it is the sour, cloying rot of garbage and the unmistakable tang of urine.
He reeks. And I’m now touching him.
I’d like nothing better than to pull my hand away, but all he sees is his next bump, and as far as he’s concerned, Iris is the one who’s giving it to him.
“Hey pal, you are not getting one step closer to her. You understand?”
He scowls at me again, leaning into my hand, but the guy is little more than a bag of bones. He opens his mouth to speak, and I have the misfortune of discovering the source of the garbage smell.
“I ain’t gonna hurt her.” He raises his hands again to show he’s no threat, and unless he’s got a knife tucked away in those sagging jeans, he’s not. But he’s also not getting past me. I could drag his ass to the street, but I won’t. As much as I don’t want him to be here, this guy’s a human wreck, but he’s still human.
“Iris,” I say low. “Are you sure you don’t want to go hop in my truck? We can leave right now.”
I hear her quick exhale behind me. “My ride’s almost here. Like less than a minute.” Her voice has changed. It’s stretched tight with nerves, and her words sound heavy with regret. “I’m sorry about this.”
I don’t take my eyes off our friend who's watching her with unchecked awe. “S’alright. We’ll wait.”
“Or you could just give me a little cash. All I need is a little—”
“Hey. Enough.” I thump him in the sternum once with the heel of my hand. Big mistake. The guy coughs right in my face.
I suppress a shudder and wipe my face against my left shirt sleeve. But not even a shower in bleach would make me feel clean right now.
From behind me I think I hear Iris moan. And then I catch:
“All my fault.”
The words are as hushed and brittle as leaves falling. Well, I can’t say she’s wrong. This night is all her fault, but I’m glad she has the decency to recognize that. Maybe she’s an entitled drama queen with an ounce of conscience.
The sound of a car turning off St. John Street catches my attention, but I don’t take my eyes off the bum. Brakes sing and headlights paint the yard and our silhouettes in the gathering dusk.
“That’s him,” Iris says.
I tilt my head toward the street. “Go on, then.”
But she doesn’t move.
“Don’t leave without helping me out, lady,” the bum begs, his rheumy eyes turning down with a practiced slant. “You can see I’m in a bad w—”
“Shut it,” I warn. “Go on, Iris.”
She still doesn’t move.
“Will you be alright?” The question is feather soft, and even though I’ve only seen glimpses of her in front of a camera, I know this girl can deliver a line. Her voice is just as pretty as she is.
“We’re fine here. Just go.”
She sighs, and then I hear her sandals slap down the steps, and for a moment she’s standing beside me.
“Here,” she says, thrusting something between us. I look down. It’s a protein bar. She waves it at the bum. “Take that. You look hungry.”
The bum frowns, but he snatches it from her.
I glance at Iris to see her frowning, her mouth pinched in concern. I know there’s no shortage of beggars and deadbeats in L.A., but maybe her people keep her insulated from them because she’s looking at this guy—this filthy, festering junkie—like he’s an abandoned puppy.
“Go on,” I nudge. “It’s okay.”
She moves and for an instant, the guy tries to follow.
“Nope.” I grip a handful of his shirt, and he must know not to fight.
“But—” He shrugs, his face screwed up in frustration. “What’m I supposed to do with this?” He rattles the protein bar like it’s a piece trash. “How’s this gonna help me?”
Iris flinches as she hurries toward the Uber, but, luckily, she doesn’t turn back.
“Eat it,” I tell him. “And maybe get some help. There’s a clinic on Vermilion Street.”
We both watch Iris climb into the rideshare, and the driver wastes no time pulling away.
“Will she be back?” the bum asks, sounding hopeful.
“No.” And with the word I give him a little shake. “And you won’t be either if you know what’s good for you.”
He shrugs out of my grip with a sour look. “Nobody tells Flip what to do.”
I square my shoulders. “Well, Flip, nobody comes back here after I send them away.”