I was led into the Tenderloin District. My boys entered an apartment building about a block from City Hall. Before they entered, Two Fingers gave the Vulture a dressing down. His head dropped and his hands disappeared into his pockets as he stood there like a sponge and soaked it up. That’s how kids get molded into criminals, how terrorists become terrorists, they are weak and easily manipulated by the criminal mind.
I needed to calm down. I was getting mightily pissed-off and that was a sure road to poor judgement. I didn’t need to do anything stupid, Kim most likely was carrying a gun. I took a few breaths, shifted my weight and stayed put.
This area of San Francisco was not a place for a picnic. It always seems to amaze me how the areas associated with the government centers are the most degraded and crime ridden areas of our cities. It was disgraceful. If they were doing what they had been hired to do, you would think it would be the exact opposite. The Tenderloin should be thriving instead of dying.
The bleakness continued to eat at me. It was seeping into my soul like a bad mood. I needed to get a grip and put my attention on something more positive.
I started thinking about some of the possible makeovers for the hardware store when I was jolted back to reality by an addict that had been sleeping in the doorway next to the apartment building where my guys had entered. It was a she and she decided she had to take a crap. At least she had enough sense not to crap in her own front yard, instead she scuttled into a nearby alcove that appeared to be the entrance to some branch of the government, there she dropped her drawers and let loose.
Maybe they’d finally get the message!
Wishful thinking. I knew in my heart that it would simply be despatched to and swept away by someone paid to do their dirty work. Presto! No Shit!
The governmental bureaucracy was like a vampire. I could feel it sucking the life right out of me as depression starting getting a solid foothold.
I shook my head. The Tenderloin must be a psychiatric dream come true. A real cash cow to all the budding pill pushers fresh out of Medical School with their psychiatric Phd’s. Two Fingers was just beating them to the trough. He had conjured the means to alter reality. He had the goods. He was the Candy Man, Mr. Dream and the Ice Cream Maker all rolled into one big fat joint. He had a street Phd and that was all he needed.
I really wanted to leave. What was I trying to prove for God’s sake?
When I looked up, the Vulture came out of the apartment building, alone.
I sucked in a breath and popped out of myself.
The Vulture had an army type knapsack that he hadn’t had when he went in. It was slung over his left shoulder. He looked nervous and tense or maybe he was just jacked up on Cocaine or Meth.
I followed as he moved down Market Street and back toward some semblance of civilization.
Richard Rensberry, Author at QuickTurtle Books®