Street, leaving the crowded Park Street area behind. As he walked, he thought more seriously about getting back into Boston Memorial Hospital now that he’d done his reading.
The idea of becoming part of the housekeeping staff had a lot of merit except for one problem: to apply for a job he’d need to provide some sort of identification as well as a valid social security number. In this day of computers, Jeffrey knew he couldn’t expect to get by by making one up.
He was wrestling with the problem of identification when he turned onto the street where the Essex Hotel stood. Half a block away from the liquor store, which was still open, he paused. A vision of the man in the tattered suit came back to him. The two of them had been about the same height and age.
Crossing the street, Jeffrey approached the empty lot next to the liquor store. A strategically placed streetlamp threw a good deal of light into the area. About a quarter of the way into the lot there was a concrete overhang sticking out of one of the bordering buildings that looked like it could have been an old loading dock. Beneath it Jeffrey could make out a number of figures, some sitting, some passed out on the ground.
Stopping and listening, Jeffrey could hear conversation. Overpowering any misgivings, he started toward the group. Stepping gingerly on a bed of broken bricks, Jeffrey approached the overhang. A fetid odor of unwashed humans assaulted his senses. The conversation stopped. A number of rheumy eyes regarded him suspiciously in the semidarkness.
Jeffrey felt he was an intruder in another world. With rising anxiety, he searched for the man in the tattered suit, moving his eyes quickly from one dark figure to the next. What would he do if these men suddenly sprang at him?
Jeffrey saw the man he was looking for. He was one of the men sitting in the semicircle. Forcing himself forward, Jeffrey approached closer. No one spoke. There was an electric charge of expectation in the air as if a spark could cause an explosion. Every eye was now following Jeffrey. Even some of the people who’d been lying down were now sitting up, staring at him.
“Hello,” Jeffrey said limply when he was in front of the man. The man didn’t move. Nor did anyone else. “Remember me?” Jeffrey asked. He felt foolish, but he couldn’t think of what else to say. “I gave you some change an hour or so ago. Back there, in front of the liquor store.” Jeffrey pointed over his shoulder.
The man didn’t respond.
“I thought maybe you could use a little more,” Jeffrey said. He reached into his pocket, and pushing away the packet of hundred-dollar bills, pulled out some change and several smaller bills. He extended the change.
The man reached forward and took the coins.
“Thanks, buddy,” he managed, trying to see the coins in the darkness.
“I’ve got more,” Jeffrey said. “In fact, I’ve got a five-dollar bill here, and I’m willing to bet that you’re so drunk, you can’t remember your social security number.”
“Whaddya mean?” the man mumbled as he struggled to his feet. Two of the other men followed suit. The man Jeffrey was interested in swayed as if he were about to fall, but caught himself. He appeared drunker than he’d been earlier. “It’s 139-321560. That’s my social security number.”
“Oh, sure!” Jeffrey said with a wave of dismissal. “You just made that up.”
“The hell I did!” the man said indignantly. With a sweeping gesture that almost knocked him off his feet, he reached for his wallet. He staggered again, struggling to lift the wallet from his trouser pocket. After he got it out, he fumbled to remove not a Social Security card, but his driver’s license. He dropped the wallet in the process. Jeffrey bent down to pick it up. He noticed there was no money in it.
“Lookit right here!” the man said. “Just like I said.”
Jeffrey handed him the wallet and took the license. He couldn’t see the number but that wasn’t the point. “My word, I guess you were right,” he said after he pretended to study it. He handed over the five-dollar bill, which the man grabbed eagerly. But one of the other men grabbed it out of his hand.