Page 144 of Outspoken

MIGUEL EASES THE RENTAL SEDAN to a stop outside of an abandoned building. It has clearly become a shelter for the homeless. Colorful tents populate most of what used to be a parking lot, and there are a lot of shopping carts scattered around with a person’s entire life jammed inside.

I open my car door. “Wait here. I’ll go ask.”

Miguel doesn’t listen and gets out after me. “You’re not going by yourself.”

I smile at him, if only to combat the awful panic that’s been making my heart race for the past hour. This is our eighth stop, and no one has seen Angel. It’s getting late in the afternoon and we’re both drained. We might need to spend the next several days searching, which isn’t good. Part of me knows we have to find himtoday.

If we don’t, I fear no one will ever see him again.

“Are you going to do this every place we visit?” I say to Miguel. “You know I used to come here to buy drugs by myself.”

He puffs his chest, stretching his plain white T-shirt, and steps closer, shielding me from a guy nearby who is staring. “Doesn’t matter. You’re not by yourself now. I’m with you.”

It’s a simple statement, but one that sends me into turmoil. I know he’s with me, and that’s all I want, for now and every day after. But this is another temporary, painful situation where we’re only together briefly before parting ways.

I glance toward the top of the four story brick building, not responding because I can’t without a shaky voice. It’s not the time to think about my feelings for Miguel.

Most of the windows on the building are broken, patched from the inside with blue tarps or old planks. I’ve been inside this place once, briefly, and it’s exactly how creepy abandoned buildings look in horror movies—damp, dark, lots of bugs that crawl in people’s ears when they sleep, and crumbling concrete floors and walls. It’s condemned, but homeless people have to go somewhere, so the city kind of ignores this place. Cops come now and then to arrest dealers or addicts, but otherwise, it’s left alone.

Shifting my attention, I glance at tents and anyone I see roaming around. My gaze stops on a sun-damaged old man sitting in a broken lawn chair. He waves at me and smiles with a mouth that’s missing half its teeth.

Miguel steps between us, tense, but I push him aside.

“It’s okay,” I say. “This is Chester. I know him.”

Chester groans as he stands and hobbles closer. “It’s nice to see you again, sweetheart,” he says, flashing gums and broken, rotted teeth.

I offer him a warm smile. He’s exactly how I’ve always seen him—hair and clothes in need of washing, plenty of scabs and wounds on his arms and face, friendly eyes. Chester always has kind eyes, even when he’s on a rant about satellites and men in suits tracking his movements.

Miguel hovers extremely close behind me, holding my shoulders like he’s ready to fling me out of harm’s way if Chester attacks. I reach around to pat his hip, trying to get some breathing room, but he doesn’t budge.

Ignoring my protector, I tell Chester, “I thought you were leaving.”

Chester raises his arms and then lets them fall in disbelief. “Couldn’t find a ride out of the city, sweetheart. I tried, but the suits were following. Thought I’d stay here until they decide to bother another poor soul. It’s been a decade and they won’t move on. How long ago was that?”

“How long ago was what?”

“Last I saw you.” He squints at the sky, watching for suspicious things.

“Probably two years.”

He glances at my hastily thrown-on shirt and jeans. “You look well. Your man is nice, too. Is he treating you good?”

I can’t stop my bittersweet smile. “Yeah. Really good.”

Chester gives Miguel a gummy grin while scratching sores on his cheek. “Good. You’ve got a sweetheart here. You should appreciate what you got.”

Miguel squeezes my shoulders and says softly, “I know.”

I don’t linger on how wonderful his touch and gentle words make me feel because we’re running out of time. I pull out my phone to show Chester a picture of Angel at the beach. “Have you seen this kid?”

Chester squints. “Not this one. The suits sent a group of kids yesterday. They trashed Mary’s tent and tried to fight her. I chased ‘em off.”

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.”

He points at my phone. “I’ll try to remember his face, so if you come back I’ll tell you if I seen him.”

“Thanks,” I say, pocketing my phone away. “You have food?”

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