“Yes, I was.” She picked up her bucket and tossed the dirty wash water into the street. “By the way, the lunch won’t be free,” she said. “I’ll be demanding some work hours out of you down the road.”
Peter opened the door for her. “I’ll do what I can.”
Inside, Peter saw the man with the shaved head and long beard she called Cas sitting at the same desk, typing furiously into his laptop. “Is he always here?”
“He lives here,” Josie said. “I’m not here all the time, but I don’t think he’s left the building for more than a few hours since he showed up a few months ago.”
“What’s he writing, a book?”
“I asked him.” She smiled. “He called it a manifesto.”
“That doesn’t sound good. What’s it about?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never seen it. He’s pissed off about the financial crisis, how the banks broke the economy. He’s hard to follow. I gave up talking to him about it. I wouldn’t worry about him. I think his meds are pretty strong.”
Walking toward the back hall, Peter’s eyes caught the swirling grain of the unfinished plywood. His chest began to tighten immediately.
She must have seen something in his face. “Why don’t you go sit by the front windows?” she said. “The afternoon light is really great. And I’ll get us some chili. You want jalape?os and cheese?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She was right, it was better by the windows, although he could still hear the clacking of the keys on Cas’s laptop. The chili was spicy, full of flavor, and Josie had a way of looking at him that made him feel like she could see something inside of him. Maybe something not quite evident to Peter himself.
He really wanted for her not to be involved with this thing.
“You coming to the march tomorrow?” She had a smear of chili on the corner of her mouth. He wanted to reach out and wipe it off, but he didn’t.
“What march?”
“Duh,” she said. “Veterans Day. There’s a march to the War Memorial. We’re all going. The center will be closed up for the day. We start at Veterans Park at ten, it goes until two. There’s gonna be a polka band and bratwurst and everything.” Her grin made her look fifteen years old. “You should come. It’ll be awesome.”
“Tomorrow’s busy,” he said. “But I’ll do my best. Gosh. Polka music and bratwurst.”
“And everything.” She punched him in the arm. “Don’t make fun.”
“Never,” he said, rubbing his biceps. “Listen, I wanted to ask you something. You remember about my friend Jimmy?”
“Who killed himself.” She nodded, serious now.
“Yeah. Well. I think he was hanging around with another guy. A black guy, with scars on his face, missing one earlobe. Does that ring a bell?”
“That sounds like Boomer. Kind of a loudmouth. He was friends with Cas, they used to sit and talk.”
“Was? He doesn’t come around anymore?”
She shook her head. “Boomer claimed somebody stole something out of our lockers. He ran around yelling at people, starting fights. But he never would tell me what was taken. I had to kick him out. He was being an asshole.”
“You have lockers?”
“Sure,” she said. “Some of our guys are homeless, and they need a place to keep their stuff. I roughed some boxes together out of scrap lumber and cheap padlocks. Not super-secure.”
He stood up. “I think I’m ready for that tour.”
“Well, don’t get your hopes up,” she said. “It’s not much.”
The white static roiled up when Peter came to the plywood wall, but he pushed it down and focused on his breathing. The plywood hall opened into a makeshift living space. There was an improvised kitchen on one side, a dented fridge, an old electric stove, and a few secondhand cabinets. Then two rows of bunks and footlockers, made of plywood and two-by-fours, and at the far end of the room two doors. On the side wall was a cheap hollow-core door. On the back wall was a giant iron door, much older and heavier, crusted with rust flakes.
Josie waved at the cheap door. “Bathrooms through there, again, not much, we could really use some help with those. You know anything about plumbing?”
“Enough,” he said. “What about that door? That big iron monster?”
“No idea,” she said cheerfully. “Although we might have to get it open one of these days. I think we’re going to need to expand.”
“How are you funding this place?”
“Funding?” she said. “What funding? I walk around and knock on doors and ask for donations. We found the couches on the curb. I talked an appliance repairman out of the fridge and stove. Sometimes I buy food with my combat pay. But when the cold weather comes we’ll get a lot more guys. We’ll be stacking them like cordwood.”
“What about rent? Construction, permits, all that.”
She laughed at him. “You don’t get it. There are no permits. We’re completely under the radar. The building’s owner walked away from it, I can’t even find who owns the place. The Health Department doesn’t even know we’re here.”
“It’s a squat? The whole place is a squat?” Although occupying an abandoned building was definitely one way to keep the rent down.