Chapter 2

Trace Kalecki

Jamaal soon came back with a box of clothes for Ben, and he told the man, “See if you can find anything here. If not, we have more.” He also handed over two pills, presumably painkillers. “Water’s in the sink.”

Ben was visibly overwhelmed, so I gave him some space and took his jeans and socks upstairs to my place. After putting the clothes in the dryer, I went back down and stopped at a supply closet for a couple Ziploc kits, and then I made sure Chip was doing all right in my office.

He was busy with the iPad. “Yeah, I’m killing zombies!”

Got it, got it. No more pop for him today.

By then, I saw Ben poking his head out of the bathroom, so I told him to follow me. He’d found a pair of jeans and a hoodie that fit well enough, and he was back in his boots. Hopefully with new socks on, ’cause we had a lot of those.

The Clover was in the thick of it. We had contacts all over, and we partnered up with three churches and two charity organizations regularly to swap supplies, assistance, and information. They could hand out info about our soup kitchen, and we got clothes and hygiene products that people donated. There was always someone in line whose coat was too thin or who needed better socks. Occasionally, we could also hand out vouchers, gift cards, and CTA passes.

In the kitchen, I snatched up the to-go bag Petey had put together.

I let Julie and Tonya head out first, their hands loaded with food orders, and then I followed. We bypassed the bar, and I veered right toward the Green.

Tonight hadn’t been as slow as I’d feared. The majority of the tables in the main dining area were filled.

“In here.” I pushed open the doors to reveal the most Irish area in the joint. Large flat-screens behind plexiglass shared the dark-green walls with Irish sayings and my family’s timeline from County Clare during the famine to Chicago today.

I’d lost count of people saying, “Kalecki? That ain’t Irish.”

No fucking shit, but my grandmother had married a Polish guy. You’re welcome for the sausage.

Twelve booths in total lined the eastern and western walls, and I picked one of them for Ben.

“Have a seat.” I emptied the bag of three containers and two beverages. “I don’t know how you like your coffee, so I brought creamer, milk, and sugar too.” We didn’t shy away from high-energy and high-fat in the winter when an unsheltered person came in. I left the packets next to his food. One big grilled cheese, our famous pizza soup?—

“What is that?” He pointed at the soup. “Is that pepperoni?”

I nodded. “Try it and fall in love. I’m tellin’ you.” It was spicy tomato soup with pepperoni and melted mozzarella, and it came with cheesy bread fresh out of the oven.

Ben sat down and carefully put a hand over his wound. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

In the winter, I did. Otherwise, I’d toss and turn all night.

During warmer months, it was easier to offer a menu of simple soup, bread, and the occasional hot dog. But right now? It wasn’t just a matter of freezing. The cold burned calories too fucking fast.

“Do you mind if I sit?” I asked, unpacking the last of his meal. A Coke, fries, and bread.

The bread had been the last change I’d made when we’d ordered new menus. Now it was called Chip’s Cheesy Bread, much to the excitement of my nephew.

Ben shook his head and picked up the sandwich, and I could tell he was uncomfortable. I’d do my best to fix that. I just…wanted to know how or if we could help him.

As he bit into his food, he eyed the Ziploc kits next to his container of fries, and I figured it was a good start.

“So we run a soup kitchen here every Thursday and Sunday,” I said. I made a gesture to the pool table at the center of the room. “That’s when we cover the table and serve hot food from eleven to five for anyone who stops by.” I cleared my throat and nodded at the two kits. “When we’re able, we also hand out kits with hygiene products and energy bars.”

He watched me in silence as he chewed.

I couldn’t lie; he was fucking handsome, this man. His rugged silver years were taking over, but he was still cut.

“Since you lost your car, do you have any place to stay tonight?” I asked.

He swallowed hard and shook his head, and he averted his gaze to the food.

“Would you mind helping me prepare for tomorrow’s service if it gave you a safe spot to sleep?” I asked next.

That one elicited suspicion in his eyes. “What’s the catch?”

I showed my palms. “No catch. You just help out for a few hours tomorrow.”

He took another bite and chewed slowly.

“We pack more of those kits,” I said, nodding at the Ziplocs. “We make a fuck-ton of soup, coffee, and tea, and we divvy up bread. There are six of us, but we can always use extra help.”

He reached for his pop, and I noticed his fingertips were scratched up in places. “You usually don’t pay someone before they do the work. What if I’m gone in the morning?”

I shrugged. “It happens. But it doesn’t change anything—and I don’t consider a warm place to sleep payment. It’s a basic human need. The spot’s yours whether you help out or not. That said…it can be more than a one-time offer if you stick around and pitch in.”

