Monday – 11 pm

Jasper, a six-foot ginger-haired thug nudged his companion. “Hey, Barney, let’s roll this homeless asshole again and see what’s he’s earned for us today.”

“Sounds cool, man.” Barney’s skin was as black as Jasper’s was white, but something they had in common was the darkness of their hearts. The pair were twenty years old, had known each other since their schooldays and had never earned an honest day’s pay in their lives.

Jasper glanced over his shoulder before stepping into the dimly-lit alley entrance. He kicked the bulging sleeping bag. “Give us your savings, shit-head.”

Barney couldn’t miss hurting somebody who couldn’t fight back and his boot was also embedded in the bundle before a response had come.

“Maybe you should give me your savings … shit-heads.” The voice was deep and gravelly and came from the unshaven, dishevelled man emerging from beside a nearby rubbish skip.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” Jasper said. “I don’t know who you are, but if you hand over your money we might leave you conscious.”

The man in the woolly hat, scarf and Army greatcoat shuffled farther into the alleyway. “Let’s make a deal, eh, lads?” He moved another few paces in the knowledge he was being followed into the shadows.

“Who are you, ya’ soft shite,” Barney said and chuckled.

“My name is Victor.” The vagrant lowered his head slightly and murmured as he turned, “Did you two beat and rob Ozzie?”

“Who the fuck is Ozzie?” Jasper shook his head and unzipped his jacket ready to get started.

“I’m … Ozzie.” An old man with long grey hair and a matching beard limped out from a  doorway near Victor. He stood, hunched over looking up at the two thugs.

“You’re still alive, you old bastard,” Barney said. “Don’t worry, Ozzie, we’ll put you in hospital with your new mate … Hector … or whatever the fuck his name is.”

“The name is Victor you fucking neanderthal. What about my deal?” Victor stepped away from his grey-haired companion.

“Jeez,” Jasper said, “you are desperate. Make us an offer and then we’ll decide how badly we beat you.” He laughed.

“If you pay back the twenty quid you stole from Ozzie, I’ll let you both walk away.”

Jasper half-turned to Barney and laughed, but as he did he stepped forward and brought up his right boot straight at the new vagrant’s groin.

Victor stepped back, dropped to one knee and caught the thug’s boot using one hand on the toecap and the other at the heel. A tug and outward twist of ninety degrees resulted in a high-pitched scream from the ginger-haired bully with the dislocated knee.

Before his friend had fallen, sobbing, Barney had already taken two paces forward and swung a boot at Victor’s face.

The big man leant to one side, caught the incoming boot, but this time, stood, while still holding the thug’s right foot. He kicked Barney so hard in the groin that the bully passed out as he fell.

Victor bent over the unconscious Barney, checked inside his multi-coloured beanie cap and then rifled through his pockets, removing fifty pounds.

Laying nearby, Jasper got brave. “You touch my money … and … and you’re a fucking dead man.”

Victor was kneeling between the bullies. He turned to the sobbing and groaning Jasper, gripped his curly ginger hair with his left hand and punched him hard in the face with his right fist. A dull thud sounded on the cobblestones from the impact of the thug’s head. He was vaguely aware of his pocket’s being searched.

Victor walked to the alley entrance with Ozzie limping alongside, packed up their belongings and set off to another area.

“Remember, Ozzie, those two creeps back in the alley will be looking for us to take revenge, so keep your wits about you, mate.”

“I will, and thanks again, Victor. Are you sure you don’t need some of this cash?”

“No, mate, I’ll be fine.”

Five minutes later, Ozzie was one hundred and twenty pounds richer and on his way to a safe sleeping area. The money was tucked away in small amounts in different parts of his clothing. He accepted his new friend’s suggestion of getting to a late night hostel to spend a few nights in comfort. He had a small card with a phone number that a hostel volunteer was to call for him.

* * *

Tuesday – 9 am

“Good morning, Mr McLennan, the beard is coming along nicely.” The pretty blonde placed a paper cup of coffee on the man’s desk. “How is the insomnia?”

“Not so bad now, thank you, Sheila. I got four hours sleep last night.”

“My goodness, I don’t know how I’d function on four hours sleep.” The twenty-something shook her head and laughed as she went back out to her desk. She managed a sip of coffee before the first phone call of the day. She hit the speakerphone.

“Good morning … The McLennan Agency… Sheila speaking, how can we help you?”

“Good morning, Sheila, it’s Harry down at the Bain’s Road hostel. I’ve got two names for your boss.”

“Go ahead, Harry.” Sheila’s pen was poised over her notepad.

“We’ve got a guy in his twenties called Nick Taylor, and another fella called Carl ‘Ozzie’ Osborne who is in his late fifties. Both gave me one of your business cards last night.”

