My Heart’s Home by Kris Michaels

Chapter 10

Cam left the tent where mother and daughter had reunited. There was no fire today. He'd make a foray into the city and scavenge for pallet wood or something to burn. But his mind wasn't on the necessities of survival right now. After they'd made love—no… had sex—Mercy told him what had happened. He applauded her resources in fighting the man but needed to show her some defensive movements if she couldn't run away. Avoiding someone bigger than you who is intent on hurting you is always the safest bet. If she couldn't run, there were several very dirty takedowns he'd teach both Mercy and Dezzy.

He searched the rows of tents and stared at each person that wandered outside the shelters. Not many were out. It was damn cold. Bull came out of his tent and stretched. "We heading out?"

"I am. You don't need to borrow any trouble." Cam shoved his hands into his pockets.

"I do." Punt came out of his tent. "I like trouble."

Enzo crawled from his small shanty. "Breaks up the boredom."

Cam chuckled. "We aren't starting a war."

"Well, that sucks." Punt stretched and yawned and then shivered. "We need shit for a fire."

Cam nodded as a thought popped into his mind. He wondered if Terrell's connection to the construction company owner could pull strings. Scrap wood in a dumpster or a pile outside the fence so the homeless wouldn't freeze. A win/win, right?The wood is gone, and homeless people live a little better. He'd text the guy as soon as he could use his phone.

"Let's go find Jordy." Cam held up a hand, stopping his new friends. "I'm the only one doing the talking. Copy?" He looked directly at Punt. While he hadn't seen the man lose control, after witnessing him kicking ass, he didn't want to have to try to stop him. Lethal was the one thought that came to mind.

"Affirm." Punt nodded and grinned. "I don't talk—usually." Cam put his hands on his hips and glared at the man. "Fine, fine, unless they attack us, I won't do shit. Probably."

"I'll take it." Cam laughed and slapped the guy in the gut. He was rewarded with a grunt. As they moved through the compound, people moved out of the way. When they crossed over to the camp's east side, the putrid smell of human feces, piss, and puke became almost unbearable. The west side dug deep ditches and put up cardboard for privacy. According to Bull, everyone would help cover it with dirt and dig a new one in the spring. Less than perfect, but better than taking a dump just outside a tent. Military training the homeless vets received were keeping some of the people from getting sick.

"This way." Enzo nodded, and they worked their way through the frozen detritus. Enzo stopped and cussed. Cam glanced over his shoulder. Three men were lying outside a structure, dead. "That's Jordy."

"Jordy got ahold of some bad shit. He died fast. Those two stole his stash and shot up. The same thing happened to them," a crackly voice from his side spoke. A man, impossible to tell how old, with rotted teeth and a face full of the pockmarks and sores that defined him as a meth-head, stumbled up. "Dina took the rest. Bitch wouldn't share."

Cam and Bull looked at each other. "Shit." Enzo started down the winding path at a jog. The rest of them followed. When they reached Dina's hooch, they were panting cold clouds of air. Bull bent down. "Dina? It's Bull."

There was a bit of scuffling in the structure before a small, dirty face peered out at them. The big brown eyes were wide and wary. "Hey, little man. Is your mom here?"

The child nodded. "She's sleeping. I think."

"Okay, hey, why don't you and your sister go with Enzo here. I have a protein bar in my tent. It's chocolate and peanut butter."

The boy shook his head. "Mom will be mad."

"Not this time, buddy. I promise it's okay. Grab your sister and your gloves if you got any."

The boy, maybe seven, reached back and helped his younger sister put her hat on and put her gloves on before he did the same. He looked back at his mom before he left the hut. "She's dead, isn't she?"

Bull looked in the tent and then back at the young boy. "Yeah, I think so. Don't you worry. We'll get you to someplace warm with people to take care of you, but first, go get that treat with Enzo, okay?"

The boy nodded and took Enzo's hand. Cam saw the tears hit Enzo's eyes a second before the guy turned away.

Bull leaned in and out quickly. "She's dead. All night, I'd say."

"We need to get the cops out here."

Bull's eyes snapped up to him. "What?"

"Cops, coroner. It is a healthy thing. Those drugs were tainted. They'll want to track it."

Bull stood up and glared at him. "Nobody going to care about these junkies." He stalked away toward the city.

"He'll call it in to 911. They'll show up when they can." Punt stood beside him and whispered, "So, how long are you going to be out here, cop?"

He slowly turned his head to Punt and barely breathed the words, "I'm not a cop."

