The following is a work of fiction. The characters and incidents portrayed and the names herein are fictitious and any similarity to the name, character and history of any person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

THE TRAMP

Me the bloke you’d most probably meet while you were going to office,

or going shopping, or just walking past me. You’d most probably just

pass by me without even a second glance. I guess that’s the bane of

Capitalist society. I live in San Francisco. Not that I have a postal

address where FedEx could be delivering mail. And what I mean by I

live in San Francisco is that one day I am at one place, and the next at

another. Ha ha. Just another day in the life of a tramp. In my life there

are only two kinds of days, unlike the average salaried American : good

days and bad days. Bad days are those when I don’t have much to eat

and gotta hit the bins to find some scraps. Good ones when it ain’t cold

and raining. I guess today’s been a bad day.

I was used to hanging around the docks. Every night I set myself under

an overhanging pass ( I choose the place about a month back cos it

was free of fellow tramps.) It is one of the connecting lanes that

branches out from the I65 which lead out of San Francisco. I guess it

was the noise that woke me up. Since I wasn’t used to being disturbed

in my penthouse I look around in the semi-darkness which occasionally

was illuminated by passing headlamps. “Howdy partner,” I shout at the

guy wearing what looked to me like a dodgers cap.

He looks up. I am stunned. He’s a chick. A she. She just stands there.

With the passing of a overhead 18 wheeler, I get a good glance at her

face. Young. Most probably a runaway. Or a bust druggie. Maybe

something to do with the cops. Who cares.

“Hey young lady. What da ya want?”

“Nothing,” she replies. Her voice is surprisingly clear.

“ There is nothing here Honey,” I reply. “ Ya looking for food, trust me

there’s nothing here. And if it’s a place you want, you can take the

other side. It belongs to Max, but I guess he ain’t expected today.” In

the passing light of the truck I saw her; far younger than I imagined.

About twentyish, with a dodgers cap covering her hair, she looked

pale, and haunted. She stood silently. A few moments of stony silence

passed between us. I said : “ if you’re looking for a place to do drugs,

this ain’t it. The cops will be here Period. And if they find you lying here

around the bushes enjoying your trippin, half unconscious you’d be

spending a lot of time in the 12th precinct.

“I don’t do drugs mister,” she says quietly.

Uptil now I was lying down. But as she walked towards me, I sat up. “

Look lady, you get nothing by killing me, ain’t got nothing on meself.” I

looked hard at both her hands, looking for a weapon of some kind. I

had my knife until yesterday until those cops got it from me. Right

now, I was a Christmas Turkey if she showed a gun or something.

“ I am tired,” she says. “ I been walking for long time mister, just

wanna rest for couple of minutes before I leave for home.”

“Sure,” I said, still not completely trusting her. Better keep some

distance between us, I think. I offer her my makeshift bunk.

“I am not who you think I am mister,” she says removing the dodgers

cap. “ got something to eat?”

“ Sure, just rummage in my bag and you’ll find a couple of sandwiches.

And if they smell bad, oke, just close yar nose and eat.”

“Where do you live?” I ask, as she gulps down the whole sandwiches

without a second thoughts. The food seemed to have broken the ice

between us. “ yonder,” she says. “ at the docks.”

“ At the docks?” I was puzzled. “ there ain’t no place to sleep there.”

“UMUM. Plenty of sleep, in the old building.” I guess she was fooling

me. There was nothing in the docks to sleep. Trust me. The whole

place stinks of fish ( if you can get used to it), it’s noisy as hell, and

more importantly the only thing you’ll ever find there are loads and

loads of container shit. And you can’t sleep in them cos they are

locked. Whatever it was I spoke up : “ ladie, there ain’t no buildings

there, else I won’t be sleeping in this place , would I?”

“ I’ve been there for the past week,” she says, smiling strangely at me.

I noticed for the first time that her teeth weren’t all that pretty. She

definitely had pretty hair. But her teeth were yellow. She must be

doing drugs. Chewable ones. That’s about time when the Lieutenant

showed up. Max, walked up trotting upto ourselves, looked puzzled by

the stranger. From his initial reaction I guess he was ready to fight for

his place, his home; but after I told him that the lady would be leaving

to sleep at the docks he seemed satisfied.

“I am not going to the docks. There’s a house there, an old one. It’s

near the Tower. I guess that’s what it’s called. You call it the tower

right. Beside it there’s this house.”

“That one,” Mac says suddenly. “You crazy to go there woman, it’s

haunted.”

“She’s been there past week.”

“Don’t kid me.” She adds.