“Okay, I’ll put Nick down for ten-thirty and Carl down for eleven o’clock. Please remind them there is no need for collar and tie. All interviews are informal.”

“Both of these guys were showered and spruced up before breakfast. They look like different people. I’ll make sure they’ve got bus fares and give them the good news.”

“Bye, Harry.” Sheila buzzed the intercom and passed on the details to her boss.

* * *

Tuesday – 11.30 pm

The tall man in the long dark coat, woolly hat and gloves stopped at the store entrance and chatted to the bearded and dishevelled man wrapped in two sleeping bags. They chatted for a few minutes before the tall man walked on and spent a few minutes with the next homeless person.

As the dark figure approached the local park he glanced over both shoulders before he climbed the gate. The public park had been locked late in the evening as usual and the lighting was minimal and dim at best. The man walked the pathways in the moonlight stealthily approaching the numerous patches of bushes and trees.

He paused and squatted beside a bench to gaze amidst the nearest bushes. After a look around he crept into the undergrowth towards what appeared to be a makeshift shelter.

“Touch anything—your fucking dead.” It was a female voice, and the words were spoken as a sharp object touched the big man’s neck.

He slowly moved his hands out. “My name is Victor. I’ve got a thermos if you want to share a hot drink.”

Five minutes later the pair were sitting in the bushes a few feet from the bench, chatting quietly and sharing hot black coffee.

Victor continued through the park for an hour, stopping once at a body lying on a bench and another in a sleeping bag under an oak tree.

* * *

Thursday – 10.15 am

“Good morning,” Sheila said. “How can I help you?”

“Anita Rawlings to see Mr McLennan.” The dark-haired woman handed over the business card as all interviewees were expected to do as authentication.

“Thank you … may I call you Anita?”

Anita nodded. She stood in her padded jacket, jeans and training shoes looking around the small, simple office. For a moment her gaze fell on the blonde who was pretty and well-presented but didn’t have the finishing touches of false eye-lashes or fake fingernails.

“If you’d like a hot drink, Anita, that vending machine doesn’t require payment.” She smiled. “Choose something to warm you up and take a seat.”

“Thanks.” The visitor looked around suspiciously before turning to approach the machine. She pressed two buttons and was served a free, hot black coffee. She lifted the small paper cup and sat on one of the three comfy chairs. For five minutes she sipped the drink and looked at the handful of posters around the walls.

At 10.25 am, Sheila stopped working on her computer and went to the vending machine. She pressed the appropriate buttons for a black coffee with sugar. Although wearing a blouse and skirt, her outfit was as understated as her makeup but still looked good.

Anita forced a smile and raised her cup. “I suppose this stuff must be okay if you drink it.”

Sheila laughed. “I do use it, but this one’s for the boss. He wouldn’t expect his clients to drink something he wouldn’t drink.” She lifted the filled paper cup and walked to one of the two nearby doors, tapped lightly and went inside.

Anita looked at the office door which had a gold sign, ‘It’s Always Open’. She smiled as her gaze fell on the other door which was signed ‘Creature Comforts’, a military euphemism she recognised which meant it was probably the toilet and had soft toilet paper.

The first door opened and Sheila came out. “Anita, the boss will see you now.”

Anita finished her coffee and dropped the paper cup in the waste bin before going into the office. The door closed behind her and she looked around at the clean and tidy room. A town map with a variety of pins stuck into it took up most of one wall, while on another wall were two cork boards with numerous notes attached. Two comfy chairs were situated either side of the window and between them a small table.

The big man in crisp white shirt and faded jeans stood and came around the desk. “Hi Anita, and thanks for taking the first step.”

Anita shook his hand. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr—”

“It’s Victor. Please take a seat.” He indicated one of the two armchairs for his visitor and he used the other instead of going back around the desk. “Where’s the blade today?” He grinned.

The thirty-year-old lifted one side of her padded jacket to reveal a knife in a leather scabbard tucked under her arm. “Sorry, it’s become a habit.”

“Fortunately, I’ve opened all my mail, so you can leave it in there.” He sipped his coffee and smiled briefly. “When we chatted a couple of nights back, you said you’d been shacking-up in the park for two weeks. How long have you been living rough?”

“About eight months, so enough time to experience winter and appreciate the spring.”

“Have you had a brew?”

“I have, but I wouldn’t mind another—”

“What would you like?”

“Black coffee, please.”

Victor left the office, returning two minutes later with the hot drink for his visitor.

“Thank you.” Anita held the paper cup between two hands and stared at the steam rising from the surface of the liquid. “It’s the simple stuff you miss.” She almost smiled.

“If you’d be happy to tell me how things went south for you, I won’t interrupt.” Victor sipped his drink. “Take your time, and start wherever you like.”

