The Homeless Millionaire

The weather was changing. A raft of slate-grey clouds hung over the mountain peaks to the north, and was advancing toward the town. I could feel the breeze had gotten stronger, and quickened my step. I had no desire to get caught in a downpour, on top of all my other missteps and misfortunes.

As if on cue, a car passed me with the radio blaring Creedence Clearwater Revival; John Fogerty was asking whether I'd ever seen the rain. Yeah, I sure had seen plenty of rain already in my short lifetime, and had no desire to see any in the nearest future. I couldn't walk any faster, not with that fucking bag across my back; its end was bouncing on my ass with every step.

As could be guessed, Salmon Arm wasn't a big town, and within minutes I was approaching its centre. I passed a couple of higher buildings, blocks with businesses on the ground floor and apartments higher up, and there was a car passing every few seconds. I was the only person walking as far as I could see: everyone else was driving, and I felt I was sticking out like a sore thumb. I wanted to merge into the background, preferably just change into some sort of liquid and ooze into the ground and disappear.

I had a hard time realizing that I had become a killer. I was the same person, I hadn't changed at all in the past twenty four hours. But things definitely did, and it was as if it had happened to someone else, in another world.

I couldn't repent, that was the problem. I didn't feel remorse over killing Peter Schmidt. That ugly fat fuck had tried to fuck me, and would have probably killed me after he was done. Whenever I thought about that, I felt like killing him all over again. Killing him felt like the right thing. He deserved it.

I came to a supermarket, and after a moment's hesitation I went in. There were quite a few shoppers milling around inside, and at first no one seemed to pay any attention to me. I got myself a trolley and wheeled it down the aisles, trying to focus on my shopping: my finances were dwindling at an alarming rate, so it was important to buy only what I really needed. But I had a hard time getting focused, because I had an increasingly strong feeling someone was watching me. It quickly got to the point where I could actually feel someone's eyes on my back.

I rounded a row of shelves and turned into the next aisle and stopped after a couple of steps and turned around and waited.

A young guy wearing an ugly blue blazer and black slacks and a shirt with a tie walked around the shelving and into my aisle. He almost collided with me. He stopped a half-step away. He had a beak-like nose protruding from a chinless face that was covered by freckles and pimples. He also had a rectangular badge pinned onto his blazer. It said: Roy Maddon, Security.

"Hey, Roy," I said, before I could stop myself. "You wanna hold my bag for me? It's fucking uncomfortable, shopping with that thing on my back."

He stopped and gave me a pop-eyed stare. I grinned at him.

"Now don't get mad at me," I said. "Stupid joke."

I did some more grinning and after a while he grinned back and said:

"Sorry about that. You know, we get people who try and steal stuff. You've got that bag, so..." He let it drift.

"I get it," I said. "You were just doing your job. Listen, do you have a liquor store in this town?"

"Sure. It's not far, actually. When you exit turn left, then left again at the nearest intersection, and you'll see the sign maybe a hundred yards down the road."

He sounded like he'd given directions to the liquor store many times, to many people. I said:

"Thanks a lot, Roy. I'm Mike, by the way. I'm on my way to Vancouver. Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Sure."

"Where's the bus station?"

He proceeded to give me detailed instructions on how to get to the bus station, and then told me I'd have to wait till the next day: the second bus to Vancouver had already left. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was already well past three in the afternoon.

It was an unpleasant shock, and it must have showed on my face because Roy became even more helpful and told me there was a bus to Kamloops at half past five. Kamloops was on the highway to Vancouver and it was a way better place than this horseshit town, he said. I could catch a night bus to Vancouver or just kick back for the night, and party a little. He made Kamloops sound as if it was the entertainment centre of the world.

We parted the best of friends, which was just as well. He had noticed me and thought I could be a thief, so he'd have remembered me anyway. It was good he remembered me as a nice guy, not a maniac ready to stick a knife in someone's neck.

I did my shopping, buying a couple of packs of hardtack biscuits and a dried salami that cost the earth. I also got a big plastic bottle of Schweppes Club Soda: drinking bubbly water along with a meal made it more filling. I had just a little over a hundred bucks left after paying for that stuff and that was worrying, because I was done with hitching rides. I was going to ride a bus all the way to Vancouver, and that was going to cost me. I had to start watching expenses, buying only stuff that was strictly necessary to survive.

When I left the supermarket, I stopped to smoke a cigarette and held an agony session about going to the liquor store. But whisky had literally saved my life when I was riding that train. I couldn't rule out another drink-or-die situation happening soon. I couldn't rule out anything at all. I was a new and inexperienced killer, it had only been thirteen or fourteen hours.

I had almost exactly a hundred dollars left, coins included, when I left the liquor store. I'd bought a half-bottle of brandy and a half-bottle of scotch, same combo as I'd started my journey with. I wanted to buy just the scotch, but changed my mind when I was about to pay and got the brandy, too.

It came in useful quicker than I expected. By the time I'd gotten to the bus station and bought a ticket to Kamloops, I was so tired I was close to falling over my own feet. I still had over an hour to kill. There was a doughnut place nearby so I went there and spent a dollar on several coffees, adding brandy when no one was looking. That kept me going until it was time to board the bus.

There were quite a few people on that bus: it was more than half-full. I realized this was Friday night; people were traveling to party in the Kamloops metropolis. I didn't feel like having a party. I managed to find a seat without any neighbours, and promptly fell asleep. I didn't wake up until the driver had switched off the engine, and people began to leave the bus.

I left with them and smoked a couple of cigarettes at the bus station to get awake. I found out there was a bus to Vancouver leaving in just over an hour, got a ticket, and suffered an attack of money worries. The ticket was five bucks plus change, I already had less than a hundred. Finding a room to stay was bound to set me back by at least sixty; I'd have to pay a week's rent up front, plus another week's worth for deposit.

That left thirty-odd dollars for everything else, and it would take painful sacrifices to make that stretch for two weeks. Realistically speaking, I had a week to get my shit together once I arrived in Vancouver.

I found a secluded spot in the station and ate a couple of biscuits and a bit of salami, drank some water, and had a cigarette stewing over the fact that I'd have to cut down on smoking to save money. It upset me so much that in the end I had to smoke two more cigarettes to calm down.

It started raining right after I finished the third cigarette, and the bus really couldn't have come any sooner than it did. I was the second person to board it: the first was a frisky old bird in a pale summer suit and an elegant straw hat. He had a squadron-leader moustache that was as white as snow, but he bounded up the steps like a fucking teenager.

I was surprised to see a guy like that on the bus: he would have looked far more at home driving a Bentley. But maybe he really had been a squadron leader, a hero of the Battle of Britain or something like that, and now had to survive on a meagre pension and memories of the time when he'd been someone important. As a rule, military pilots stayed very fit right until death, regardless of how young or old they died. And so maybe he was on his way to a serious party in Vancouver, you never knew.

He actually sat down across the aisle from me. We were both in the back of the bus and both sat in the window seats and there was no one sitting between us. I was watching him out of the corner of my eye and soon after the bus got going, he cast a furtive glance around and took out a small inhaler. I could see the Vicks logo even at this distance but it was super-powered Vicks, because after he'd given himself a snort he sat up bolt upright in his seat and started following the landscape outside his window with rapt attention. He kept following it even after we drove out of town, and there was nothing to see but darkness.

I stopped watching him and watched the darkness on my side for a while.. Mercifully, it didn't take me long to fall asleep.