Ultimate Supernatural Horror Box Set by F. Paul Wilson, Blake Crouch, Scott Nicholson, Jeff Strand, Jack Kilborn, J. A. Konrath, Iain Rob Wright, Jordan Crouch Page B

slices.  
    A small army of good-hearted folks donated enough hours here at the shelter to qualify as part-time employees.  Most of them were women with working husbands and empty nests who’d transferred the nurturing drive from their now grown and independent children to the habitués of Loaves and Fishes.  Dan realized that the kitchen filled a void in their lives and that they probably got as much as they gave, but that didn’t make him any less appreciative.  Loaves and Fishes would never have got off the ground without them.
    “Could youse hand me wunna dose, Fadda?”
    Dan looked up.  A thin, bearded man in his forties with red-rimmed eyes and a withered right arm held a bowl of soup in his good hand.  His breath stank of cheap wine.
    “Sure thing, Lefty.” 
    Dan perched a good thick slice on the edge of the bowl.
    “Tanks a lot, Fadda.  Yer a prince.”
    Looked as if Lefty had got into the Mad Dog early today.  Dan watched him weave toward one of the tables, praying he wouldn’t drop the bowl.  He didn’t.
    “Hey, Pilot,” said the next man in line.
    Rider, in his suede jacket.  At least it had been suede in the sixties; now the small sections visible through the decades of accumulated grime were as smooth and shiny as dressed leather.  Probably an expensive jacket in its day, with short fringes on the pockets and a long fringe on each sleeve; only a couple of sleeve fringes left now, gone with the lining and the original buttons.  But no way would Rider give up that coat.  He’d tell anyone who’d listen about the days he’d worn it back and forth cross country on his Harley, tripping on acid the whole way.  But Rider had taken a few too many trips.  His Harley was long gone and most of his mind along with it.
    “How’s it going, Rider?”
    Dan dropped a heavy slice on his tray.  Rider always called him Pilot.  Because Rider slurred his words as much as anyone else, Dan had asked him once if that was Pilot with an “o” or an “a-t-e.”  Rider hadn’t the vaguest idea what Dan was talking about.
    “Good, Pilot.  Got a new lead on my Harley.  Should have it back by the end of the week.”
    “Great.”
    “Yep.  Then it’s so long.”
    Rider’s quest for his last bike, stolen sometime during the late eighties, lent a trace of structure to his otherwise aimless day-to-day existence.  Rider was the shelter’s Galahad. 
    The rest of the regulars filed by with a few newer faces sprinkled in; a couple of those might become regulars, the rest would drift on.  The locals, the never-miss-a-meal regulars were all here, some in their twenties, some in their sixties, most of indeterminate age somewhere between.  Some called themselves John and Jim and Marta and Thelma, but many had street names: Stony, Indian, Preacher, Pilgrim, Lefty, Dandy, Poppy, Bigfoot, One-Thumb George, and the inimitable Dirty Harry.
    They all got one bowl of soup and one thick slice of Sister Carrie’s famous bread.  After they finished they could have seconds if anything was left over after everyone had firsts.  Off to his left, Dan heard scuffling and a shout as the seconds line formed.
    “Oh, Father,” Hilda said, leaning over the counter to look.  “I think it’s Dandy and Indian again.”
    “I’ll take care of it.” 
    Dan ducked under the table and got to the trouble spot just as Dandy was picking himself off the floor and crouching to charge Indian.  Dan grabbed him by the back of his jacket collar.
    “Whoa, Dandy!  Hang on a sec.”
    Dandy whirled, snarling.  The fire in his eyes cooled immediately when he saw who he faced.  He shrugged to settle his jacket back on his shoulders and straightened his tie.  Dandy had earned his name from his taste in fourth-hand attire.  He always managed to pick the brightest colors from the donated clothing.  His latest getup consisted of an orange shirt, a green-and-white striped tie, a plaid sports jacket, and lime green golf pants.  All