Homeless Billionaire - Looking for Love
Marley Quinn
Homeless Billionaire: Looking for Love
by Marley Quinn
Copyright Information
Homeless Billionaire: Looking for Love
by Marley Quinn
© 2025 Marley Quinn
All rights reserved.
Author: Marley Quinn
Contact details: marleyquinn.reformist760@passinbox.com
Book cover, illustration: Marley Quinn
Editing, proofreading: Marley Quinn
This e-book, including its portions, is protected by copyright and may not be reproduced, resold, or redistributed without the permission of the author.
If you liked the e-book, recommend that your friends buy a personal copy. A big thank you for respecting the author's work
Table of Contents
Copyright Information
Table of Contents
Welcome to H4H
Sabrina Ford
Soldier On
Give and Take
Drugstore Cowboy
Total Failure
Working the Line
Blonde Intruder
Bonding Opportunity
Stolen
Gone Fishing
Office Meeting
Young Entrepreneur
In Between Jobs
Secret Mission
Brand New
Fraternizing
Pretty Smart For a Bum
Sweetheart
Party Invitation
A Little Something Special
Paying the Tax
Fishing With Mouse
Legend
Jam Session
10 Commandments Style
A Part of This
The Exciting Next Phase
Dinner Rush
Quite the Faux Pas
Secrets
Do the Right Thing
The Golden Palm
Lair
Family Reunion
Strong Feelings
You Fool
In This Together
Lots of Secrets
Fardo Sees Everything
Ambition
Hands and Knees
Kidnapped
A Message
NFE, Incorporated
Enterprise
Posse Comitatus
Rescue
Dark Revelations
Origin Story
Elderwood Chapel
Win-Win For Everybody
Bitter and Sweet
All For Love
Making It Work
Also by Marley Quinn
Welcome to H4H
Christopher looked down at his outfit and shook his head in dismay.
It was ironic. As the son of a billionaire, he could've snapped his fingers and gotten clothes ordered from the finest fashion houses in New York, Paris, or Milan. Or he could've had an army of tailors take his measurements and create any garment that the mind could imagine.
But to pass as a homeless person? Ah, that took a little more creativity. At first, he'd sent his butler to the local thrift stores, hoping to find something suitable there. But to his dismay, all the clothes had been washed, and anything too raggedy or threadbare had been discarded before it hit the sales floor.
Nonetheless, Christopher had ordered his butler to heap mud onto the items from the thrift store, followed by a good soaking in some beer as well as a mix of random condiments from the pantry. But that had just made the clothes sopping wet and completely unsuitable to wear.
In the end, money solved the problem - as it usually did - when Christopher had his butler drive around town until they found some genuine homeless people and bought the shirt right off their backs, so to speak.
And now, here he was, dressed in pants that were two sizes too big and reeking of a sour odor that he preferred not to inquire too closely about as well as a stained sweatshirt that said "Harvard Law," which was pretty ironic since his father had an annex named after him at Harvard following a sizable donation to his alma mater.
To complete the look, Christopher was wearing some ratty old Converse All-Star shoes and mismatched socks, with a faded Oakville Stampeders ball cap on his head to cover up his thick hair.
After taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Christopher walked up to the door of the homeless shelter and pulled it open.
Inside, to his surprise, it was almost like a waiting room at the airport, except there were no concierge staff inquiring if he wanted a hot towel, of course. Instead, there was a row of cheap plastic chairs next to a reception desk, and the place looked quite cheerful and clean.
"Hi there," said the middle-aged woman behind the desk, spotting him immediately.
"Hey," said Christopher, making sure not to smile. He'd forgotten to do anything to darken his teeth, and he didn't want anyone to notice the anomaly.
"Welcome to H4H," said the woman, giving him a warm smile. "My name is Bianca. Are you looking for some help?"
"Um, uh, I heard you have a place I could stay," said Christopher, adding, "You know, to get out of the weather."
"Why yes, we do operate a shelter," said Bianca. "And you're just in luck! A bed just opened up. Come on over and let me get you situated."
Delighted to have passed the first hurdle, Christopher followed Bianca over to the receptionist desk. What followed was a lengthy questionnaire, which Christopher hadn't expected.
The good news was that Bianca assumed he couldn't read, so she did all the writing. The bad news was that he hadn't fully prepared his backstory, so he had to wing it on a few items, including his history with "substances."
"Um, yeah, it's the drink, you see," said Christopher, his pulse racing. "I just can't put down the bottle."
"Mm-hmm," said Bianca, writing everything down. "That's okay. A lot of our residents struggle with substance abuse. Are you going to AA meetings?"
"Hm," said Christopher, trying to decide which answer would sound more appealing. "Yeah, yeah, AA. Good people there. Very helpful."
"Excellent," said Bianca, nodding. "Well, we hold AA meetings here twice a week at the center. If you want to go more frequently, we post a list of nearby meetings in the cafeteria."
"Ah, cool, yes," said Christopher, wishing he could scratch his scalp because the ballcap he was wearing was making his head itch horribly.
"All right, I think that's about it," said Bianca, impossibly cheerful despite the stink cloud he was putting off. "Do you have any things?"
"Things?" said Christopher, taken aback by the question.
"Yeah, your personal possessions," said Bianca. "Each resident gets their own cubby here, and you get to hold the key. Staff do not have access to them, so your things will be safe."
"Oh, right, my things. Yeah, yeah," said Christopher. "I, uh, left them with a friend."
"No problem," said Bianca, unfazed. "You can go and get them later. Now follow me and I'll show you where you'll be sleeping."
