Manhattan Mission, Page 2

walked toward the kitchen. “That’s what I get for thinking I’ve got you figured out Lord.” He mumbled as he picked up a soup ladle, “Want some more soup?” He asked the homeless man he had prayed for.

  “Sure pastor Bill.” The man answered with a humble look of appreciation. The room looked brighter to Bill, than it had looked in many a day as he poured the thick soup into the man’s bowl.

  Preacher walked out to his Harley, and saw a police ticket shoved between the switch and the handle bar’ Who the fu…!” He didn’t finish the curse word as he put the key in and turned the ignition. He put the ticket in his shirt pocket as he headed back to lower Manhattan toward the club house.

  He parked the bike in the middle of the floor, and then walked to the back room where Banger was tied to the barber chair, “I thought you were gonna leave me in thith chair to die.”

  He began cutting the thick tape that held the man to the chair and as the tape fell away, “Get outta here Banger, and don’t come back.”

  Banger ran toward the door not looking back as he stripped off the rest of the duct tape. Several of the club members were hanging around the room, “I’m quitting the club, don’t none of you son-of…don’t follow me if you know what’s good for you.”

  “You mean you are giving up the presidency?” Snake Peters asked. Snake was mean as a snake, and twice as deadly, but he didn’t dare tackle Preacher. He had enough sense to avoid that barber’s chair.

  “Yeah, you been wanting to take it from me…you got it free, and easy Snake. Be seeing you boys.” He cranked the Harley, and rode out the door. Immediately, a fight broke out as the club members battled it out for top dog in the club. It reminded the Preacher of wolves fighting over scraps, as he saw the melee in his rear-view mirror.

  He thought maybe his mother who lived alone might allow him to stay a couple of days as he had no place to go for a flop. He had been using the club house for the last six months as it was just easier to run the crew from there.

  He rolled up to his mother’s apartment, and killed the engine on the bike. The place was quiet. Some kids were playing down the street, but that only blended to the quiet. He went up the back stair, and knocked on the door. His mother opened the door a crack, and he could see she was still in her bathrobe even though it was one o’clock in the afternoon.

  She looked as if she had seen a ghost, “What do you want Bobby?” She asked.

  “Ain’t you gonna let your own kid in ma?”

  “I suppose it won’t hurt.”

  She unlatched the three safety latches on the door, “Why are you here Bobby?”

  “I quit the club ma, and I need a place to flop just a couple of days till I get my head on straight.”

  “You’re head hasn’t been on straight since the day you were born. You’re a born killer Bobby, and I can’t have killers staying in my apartment. If they find out, I’ll get evicted.”

  “Aw now ma, don’t be like that! Its mean you don’t welcome me home.”

  “How do you expect me to be Bobby? Maybe if you don’t bring any of your gang here, you can stay for just a little while. Welcome home Bobby.” She reached up, and hugged him lightly, but looked away sadly.

  “I’ll fix us a cup of coffee, I work night shift at the hospital.”

  “You still a nurse’s aid?” He asked as he sat down at the small, and old fashioned kitchen table. She had the same chrome/Formica table with the chrome chairs since he could remember.

  “It suits me, I help people.” She reached into the cabinet, took down a small jar of instant coffee, and put a spoon full in each of the cups. “The trouble with you Bobby is that you’ve never cared for a soul…including me.”

  “Aw now ma, I care for you!”

  “Is that why you haven’t been home more than twice in five years?”

  “Has it been that long? I guess I have been a little…busy…with the club, and all.”

  “Are you wanted by the law Bobby?”

  “Oh, hell…uh…heck no ma, I got that straightened out about six months ago.”

  “They won’t let you quit that club you know, they’ll come after you.”

  “Well, I had to try ma…something happened…”His voice trailed off, and he looked away.

  “Like what?”

  “Well, I was…taking care of some business, when a voice spoke to me in my head.”

  “It’s the drugs Bobby, I told you! Now you’ve gone crazy.”

  “No, it ain’t like that ma…I just can’t explain it to you, but I ain’t crazy ma.”

