“I didn’t haul him from a burning building or a sinking ship,” I said drily. “He passed out in front of me, and I got him to a hospital.”

“I lost consciousness,” Elton corrected me. “It’s my heart. The doctors said I could have died without medical attention.”

“The doctors also said you could die if you don’t stop drinking, Elton. And I saw Pastor Lennon this afternoon. She mentioned she’d found housing for you.”

“But I already got my own crib. It’s private, and it’s a damned sight safer and cleaner than those shelters. And after lying in a tunnel in Vietnam with fifteen other guys, I like being by myself, where I know no one’s gonna piss on me in the dark.”

He turned to Petra. “You ever been in a shelter? ’Course not. Young girl like you, you got your parents to look after you, like I shoulda done with my own girl, but what with one thing and another, I let her down.”

He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, hiding a drunken tear, while Petra shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. Elton offered Streetwise to a couple of passing joggers, then looked at Petra again.

“Trouble with shelters, they rob you blind. You go to sleep for one second, and they steal the shoes off your feet. When you’re homeless, your shoes are your best friend. You walk an awful lot and you need good soles under your soles, if you get my drift.”

“Where’s your crib, Elton?” I asked.

“It’s private. I start telling the world, and it won’t be private anymore.”

“I’m not going to give it away to anyone, not even the pastor. But if I don’t see you for a number of days, then I’ll want to know where to look for you, see if you need a doctor again.”

He looked up and down the street. “It ain’t that easy to find, which is why it’s such a good place, but it’s over by the river. You get off Honore, and then there’s a path. And then there’s this shack, hidden way out of the way under the train embankment. Now, don’t you go telling no one, Vic. Not your daughter, neither.”

Petra giggled. “She’s not my mother; we’re just cousins. But, Scout’s honor, I won’t say anything.”

I gave Elton a dollar and took a paper. “I’m coming back in ten minutes with a sandwich for you.”

“Ham on rye, mayo, mustard, no tomatoes, and I’d be real grateful, Vic.” He danced across the street on his light feet to a coffee shop, where people were sitting at outdoor tables.

“What are you doing here?” I asked Petra. “Lock yourself out again?”