"Ah, thank you very much," said Christopher, relieved that the questionnaire portion was over.
He followed Bianca down a hallway, and then they entered a large space that looked like it might've been a school gymnasium at one point. The floor was subdivided into grids using colored tape, and inside each square was an army cot as well as a small dresser near the head of the bed.
"Okay, you're number 52," said Bianca. "Remember that number, okay? I know some residents don't like the numbering system, but it helps ensure that we provide everyone with an equitable share of the resources."
"Right, sure, sure," said Christopher.
Looking down at the spare army cot, he could scarcely believe he was actually going through with this. But after months of searching for his brother to no avail, there was no other option but to go undercover.
Somehow, his brother had managed to stay off the radar, eluding the finest private investigators that money could buy. The only tip the family had received about his whereabouts was an unconfirmed report that he'd been spotted panhandling in a park downtown.
All attempts to question the local homeless population had turned up empty handed, so now Christopher was here, hoping to maybe find some clue as to what had happened to his brother and why he had dropped out of society.
"Okay, last question and then I'll go get your bedding," said Bianca. "What name would you like to go by?"
"Name?" said Christopher, dumbfounded. It was only then that he realized that she had yet to ask him for his name, which was usually the first thing that everyone wanted to know.
"Relax, we're not the government," said Bianca with a little chuckle. "If you want to go by 'Spider' or 'Squirrel,' that's perfectly fine by us."
"Ah," said Christopher. "Um, you can call me Christopher."
"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Christopher," said Bianca, extending her hand. "And welcome to 4H4. We're glad to have you here."
"Um, thanks," said Christopher, feeling his cheeks go warm as he shook her hand.
He'd never shaken hands with a homeless person before, and he could scarcely imagine why anyone would want to. They were either crazy or out of their minds with drugs.
Most of the time, he didn't even want to look them in the eye. And yet here was this perfectly nice woman shaking his hand and treating him like a normal human being. It was such an unexpected move that it left him feeling quite dumbfounded as she scurried off to go get his bedding.
Everything had seemed so simple when he'd first planned this operation, but now, he was beginning to think that maybe he'd badly misjudged the situation.
Sabrina Ford
Once she was out of sight, Christopher sat down on the army cot. Looking around, he saw a few scary looking guys, but upon second glance, they were all elderly.
Many were quite gaunt, as if they hadn’t been eating well, their slender frames swallowed up by oversized coats. None of them looked all that scary, and Christopher wondered if maybe he’d misjudged homeless people.
Curious, Christopher opened the dresser drawer and discovered a small book inside. Wow, were homeless people avid fans of literature? That seemed quite surprising. But upon further examination, he saw that it was a Gideon's Bible. He’d seen a couple of those in hotel dresser drawers before, although he’d never looked through them.
Flipping through the pages, he saw a few passages highlighted, and there were even some notes written in the margins. Apparently, the previous owner had been religious, and Christopher wondered what had happened to him.
“Okay, here we go,” said Bianca, a stack of blankets and linens in her arms. “Laundry is every Wednesday, and that includes your sheets and blankets, okay?”
“Laundry?” said Christopher, who had never washed an item of clothing in his entire life.
In his house, clean clothes just appeared almost as if by magic, although theoretically he knew there was a washing machine and dryer somewhere down on the lower level.
“Yes, just mark any personal items with your number, which is 52,” said Bianca. “And here is the key to your cubby. Don’t lose it, okay? Because we don’t have any copies, and the locksmith will charge $100 to open it.”
“Right,” said Christopher, taking the key from her. It was a simple, silver thing attached to a long string that almost looked like a shoelace.
“Most of the residents wear it around their necks,” said Bianca. “But you do you. Okay, let me show you where the facilities are.”
“Facilities?” said Christopher, getting to his feet.
“Yes, the toilets, sinks, that kind of thing,” said Bianca. “Plus we also have showers. You’ll have to provide your own soap and shampoo, I’m afraid, as our funding is running a little short this month.”
“Ah,” said Christopher, following her down a hallway.
“Okay, these are the cubbies,” said Bianca, pointing to a wall of lockers. “And down here are the facilities. We do ask that you tidy up after yourself, okay?”
“Sure, sure, of course,” said Christopher as it dawned on him for the first time that he was going to have to share a bathroom, something he’d never done before in his life.
“All right. Lights out are at 10:00. The front door closes at midnight,” said Bianca. “If you’re not back before then, there’s nothing we can do. Any questions?”
“Um, I don’t think so, no,” said Christopher.
“Oh! One more thing,” said Bianca. “I almost forgot. You see that door there with the sign on it? That’s for staff members only. We had a little incident last month, so if we catch you going in there, I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Um, sure,” said Christopher, squinting to read the sign next to the door. “That’s the office?”
“Yes, that’s the director’s office, Sabrina Ford,” said Bianca. “It’s thanks to her that this place even exists. If you see her, please treat her with respect. We in the community owe her a great deal.”
“Sure, no problem,” said Christopher.
Sabrina Ford? The name sounded familiar, although he couldn’t place it. Then again, he met a lot of people. Had she attended one of his family’s fundraisers? Maybe that was it. Or maybe she just had one of those names that stuck in your head the first time you heard it.
“Okay, Christopher, duty calls,” said Bianca. “If you need anything else, I’ll be on duty at the front desk until 10:00.”
“Sure, thank you,” said Christopher, surprised once again by how civilized she was treating him. Maybe he’d misjudged the homeless after all.