  “I have to go to work in a little while, you can sleep in your old room.”

  “Ok, thanks ma.”

  Preacher went into his old room in the even older apartments. It was a small room, and as he opened the door, it was like opening the door on his childhood, as the room was exactly how he left it. There was his old school jersey hanging on the wall, and the pictures of rock stars he used to want to pattern after.

  He realized his Mom hadn’t given up on him. He lay down on the single bed; extracted the bible from his pack, and began reading at the front of the book. He read until his eyes gave out, and then rolled over, and went to sleep.

  He awoke when his Mom unlocked the locks on the door at eleven that night, and he had trouble getting back to sleep, so he reached up and turned the light on the night stand, and began to read again, He read until four-thirty in the morning, and was finally able to go back to sleep.

  He awoke at eleven thirty; got up to bathe, and dress. He didn’t have a change of clothes, so he scrubbed the dirt off his leather jacket the best he could with a wash cloth, and then began as quietly as he could to fix lunch for him and his mother.

  His mother came into the kitchen, “Its been so many years since you fixed our lunch Bobby, but I see you can still cook.”

  “Of course ma, you taught me to cook, and I have been cooking for myself ever since.”

  “You mean you cooked down at that club of yours?”

  “Well…mostly microwave. The club ain’t mine any more.”

  “I’m afraid they will kill you when they see you on the street again.”

  “I ain’t all that easy to kill ma.”

  “You were always a tough little kid, but you can’t out run a bullet.”

  After his mother went to work he cleaned the dishes, and then went back to read the Bible. He did this for four more days, and expected the voice in his head again, but it didn’t come, and all he could hear was the silence of the small apartment, as the grandfather clock in the living room ticked away the seconds. He waited and waited, but no voice, and then he began to get things going on down in his awakened spirit that he was not used to. It caused him to be somewhat confused, but he was used to rolling with the punches.

  The next day he felt down in his spirit to visit the guy in the mission, so he cranked his bike, and headed back across the bridge to uptown Manhattan. He met several from the club riding two abreast, but they paid him no attention as they headed out on some mission or other, Maybe I’ll get by without a fight with them were his thoughts as he rolled on across the bridge.

  He pulled up in front of the mission, saw a street cop, and decide it might be best to pull around back of the building. The cop followed him around the building, and as he got off the bike the cop asked, “What are you doing up here Preacher, you know you’re bunch ain’t welcome here.”

  “I’m just visiting Pastor Bill, I ain’t looking for trouble. Say, I got a ticket the last time I was down here, an I ain’t got the money to pay it since I quit the club.”

  “You been here to the mission twice, and you quit the club?” The cop looked at him strangely.

  “You trying to hustle me Jenson?” The cop had arrested him a couple time’s, but this time he just said, “No, I’ll fix the ticket Preacher, but stay clean. Pastor Bill is a good man you know?”

  “Yeah, I know. I got to walk back around the front, can you walk a little way behind me in case somebody saw
us?”

  “Sure Preacher, walk on. But are you sure you want to leave that Harley back here? I doubt if it’ll be here when you get back.”

  “You going to ticket me if I leave it in front?”

  “Naw, I’ll leave a fake ticket hanging on it so you don’t get hassled, just park it near the edge of the side walk.”

  “Thanks.”

  He cranked the bike, and rode back around the building; parking it where the cop had indicated, locked the forks on the bike, and went in. Pastor Bill was in the kitchen washing pots, and pans after the evening meal. He looked at Preacher, and waved as he came through the door.

  “Have a seat, I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

  “Might as well help you, instead of just sitting on my can waiting.”

  They made short work of the rest, and then Pastor Bill shook his hand, “Thanks; I don’t often get anybody willing to wash pots, and pans son. What brings you over this way?”

  “Well…I finished reading the bible you gave me, and I listened for the voice, but I didn’t hear nothin’ else. I just felt like I needed to talk to you.”

  “Maybe you did hear the voice. Its not always so apparent as you described to me last week. Most times it's