"I don't think we could stay anyway," Sierra said. "We're supposed to be in a hurry but we keep getting bogged down."

"Well ... will of the Lord I suppose."

"Yeah, tell me about it. He isn't really helping with this weather either."

"Make use of it while you can. Might be cold now but there's going to be a big one coming in a few days."

"A big one?"

"A blizzard they say. Reckon it'll shut down the whole city."

"Our divine protector really picks his moments," Rum uttered.

"We'll just have to finish by then," Sierra added.

"Then I won't keep you no more. Good luck with whatever you're trying to do."

With that they waved goodbye to the gritty old bum named Len. He quickly wheeled round and merged back to his own group. Once beyond ears distance, Sierra spoke first.

"Well, that was handy." She looked at Rum. "You lied. You told him you didn't have any drink."

"You're surprised? I lie about everything."

"It is Christmas ... maybe I thought you could take a break."

"From lying?"

"From most the things you do. Hold off the drink, for a start."

"Drink? Good Christ that's a thought ... I should really dig into this stuff before Christmas is over. Nice thinking' Blondie!"

Old Rum delved into his coat pocket, pulling forth a full bottle of whiskey. Uncapping the lid, he slurped back a mouth full, exhaling to release the heat.

With a passive sigh, Sierra rolled her eyes. "Rum, you old ... clod. How many did you steal anyway?"

"Four. And they're all for me. No presents this year." He drenched his throat with another chug. "Now it's Christmas!"

Chapter 8.

Len understated his warning. This new neighbourhood wasn't rough, this place was a crime ridden eye-soar. Hookers prowled on sidewalks, hustling the only customers around - junkies and hobos. Clearly enough, drug dealers maintained trade on most street corners. The sights appeared ever seamier amidst the darkness of twilight, tinted blue by the flashing neon lighting over most buildings. They flickered like a warning from the past.

This was an entertainment centred district, at one time anyway. Though the old cinemas and arcades still remained, they'd become nothing but backdrops to the area's new attractions.

Sierra took in but a few images of the scene. "Nice place."

"It used to be ... a long time ago," Alex said.

"Have you been here before?" Sierra asked.

"Maybe ... it's been a while. The place looks so different it mightn't even be the same place."

"If you've been here before then speak up and show us the way. The sooner we're out of here the better."

"Let's just stick to Len's directions, they'd be better than anything I can offer. He said to stay along the riverside then cross at the first bridge."

Their current path ran straight along by the river. The first glance into its water would reveal a maltreated mess swamped with sewage. It seemed better not to take a second glance.

Up ahead a Victorian style bridge arched over to the other side. Crowds of people loitered all over it, yet it looked originally intended to act as a vehicle crossing. Not one single car had come through this area since they came here so it seemed safe to assume they rarely did.

Crossing the bridge themselves, they realised people weren't satisfied just treating it like a walking road, but had transformed it into something of a makeshift hostel. It looked like a third rate slum compressed into one small space. Shoulder to shoulder, addicts and hobos rested against the balustrades. Drug dealers hassled the bustle of wayfarers while prostitutes did so in kind. It was as if every social faction occupying this haphazard community could be found in this one spot. The bridge looked like something ripped from a middle age scene, an old time trade location between two towns on opposite sides of the river, a gathering point where traders meet. The trade appeared to be going strong to this day, except these tradesmen had thrown in their produce stacked stalls for cylindrical containers no larger than a baby's pinkie.

Alex, Henry, Sierra, and Rum hadn't made it half way across when two men began taking an interest in them. One was a black man, the other white both wore the same blue hoodie. They followed unwaveringly at a distance.

"Hey you," one of them said, tone betraying hostile intent.

The bums continued walking in hope their silence would cause them to lose interest It took one lapse in judgment from Henry to stir the pot. He didn't mean to acknowledge them but in alarm he chanced a glance their way.

The two men picked right up on it. "Yeah you! You heard me," the white man yelled.

"A-are you talking to me?" Henry winced.

Rum could have clipped him over the head for the stupidity.

The two men scuttled closer to the group. "Look buddy, we got some nice stuff here. You want some pills. Give it to you cheap, see," the black man said.

Since Henry stopped the others had no choice but to stop with him. And since the others stopped, Alex had no choice but to intervene.

"We don't want any push off."

"Wasn't talking to you."

"Was he talking to you?" the black man mimicked.

Alex shoved the nearest one back. "Walk away."

"Hey calm ... calm. We're trying to help that's all. Be cool."

"Help someone else."

Both men laughed among themselves, pacing away innocently. "No trouble tough-guy. No trouble." No sooner than they left did they begin bargaining with another tramp. That one didn't seem quite so reluctant.

Right off, the four of them carried on across the bridge.

"Fucking Dud!" Rum exclaimed at once. "Don't say anything to people like that, don't even look at them! That's how they spot the weakest in the pack."

