The only reason I cared why was to determine the potential level of the threat and the working environment. When I said nothing, he continued. "He's a Medal of Honor recipient and currently homeless. He received a medical discharge due to his injuries and has been forgotten like so many before him. That would have been the end of story except he wound up in a San Diego hospital. He had been beaten by unknown parties. The police believe its gangs of youths. It has become the latest fad to terrorize the homeless. The Committee has decided a Medal of Honor holder deserves the same protection he gave his country."
"Where's he now?"
"As soon as the police discovered he was a disabled veteran, they transported him to Camp Pendleton's naval hospital. He will be discharged in two days and taken to the Bread of Life Rescue Mission. You'll meet him there."
"I guess I need to go shopping," I said, now that I knew the client and his environment.
"Where are you going shopping and why?"
"Salvation army. If I'm going to be his homeless friend... You want the people who are attacking the homeless, don't you?"
"So you plan to live on the street?"
"Unless you want me to put him up in my condo. Based on what you said, it doesn't appear to be personal. More like being in the right place at the wrong time. Of course, someone might be after him specifically and attacking homeless people to cover up the real target. The only way to find out is to make him accessible."
"I can't be sure, but I doubt the Committee is concerned about the homeless, just Technical Sergeant James Hearn."
"Surely, there are other veterans out there decorated and homeless."
"It's a tragedy that so many of our veterans are homeless after serving their country. We tell them we are a grateful nation but it doesn't seem to be little more than cliche." Witton didn't seem to be talking to me since he was gazing out his window. I try not to judge people. I find staying with a person night and day reveals things not apparent from their day-to-day facade. What they say and what they think are often not necessarily the same.
"If you find out what the Committee wants, call me." I waved as I left. I was probably a good choice for this assignment. I had lived in some pretty run-down neighborhoods and had been homeless for a while. And I enjoyed playacting.
I spent the next day shopping for used-pre-owned-clothing. Rather than search for the best, I collected the most worn and out of date clothing. Watching the people in the shops, it reminded me again how fortunate I was. The next day, I left for San Diego. Ann Marie had booked me in first class, which got me plenty of stares although I wore the best of my pre-owned clothes. Not too surprisingly, I had the overhead luggage rack to myself. My fellow passengers seemed reluctant to put their designer luggage next to my raggedy backpack, and the guy next to me tried so hard to distance himself he must have had welts from the seat's armrests. The flight attendant and me were the only ones that enjoyed the flight. She and I found the situation amusing.
***
I arrived just after noon, knowing the hospital wouldn't release him before then. After about an hour sitting on the sidewalk towards the end of the building, an elderly woman came out and approached. She stood there inspecting me before speaking.
"You needn't sit outside...young lady. Meals won't be served for a while but you could wait in the chapel. It's better than sitting out in the street. Besides, it doesn't look good."
"I'm waiting for a friend." I wouldn't mind the chapel. I liked the quiet of churches. They were good places to meditate. My temple on the Hill had always been a place of renewal.
"You can wait inside just as well. If you tell me who your friend is, I'll let her know you're here." She sighed. Just then a black SUV with US Army printed on the side pulled up to the curb. I rose and walked over to the vehicle as a lieutenant stepped out of the back