Yeah, that didn’t help with the suspicion. The man was on edge. I couldn’t blame him for that.

“Where is this spot?” he asked.

I exhaled a chuckle and rubbed the back of my neck. I kinda hated this part, because though my option was better than his, I felt like a jagoff for not being willing to open up my home. “Well, it ain’t pretty, but I hope you’ll see my side—I gotta be careful.” I shifted in my seat. “I’m the only tenant upstairs, so it’s just me coming and going. In other words, you’re welcome to use the hallway. There’s an alcove right next to my front door, where I keep one of those foldable camping beds.”

He grew pensive and put down the sandwich, and he side-eyed the soup. “You’ve done this before?”

“More times than I can remember.”

It was absolutely nothing fancy, but it beat staying outside.

“And people don’t take advantage?”

I smirked. “More times than I can remember.”

The upstairs used to be an attic with storage space. Then some six or seven years ago, Murray Estate, which owned the building, turned the western half of it into a loft apartment and offered it to us since we rented the only other establishment in the building. The other half remained an attic with storage units accessed from their own entrance on the eastern side. The apartment was out of my price range, but I saved a lot on never needing a car or having to commute to work.

As long as I paid my rent on time, I was left alone, and that was how I’d managed to shelter dozens of homeless people over the years. Yeah, some took advantage—or tried. I had the scars to prove it. A few had attempted to break in, another few had tried to rob me when I’d walked by, and not a single one had succeeded.

More often than not, “taking advantage” was more about them being shit guests. Many were users, and I’d become a pro at cleaning up needles.

“Why do you keep doing it?”

I shrugged. “We all need a redeeming quality, don’t we?”

That was the best answer I was going to give.

Ben fell silent again and focused on the soup.

It appeared to be a winner.

He wasn’t shivering as much anymore either.

I killed a few minutes by keeping an eye on the rerun games running on the various flat-screens, but I had zero interest in curling, figure skating, and golf.

“I don’t like handouts,” Ben said quietly. “I’ll help you tomorrow.”

Perfect. It was settled.

* * *

I was dead on my feet when I finally killed the lights in the restaurant and bar. Ben shuffled after me, holding his to-go bag with leftovers, as we walked through the kitchen.

I’d found him dozing off in the booth when I’d returned to let him know we were closing, and no wonder. Who knew the last time he’d gotten a proper night’s sleep.

I’d checked in on him a couple times once Sarah had picked up Chip, and I had to admit I wasn’t particularly worried about him crashing outside my place. He showed no signs whatsoever of being a user—and I knew all the fucking signs—and he wasn’t one of those who’d lived on the streets for years and years either.

My semi-educated guess…? At some point in his life, not too long ago, he’d fallen on hard times, and he was struggling to get back on his feet. It was the story of many here in the city. Rents and mortgages had gone up, same with food and gas—wages, not so much. The property taxes alone could send entire families out on the street, especially in the suburbs, and then they were forced to double up with family or friends somewhere or jump through hoops to get into an emergency housing program. We hadn’t increased Section 8 vouchers at the rate that was necessary either.

Once we reached the back, I flicked off the last of the lights and activated the alarm. Then I let him head out first so I could lock up.

“Since you’re stayin’ the night, we may as well wash your clothes,” I said.

I turned around and found him glancing up the stairs.

“That’s not necessary,” he replied absently. “Can, uh, others get in?”

I shook my head and pointed at the front door behind him. “That one’s always locked. At this point, it’s probably frozen shut too. I can’t remember the last time I used it.”

I always went through the kitchen back door, and my mail was delivered to the bar’s PO box.

He seemed somewhat satisfied at that.

I gestured for him to go on up first, and that was less comforting for him. I was sure he didn’t like turning his back on potential threats. And neither did I.

“About the laundry,” I said. “Fuck what’s necessary. It’s about comfort. I’mma get something to eat—you’re free to use the bathroom. Take a shower, wash your clothes.”

He reached the landing and peered down at me. “You really do this for others too?”

I chuckled. He got me there. “Rarely,” I admitted. “But you don’t strike me as someone who would knock me out to steal my TV. Which is the only thing I value in there.”

I went ahead next, and we rounded the corner to my door. And the alcove where he’d sleep.

“So this is it.” I unfolded the bed and straightened the mattress. There was just enough space for an old milk crate too, and I pointed to it. “Inside that crate, you’ll find an alarm clock in case you need it. Sometimes, I have guys who gotta get up early for a job interview.”

He nodded with a dip of his chin and left his stuff on the mattress. “I was supposed to be at an interview in Skokie tomorrow, but I’m gonna skip it.”

