STREETCLEANER

He really loved these bleak, cold back streets. Streets of
factories, warehouses, storage sheds. Busy during the day but at night
deserted, except for the few security guards who rarely left their warm
gate houses on these winter nights and the flotsam of any large city -
the winos, druggies and homeless -all looking for a warm doorway or
dump bin where they could survive another night.
Wrapped in an worn old army issue overcoat he walked slowly and warily,
not afraid but ready in case someone should try to mug him and at the
same time watching for the right person to appear and allow him to
satisfy his burning desire.
He paused a moment when he heard a factory gate open then clang shut
just a few metres ahead of him.
Still walking slowly he watched a man hurrying towards him obviously
anxious to get out of the street.
As the man drew closer he could feel his breathing rate increase and
his palms begin to sweat. Maybe, maybe...
But when the man drew level and he could see him clearly he just kept
on walking - just some poor scared stiff wanting to get home after a
long day's work.
He walked another block almost resigned to the fact that this might not
be his night when a young boy stepped out of a doorway just in front of
him.
The street light illuminated his haunted face and emaciated body. He
was shivering and twitching both from the cold and from drug
withdrawal.
"Please mister can you give me a couple of dollars? I gotta get
somethin' to eat. Please"
"Sure" replied the man almost breathlessly, "and would you like a smoke
as well?"
"Aw jeeze, thanks" stammered the boy hazily amazed at his goodluck,"You
couldn't give me five bucks pleeze?"
The man smiled gently and extended the five dollar note with his left
hand.
The boy tremblingly accepted it, dimly wondering if his dealer would
still be in the vicinity and was hardly aware that the man had pulled a
long bladed knife from his right hand coat pocket and plunged it deeply
into his chest.
The man brought his breathing under control, then carefully wiped the
handle of the knife with a handkerchief, placed the five dollar note
and a cigarette in the boy's jacket pocket and slowly walked back down
the street.

The two patrolmen who found the boy sauntered over to the police car
which had just turned up.
They were pleased to see that it was Senior Detective Frank Varney a
grizzled veteran of twenty plus years - a copper's cop who was easy to
work with and new how to cut through the bullshit.
"What's the story?" asked Varney.
"Shit! just another junkie done in by our favourite street cleaner"
replied the younger cop. "Same modus operandi. Knifed and money and a
cigarette in his top pocket. This makes seven now in three
months."
Varney took a pull on his cigarette."OK you guys know the drill. Shake
down the area, talk to the lowlifes to see if they saw anything, file a
report by tomorrow morning."
As he watched the two policemen move off Varney stubbed out his
cigarette and wondered how long it would be until the found the
bloodstained overcoat in the dump bin. Not too long he surmised, they
were good lads.
He stretched and climbed into his car. He felt good, he felt - what? -
relaxed. Yeah that was it, relaxed.