8

Scott Harrington

I sat on a bench a block away from Three Rivers Mission. For the past week, I’d spent most of my nights there talking with Tyler and now had more than enough information to write his bio.

During the daylight hours, I hung out with Pete. Although he talked freely, I had to dig for anything personal. Pete held that close to his vest. I’d have to spend a few nights at the parking lot shed hoping the bourbon would make him loose-lipped. I needed to figure out how to get by the gate attendant. Otherwise, Pete would be passed out.

But today, I had another undertaking. Tyler left the shelter every night to make a delivery. Sooner or later, he’d get caught. Even if he didn’t, I could no longer sit back and pretend I didn’t know what was happening.

I watched for Tyler. Maybe I’d see him outside of the shelter. It was impossible to talk about it within those walls.

I caught sight of him walking toward me, edging around slow-moving pedestrians. He either didn’t see me or hoped I hadn’t seen him. He’d been defensive the last time we talked.

“Hey, Tyler.” I stood up and called to him as he neared the bench. “I’ve been looking for you. Where’ve you been all day?”

He turned his head my way, but his gaze fleetingly circled the area. “Told you, I hang out in the library.” With jerky movements, he turned his body so he faced away from the shelter. “I was just headed to Stanwix Street for dinner.”

He had a facial tic. I hadn’t seen that before. “I have a better idea. I can’t handle that food tonight. I managed to get a little cash panhandling. Let’s go get a big, juicy burger. My treat.”

He scanned the area again. “I don’t know. I need to see Jim by seven thirty.”

“Plenty of time. Didn’t you say he’ll save you a bed?”

“Yeah, but not for you.”

I waved my hand dismissively. “I told you. I can bunk with my old friend, Pete. Hamburger, French fries, ice cold Coke?” The words hung between us, temptingly.

He bit his bottom lip, rubbing his hand over his neck. “I guess.”

He took a few tentative steps away from the shelter, and I fell into step beside him.

We walked two blocks and entered Larry’s Diner. Within minutes, we were sipping on soft drinks and waiting for our order.

“How you been, Ty? You look a little stressed today.”

He took a long drink through the straw in his Coke. “No, I’m fine.”

“You upset with me about something? You seemed a little abrupt yesterday.” Maybe he would talk about his night deliveries without getting defensive.

“I’m just trying to get off these streets. I save every penny I earn and put applications in everywhere I can. But nothing happens. No family. No friends. I’m just tired of being alone.”

Tyler’s wheat-colored hair and spattering of freckles gave him a youthful appearance, even less than his eighteen years. “You have one friend. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you this week.”

“Yeah, well, I need to be careful about…” His words trailed off and he cleared his throat.

“About what?”

“Nothing.” He sat back, putting distance between us.

“About making friends in the shelter? Does Jim have a problem with that?”

Tyler rested his head against the back of the booth, his shoulders sagging. “He doesn’t like talkative drivers. They can get hurt.”

My chest tightened. “He told you that? He threatened you?” I clenched my fists. “Let’s get you out of there. Come with me tonight and meet Pete.”

The conversation halted when the waitress arrived with our burgers. Tyler eyed the plate hungrily, raising it to his nose and breathing in the grilled aroma. He picked up the ketchup and squirted a stream of red onto his fries.

“So what about my question? Will you come meet Pete? We’ll get you away from that business.”

“You don’t get it. This city’s not big enough. The only way I’ll get out is to leave Pittsburgh. I have nothing holding me here. Maybe I’ll have better luck getting a job somewhere else.”

“Every delivery you make puts you at risk. Any one of them could end up in a bust. And every delivery puts more drugs on the street. Can you live with that?”

Tyler jutted out his chin and glared at me. “You’re always judging me. I didn’t choose this. Once I realized what was happening, I was in too deep. I’m trying to get out. And don’t blame me for drugs on the street. They’ll be delivered with or without me.”

We finished our burgers in silence, and Tyler’s temper appeared to cool. I paid our bill, and we stepped out to the sidewalk.

“Thanks for dinner. Two more deliveries. I figure then I’ll have enough money for bus fare out of here.”

“Unless one of those two gets busted. Change your mind and come with me tonight.”

“Can’t.” He began to walk away.

“I can help you.” I called to his departing back.

Tyler turned his head, surprised. “You?” He eyed my frayed jeans and broken zipper. “How old are you, Scott?”

“Thirty-three. Why?”

“Well, I’m eighteen, and I don’t aim to be in this situation when I’m thirty-three.” He turned and merged with the crowd, heading toward Stanwix Street.

Once Tyler had disappeared from my sight, I walked toward Point Park. I had to get Tyler away from Three Rivers Missions at any expense, even if it meant blowing my cover. I couldn’t let him ruin his life while I pretended I didn’t know. Once was enough.

With that decision made, another question boiled inside my conscience. How would I expose this drug ring? How ironic that they used Three Rivers Missions to recruit when one of the three branches operated a drug rehabilitation center. Jim kept himself visible at the shelter. How could the director not know? Yet, an organization with a focus on rehab wouldn’t…but was the focus on rehab? Or could it be on profit? Were they feeding their own profit-making entity?

A sick feeling settled in my stomach. I would go to the police, but not before I got Tyler out of that mix. Not tonight, though. That might put him at risk. In the morning.