Zack (In the Company of Snipers Book 3) by Irish Winters

Heck.” Marty peeled his coat and shirtsleeve down, exposing two round black welts on his upper arm. “Look it here, will ya? One of them boys shot me. I don’t figure it was a slingshot that time. Sounded more like some kinda gun, it did. They coulda kilt me. It coulda been me laying in that stinking dumpster.”
    Zack listened and waited. Marty needed to eat. He’d get to the rest of his story as soon as he remembered.
    “So I says to myself, I says, Marty, ya gots to do what’s right this time. Ya can’t worry about yerself when there’s a little girl what needs your help.” He nodded in self-satisfaction. “Yep. That’s what I said. I was standing there, and it was getting colder and colder, but I knew what I had to do. Yessirree. So I clumb outta the dumpster, holding the baby real careful over my shoulder so’s I wouldn’t bump her poor little noggin, and I walks right in through the front door of the IGA store, and you know what I said?”
    Zack shook his head slightly. Marty had a determined glint in his eye.
    “Well, let me tell you what I said.” He tore off another mouthful of sandwich. “I walks up to the first checkstand and I says real loud, ‘I needs help, and I needs it right now’.” He thumped his fist to the table. “I did. Yes, I did. That’s exactly what I said, and I’ll tell you what. You coulda heard a pin drop in the place. Everyone was lookin’ at me like I was crazy, only then my poor little baby doll starts moving and fussing, and everyone runs up to see what I found.”
    “And they helped you?”
    Marty nodded. “You better believe they did. The next thing I know, the police are there and an ambulance too, and them doctor guys are taking real good care of my baby, and they got warm blankets, and—” His eyes misted. “And the poor little gal didn’t even cry one peep when they stuck that needle thing in her arm.”
    A tear slipped over his whiskered face and fell onto his empty plate. “My poor baby girl,” he sobbed, wiping his face. “She was too sick to cry even when them nice guys was hurting her.”
    “It’s okay.” Zack said. “You saved her life.”
    “Yeah.” Marty ran a gnarled hand over his eyes before he stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth and started on his pumpkin pie. “That’s what everyone was saying. The police came, and they was asking me where I found her, and they gave me a drive to the station, and they was all real nice to me that night. One of them officers even gave me his jacket, you know. Them really warm winter jackets with fur collars?”
    “That’s the least they could do.” Zack noticed the old guy wasn’t wearing the warm jacket anymore. The thin waffle weave plaid covering his shirt was definitely not police issue.
    “The next night I went back to the store. You know what them mean boys did?” Marty wrangled one of his feet up far enough so Zack could see it. “They all pitched in and they bought me these here boots. Look it. Ain’t they nice?”
    “Yes, sir. They look real warm.”
    “They is. They really is. And they gave me a big bag of warm socks and something called protein bars. And they said I was their hero. I ain’t never been called a hero before.”
    “Is there anything else you can think of? Did you understand anything the little girl said?” Zack asked patiently. He’d flagged the waitress for another slice of pie.
    “Nah, that’s all there was to it, know what I mean?” Marty stared off in a daze. “She was almost dead, poor little thing. Poor baby.”
    “You’re a real good man. You did a great thing saving her like you did.”
    “I did, huh?”
    Zack peered into the old man’s humble eyes. “She’s in a good foster home right now. Her name is Zhen Ting. It means ‘precious treasure’. You found a precious treasure in the trash that night.”
    “Well, I’ll be darned. Precious treasure, huh? Zhen Ting, did you say? That’s a real pretty name for a pretty little tyke.”