“When I started doing this, helping people out, I got some flak from some of the gangs in the area,” Molson explained. “After a while, some of them realized that I was doing more good them harm. They could bring their injured to me, and I didn’t rat anyone out. A side benefit was that a lot of users were healthier cuz of the care I gave so they used longer. Only sometimes could I get some of them into rehab programs.
“We came to an agreement. I get to help people without being harassed, they get side benefits like free medical care for their members,” Molson pointed to his neck tattoos. “It started with just two of the gangs, now it’s six of them.”
“The tattoos are to let you pass through their territories,” Holly surmised.
Molson nodded. He approached a group of perhaps six people waiting under the light of a building, near a dumpster. One woman was holding a child on her hip.
“Look what we got. Doc Molson brought a girl,” a woman chortled.
“Ain’t got my degree yet,” Molson set down his duffle bag, ruffling the little child’s hair.
“Good thing too. He’d start charging,” a man limped over to join the group. “Then none of us could afford him.”
“You ain’t gonna start asking for money, are you?” a younger woman, still in her teens asked.
“I ain’t charging,” Molson assured them.
Holly handed out food, rationing out the soup and snack packs as Molson heard individual complaints and investigated before giving medical attention. Holly answered questions about herself, learning more about the people they met.
“Here, use the antifungal cream twice a day,” Molson gave a man a tube.
Holly tucked her hand in Molson’s arm as they continued onward. “I think, this is one of the best dates I’ve been on.”