Bianca turned and headed off, leaving Christopher to soak in his new surroundings. He took the key and walked over to the cubbies. The door to number 52 opened easily enough, but inside it was empty.
He’d forgotten to secure any personal items in his guise as a homeless person, but he figured he could get his butler to pick some up later so he could fit in better with the other residents.
Intrigued, he went to inspect the bathrooms, surprised by how clean and tidy they were. On a few occasions before, he’d had the misfortune to receive a call of nature at an inopportune time, and his experience with public bathrooms had been ghastly nightmares that he’d just as soon forget. But the line of three sinks, each with its own mirror, all looked perfectly presentable, albeit quite simple.
The next opening down the hallway was the shower room. As he’d feared, there was just a row of shower heads with no dividers or walls between them, meaning he’d have to get naked in front of other people.
Hopefully, though, he wouldn’t be here long enough to need to take a shower, although he wasn’t sure how long he could keep wearing his stinky clothes without going crazy.
Satisfied that the accommodations were adequate, if not particularly inviting, Christopher made his way back toward the gymnasium where his cot and dresser awaited. But just as he passed by the director’s office, he noticed that the door was open a crack.
Curious to get a glimpse of the woman who had made this place possible, Christopher peered inside. The woman inside, sitting at a desk and typing something on a computer, was much younger than he imagined.
She appeared to be in her mid-20s at the oldest, and she had long, glossy brunette hair. He couldn’t see her face, but she was dressed very smartly in business pants with what looked like a white button-up shirt.
Remembering Bianca’s admonition, Christopher was about to turn away and head to the gymnasium when the woman leaned back in her chair, giving him a look at her face.
His heart stopped in his chest, and he let out a little gasp. He knew right then that they had never met before because if they had, he would never have forgotten her.
Simply put, she was gorgeous, with high cheekbones and a lovely face, accented by just the lightest touch of makeup. Christopher felt his legs go weak as he risked stealing one last glance at her before stepping back from the door.
She was an angel, he was sure of it. And now all the discomfort and worries he had about spending a night in the homeless shelter immediately disappeared.
He might be surrounded by the dregs of society, but at least there was one beacon of light to cling onto, and her name was Sabrina Ford.
Soldier On
In a daze, Christopher stumbled his way back to the gymnasium.
He felt like he'd been punched in the chest or perhaps hit by a bolt of lightning. Never before in his life had meeting someone had such an impact in such a short time, and he scarcely knew how to process it. It felt almost as though some vital component of his being had been missing and had just been returned to him.
Yet none of that made any sense. You can't just catch a glimpse of someone through an open door and have that change your entire world. That's the kind of silly thing that only occurs in movies, right?
Feeling more confused than ever, Christopher sat down on his cot. For a very brief period when he was about 12 or so, he had considered joining the military.
It was probably after watching some heroic action film or something, but when he'd told his father that he wanted to join the army, his father had just laughed.
"Hope you like eating beans and sleeping on the ground," his father had said.
It had been a good bonding moment, but as Christopher sat there on his cot, he started to realize the truth of his father's words.
Unlike his king-sized bed at home, which was customized to his exact sleeping preferences, including the firmness of the mattress and the temperature, the cot was stiff and unyielding. Furthermore, it was far too narrow. Frankly, he doubted whether he'd even be able to get to sleep.
Just then, a burly man in a faded camouflage jacket came over into Christopher's grid square, which felt like an invasion of privacy.
"Yo, man," said the guy, his breath smelling foul and rotten. "Let me get a smoke, man."
"Um, sorry, I don't smoke," said Christopher, leaning away to try and avoid breathing in the man's stench.
"Yo, why you lying, man? Ain't no reason to lie. We all good here, man," said the guy in the camouflage jacket, getting antsy.
"I'm telling you the truth. I don't smoke. It's a nasty habit," said Christopher.
The man gave him a long, baleful glare and then turned away and walked off. It was a scary experience, knowing that literally anyone could just come up to him at any time. How did these homeless people deal with it?
By this point, Christopher's head was itching fiercely, so he took off his ball cap. But when he set it down on the bed, a skinny man wearing torn jeans came running up towards Christopher's grid square from across the gymnasium, waving his arms around frantically.
"No, no, no, you can't do that! No!" shouted the man.
"Excuse me?" said Christopher.
"It's bad luck to put a hat on a bed!" shrieked the man, pointing at Christopher's ball cap. "Christ, you trying to kill us all or what?"
"Oh, um, sorry," said Christopher, picking up the cap and resting it on his knees.
"Shit," said the man in the jeans, shaking his head as if Christopher was the dumbest person who had ever lived. "Don't be jinxing us again like that."
"Won't happen again," said Christopher, watching as the guy walked back to his own grid square.
How many other unspoken rules were there amongst the homeless? Never before had Christopher felt less like he belonged. Of course, he didn't belong. His father was on the Forbes 100 list, and the family owned one of the largest multinational conglomerates on the planet.
Yet this wasn't just about money - it felt as though the homeless lived by a different code of conduct, and that code had very particular rules.
As Christopher mused about the cultural differences, he happened to glance down at his ball cap, and that's when he noticed the inside was covered in bright white specks. Bringing the cap closer to his face, he saw one of the specks move, and then he recoiled in horror.
Lice!
He'd never had lice before, but it did affect even the wealthy sometimes. One of his classmates in lower fourth form had been stricken by those awful parasites, and the school had sent around a circular, warning everyone to make sure their staff took extra care in washing clothing items, particularly hats and caps.