"Yeah, well then, DEA, ICE, or something else. Who are you looking for?" Punt turned, glancing in front of and behind himself. "I recognize one of my own. Curt Puntarella, FBI. That OD is probably from grey death. If those kids had touched it, they'd be dead, too."

Cam looked up the hill where Enzo was walking with one child holding each hand. "Thank God for small miracles." Cam nodded, and he and Punt walked further away from the camp. "What are you after?"

"Not much I can actually talk about. Shit's dicey, and I'm only a portion of the operation. National security just about covers it."

Cam lifted his eyebrows and stared at the man before he spoke, "Now I'm wondering if you are off your rocker."

Punt snorted. He pulled out a badge from his pocket and lifted his jeans just far enough so Cam could see the business end of a handgun. "I may be crazy, but I'm not insane."

"So, national security, huh? Here in Hope City at the Cardboard Cottages?"

Punt nodded. "A transitory population that doesn't keep records of comings and goings. Cops generally keep away unless there is a dead body, and then it's usually just a bag and tag. So, where would you hide if you wanted no one to notice you? If you wanted to have meetings and didn't want eyes, wiretaps, or people talking about what you're doing?"

"I can see your point," Cam admitted. "But why Hope City?"

"Docks. Getting onto a cargo ship isn't hard and walking off after Customs clears the ship is a piece of cake, especially if you're dressed like the crew and carrying off bins."

Cam narrowed his eyes at his new friend. "And with interstate access from right next to the Cottages, whatever comes in could make out without notice."

Punt nodded. "Let me know if you see anything being carried in or out of the camp. Bigger than a cooler, about the size of a steamer trunk. Although, my hunch is it will be more like a truck showing up in the middle of the night, dropping it off or picking it up."

"Will do. I'm going to make a call and try to get some wood to burn. My task force leader knows a guy who has a building site not too far from here. Maybe he'll chunk his scraps into a pile outside the fence." Cam stared at the camp. The smoke tendrils of a few burn barrels rose through the freezing air. "I never would have believed two investigations are happening in this environment. How did you get this assignment?"

Punt sighed. "My junior and senior years in high school, I was homeless and what they called ‘unattended.’ My old man killed himself when I was thirteen, and my grandma died when I was a junior. I lived in her car and didn't tell a damn soul. My history teacher figured it out when he caught me washing my clothes in the janitor's closet one Saturday. The old man who did the custodial work didn't care, and I helped him with some of the heavy lifting. Mr. Prentiss, my history teacher, took me out to eat, and I fucking gorged, you know. Then he set me up with a counselor. I swear, I thought they were going to put me into the system. But they couldn't find me in a big city if I didn't want to be found. So, I got free meals, and the counselor found me help with the classes I fell behind in. I applied and received grants for college. When I graduated, I knew what I wanted to do."

Damn, he had been so insolated in the military. This case had opened his eyes. He scanned the shimmering, frost-painted tents and shanties. To be truthful, it had opened his heart, too. Where was the help for these people? How could humanity be reduced to this? Cam rubbed the back of his neck when a thought struck him. "Why did you stop me the other day?"

Punt chuckled. "Dude, I hadn't put two and two together yet. I didn't want to see you dead."

Cam scoffed, "Well, thank you for that. Next time, just get out of my way, yeah?"

Punt lifted an eyebrow. "And how would Mercy feel about that, you getting dead? Hate to tell you this, but your tent isn't soundproof. You were quiet, but I was awake. The only thing I know that makes sounds like that is when two people are getting close."

Cam sighed. "When this is done, I hope to God she'll let me help her. She doesn't trust cops."

Punt nodded. "And if you fuck her over, she never will."

"I have no intention of doing that." His words were firm, and so was his belief.

His new best friend snorted, "Well, you know what they say about intentions."

"The road to hell is paved with good ones." Cam finished the old saying. "Four dead bodies got them here pretty quick." He nodded to a black and white and an unmarked police car that was trundling down the miserable road to the encampment.

Punt stared at the vehicles for a minute. "Good time to make that call. Everyone will be watching what's going on." Punt nodded at Enzo, who was standing guard between the camps. A small gathering of people was milling around him, including Dezzy and Mercy. "Make your call, or more people are going to die, and it won't be from drugs tonight."

Cam watched as Punt headed over to where Enzo was standing vigil. He glanced at the people, searching each face, willing Mitchell to be present. He wanted to finish the case and take Mercy and Dezzy out of this place. Give them warmth, security, and… well, love. He started back to the tent and rolled that thought around in his pea-sized brain. The cold must have withered it. How could he be in love? A better question was: did Mercy feel the same way?