double check his sights,” Henry added.
    “Here we go with that fate crap again. Blondie’s just making excuses for getting the name wrong. There ain’t no fate in this, Henry did all that for nothing. Guess you’ll think again before launching yourself into a burning building again. And having Alex bail you out after.”
    “I think, maybe I would have done it anyway,” Henry said.
    “Don’t listen to that old quack,” Sierra said. “Henry, whether it was the right place or not, what you did back there was still pretty brave.”
    “Pretty stupid more like.”
    “Shut up, Rum,” Sierra scolded. “You too Alex, you saved a man yesterday, both of you did. It would have been nice to find out who he was, even if it wasn’t the right guy.”
    “Of course Alex went in there, he’s a suicide waiting to happen. You wanted to die didn’t you? That’s why you went in there. Oh, but at least you knew what you were doing.” Rum pointed and waved his fist at Henry. “You on the other hand, that was just stupid! You can’t walk down the street without running out of breath! You really thought you could do something to help? You’re all just stupid.”
    Old Rum stormed on ahead. Henry simply eased his head down to hide disappointment.
    “Wow. It’s like he actually cares,” Sierra said.
    “You can tell?” Alex asked.
    “It took a while, but yeah.”
    The three of them watched on at the wise old man, who stumbled on in front a little bit. He stopped beside an open bin after something caught his eye. Plundering its contents, he pulled out a glass bottle.  Slugging it back, he spoke back to them:
    “Whiskey. Nice.”
    To the average person the act might seem distasteful, but it really was a fringe form of consumer savings. That is, unless it turned out to be the wrong kind of yellow liquid. 
    Sierra caught up to him and took the