Immediately, Christopher felt the skin on his skull writhe in agony, and he was sure that he had been infested by the odorous ball cap. What a stupid mistake, having his butler buy clothes off an actual homeless guy! And then not washing them beforehand? Utter foolishness.
There was nothing Christopher wanted more at that point than to get up and march right out of the shelter and never look back. One call, and he'd be whisked off to his favorite spa, where they'd pamper and wash him and eradicate every single one of those nasty lice forever.
But then he forced himself to remember why he had come - to find his brother.
"What do poor people do when they get lice?" muttered Christopher to himself.
Surely, there must be some kind of medicine they could take, right? If so, he'd have to ask around and find out and then get some.
But just then, a male staff member entered the gymnasium and shouted, "Lights out in ten minutes, guys! Ten minutes!"
Had the time flown by so quickly? Christopher could scarcely believe it. He jumped out of bed and went running up to the guy, who was wearing a red H4H polo and had a can of pepper spray in a holster on his belt.
"Hey, excuse me," said Christopher, keeping his voice low. "Do you know where I can get some medicine to treat lice?"
"Huh?" said the man, scowling at him. "Drugstore, of course."
"Oh, right," said Christopher with a little chuckle. "Cool. And is there one around here?"
"Four blocks down Western," said the man, looking quite irritated. "But they're closed."
"What? No," said Christopher, getting frantic. "My head is swarming with them. Please, don't you have any in the office or something? This is an emergency."
"Buddy, you need to calm down and return to your cot," said the man, one hand on the holster with the pepper spray.
"Um, I am calm. Please, can you ask? My head is itching like crazy," said Christopher.
"Uh-huh, I'm sure," said the man before turning his attention back to the floor. "Five minutes, people! If you need to go to the bathroom, do it now!"
"I'll give you anything you want. Just please help me," said Christopher.
"Look, buddy, I warned you," said the man, his eyes flashing with anger. "One more outburst out of you, and you get the spray. Now get the fuck back to your cot."
"Seriously?" said Christopher, dumbfounded. "I'm telling you that I have a serious medical issue going on, and all I'm asking is..."
But Christopher never got a chance to finish his sentence because the staff member unholstered his can of pepper spray and fired it into Christopher's face in the span of less than a second.
Give and Take
Blinded and coughing violently, Christopher fell to the floor, shocked by the impudent staff member’s audacity but also outraged by the amount of pain he was in.
“I warned you,” growled the staff member. “Now get your ass back to your cot or I’m calling the cops.”
“Okay, okay, sheesh!” spluttered Christopher, barely able to see due to the tears streaming down his face.
Somehow, he managed to stumble his way back to his grid square and had only just sat down on his cot when there was a loud clunk, and all the overhead lights went out. Alone in the darkness and still coughing, Christopher lay down on the cot, feeling more miserable than he could ever remember feeling.
How dare that guy spray him in the face as if he were some kind of rabid animal or something? It was outrageous! But then he remembered that was posing as a homeless person. And wasn’t that how homeless people were treated? As some kind of wild menace? It was a very sobering thought.
After a while, the pain in his face began to subside a little. Christopher stretched out his legs, dismayed to find that the cot was a little bit too short, so his feet were hanging over the end by a couple of inches.
He drew his knees up to his chest, wishing more than ever that his brother had just talked to someone instead of storming off that fateful night, disappearing into the streets of the city, apparently determined never to be found again.
In the darkness, the sound of so many other men nearby was quite uncomfortable. Some were wheezing and breathing loudly, while one somewhere in the corner was snoring loudly.
He could hear people coughing and turning over in their cot, and collectively, it sounded like a multi-headed monster, snorting and farting as it crept along in the undergrowth.
It was such a disturbing image that Christopher felt his heart begin to race. He braced himself for a long night, sure that there was no way he was ever going to be able to get to sleep. But then, to his surprise, he felt exhaustion wash over him and his eyes grow heavy, and then he drifted off to a deep and dreamless sleep.
When he woke up the next morning, Christopher was immediately confused as to where he was. He sat up on his cot, and only then remembered that he had spent the night in a homeless shelter.
He looked down at his feet, glad to see that no one had stolen his shoes while he slept, something he had read on the internet was a common problem.
Glancing around, he saw some of the other men getting up and making their way over to a door on the far side. His belly rumbling, Christopher got up and then did his best to straighten out his clothes before joining them. Thankfully, his scalp wasn’t itching too badly, but he still felt awful being in those dirty, soiled clothes.
The line wound its way down a short hallway, each man showing his cubby key to a staff member posted at the entrance, and then they emerged in what was clearly the cafeteria.
There was a metal track in front of a line of angled glass partitions with half a dozen people working on the other side, big clouds of steam coiling up from steel vats.
Watching the others to make sure he didn’t commit another faux pas, Christopher took a bright orange plastic tray from a stack and set it on the metal track. As the line shuffled forward, a worker would hand a bowl or a plate over the top of the glass partitions.
The first appeared to be some kind of soup, but Christopher couldn’t quite make out what was on the plate except that half the items were brown and the other were bright yellow.
The last worker in the line was handing out drinks, and the options were apparently tea or coffee.
“Um, I’ll take an espresso, please,” said Christopher when it was his turn.
The worker frowned at him and handed him a styrofoam cup. The liquid was a light brown, and he honestly couldn’t tell what it was, but he accepted it anyway to avoid causing a problem.
After that, Christopher picked up his tray and then walked around until he found an open space at one of the tables, which were set out in long rows. No one was talking, just slurping and eating, and the sound sent a little shiver of disgust down his spine.
