William side-shuffled around the concrete pillar as Orelia walked by. The whole interaction between her and the homeless man had taken two minutes. Yet, she’d spent forty-five minutes to get here, making this a ninety-minute round trip journey. Why? Not for a moment did he believe her actions were of altruism.

He had never approached a recipient of her generosity, although he’d thought to do that before, but now this was the opportunity. What did Orelia Mason, best selling author, say to a person she’d condemned?

With a glance up the street to be certain she’d gone, he advanced toward the man. Now standing before the poor creature, the tang of alcohol and stale tobacco wafted over him. The man’s fingertips, filthy and yellow-stained, picked at his face as if invisible insects crawled across his skin.

Poor guy, what a terrible way to live. For a moment William imagined himself in his place. He shivered and pushed the thought aside. No, he would never allow that to happen.

More questions. Why was Orelia giving money to people such as him? What criteria did she use to choose?

The man clasped a large can in his hand which he waved toward William. William needed to get his hands into the tin and onto that note. He even considered walking away and waiting for the homeless guy to fall asleep, or maybe grabbing it while he was distracted by someone else giving him pennies.

Giving him pennies!

An idea hit him. From a side pocket he retrieved his wallet and extricated a twenty, brandishing it in the air in an exaggerated gesture.

“What’s your name buddy?” he said, still holding out the money as if it was a bribe. Which it was.

Red, sunken eyes appraised him. “Who’shh asking?”

“Will’s my name, and what’s yours? Would a twenty buy a good meal?”

“Oh, shorry. Yeah, name’s Jan. No joksh about a girl’s name. My mom’s Danish.” He stared at the note. “Hey, thank you man.”

Jan! Poor guy, that must have made for tough school years. Jan held up his tin and shook. Out of habit no doubt, to encourage William’s generosity. Orelia’s donation sat on the top.

Wow! A Benjamin. So that’s the going rate for a man’s life.

A paperclip held together the money and torn note. He couldn’t read it from here, but he recognized Orelia’s handwriting, having seen her scrawled writing enough times with her manuscripts.

He pulled another twenty from his wallet and grabbed the proffered tin. By twisting away to his left, he hoped this action would hide his thievery from Jan’s view. His hope was in that moment, the man might turn away, embarrassed to receive two large donations within a few minutes.

It worked. Jan looked off into the distance, his eyes fixed with a faraway look, no doubt dreaming of a delicious meal and a soft bed for the night. William slipped his fingers inside the tin, pushing the twenties deep. With a pickpocket skill he didn’t know he possessed, he separated the note from its partner as if he did this skullduggery for a living. When he withdrew his hand, secreted in his palm was Orelia’s message.