"I-I'm sorry. I just ... reacted. Sorry."

"Sorry nothing. Since Alex had to bail you out we'll probably end up getting more trouble on our plates."

"You don't think they'll come after us do you?" Sierra asked.

"Let's just avoid using this bridge again. Something tells me this place is populated with its fair share of screwballs, and those guys aren't the exception. Besides, we promised Len we'd keep our heads low."

"That seems like a good idea," Alex said. "Did you notice those blue hoodies they were wearing? At Matter's bar there were groups outside wearing the same kind of outfits. Most of the dealers around here are wearing those same clothes too. This must be where mister Matters gets his income."

"Then let's hope he doesn't miss his debt book," Sierra said.

"I'd rather not find out."

They cleared across to the other side. Like a boundary between two different nations this side appeared empty when compared to the last. Maybe all the locals flood to the other side at night.

They stopped under a street lamp to gather their bearings.

"Len told us Grey Oaks is right across from the bridge," Rum said. "A lot of things are right across from the bridge, and I don't see no retirement home. The layout here is all over the place. The structure sucks, the locals suck, the entertainment sucks why the hell would anyone want to live in a place like this?"

"Deadbeats have to live somewhere," Alex replied. "Junkies need easy access. Hookers need customers and so do dealers. Some people have needs and this place supplies - call it a controlled hell hole."

"My favourite kind of hell," Rum said.

"The police must turn a blind eye here so criminals don't feel inclined to go into other areas of the city," Alex continued. "Controlled ... like keeping monkeys in cages. They might be confined but that won't stop them throwing shit at each other."

While the others spoke amongst themselves Henry wandered around checking signposts. One arrow pointed down a dreary alley.

"Grey Oaks retirement home," he read out loud. "H-hey, I found it!"

They grouped before the alley opening like knights before a dragon's cave. The alley path seemed to have been absorbed by darkness, as if they'd step in and fall to a bottomless pit.

Rum fiddled with the sign post in some vain attempt to change its direction. "Looks like a fine place for someone to drop an ambush. And from the looks of things, someone already did."

He drew their attention to a burnt out building which acted as one of the alley borders. They could see through the broken walls to pieces of furniture and cindered computer monitors dotted about inside. It might have been left that way since the day it burned down.

Sierra marched forward. From the way the others stood gawking at the scenery they'd never move without encouragement. The whole way down they clustered near one another for support. In reality the alley was quite short. Turning at a fork in the lane, their eyes met a dimly glowing light set above a metallic security door. A white van had been parked right outside. It occurred to them this wasn't so much an alley but more a driveway down, although the other passage at the fork appeared annexed to a longer alley. They didn't need to look down, they already found their goal.

"Well, this looks like the place," Sierra said.

The light above the metal door flickered as if reacting to their presence.

Alex pushed the metallic security door open. It wasn't even locked.

The interior was no grander than outside. Wallpaper peeled off onto the cracked tiled floor. Drips of water would tap the ground off the corner of their eyes. When they turned in time to see one drop fall another would pull their attentions away. Bed pans lay strewn about to catch most of the leaks.

Patients needed the remaining pans for themselves, not that they seemed capable of getting up and using them to begin with. What looked like the bulk of patients had been packed into this one room. They lay strewn on gurneys tied up to tubes and wires too advanced for the decor. More elderly sat planted on couches in front of a television set. The way they stared blankly forward they didn't seem aware of themselves.

Yet it was all one room. This small building bore no interior walls. Where walls should have been the floor merely changed surface from tiles to carpet. Right now they stood on tiles like those normally found in most reception areas. They couldn't see a reception desk though, not until a rustle sounded from behind a stack of boxes.

A woman in a pink orderly shirt popped up in greeting. "I didn't hear you come in, sorry. Be with you in a minute, I have to fix this."

Standing in waiting, Rum sniffed noticeably. "It stinks."

"Give it a week, you'll smell worse," Alex said.

"Doubt it. I've never crapped in my bed and slept in it."

The nurse finished her duty by placing a long wooden board across two stacked boxes, in the form of a table. Setting a notepad on top, she stood behind in waiting. It was the reception desk.

"Are you visiting?"

Sierra approached. "We're looking for someone."

"Name?"

"He's not a patient here."

"No? Then what can I do?"

Sierra held out the bank draft. "We're looking for this man. He donated money to this place but ... it never made it here."

"This ... is from John."

"That's what the signature says."

"How did you get this? John usually brings them himself."

"We're ... friends of his."

"That's not possible. John doesn't have any."

"We're new friends."

"You do seem ... more his type."

"So you do know him."

"We dated ... briefly."

"Didn't work out?"

"No. He's clingy. He gambles. He cheats. He never shuts up about his ex-wife," the woman blurted.

"That's a lot of present tense for an ex."

"Well ... to be honest I haven't gotten around to cutting the cord."