Free The Messenger by T. Davis Bunn

that was fine with him, he’d be working down in that area the next day, anyway. Taking it easy, not pushing, just along for the ride.
    But the bus station had been a nonstarter. Manny had searched the place from top to bottom, talked to some homeboys hanging out, found no sign of the girl and no one who had seen her.
    Unable to think of anything else he could do, Manny had agreed to John’s suggestion and walked with the big man to the motel. He had gone to bed tired and frustrated and angry, feeling both used and confused.
    And had woken up feeling exactly the same way.
    Manny shook his head when the waitress came by offering hot coffee, then asked Roskovitz, “So what about you?”
    â€œThere’s a church not far from here,” Roskovitz replied. “They’re setting up a relief center for local kids. Rich crowd, big church, you know how it is, don’t have any idea what they’re up against. They see these kids hanging around every day and never talked to one of them in their lives. But the Spirit works where it will, and from what I hear these folks have been hit hard. So they heard about some work I’ve done in Philadelphia, bringing kids off the street and getting them started with life. Asked me to come down and help them get set up.”
    â€œGreat,” Manny said dully. The Spirit. Guy just tosses it out like he’s on a personal first-name basis with something or someone he’s never even seen. This was another thing that had really messed with his head the night before, all the stuff Roskovitz had laid on him, pointing to place after place in the Bible, laying it all out, saying this was what he had to do. Had to do. Not like, okay, this is something maybe he should think about. No, it was, okay, you want to get a life, you’ve got to do this and this and this.
    Crazy.
    Manny felt the old urges building. Pushing him up and away and out of there. Back to the street. Back to where he was his own man, not having some former biker trying to scare him with stuff out of a book two thousand years dead. No, this whole scene wasn’t for him.
    He slid from the booth, avoided John’s eyes until he was on his feet. “Look, I gotta go check some things out.”
    â€œSure you do.”
    The quiet words swung Manny’s gaze up. Finding the big guy just sitting there calmly, watching him with that same level gaze, like there wasn’t a single solitary thing about Manny he didn’t know. “Yeah, well, look, it’s been great and all that.”
    Roskovitz nodded once, twice, three times. “Hard to take it all in, ain’t it.”
    â€œNo, hey, I really appreciate it and all, but you know, I got a lot of stuff to take care of.”
    â€œBig world out there,” John agreed. He pulled a pen and paper from his pocket, scribbled, handed it over. “That’s the name of the church where I’ll be. You don’t find me, ask for the assistant pastor. Guy by the name of Hale.”
    â€œHale. Right. Sure.” Stuffing the paper in his pocket. At least until he was out the door and around the corner. “Hey, good luck with the kids.”
    â€œHard as it is, you need to remember that the turning in the road won’t be there for long,” Roskovitz said. “Chances like this come and go and leave you trapped worse than before. You need to grab it while you can.”
    â€œYeah, hey, this is really fascinating,” Manny said, feeling the itch build until his feet were ready to fly, with or without the rest of him. “But listen, I gotta take off.”
    â€œMake the turning while you still can,” John Roskovitz said, the words flying after Manny in his race for the door. “I’ll be praying that you do.”
    ****
    Manny did not walk the streets. He paraded. His steps were a fiery dance of independence. Free from the worries and the pushing and the crazy talk, his own man again.