The soup was all right, whatever it was, but there were not enough noodles for his liking. Mostly, it was just salty broth, and the orange color had an unnatural tint to it that Christopher didn’t want to think about too much.
As for the plate, the brown stuff turned out to be some kind of meat, and the yellow stuff was eggs, dry and rubbery to the taste.
Back at home, Christopher might’ve asked Cook to prepare Eggs Benedict with a lovely runny yolk and perfectly crisp toast points. The breakfast here was just a pale mockery of real food, and he wondered how anyone could stand it. Or maybe they just got used to it after a while?
Worst of all was the drink, which tasted like a watery echo of what someone imagined coffee was like. It was extremely sweet, probably to mask the fact that there was barely any flavor at all. Would it really kill them to provide people with a decent cup of coffee? Surely, even homeless people deserved that much.
When he’d eaten as much as he could stomach, Christopher got up and emptied his tray into the big garbage can at the end of the table. A few of the guys gave him hostile glances, seeing him throw away uneaten food, but there was no way he was going to finish that slop.
Just then, he saw a familiar face. It was Bianca, and she was walking toward him, holding a clipboard in her hand.
“Ah, Christopher, there you are,” said Bianca, giving him a warm smile. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Um, I suppose,” said Christopher. “Anyway, I was...”
But just as he was about to ask her about getting some medication to treat his lice, she interrupted him.
“Listen, you seem to be fitting in well,” said Bianca.
“I am?” said Christopher, surprised that she hadn’t heard about the staff member pepper spraying him.
“Well, by that I mean you’re clear-headed,” said Bianca with a little chuckle. “Here at H4H, we like to ask our residents to give back both as a way of reducing costs as well as giving back to the community.”
“I don’t follow,” said Christopher.
“You see those guys working the chow line?” said Bianca, pointing at the workers behind the counter. “All of them are residents here.”
“Oh,” said Christopher. “I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, they’re a great bunch,” said Bianca. “Anyway, how’d you like to pitch in and help?”
“Me?” said Christopher, taken aback. “I... I don’t know anything about cooking food.”
“Yeah, you,” said Bianca, giving him a big smile. “Don’t worry, it’s easy. Most of the stuff we get in here is precooked anyway, so you’re mostly just heating it up.”
“Ah, that explains a lot,” said Christopher, his stomach twisting as he remembered the awful food he’d just eaten.
“So, can I put you down for this evening’s shift?” said Bianca, her eyes wide with eager expectation.
“Um, I guess,” said Christopher, still unsure of what, exactly, he was signing up for.
“Great!” said Bianca, making a note on her clipboard. “Just be here at 4:00 and ask for Jerry. He’s the one on the end there with the green apron.”
“Ah, right,” said Christopher, looking over at the tall man behind the counter wearing a hairnet and a green apron that could barely contain his spreading gut.
“Thanks, you’re a real doll!” said Bianca before turning and walking off.
Christopher stood there, dumbfounded. His mission was to find his brother, or make contacts amongst the homeless who could lead him to his brother, and yet somehow he’d just gotten shanghaied into cooking dinner for the entire shelter.
His instinct was to go catch up with Bianca and tell her he didn’t want to do it, but then he realized that working the line might be a good way to get to know people.
Just then, something caught his eye, and when he looked over, he saw that it was the director, Sabrina Ford. She was dressed in a very smart pants suit, her hair done up in a casual yet elegant chignon. She was conferring with Bianca as well as a couple of other staff members kitted out in red H4H polo shirts.
Once again, Christopher was struck by her beauty. But as he continued to watch her, he realized it was more than just her good looks which made her so fascinating. She had a poise and a confidence that radiated all the way across the cafeteria.
Even though she was shorter than all the people she was talking to, she exuded a leadership quality, everyone’s eyes trained on her and nodding as they hung on her every word.
She really was a magnificent woman, and now Christopher had another motivation to stay and not run back to the comforts of home.
One way or another, he was determined to find an opportunity to talk to her and learn more about this woman who had made such a deep impression on his heart.
Drugstore Cowboy
Christopher watched as Sabrina wrapped up the conversation with her employees and then left.
For a long moment, he stood there, his whole body trembling. Even the way she walked was amazing. It was as if everything about her radiated grace and beauty. If only he could find a way to introduce himself to her!
But then he snapped himself out of his daze, remembering that he was wearing dirty clothes and had a head full of lice. Speaking of lice, treating that was definitely the first priority.
A few minutes later, Christopher was out on the sidewalk in front of the shelter. It was astonishing how many people were walking down the street, all of them seemingly in a hurry to get somewhere. What was all the rush? Were they all trying to get to their jobs or something?
As Christopher headed down Western Avenue to where the H4H staff member had told him there was a drug store, he was surprised by the way all the pedestrians were giving him a wide berth, being careful to never look in his direction.
At first, he assumed that they recognized who he was, but then he remembered that he looked and smelled like a homeless person. It was as if he was a leper or something.
The drugstore turned out to be a small outfit, not one of the big chain stores he was used to. There were thick bars on the window and the sign above the door looked faded and grimy.
When he walked inside, he was dismayed to see that there were no items on the shelves - instead, everything was locked behind see-through cabinets. It was eerie, almost as if he were in a museum rather than a place of business.
The pharmacy was in the back. Christopher could see an elderly man in a frayed lab coat dispensing medication behind a tall counter, but there was a long line of customers.
With a sigh, Christopher got into place behind the last person in line, a woman wearing a bright purple velvet sweatsuit combo that was far too tight to adequately contain her very generous curves.