It took Anita fifteen minutes to explain how after serving in Afghanistan she returned to the UK, left the army and had difficulty settling into a regular life. A mundane retail job ended when she was fired for assault, using excessive force to reclaim stolen goods from a thief. Within three months she had difficulty paying rent for her damp and dingy one-room flat. She had to move out and life went downhill rapidly.

“Thank you,” Victor said and nodded when the young woman stopped talking and stared into his eyes. “You’ve been through the mill and survived.”

Anita smiled. “When you’re trained to put your arse on the line for your country they tend to leave out the part that there won’t be much help when they give you your life back.”

“If you’d be interested in working for me, the pay won’t be great, but you’ll have free meals and decent accommodation. Any government benefits or military pension can be saved to give you a back-up.”

“I’m listening.”

“There are several roles to be filled, but to give you a flavour of things. At my disposal, I have a small block of twelve flats. They’re simply furnished and heated, but more comfortable than a park bench.” He grinned. “The jobs are related to how I found you. As of yesterday, I have four guys on training courses and four other people on the ground at night … patrolling. I prefer the night patrols to be teams of two.”

“Are you telling me that you’ve got people being trained to go out and help the homeless?”

“No, it’s a bit more than that. The aim is to watch out for the most vulnerable, but recruit any ex-Service personnel out there.”

“May I ask how many people you have on the team?”

“If you joined us there would be ten apart from me.”

“Am I allowed to ask why you’re doing this?”

“I don’t normally tell my story, but I’m not much different to you.”

“Except that you’ve got a job, a pretty blonde receptionist and a point to your life, although you’ve obviously lost your razor.”

He grinned. “There are three things we can do, Anita. The first is to survive, which is natural. The second is to pick ourselves up and start over. The third is to feel useful again, and it depends on your nature how difficult any of those things are for you.”

“What’s this whole scene about … Victor … are you a counsellor or something?”

“No, as I said, I was like you once. I fought back the best I could.”

“You lived rough?” Anita’s eyes opened wide in disbelief.

“Yes. I lived rough in Iraq, Afghanistan, and finally, Syria. Of course, I was living rough because it was part of the job … in the same army you were in. I came back here and without family or a job I had difficulty fitting in. I took offence sometimes when people looked down on me. I hit the bottle and also anybody who disagreed with me. It was a long road but I spent a year in the wilderness … mainly under viaducts, in alleyways, parks, and derelict buildings.”

“Shit. How did you end up with this … set-up?”

“I saved a man’s life one dark night. A couple of thugs were about to slice him up for his cash and valuables. He was grateful enough to let me have his sofa for the night. At breakfast time we had a long chat.”

“He must have been a special guy.”

“Not really, he was just a businessman who’d had a few drinks and was on his way home. He was grateful to be alive. He asked me to explain how I ended up on the street, and he said he wanted to help. The guy I saved had good contacts, and he helped me organise a grant. That’s how the accommodation, this tiny office suite and the courses are all funded.”

“I suppose you feel good when you get home at night.”

“I live in the same block as the rest of the team.”

Again, Anita’s eyes opened wide. “You don’t have a big salary and all the trimmings?”

“I have a military pension and I get a monthly allowance from the grant. I have the use of a small car which is mainly for the job and my greatest payback is knowing that we’re taking veterans off the street. In the past few months we’ve put ten people back into the real world.”

“What sort of thing would you expect me to do?”

“Unless you wanted help to get back into a regular job and a regular life I’d be happy to have you on the team. You’re resourceful and capable of taking care of yourself.”

“Could I maybe join those patrols you’re training?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you have any other women on the crew?”

“Only two at the moment, and one of them is on the night patrols.”

“What does the other one do?”

“She works as my receptionist and admin clerk.”

“That girl out front … Sheila … the blonde—” She squinted and shook her head slowly.

Victor nodded. “She was my first recruit, after I saved my benefactor’s life.”

“How did you find … Sheila?” Anita smiled.

“A few months ago I helped her dispose of a guy who attacked her when she was sleeping rough.”

“When you say, you disposed of him, you mean you gave him a right kicking?”

“There wouldn’t have been much point, he was already dead. Sheila used to carry a bigger blade than yours and she stuck it in his groin. I said I’d help her ditch the body if she’d help me with a new enterprise. We ditched the would-be rapist in a dumpster. His body will be long gone now.”

“Wait a minute, are you saying that Sheila is a veteran?”

“She was the sole survivor of a roadside bomb in Afghanistan and lived rough until she could get back to the base … which took her a week. I don’t think she’s ever told anybody how she survived. She left the army shortly after and couldn’t fit into regular life back here.”

Anita nodded and grinned. “Where do I sign up?”

The End

Taken from Shadow: and other stories.