breaking point.
A pang of guilt hit Jack. The gauntlet of such people downtown was
staggering. A generous person could empty their entire pockets in the
span of one city block. Jack had done that, more than once.
He checked the area one more time. No one. Another train would not
arrive for about fifteen minutes. He stepped out of the booth and looked
directly across at the man. He didn’t seem to see Jack; his attention
was focused on his own little world far away from normal reality. But
then Jack thought, his own reality was no longer normal, if it ever had
been.
Both he and the pathetic, mass across from him were involved in their
own peculiar struggles. And death could claim either of them, at any
time. Except that Jack’s demise would probably be somewhat more violent,
somewhat more sudden. But maybe that was preferable to the lingering
death awaiting the other.
He shook his head clear. Thoughts like that were doing him no good. If
he were going to survive this he had to remain focused, he had to
believe he would outlast the forces marshaled against him.
Jack started forward and then stopped. His blood pressure almost
doubled; the sudden metabolic change he was experiencing left him
light-headed.
The homeless man was wearing new shoes. Soft-soled, brown leathers,
which probably cost over a hundred and fifty bucks. They were revealed
from out of the mass of filthy clothing like a shiny blue diamond on a
bed of white sand.
And now the man was looking up at him. The eyes locked on Jack’s face.
They were familiar. Beneath the depths of wrinkles, filthy hair and
wind-burnt cheeks, he had seen those eyes before; he was sure of it. The
man was now rising off the floor. He seemed to have much more energy
than when he first staggered in.
Jack frantically looked around. The place was as empty as a tomb. His
tomb. He looked back. The man had already started toward him. Jack
backed up, clutching the box to his chest. He thought back to his narrow
escape in the elevator’ The gun. He would see that gun appearing soon.
It would be pointed right at him.
Jack backed down the tunnel toward the kiosk. The man’s hand was going
underneath his coat, a torn and beaten behemoth that spilled its woolen
guts with every step. Jack looked around. He heard approaching
footsteps. He looked back at the man, deciding whether he should make a
run for the train or not. Then he came into sight.
Jack almost screamed in relief.
The police officer rounded the corner. Jack ran to him, pointing back
down the tunnel at the homeless man who now stood stock-still, in the
middle of the corridor.
“That man; he’s not a homeless person. He’s an imposter.”
The chance of him being recognized by the cop had crossed Jack’s mind
although the young cop’s features didn’t betray any such realization.
“What?” The bewildered cop stared at Jack.
“Look at his shoes.” Jack realized he was making little sense, but how
could he when he couldn’t tell the cop the whole story?
The cop looked down the tunnel, saw the homeless man standing there, his
face turned into a grimace. In his confusion he retreated to the normal
inquiry.
“Has he been bothering you, sir?”
Jack hesitated, then said, “Yes.”
“Hey!” The cop shouted at the man.
Jack watched as the cop ran forward. The homeless man turned and fled.
He made it to the escalator, but the up escalator wasn’t working. He
turned and raced down the tunnel, darted around a corner and
disappeared, the cop right after him.
Now Jack was alone. He looked back at the kiosk. The Metro guy hadn’t
returned.
Jack jerked his head. He had heard something. Like a shout, of someone
in pain, from where the two men had disappeared. He moved forward. As he
did, the cop, slightly out of breath, came back around the corner. He
looked at Jack motioned him to come over with slow movements of his arm.
The guy looked sick, like he had seen or done something that disgusted