Shanahan woke up before dawn. No matter how much he drank, he woke up at the same time. He had been sedated in the hospital and woke up in his bed and grunted at his nurses when they came in to check on him. He cleaned up and dressed. He had to get another bottle before night fell.

That was the only thing allowing him to sleep without dreaming.

Getting out and walking around allowed him to get started collecting the precious loot he needed for a bottle. He still had the change from yesterday. He could get something to eat with that.

His stomach growled in agreement with that decision. A fresh sandwich, or a plate of eggs and bacon, would be good. Then he could worry about looking for money for the rest of his needs.

If he didn't overindulge, the change could be put to getting his precious bottle.

He went to the outer shutter and listened. He needed a peephole to see if anyone was in the alley before he opened his door. He didn't hear anything. He made sure the lamp was cut off. He slowly opened the shutter. He listened. Nothing seemed to be moving in the alley. He pushed the dumpster out of the way and crawled out into the alley. He closed the shutter and pushed the dumpster back in place.

He wished he had a lock for the shutter but knew that would raise questions if the dumpster was moved out of the way by accident. On the other hand, it would make things harder for anyone wanting to know where the opening went.

He didn't like the thought that anyone could enter his place if they knew where to look.

At least the other door was locked from the inside. No one could get into it from the storage bin without ripping the shutter off its track.

Shanahan walked down to the mouth of the alley. He turned away from where he had stabbed the guy the day before and headed down toward the cluster of restaurants and fast food places to look for change in the drive thrus. Sometimes he didn't have to ask for money.

Once he had made his rounds, he would think about hitting the outside charity boxes. Sometimes he could get a couple of dollars out of one of those before the restaurant crew could ask him to leave.

Sometimes he got enough out of one of those to last him a week. Sometimes he had to clear the area if he didn't want to be run off by the police. He didn't mind sitting in a jail cell, but he preferred to walk around without some bull breathing down his neck.

Jail was sometimes like the hospital. And he had grown to dislike the closeness of other people.

He picked up a dollar in assorted change when he saw her again. He frowned at the woman. She stared at him from across the street. He turned and walked the other way.

Here was the other reason he should have gone around. She must live in the neighborhood. The last thing he wanted was to have her turn him in for his attack. He wondered if he should raise up stakes. He could do that with a bus ride across town. He would have to find another squat, but how hard could that be?

Plenty of people found places to stay while trying to turn things around. Some even lived in tents and under bridges in little communities. That wasn't for him, but he could see others doing it.

He decided he should get off the street. Getting something to eat would help with that. He just needed to sit where he could see the police coming so he could duck out the kitchen.

Once he had something to eat, he could think about what he wanted to do next. He might have to spend the next few days ducking the police. He hated that. It required new clothes and a haircut and shave to change his appearance.

That required money. He didn't want to spend money on that when getting a bottle to calm his sleep was more important. He hoped the woman would let things be. He felt like she was calling the cops right now and telling them where to find him.

He found a mom and pop place called Riley's open for business. He went inside and went to the back of the place. He seated himself where he could watch the front entrance over a menu.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

He was the only one there. That wasn't good cover in his opinion. On the other hand, it was early. Other people might fill the place up while he waited for his food.

A waitress arrived after he had been at his table a few minutes. She looked like she was still trying to wake up with puffy eyes and half a yawn. She looked down at him as he considered the menu. She had let her middle turn into a marshmallow, but her arms still looked like sections of rope wound together under her heavily tanned skin.

“Are you ready to order?,” she asked. She held an order pad and pen in her hands.

Shanahan pulled out his tattered bills and change. He counted it with a flip of his thumb. He had enough for the special of the day with some left over to go to his bottle of the night.

The woman settled into the seat across from him. She placed her hands on the table. Shanahan started to slide out of the booth. She held up a hand to forestall him.

“We'll have two of the french toast combinations with bacon and biscuits, coffee for me,” she said.

“Coffee is fine,” said Shanahan. He put his money back in his pocket.

“Anything else?,” asked the waitress. She didn't comment on the sudden arrival, or the look on her male customer's face.

“I would like one of those egg sandwiches,” said Shanahan.

“All right,” said the waitress. She pulled the ticket off the pad as she walked away.

“How do you do?,” asked the woman. She tried on a smile.

Shanahan glared at her like talking to her was the last thing he wanted to do.

“My name is Seera Wyndham,” said the woman. “I would like to talk to you about what happened yesterday.”

Shanahan just sat and looked at her. He made no comment about her strange name, her off shade of red hair from a dye that hadn't set like it should, or the way her clothes didn't quite seem to match up. And now that he had a chance to look at her eyes, he felt there was something wrong with them that he couldn't pinpoint.

“I would like to hire you,” said Wyndham. “I need someone who can help me. I think you're the person I need.”

Shanahan sat back in his seat. That was unexpected. He considered things before he decided to turn the offer down. He didn't need a job. He was good where he was.

“I know you're thinking this is out of the blue,” said Wyndham. “I have a job finding people. I need someone to help me settle things when I do find them. I think you would be great at it.”

“Not a repo man,” said Shanahan. He didn't have anything against taking stuff from people, but he didn't want to work.

“I work on abducted children cases,” said Wyndham. “Sometimes the parent, or other unauthorized person, doesn't want to give the child back.”

Shanahan saw the implications. He didn't have a problem beating a kidnapper with a stick. He would do that for free if he ran into one.

“Why talk to me?,” asked Shanahan.

“You are obviously really skilled, and fast,” said Wyndham. “I need someone like that to help me when I go to do interviews.”

“Other detectives?,” asked Shanahan.

“They have their own cases, their own specialties,” said Wyndham. “They don't need anyone else to help them.”

“How much?,” asked Shanahan. He didn't know how he felt about this. He hadn't had a job since he got back to the world. Everything had slipped through his fingers. The hospital had tried to help him. He just couldn't bring things together enough to keep on the path.

Did he want a job beating up scumbags? He doubted it would help him with his inner turmoil. It might make things worse for him.

It was hard to keep your temper in check when you were being given things you could express it on.

How soon would it be before he killed some guy at the Burger King for looking at him the wrong way?

“I think I could pay you ten percent of what I make,” said Wyndham. “Hopefully you wouldn't have to do that much except look threatening.”

On the other hand, if he did have to do something, it was going to be something to put down whomever got in her way.

He wondered how much ten percent could be.

On the other hand, a steady income would provide him as much whiskey as he could buy.

He considered the deal from all sides as the waitress came with their food and went away. He could use some cash, and he didn't mind breaking things.

They ate silently. Wyndham kept glancing out the window, but she didn't try to press for an affirmative answer. Her companion had already shown that he wouldn't be pushed against if he could help it.

“I'll think about it,” said Shanahan. “Do you need an immediate answer?”

“I'm close to finding a missing girl,” said Wyndham. “I'll need an answer before I go to get her back.”

“I need some time to think about it,” said Shanahan. “I haven't held a job in a long time. I think you could hire a better man than me.”

“I looked you up after the altercation yesterday,” said Wyndham. “The police were free with your name. I don't think there's a better man for what I need.”

“Really?,” said Shanahan. He should get out of town. He didn't like that the police already knew what he had done, and who he was.

“The man you stabbed didn't want to press charges,” said Wyndham. She stood and placed enough money to cover their meal on the table. “He probably wants to get even when he gets out of the hospital.”

“If I want the job, how do I let you know?,” said Shanahan.

She handed him a card with her name and phone number on it.

“Call when you're ready,” said Wyndham. “I already know how to find you if something comes up sooner.”

She walked away.