“Oh my god, I will smack you upside the head.”
She made the shape of a phone with her hand and put it to her ear. “Hello? Human Resources? I’m in a hostile work environment.”
I flipped her off and she laughed, sitting in the chair across from my desk and setting a stack of reports on my desk.
“Thanks,” I said, scanning the numbers, then groaning. “Are these right?”
“Afraid so.”
I dropped my face into my hands. “Where the hell am I going to find two-hundred grand by the fifteenth of next month?”
“We’ll figure it out,” she encouraged. “It’s not like we haven’t been here before.”
“The problem is, we’re here more often than I’d like.”
“Let me do some research and see if I can find some places to cut costs.”
“Thanks, honey, I’d appreciate that.” I gave her a sad smile. “You can take those flowers if you want them.”
Bellamy grabbed the vase, then left my office and I stared down at the budget. I ran a half-way house for troubled youth, and it had always been a struggle to raise enough money to keep everyone warm and fed, but things just seemed to be getting harder as more and more kids needed us and yet, we were running out of room and money.
Walker House had been started back in the late 1800s by a logging magnate who had a heart for kids in need. Walter Gerald Walker himself grew up on the streets after his poor immigrant parents both died, leaving no one to look after him. His life as a street kid would stay with Walker throughout his entire life, as would his heart for any child without a home. His story not only moved me but inspired me to get involved with the Walker Foundation. Walker House had obviously gone through a lot of changes since he set his vision in motion, but we all tried to keep that vision alive.
The building that held my office had been a huge win for us. It was once an old SaveMart building that we’d converted into a safe, no cost, residential community. On the front was an activity center, complete with basketball court, open to kids of all ages for after school care at no cost to the families. It was funded by the state of Colorado, and we had volunteers who helped out with coaching, tutoring, and general support for kids ages eleven to eighteen.
In the back of the building was the ‘home.’ We had beds for sixty kids. Thirty girls, thirty boys, plus rooms for the male and female counselors who lived in-house. We had a cook who came in every day, but mostly just to supervise, since the kids were required to make meals for everyone, gaining skills in the commercial grade kitchen that would help them out in the real world.
They were expected to make their beds every day, keep up their bathrooms, and clean the common areas on a rotation. Each person got their own lockbox so they could keep the limited things they owned safe, and no boys were allowed on the girls’ side, and vice versa. We’d been extremely lucky to have had very few issues, but I tried to never let my guard down. Our existence here was because donors thought it was good for their bottom line to give a great deal of money to offset their taxes.
It was also exceptionally good PR for them. Helping get kids get off the street on their dime, but in order for this to work, we had to keep themoffthe streets. They needed to be contributing members of society or the money would dry up, lickety split.
And when it came to my kids, I didn’t have the heart to turn anyone away, but if we didn’t find a way to stop the hemorrhaging of money, I’d have to make some hard choices.
I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. It was time to stop whining and actually figure out a way to make this work.
* * *
Jekyll
“Wrath!” Sundance bellowedas we headed into Nocturn.
Nocturn was a club downtown that the Howlers’ owned, and as its name might suggest, was typically a quiet place during the middle of the day.
Today, however, a group of us had to leave a meeting in order to haul Wrath’s ass away from the building. He was shit-faced and hollering for his woman, Sierra, who he was convinced was holed up inside the club.
“Sorry, Stoney,” our youngest recruit (who we’d taken to callin’ Boner for the moment), said. “Wrath told me he’d make sure I never got my patch if I didn’t bring him here.”
“It’s alright, kid,” Stoney replied. “Better than if he’d tried to drive his drunk ass here himself.”
“Where’s Scrappy?” I asked. “He’s the Wrath whisperer.”
“Gettin’ ready to go on a run to Olympia with Squeaker and Grimace,” Stoney replied.
“You might want to tell him to come down here instead,” I suggested.
Even though Scrappy was Scooby’s brother, Wrath had been the one to put him forward for membership. Scrappy grew up idolizing his brother and therefore the club, but Scooby never wanted his kid brother to wear a patch. Wrath saw potential in Scrappy and took him under his wing as a recruit, which of course pissed Scooby off, resulting in a pretty good fistfight between the two veterans. In the end, Wrath lost a tooth, and the club gained a prospect. Now, a year and a half later, Scrappy was a full patch and was the only one who could calm Wrath down when he went off the rails like this.
“Sierra! I know you’re in there, baby. Just come out and talk to me!” Wrath bellowed.