The line shuffled forward at a snail's pace, making Christopher wonder why none of the other customers were complaining. Did their time mean nothing to them? But instead of looking angry, they all just looked sad and resigned as if their spirits had been broken a long time ago.
Finally, it was Christopher's turn.
"Good day, sir," said Christopher, putting on a warm smile for the pharmacist. "I'm looking for some medication to, ahem, treat lice, please."
"Huh?" said the pharmacist, his eyes rheumy.
"You know, lice?" said Christopher, pointing at his head.
"Aisle four," said the pharmacist, looking irritated.
"Aisle four?" said Christopher. "No, no. I was hoping that you could..."
"Next!" shouted the pharmacist, and then Christopher was rudely shoved aside by a tall, well-fed construction worker wearing a bright orange vest and incredibly dusty jeans.
"Fine," muttered Christopher to himself, shocked at how rude people could be.
He found aisle four easily enough, but again, all of the products were kept in a locked cabinet. There appeared to be two or three different kinds of lice medicine, but it was hard to read the text on the packaging through the glass. How was anyone supposed to find what they were looking for if they couldn't pick up the products to examine them?
After reading the sticker on the cabinet and realizing he had no other choice, Christopher paced around the store until he finally found an employee lounging in the back corner, his arms crossed, looking bored and doing nothing.
"Um, excuse me?" said Christopher.
The employee scowled at him and took a wireless earbud out of his ear. "What do you want?" he said.
"Um, I need a product from aisle four," said Christopher. "There was a sticker on the cabinet that said 'Ask for employee help.' That's you, right?"
"Whatever," said the employee, reluctantly getting to his feet.
Christopher followed behind the employee as he meandered over to aisle four. Whatever he was listening to was so loud that he could hear the tinny sound of it leaking through the earbud he held in his hand, some kind of angry rap song.
"Um, the lice medication there," said Christopher, pointing at what he wanted.
The employee took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the cabinet. He then grabbed one of the packages and relocked the cabinet.
"Um, excuse me?" said Christopher, reaching for the medicine.
But the employee ignored him. Instead, he turned and waddled his way up to the counter at the front and then set the package next to the cash register. Finally, it dawned on Christopher that they didn't even trust him to hold the product until after he'd paid for it.
Well, at least that wasn't going to be a problem as he had plenty of money in his flex account. Christopher bent over and took his phone out of his sock where he'd stashed it for safety. But after the phone had been powered on, he looked up to see the employee was scowling at him.
It took Christopher a moment until he noticed the "CASH ONLY!!!" sign taped to the front of the register.
"Seriously?" said Christopher, incredulous. He'd never heard of a business not taking Apple Pay before and frankly didn't even know if that was legal.
The cashier, busy filing her nails, just ignored him and went right on with what she was doing. When the employee saw that Christopher wasn't going to pay, he sighed and then threw the lice medication into a plastic basket behind the counter.
"Hey!" said Christopher. "I need that stuff. Just hang on. I'll go find an ATM or something and then come right back."
Alerted by Christopher's tone of voice, the security guard who had been posted up by the entrance came lumbering over.
"We got a problem here?" he said, one hand going to the baton he had hanging from his belt.
Total Failure
“No, no problem,” said Christopher, holding up his hands in frustration.
Not wanting a repeat of what had happened during lights out the night before, Christopher walked over to the entrance and then left the drug store. Was everyone this aggressive and rude downtown?
If so, no wonder it had such a bad reputation. Here he was, a customer wanting to buy something from a store, and they were treating him like some kind of common criminal. It was outrageous!
Momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight, it took Christopher a moment to realize a teenage boy in a hoodie had his phone out and was actively filming him.
“Dance, monkey boy! Dance!” shouted the kid.
“What the hell are you doing? Are you filming me?” snarled Christopher, but the kid just laughed.
Christopher lunged for him, but the kid easily darted out of his reach, grinning as if it were all great fun. Realizing he was making a spectacle of himself, Christopher turned away and began walking down the street, fuming with anger.
Was being homeless really such a source of entertainment that filming someone on the street without their permission was something that the kids did these days? What kind of way was that to raise a child? Didn’t anyone have manners or respect anymore?
After being denied the medication he’d come for, Christopher decided to console himself by buying some new clothes. It had been less than 24 hours since he’d been wearing the filthy rags his butler had secured, and he could already feel his skin crawling with revulsion.
Even if wearing clean clothes ruined his attempt to pass as a genuine homeless person, he no longer cared. He needed some new clothes, and he needed them right now.
But as he walked down the sidewalk, everyone studiously avoiding him, he noted that all of the shops in this part of town had thick metal bars on their windows. Truly, it seemed like the city was not doing very well, and Christopher began to wonder why that was.
It was a shame, really, as he could see that some of the buildings had lovely architecture, probably built back when downtown had been a more thriving and prosperous part of town.
Yet on ground level, everything was dirty and grimy. As he passed by each storefront, he saw that they had signs on the door reading “CASH ONLY - NO EBT - NO BANK CARDS ACCEPTED.”
In this world, at least, no one would take your money unless it was in the form of paper bills and coins, which was rather forbidding. Was bank fraud a big problem around here or something? Why didn’t they want customers to pay with their phones or use debit cards?
Tired and feeling dejected, and with his belly cramping from the awful food he’d eaten for breakfast, Christopher was headed back to the shelter when he saw a familiar profile.
Looking over, he saw a young man squatting in a trash-covered alley, smoking something out of a glass pipe. Was that his brother? Oh my gosh, it was!
