Never Again – 22

 

As if some higher being wanted to make a liar out of Joseph, Cal was already at the site when he arrived the next morning.

The minute Cal saw him, he beckoned to him, saying, when Joseph joined him beside his truck, "Come on, there's something I want to show you."

When they were in the truck Joseph asked, "Another house?"

Cal shook his head as he pulled away from the curb. "An abandoned apartment building, still structurally sound according to the city inspectors but that's about it. It'll take… well, you'll see when we get there."

A few minutes later, Cal pulled into what had been the parking lot of a three-story building which, to Joseph, looked more like an old motel from some horror movie. There were steel stairways, some of them missing, leading up to the balconies on the second and third levels. Many of the doors were missing and on the ground level sheets of plywood took their place. The outer walls were covered with graffiti, some of it artistic but most just tags.

He pointed to one, asking, "Have gangs tried to take this over?"

"Tried, yeah, but the cops kick them out when they see them."

"Are they going to be a problem?"

Cal smiled tightly. "Not once we buy the building—if we do. That's why I wanted you to see it, rich boy. It's what I want to spend the money on you gave me."

Joseph nodded slowly as they got out of the truck. "So show me."

Cal did, but not until they had both donned the gear he had in the back of the truck, including respirators. Then they made their way across the debris-littered parking lot to one of the flights of stairs leading to the first balcony.

The apartments were small, with a living area, kitchen, one bedroom, and a bath. Abandoned, destroyed furniture littered them. Mold climbed halfway up some of the walls. Joseph had the feeling the ones on the ground floor were probably totally mold-covered. The third level was marginally better, although Joseph knew the mold would be in the walls if not on them.

"So there you have it," Cal said when they returned to the parking lot. "I figure it can house twenty to forty people, depending on if they're couples, singles, or families."

"You've checked with the zoning and building departments? Will you have any problems getting the permits we need?"

"There'll be the usual hassle, but Mr. Folkes, one of our supporters, has the right pull with the city to get things moving and he's volunteered to help me with this. The city wants things cleaned up down here faster than it's happening so far. And they want the homeless off the streets. They already closed down the encampment under the Pontchartrain Causeway, but there isn't enough room in the shelters, even if the people wanted in. A lot of them don't. They like their freedom." Cal sighed. "If we do this it'll help, marginally, but at least it's another place and who knows, it could set a precedent the way our rebuilding the houses has. Not just here, but all over the city."

Joseph snorted. "First you'd have to get the building owners to get up off their land. The tax breaks they earn until they find a buyer make it worth their while to hang on to it, come hell or high water."

"I know." Leaning back against the truck, Cal stared at the building. "So, honestly, what do you think?"

"Get the licenses and let's get the project on the road."

Cal turned to look at him, a bright smile on his face. "Thanks."

"For what? You wanted my opinion, I gave it to you. It's a good idea."

"Yeah, but sometimes what I think will work, others think is crazy."

"Like when you started Rebuild?"

"Yeah. There I was, a guy with no real experience and no job trying to…" Cal turned away suddenly, going around the truck to get in.

Joseph slid into the passenger seat before saying quietly, "There's nothing wrong with talking about yourself, Cal. No one's going to think less of you because you—"

"Because I what?" Cal broke in angrily.

"Lived the way you had to in order to survive."

"Like you'd know, rich boy," Cal snarled in reply, apparently surprised Joseph knew about it.

"True, I've never had to live on the streets. That doesn't mean I condemn those who have to. I wouldn't be here and trying to help if I did. You want someone to be angry at, take your pick." Joseph's voice filled with disgust as he spoke. "The government that does next to nothing, the military that hands you your discharge papers then tells you you're on your own, the mental hospitals that kick patients to the curb because they don't have room for them. That's who you go after. Not me."

Cal wrapped his arms around the steering wheel, resting his forehead on them. "Sorry," he muttered, so low Joseph barely heard him.

Instinctively, Joseph reached out to rub his shoulders. "It's okay. I shouldn't have pushed but then, that's me."

"The newspaper gene?" Cal said with a small chuckle, leaning back into Joseph's touch for a moment before pulling away quickly.

"That and the fact I like you and want to know… what makes you tick I guess."