Because of the car?

“Why?” I stuck my key in the first lock and squinted as I did CTA math. Skokie… So that was the red line up to Howard, and then?—

“I wasn’t gonna get it anyway,” he muttered. “I’m not a fuckin’ plumber. And those guys today—they gotta see degrees and certifications for everything. Back in my day? You showed up and proved yourself.”

Christ, he spoke like my old man, yet he couldn’t be a day over fifty.

Third lock’s the charm. I opened the door and glanced back at him. “What are you?”

“Contractor,” he said. He scratched his chin with a bit of a faraway expression. “I spent twenty years building houses, just to end up homeless.”

Damn. That fucking sucked. No wonder he was struggling to find work this time of year too.

I opened the door wider and let him in.

My place was kinda sad, which Adam liked to remind me. Given the previous use of the space as an attic, I had two bedrooms, a front room, and a kitchen forming a neat row, then a long fucking hallway followed alongside, with a fire escape down at the end. One big bathroom, one half-bath. Both bedrooms stood empty, aside from some moving boxes. I slept in the front room, where I had a big pullout couch I never prepared for company. I kept it as a bed. Coffee table, entertainment center, big flat-screen, huge windows you could sit in. Nothing on the walls, much to my sister’s disappointment. She’d given me a photo of Chip, and I’d stuck it on the fridge.

Ma had tried to get me to decorate it more. At the very least, use one of the bedrooms, but I didn’t care. I liked falling asleep to the TV running.

I gave Ben a quick tour—as in, I pointed out the front room and kitchen on our way to the bathroom. There was a second fire escape in the kitchen too.

“Bachelor pad if I ever saw one,” he mused.

I smiled faintly to myself. Yeah, maybe. Not that it saw any action on that front. I really didn’t fucking like people. Far as I knew, only my family and Adam had been up here. Bella too, maybe. I wasn’t sure. Then possibly a dozen men and women who’d gotten a similar treatment to Ben.

I’d always felt bad I had so much space and didn’t do anything about it, but what else did I need? And fuck having roommates. This was my one luxury, and I shelled out 75% of my pay to afford the rent.

In the bathroom, I showed Ben the ropes and how he could do his laundry. It was a spacious bathroom, all gray and white tile, modern, and the only things on the long counter, aside from a sink surrounded by my basic toiletries, were a box of detergent and a bottle of fabric softener. Big shower, one bottle of two-in-one body wash and shampoo, extra toothbrushes under the sink, razors too, towels on the rack between the toilet and shower. He was good to go.

He flicked a glance at my two overpacked laundry baskets and raised a brow. “You don’t wanna throw some of your shit in there? Seems like a waste.”

Yeah, all right. I should work on that. Usually, I threw in precisely what I was gonna wear the next day.

This was ten years of Ma buying me socks and boxer briefs and tees. She didn’t dare buy jeans, ’cause they had to fit just right. So my dislike for shopping was why I only had two pairs.

I made quick work of filling the washer and turning it on, and then I excused myself to make us some food. Hopefully, he’d enjoy his shower.

* * *

Should I check on him?

The shower had stopped running probably twenty minutes ago.

No, as long as I heard the occasional noise, I’d let him be. For a while longer.

I’d made his bed out in the hall. Everything was clean, and I hoped three blankets would suffice. Otherwise, I’d go downstairs and search through the donation boxes. That was where I’d once found the sheets and two pillows.

Shit. I shot right up from the foot of my bed, and I absently brushed nacho crumbs off my tee. I’d forgotten he might need to redress his wound after the shower.

I left the front room and knocked quietly on the bathroom door. “Ben? Just so you know, there’s a first aid kit under the sink too. Lemme know if you need help.”

I heard him cough and clear his throat.

“Thank you,” he replied thickly.

Goddammit. What else could I do for him? To be honest, I wasn’t used to seeing homeless people get emotional. It happened, obviously, but they were usually closed off and understandably guarded. On edge, even. Or in withdrawal.

“I’ll hurry,” he added.

“No—just…no, take your time. No rush.” I stepped back and debated calling my mother, only to realize it was past two AM in Florida, and she was definitely asleep.

Instead, I wandered over to the front door and opened it. Could I do something else to the alcove? Before I’d left the bathroom earlier, I’d told him we’d find clothes for him to sleep in. I was sure I had some sweatpants that sat loose on me.

I took another step and peered into the to-go bag from earlier, and I chewed on the inside of my cheek. His wallet—it was there.

He’d most likely not intended to leave that behind. Perhaps he was feeling too shitty. I didn’t know how much that car meant to him, but I knew how much having a roof over my head mattered to me.