“Hoon!” shouted Christopher, his heart racing.
Ecstatic, Christopher ran into the alley and up to the man. But at the last second, he realized that his eyes had been playing a trick on him or something. The man in the alley had horribly pockmarked skin on his face, and he was missing several teeth. It was definitely not his brother.
The man in the alley looked up at him with an angry expression, his eyes watery and red.
“Oh, um, sorry,” said Christopher. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Gimme five dollars,” said the man in the alley, holding out his hand.
“I... uh... I don’t have any money,” said Christopher, telling the truth.
“I said, give me five dollars,” growled the man, getting to his feet and stalking toward him.
Christopher turned and fled, not pausing until he was two blocks away. When he looked back, he saw no sign of the guy from the alley, which was a relief. Christopher paused for a long moment to catch his breath.
What in the hell was going on with this city? Everyone was so hostile and angry all the time, and the place looked and smelled like a dump. It was astonishing that anyone would choose to live in such a place. Or maybe they just didn’t have a choice.
Looking around, Christopher wondered what he’d do if he hadn’t come from a wealthy family. What if he’d been born here to parents with no money? Would he be able to get a job and provide a decent lifestyle for himself? Or were conditions around here so grim that even the best and brightest people didn’t stand a chance?
It was a sobering thought for sure, and Christopher was feeling pretty downcast as he made his way back to the shelter. He just couldn’t believe what a total failure he was.
He’d attended some of the best schools in the country and been taught by some of the finest professors and tutors, and yet even with his big bank account, he’d failed to get either any medicine or buy some new clothes.
Maybe he wasn’t as smart and as tough as he thought. Maybe he’d just been lucky to have been born in the right place, to the right people. And maybe his attempt to go undercover in the world of the homeless was all a stupid waste of time.
But hang on a second. His brother had made it somehow, so why couldn’t Christopher? Hoon was out there somewhere, and Christopher was more determined than ever to find him.
And yes, he had had some setbacks. But what separated the winners from the losers wasn’t luck, but grit. If you get knocked down, you have to dust yourself off and get back up and try again.
With that thought in mind, Christopher straightened his shoulders and held his head high as he walked back into the H4H shelter.
Working the Line
Bianca was working the front desk when Christopher walked into the H4H shelter.
She looked up as he entered and gave him a warm smile. Christopher beamed and gave her a little half wave in return.
As he walked past her, he realized that it was only here at H4H where he was treated like a human being. Never before had it occurred to him how important this was and how much the homeless lacked this basic dignity. The people who set up this place were truly special and deserved every accolade.
On the wall, there was an old-fashioned analog clock, and Christopher saw that it was nearly four o'clock, the time when he was supposed to meet Jerry.
He made his way down to the bathroom and did his best to wash up, which was limited since he was still wearing the same stinking clothes as the day before, and his head was still itchy and crawling with lice.
When he was done, he headed toward the cafeteria. Christopher found Jerry easily enough as he was several inches taller than the others.
"Hey, um, I guess I volunteered to help you today," said Christopher, feeling more than a bit foolish.
Jerry nodded. It was obvious that the man wasn't much of a talker, which was okay with Christopher. Jerry then gave him a quick tour of the kitchen. There was an enormous walk-in freezer, which was where most of the "product" was kept, as Jerry referred to it. Pretty much everything was in featureless cardboard boxes, so you had to read the label just to figure out what was inside.
"Every meal has one protein and three sides, if we've got 'em," explained Jerry, pointing at a label. "Protein usually means meat, although sometimes we get fish sticks. It depends on what's been donated."
"Wow, it's so nice that companies donate food," said Christopher, trying to be friendly.
Jerry just stared at him for a long moment and scowled. "Come on, let me show you how we make the soup," he said, leading Christopher over to a battered refrigerator that had definitely seen better days.
As Christopher watched, Jerry explained how anything uneaten from the day before was chopped up and then placed into enormous metal pots to be simmered into soup.
"Sometimes we get fresh vegetables, but mostly not," said Jerry as he pointed at one of the workers who was dicing up what looked like chicken nuggets. "Scoop here mostly handles the soup."
"Hey," said Scoop, offering Christopher a little nod. He was an astonishingly skinny man with a scraggly mustache and a thinning head of hair.
"All right, these are the ovens," said Jerry, continuing the tour. "Most everything goes in at 300, but always read the label first. You know how to read, right?"
"Um, yeah," said Christopher, taken aback a bit by that question.
"I'm asking because we get guys in here who've never cooked a meal in their lives before," said Jerry. "Always use an oven mitt. I don't want you burning yourself."
"Understood," said Christopher.
Ironically, he too had never cooked a meal before, but probably not for the same reason as the other H4H residents.
"This here's Mateo," said Jerry, gesturing at an older, burly man whose arms were covered in a mishmash of overlapping tattoos. "He'll be working the line with you today."
"Yo, what's up?" said Mateo, his breath heavily redolent of cigarette smoke.
"Hey," said Christopher, giving him a friendly nod.
"All right, this here's the washing up station," said Jerry, leading Christopher into a back room that was very hot and humid.
Christopher knew that his home was equipped with a dishwasher and other high-tech appliances for keeping everything clean, but when he looked around, all of the equipment looked very unfamiliar except for a spray head attached to a long hose running from the ceiling that was being used by a wiry younger man with an enormous wine-colored birthmark splayed across his face.
"Mouse! Mouse!" shouted Jerry, trying to get the man's attention which was difficult over all the noise.
"Yeah, what's up, boss?" said the man after finally shutting off the sprayer.