“If you don’t trust me ask anyone at the port. Buddy.” He looks at me

tying to muster support for me. “There was a guy once, the police

killed him there, you know lady. He just murdered anyone he caught

there. Just dragged them up into that house. The port authority shut

that place up for good after some groups started protesting wanting

the place razed down. Someone even wanted a memorial built there.”

“You’re a lucky lady, yup, you’re lucky.”

“Nonsense.” She says brushing up. “ If you old folks have nothing else

to scare me, I guess you want to keep me here, with you. Huh? Nope.

You lie.” That was it. She stands up. “Thanks for the snack.”

“ Lady it ain’t haunted by one of the victims. It’s the guy the police

took down there. Seems he was a tramp like us, a bit crazy in the

mind, used to work on them with his knife. An you know after they

cleaned up the place, tey still found bits of bodies lyin in that place.

Ain’t no kiddin young lady. I’d say you ver very lucky.”

“Shut up,” she says gathering her belongings. Max stands up like he’s

going to confront her. The air is uneasy.

“Shit Man,” he says, looking after her departing back. “ DO --

SOMETHING MAN. IT’S FUCKING REAL MAN.”

“What you want me to go after her?”

“Do that, don’t sit here.” He screams. I catch up with her but trying to

talk to the young lady is like talking to a wall. It felt like that. No

response. She just kept walking on. My anger just rose. I mean, how

she could have doubted us. Such disrespect and disregard for advice.

As I soon realized it was foolish to try and talk her out of it. Before long

both of us had passed through the gap in the fence that lead into the

docks. It’s one of the places you’d find deserted when there weren’t

any ships which were undocking. As silent as a graveyard, you could

say. Tall cranes, overhanging steel rails that they use to carry the

containers, the cranes were totally absent, so were the loading crew.

Stark headlights crisscrossed the black gleaming concrete bathing the

docks with a strange light that resembled half moonlight. How could

she be so blind? Staring right in front of us were two very large lawn

boards.

Danger

STAY OUT –

by Order POLICE.

There was another one clearly visible, this one by the port authority.

TRESPASSERS WILL BE ARRESTED

San Francisco Port Authority

However, it was surprising how quiet the house looked, a gaunt fence,

windows boarded up. However at first notice, you’d definitely have

noticed that it was the only house in the neighborhood. Why didn’t the

port authority designers pull it down when they built the place? There

were a lot of spray painted warnings written all over the walls :

Haunted House – Killer Ghost Present. You enter You

DIE. There were more than a dozen warnings spray painted all over

the walls. I dunno, but I felt this woman was crazy.

“You see that?” I point to all the writings.

“There are no ghosts. Nope,” she laughs. Before I know it, she

disappeared in the back. Instantly, I made a choice to enter keeping

my foot inside the door. It smelt awful. Stale air punctured my lungs

instantly, and I shrugged back as if I’d received an electric shock.

Pungent, like I’d entered a dungeon or a lost crypt. Staring at me was a

very narrow hallway, lit with only wisps of light of the Dock’s halogens.

Beyond it was plain darkness. Just darkness. Something inside me

screamed getout but I was here. I let go of the door, and walked

forward never realizing when it shut.

That’s when the music began. Like an orchestra. God it was loud. Then

the lady’s song pierced through, above the music. A fat lady singing,

titillating the stage with her verbal acrobatics while I stood in a fully

clothed garbed three-piece suit getting ready for dinner. I was no

longer the poor man who scoured the streets for scraps. A fat lady in

front of me was singing songs about me. A bright light illuminated the

stage. There were people yonder, beyond the stage are, but it was

through a darkness that I did not care to see beyond. I was here.

Maybe some theatre in London, Paris, or Venice. I knew I had work to

do, with the fat lady singing, beckoning me on.

2

Lieutenant Henry, spat the tobacco out of the window. Newly inducted

from the Police Academy, Henry had to take the streets. He was sent

on beat patrol. Not at one of the places where there would be any

chance of using his police issue but to one of those dull highway jobs

where you speed gunned motorists exiting town. As usual with him was

an experienced Lieutenant Mackenshaw who gently snored away

through the night. Henry wished he got catch a nap or something

maybe a hamburger. Not that he needed it, but just like that. Some

rules even the cops can break, Mackenshaw had lectured him. That’s

definitely all right. After a couple of hours when the grumpy ( he

looked like a swollen toad who’d eaten too much) Senior Lieutenant

woke up he jumps out of the patrol car with lazy efficiency, belts up the

holster, gargles water, spits it out rubbing his finger all over his teeth;

smiles at Henry. “Let’s take this baby for a ride, Private.” “Yea, Private.