Yeah, I was that douchebag who checked the wallet. It was a balancing act for me, figuring out how much to offer someone before I screwed myself over. I didn’t trust easily, but I wanted to. I wanted to give more.

He had… I sighed. About twelve bucks.

His driver’s license was expiring soon.

Benjamin Andrew O’Cleary.

Born on May third, and he was… Fuck, more math. He was turning forty-nine in a few months.

This was interesting. He was listed at an address out in Elmwood Park.

Brown hair, blue eyes—yeah, no fucking kidding. I’d seen them. Six foot four, sounded about right. He had a few inches on me. Huh, he was an organ donor.

Then I heard a faint noise coming from inside, so I hurriedly returned the license and the wallet before I made my way back in. I literally sprinted into the front room, and a second later, the bathroom door opened.

Christ.

The moment I was seated on the foot of the bed again, I tossed a couple nachos into my mouth.

Keep it cool.

Benjamin Andrew O’Cleary appeared in the doorway, wearing only a towel around his hips, and I had zero complaints. I was glad he’d redressed the wound. I didn’t want that cut infected.

Now was an excellent time to stop staring.

I cleared my throat and stood up. “I’ll find you some clothes. Everything go okay in there?”

He nodded with a dip of his chin. “Thank you. I, uh…” He exhaled a chuckle, looking mildly uncomfortable. “It felt real good to brush my teeth. I’ve tried to be careful, but I think I need to see a dentist at some point.” He rubbed his fingers over his cheek. “My last wisdom tooth isn’t in good shape.”

I grinned faintly. “I’m surprised you have any left. I’d yanked all mine before I turned twenty-five.”

He followed me down the hall where I had a row of closets I’d bought for cheap at IKEA.

“My mother was a dental nurse before she retired,” he murmured.

That explained it.

I opened the first closet, the only one I used, and dug through my pile of sweats. There should be one pair… There. Farthest in. Gray pair.

“These should fit.” I handed them to him and took the same journey with my tees. Only, I had more options. Ma didn’t always get it right. “And this.” A baggy tee from Florida. Thankfully without dolphins and neon colors, just a tiny palm tree against the black fabric. He’d survive that. “You hungry? I made nachos.”

“Thank you, but I fear the food downstairs already did a number on me.” He smiled politely and…then just dropped the fucking towel. All right. Okay. Yeah. Fuck modesty, right?

Jesus fucking Christ.

The man was hung.

I averted my gaze as he stepped into the pants.

“Okay, uh…” Think, man. Think. “If, uh—if you need to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, don’t hesitate to knock. Seriously. Those stomach cramps can be hell.”

I also preferred to be woken up rather than finding a pile of shit on the stoop in the morning.

It’d happened before.

“I think I’ll be okay,” he said, putting on the tee. “You’ve done enough…uh.” He cocked his head. “I think I heard a couple of the staff call you Trace?”

Jesus. Hadn’t I introduced myself?

My bad.

“That’s right,” I replied, and I automatically extended my hand. “Trace Kalecki.”

His mouth twisted into the faintest smile, and he shook my hand. “Thank you for saving me tonight, Trace. I owe you.”

I shook my head. No, he didn’t.

* * *

The bed was weirdly comfortable, but it squeaked loudly every time I turned over.

Still nothing from Angie.

I scrolled through my messages, partly relieved. I didn’t want her to worry. It wasn’t like I could get a message to her now anyway. I’d have to wait till I found a hot spot. Maybe they had Wi-Fi downstairs. I hadn’t thought to ask earlier.

I was so goddamn tired.

Just in case, I checked for Wi-Fi. Network after network popped up, all of them locked. And there we go. The Dearborn Clover GUEST Wi-Fi. Also password protected.

I returned my phone to my boot, then rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling.

It was painted in the same muted green color as the walls.

A breath gusted out of me, and I carefully brushed my hand over my wound. The pain had faded into a dull, constant ache.

Could I actually sleep here?

The silence was deafening. I couldn’t handle silence. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d experienced it.

Maybe Trace didn’t count it as silence. I mean, there were some faint sounds—plumbing, the occasional squeak, the wind whipping up against the building… But it was silence to me, compared to what I was used to.

Ah, there. The distant call of sirens.

I breathed deeply and closed my eyes.

Trace Kalecki.

Under no circumstances could I stay here for long. A night or two, tops. I’d help out with the soup kitchen, of course. It was the least I could do. He’d done way too much for me. And then I’d be on my way. I had to see Alvin on Friday anyway. Even if I had to walk all the way out to Elmwood Park.