"This here's Christopher. He's gonna be working the line today," said Jerry.
"Hey," said Mouse.
Christopher studiously avoided staring at the birthmark on the man's face as he gave Mouse a friendly nod. Christopher had no idea what circumstances had led to Mouse becoming homeless, but there must be a tragic story in there somewhere because Mouse looked far too young to be living on the streets.
"You ever done any restaurant work before?" said Jerry, turning to Christopher.
"No, no, sorry," said Christopher, shaking his head.
It was certainly strange to admit that because he'd definitely done his fair share of eating in restaurants. But working in them? He'd never even considered what went on behind the scenes to make it so that a dish of perfectly plated food could be hand carried to his table.
"That's all right," said Jerry, unfazed. "We keep things around here clean, real clean. Boss's orders. When you finish up on the line tonight, come back here, and Mouse will show you what to do."
"Right, okay," said Christopher, nodding.
"All right, let's get you suited up. Doors open in five," said Jerry, leading Christopher to a small supply room just off the main part of the kitchen.
Following Jerry's instructions, put on a clean apron that had a patchwork of faded food stains on the front and then tied up his hair in a hairnet.
Christopher was too embarrassed about the fact that he had head lice to inform Jerry of his predicament, so he decided not to say anything, hoping the hairnet would provide enough protection.
Blonde Intruder
“All right, Mateo, where do you want him?” said Jerry as they walked behind the serving counter where Mateo was putting steaming metal tubs into slots above what Christopher realized was a bain-marie.
“Sides,” said Mateo, grunting as he lifted the heavy tubs into position.
“Okay, you stand there,” said Jerry, pointing. “One scoop of each side per plate, you hear me? We don’t have time to take no custom orders.”
“Right,” said Christopher, nodding.
“I don’t care if they beg or shout. They get one scoop,” said Jerry. “And if they tell you they don’t want it, give it to ’em anyway. The most important thing is to keep the line moving.”
“Got it,” said Christopher.
“All right, that’s it. Now look alive because here they come,” said Jerry, pointing at the alcove where Christopher had passed through just that morning in order to get breakfast.
At a steady clip, people began filing past him. Christopher was nervous at first, but it didn’t take him long to get into a rhythm. One scoop of green beans, one scoop of something that looked vaguely like macaroni and cheese, and one scoop of what he hoped was mashed potatoes, and then you pass the plate over to the person in line.
As Christopher worked, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for some of the people who came through the line. Many were clearly suffering from some kind of medical condition or other.
Some had difficulty walking, and more than one had the shakes so bad that Christopher was afraid they were going to drop their plate. Everyone was wearing a different patchwork assortment of clothing, some looking new and in good condition and some so worn out and full of holes that they were just rags.
What shocked him the most, however, was the sheer number of people. Were things so bad in the city that this many people were homeless or in need of a free meal?
Never in his life would Christopher have guessed that so many people were down on their luck like that. He’d always assumed the homeless were a fringe group, mostly either drug addicts or people with serious mental illnesses.
But as people kept filing past, Christopher saw young people, old people, men, women, and even a few children, which were perhaps the most pitiable of them all.
By the time the dinner service began to wind down, Christopher was truly astonished by how much food they had dispensed. He hadn’t kept an accurate count, but it felt like more food than the caterers served during one of his parents’ charity fundraising events, which had hundreds of guests.
The logistics that must go into securing and then preparing all that food at 4H4 had to be on par with feeding an army, which renewed Christopher's respect for what Sabrina Ford was doing.
And what would these people have done if they hadn’t been able to get a meal at 4H4? Would they have just gone hungry? Plus, there were only about 100 beds in the gymnasium, so where were all those other people sleeping? The level of despair in this city was mindboggling to Christopher.
As the last “customers” finished coming through, Mateo had Christopher start bringing empty tubs to the back, and then Mouse showed him how to stack them in a particular order on special plastic trays.
As Christopher watched, Mouse would slide a tray over and then lower a large box-like structure over it which would then blast everything with superheated water for about 30 seconds. It was yet another industrial-sized operation, giving Christopher even more appreciation for what Sabrina Ford was doing at H4H.
When Christopher went back to get some more empty tubs, he noticed a familiar looking face sitting at one of the tables.
The woman immediately stood out because she had blonde hair with perfectly applied makeup and was wearing fashionable clothes. She looked so out of place amongst all the homeless and downtrodden people that it took him a minute to realize who she was.
It was Harper Banks, his ex-girlfriend! But what was she doing here?
Crouching down so that she wouldn’t see him, Christopher watched as she spoke to the other people sitting at the table. He knew she was a journalist, so it looked like she was doing an interview or something. Yikes! The last thing he needed was for her to recognize him and blow his cover.
Taking the final few tubs to the washing up area, Christopher’s mind began to race. The last he’d heard, she had left her job at the newspaper and gone to work for one of those edgy online-only media publications where they post flashy articles with clickbait titles.
But Christopher knew Harper was no airhead bimbo. Despite the reputation of her employer, Harper was a tenacious reporter, always doing her research to get to the bottom of a story.
Nonetheless, he hoped she was just at H4H to do a quick piece about the plight of the homeless. Yes, that had to be what it was. She’d figured out that the city was in rapid decline, and people needed to know how bad the situation had gotten. Perhaps as a result of her article, the mayor and the city council would step in and do something.
That being said, a part of him was still worried.
Christopher had learned the hard way that, despite Harper’s good looks and fierce intelligence, she was definitely not a person to be trusted.