“Mrs. Grey, your bus!”
“Right.” Lifting the suitcase easily, she stomped off toward the buses, muttering. “Just wait till I tell my daughter I met a real angel. She’s never even met Don Ho.”
He waited until he saw her make her laborious way up the bus steps, refusing to let go of her suitcase, and sighed. “You’re welcome.”
“Look, kid, I don’t care what you think you are and how little sleep you think I’ve had and how much you think I need to drive safely, but if you don’t sit down, I’m going to kick your ass off this bus.”
“But I have a ticket.”
Barry Bryant sighed and rotated the heel of his left hand around his temple. “I don’t care. The harpy behind the ticket counter has already told me I look like hell, so I don’t need your two cents’ worth.”
Samuel leaned forward. “You don’t, you know.”
“I don’t what?”
“Look like Hell.”
“Sit. Down.”
A soldier of the light knew when to obey a direct order. Samuel sat down beside the only person on the bus. “Hi, Nedra.”
“Do I know you?”
“I’m an angel. I’m here to help.”
She stared deep into his eyes, watched the gold flecks overwhelm the brown, lighting up the immediate area in a soft luminescence, and said, “Get lost.”
“Get lost?”
“Yes.” For some strange reason, after a perfectly equitable Christmas Eve, her parents had sent her on her way feeling guilty about their lack of grandchildren. She was facing a twelve-hour shift in a hospital that could pay millions for one piece of high-tech equipment but couldn’t afford to order new bedpans, and she was in no mood to deal with someone who smelled like canned ravioli, a food her rising cholesterol level no longer allowed her to eat. “Get lost.”
“I can’t,” he admitted, glancing around at the confined space.
“Try.”
“But…”
“Now.”
He’d just settled himself as far from Nedra as possible when the driver climbed on board and glared in his direction. “What?”
Lip curled, Barry dropped into the driver’s seat. He’d got to bed at about three, got up again at six, and knew damned well he shouldn’t be driving. The last thing he needed at the beginning of a run to Toronto and back on a snow-slicked highway was some smart-ass teenager pointing that out. Of course it wasn’t safe. He knew it wasn’t safe. What did he look like, an idiot? But what was he supposed to do? Cancel the run? Call another driver in on Christmas Day? Fat chance. He had to do it, so he was going to do it, and there was nothing more to be said. Besides, it was double time and a half, and he wasn’t giving up that kind of cash.
Head pounding, he rammed the bus into gear. “And I don’t feel guilty about it either,” he growled.
“Yeah, you do.”
Barry whirled around. There was no way he could have heard the protest or been heard in turn from the back of the bus. I am not hearing things. Shoulders hunched, he eased off the brake and headed for the road. I’m fine.
The only other vehicle in the parking lot belonged to the cow behind the counter who’d probably report him and then he’d get suspended and lose as much as he was making today—so why was he even bothering?
He swung out just a little wide and the bus brushed against the fender of her car like an elephant brushing against a paper screen.
As they pulled out onto York Street, Samuel twisted in his seat and stared back at the crumpled chrome, wondering if he should do something. He knew he shouldn’t have done that, but he did it anyway. What gives? It was like nothing Samuel’d ever come in contact with before. It was…
Free will. His eyes widened, and he squirmed around to stare at the back of the driver’s head. When given a choice between good and evil, humans could freely choose to do evil, and sometimes they did. Okay, admittedly on a scale of one to ten where one was deliberately hitting a parked car and ten was committing genocide, this was closer to, well, one, but still. Free will. In action.
After that, the trip to Toronto was uneventful.
Although there did seem to be a number of off-road vehicles suddenly driving off the road.
Samuel would have enjoyed the ride had he not continued to slide down the angle forced into ancient seats by thousands of previous passengers, catching himself on his inseam. He had no idea why anyone would put such a torture device right over so much soft tissue, but by the time the bus reached Hamilton he was certain the Prince of Darkness himself had been involved.
Toronto had the turmoil he’d been expecting earlier. Samuel stepped out of the Elizabeth Street Bus Terminal and stared. Everything seemed overdone. There were just too many buildings, too much concrete, too much dirt—but not too many people given that it was nearly noon on Christmas Day.
“Hey man, you look lost.”
Samuel glanced down at his feet—he hadn’t known snow came in that color—then up at the twenty-something blond man, with the inch of dark roots, now standing beside him. “No. I’m right here.”
“Hey, that’s funny.” The smile and accompanying laugh was a lie. He wore a black trench coat, open over black jeans, black boots and a black turtleneck. It was supposed to look cool, or possibly kewl, but Samuel got the impression kewl had moved on. This guy hadn’t. “You just get to the city?”
“Yeah.”
“You got a place to stay?”
“Do I need a place to stay?” Was he staying?
“You going to try and make it on the streets?”
“I was going to stay on the sidewalks.”
“Like I said, a funny guy.” The outstretched hand ended in black fingernails. Definitely left behind by kewl. “I’m Deter.”
“Deter?” Higher knowledge finally provided information that wasn’t a fashion tip. “Isn’t your name Leslie?”
The hazel eyes widened, the hand dropped, and Leslie/Deter shot a glance back over his shoulder at two snickering men about his own age. “No, you’re wrong, man. It’s Deter.”
“Hey, it’s okay. I understand why you changed it.”
“I didn’t change it.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“No, I didn’t!”
“Yeah, you did. It was Leslie Frances Calhoon. Now it’s Deter Calhoon.”
“Leslie Frances?” howled one of the two laughing men.
“Shut up!” He whirled back around to shake a finger under Samuel’s nose. “And you shut up, too!”
“Okay.”
“Do I know you?”
In his existence to this point, Samuel had met eight people, not counting Nedra who he didn’t think he should count because she’d made it fairly clear she hadn’t wanted to meet him. “No.”
“So stop calling me Leslie!”
“Okay.”
“You don’t have a place to stay?”
Was he staying? “No.”
“Fine. So you’re coming with us.”
“No.”
“So you’re going to stay on the street, on the sidewalk, whatever. Fine. Here.” Breathing heavily through his nose, Leslie/Deter thrust a pamphlet into Samuel’s hand. “Greenstreet Mission. We’re doing a Christmas dinner. You can get a meal and hear the word of God.”
Samuel smiled in relief. This, finally, he understood. “Which word?”
“What?”
“Well, God’s said a lot of words, you know, and a word like it or the wouldn’t be worth hearing again but it’s always fun listening to Him try to say aluminum.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What you were talking about.”
Leslie/Deter glared over flaring nostrils. “I was talking about the word of God.”
“Which word?”
He snatched the pamphlet out of Samuel’s hand. “Forget it.”
“But…”
“No. Just stay away!” The black trench coat swirled impressively as he stomped back to his snickering friends and shoved them both into motion.