That’s what he’d called him. The sack of cloth.”

“Aye, aye dumbshit.” Henry thinks. “Yes sir.”

“ The radio was unusually quiet today.”

“Good for us,” the Lieutenant muttered taking the wheel. It was a dull

routine. And more routine. Driving around the empty streets, parked

cars, occasional mongooses. One by lane after another. The sky ahead

seemed to brighten a bit, with the faint shades of light rippling through

the sky when the car violently braked. Henry almost found himself face

to face with the windshield.

“Get out,” the Lieutenant mutters and quickly alights to face the man

who’s coming to them running through the bushes. Henry watches as if

in slow motion as the Lieutenant barks loudly : “ Stop or I will Shoot.”

Then to emphasis his point draws his gun out pointing to the running

man. Henry gets out, his hands on the holster. The man froze right

there shouting : “ we need help. O’ god help us.” The new man was

old, considerably in his fifties, pale and thin, with dirty clothes hanging

all over him A tramp.

“Who needs help?” the Lieutenant barks sharply.

“Them. My buddy. Thank god I saw you. That crazy bitch just wanted

to go.” Henry watched the scene cautiously, ready to react in an

instant. “Officer! I sent my friend into the haunted house. The

goddamn bitch just wouldn’t listen to us. Help them Officer!”

Henry smiled. He’d heard of UFO landing in backyards. These things

did the grapevine chatterbox let’s see when it happens rounds at the

Academy.

“The Dock house,” the Lieutenant says. “That’s the only one here.”

“Yes Officer. They went yonder the fence. That silly girl and my man.”

“Describe them?” The Lieutenant asks. “ Never seen that girl before

Officer. Arrest them, cuff them and drag outside ha officer. That bitch

don’t listen to no one. She just comes today huh.”

“What’s your name?”

“Max.”

“Describe your friend?”

“Yup. He’s lanky and tall Officer. Met bout a fortnight back. Got gold

teeth upfront. Or looked like gold.”

“Gold teeth. You sure?”

“My eyes ain’t that bad Captain. I seen my man over a week.”

“I am afraid you’ll have to come to the police station huh. Max. Just

couple of questions captain will ask you in the morning..” The Captain

opened the back door of the cruiser. “ Max backed away starting to

protest . “Don’t worry. I’ll get you one of the guest rooms myself. Nice

bed to sleep through the night. Give you my word.”

“Captain, what bout my friend. And that girl.”

“Max, you don’t read the papers do you. I don’t know how to put it to

you. But you know all those people were killed by someone we call the

Tramp.”

Max stared wide-eyed. “That I know.”

“He has gold teeth, in front, maybe the whole of his missing front teeth

is gold. I dunno. But that’s how they’ve described him. And now you’ll

describe him again to us.”

Max collapsed. The lieutenant showed a little kindness, beckoned Max

into the cruiser, like someone says to their old pet. “Get in. you very

lucky Max.”

“There’s a file on the captain’s desk huh Max. Right. And I’ll tell you

that the last time something like this had happened, the two officers

who’d gone in for the rescue, them Wilson, and Sammy boy who was

my partner, died within a month. Wilson died of a heart attack, and

Sammy had the worst I know. It’s Captain’s orders Max. No one’s to go

into that house. Hell I spray painted the goddamn yard myself.”

“You just gonna leave her then huh?” Max asks again, like a

condemned man about to be hanged.

“Yup. You enter the Dock house, you die. And no one will even recover

your body. You don’t believe me do you.”

“I DON’T,” Henry says.

The Lieutenant smiles, as if he’s done it before. “Dispatch, this is

Mobile Seventeen, reports advice of possible break in at the San

Francisco port Address : House 14- Bylane. The Old Building. Please

advice.”

“Can you confirm Mobile Seventeen.”

“Confirmed. Dispatch. House 14-Bylane. The Old Building.”

“Hold on Mobile Seventeen.” And then, after what seemed to be like

ten fifteen minutes in which the Lieutenant tapped his window sill

humming jail-break birds aloud, a male voice came over the

microphone. “ Dispatch, Mobile Seventeen. There has been no break-in

at the old building. Strongly advised to leave the tenants undisturbed.

Bring subject or subjects back for questioning.” Then as if on some

thought the voice added: “if any.”

“O’ Henry, Henry, Henry,” the Lieutenant says. “There’s a paper with

an address on the desk of Dispatch too. You’d see if you’ve ever been

to their call center.”

The Lieutenant started up the engine, and drove off.

© 2008 T.Prabhakar. All Rights Reserved