by Peter R. West

(photo c/o hotels.com)

Like a bird of prey, Stanley Newman swooped down the curvy road that connected his Los Angeles hilltop mansion to the sprawling city below. The grin on his face grew bigger as he listened to a news report recounting how his client had walked away from the tabloid-covered trial. Stanley used every trick he’d developed over twenty-five years of legal scheming in the often-sensational Los Angeles criminal scene to help another big fish escape the hooks of justice. This latest one was the prominent real-estate developer Bruce Geins, accused of killing a homeless man under murky circumstances. The prosecution attempted to prove that his motive was to scare off the whole encampment that was situated too close to Cityscape Paradise, one of his new developments. The prosecution’s effort failed.

Geins was notorious for rough tactics that usually paid off as he had acquired choice lots around the city, got rid of any remaining homes and residents, and turned them into upscale neighborhoods, where homes were sold for top dollars. Having homeless people in close proximity was not good for his brand. After Stanley secured a dismissal based on self-defense, the approving headlines—in print, on television, online—added a sweet and creamy layer to Stanley’s initial dish of exaggerated retainer and outrageous fees. That’s what you should get for standing up for the contributing class, which is so often maligned by the liberal press, he thought. He had no compassion for homeless people—to him, they were an ugly boil on the face of the city, parasites that threatened the very fabric of the community. He reflected on his meteoric rise to the top of the legal world, clawing his way from a humble, working-class family, through a modest Cal State LA Law School, to building his own office by initially taking on less-than-prestigious cases that top lawyers had shunned, to finally developing a ferocious knack for scandalous murder trials that put him on the evening news. If he could make it, there was no reason for anyone else to sleep on the sidewalk or comb through trash cans.

As he approached the city, the drivers around him tried to maneuver their cars ahead of one another, as if a big prize was awaiting the one arriving first. Stanley could hear their incessant honking as they zigzagged in and out of lanes. But his silver Bentley was like a Roman galley warship rising through rough water, smashing all obstacles in its wake. His hand gripped the fine leather on the steering-wheel. His body pressed against the soft skin of the seats. His reflection in the mirror was of an attractive man with a kind face imprisoned by a tight ostentatious tie. He took a slight turn toward the homeless camp, which in the general direction of his office. The dismal sight of the people he maligned in court held a sordid appeal for him. The phone rang.

“Hi Honey,” his wife’s rich voice came through. “Just wanted to make sure you are going to pick up the stuffed turkey today.”

He totally forgot about that. Thanksgiving was tomorrow and his parents were joining them. “Don’t worry honey, it’s right at the top of my list.”

He veered off in the direction of the turkey gourmet shop. Orders had poured in to Phil’s Delicatessen for the past couple of weeks, and if you missed your turn, you were out. No going back in line. “These people are vicious,” he muttered under his breath. No time for the ugly camp today. 

“I am really proud of you Babe,” the wife continued. “Everybody is talking about you winning that developer’s case.”

“Piece of cake,” he replied.

“Have you thought any further about our talk regarding how to eliminate that encampment? It’s right on my way to Pilates. Brings the whole neighborhood down.”

“You got it Michelle. I already have something in the works.”

“You are a genius!” she exclaimed.

(photo c/o Brown AFP)

A few months earlier, at the urging of Geins, who wanted to try additional methods to push the camp out, Stanley met with an old friend, Amy Trent, who was in the day care business. He convinced her to immediately take over a shuttered dance studio near the camp. That would render the homeless camp in violation of the expanded city ordinance to remove all transients within five hundred feet. Of course, the costs of setting up the new business were to be borne by Geins—with a special bonus to be paid to Trent for her help. 

She had met Stanley in law school. Being dyslexic and having problems with concentration proved too much for her in the overly detailed legal world and she failed to pass the bar several times. But demand for day care was growing, so when Stanley called, she embraced the opportunity. In a few weeks, her phone was buzzing. She shared with Stanley that parents were excited to enroll their offspring in the soon-to-be gentrified neighborhood—a young mom dressed in a Lululemon outfit came in person and told Trent that she and her well-to-do husband were going to move into Cityscape Paradise, although she was a bit concerned with the nearby homeless camp.

(photo c/o Exotic Spotter)

The aroma of the turkey filled Stanley’s car as he drove home. It took longer than anticipated for him to finish his work and wrap up the most pressing issues prior to the holiday. He was hungry and decided to dig into the large box that held the turkey and all the side dishes. His car was once again traveling toward the homeless camp. His fingers were blindly rummaging through the box to find some tasty morsels to quiet his cravings. Not sure what he was touching, and getting quite frustrated, he took his eyes off the road and tried to peer inside the box. He could barely distinguish between a turkey wing and a drumstick. The car veered dangerously toward the sidewalk—right next to the first homeless tent—while he half-heartedly tried to correct its course with his other hand. He finally pulled a piece of turkey out of the box, but before bringing it to his mouth, the car lunged into a metal railing on the sidewalk. Overcorrecting, he drove his car into an electrical utility box, which caused it to swerve further and hit a fire hydrant, resulting in a burst of water. The car crashed to a stop; its front grill and hood severely damaged. The airbags deployed, trapping Stanley in his seat.

A tall man emerged from the encampment and approached the car. He opened the door and reached in to help Stanley, who was straining against the restraints. “I also can’t wait for the Thanksgiving meal to begin,” the man said. “Only problem, here—sometimes it never starts.”

“What? Meal? No! The car just lost control,” said Stanley.

“Sure. Self-driving feature goes amuck.” The man unbuckled Stanley and pushed the airbag back. “If you can move, grab my hand and I will pull you out before this thing blows up.” Stanley did as he was instructed. “Feeling, OK?” The water was hitting the car’s roof. Other homeless people started gathering. The man continued: “For some of these folks, this could be their first shower in weeks.” 

Stanley started moving backwards. His jaw clenched. “You guys better stand back before someone gets hurt.”

“Nobody is hurting no one. My name is Max. What’s yours?”

“Stanley.” He saw many concerned faces around him. He couldn’t believe he was standing in the encampment that he had disparaged in court. It had never been a real place to him. Just a manifestation of an unacceptable social condition. But now, it was real, and the one causing the social mayhem was him and his irresponsible driving. He thought about what was to follow, with the police, the press, and Geins. He looked up and saw the Cityscape Paradise buildings towering behind the camp. Painted in emerald green and canary yellow, with vertical lines and repetitive pattern of geometric shapes like circles and triangles, like a revival of the Art Deco vibe. The structures’ ornate details were more 1920s New York than contemporary Los Angeles. 

A young, pregnant woman came over with a rag. “Let me wipe that blood off your forehead.” She reached over, touched Stanley’s head with the rag, and held it there. “Must’ve been cut by the airbag. Lucky you didn’t hit the windshield.”

Stanley examined her fresh and pretty face, tinged with the beginning of dark circles under her eyes. “Thank you. Very kind of you. I am Stanley.”

“I am Bianca, but everyone here calls me Bebe. I’m glad you didn’t get hurt worse. Your car must be strong.” 

A rough-looking, burly man with a flushed face came up and examined Stanley’s face. “I seen you somewhere.”

“I don’t think so,” said Stanley.

“Yeah. You a judge, ain’t you?”

“No. You must be thinking of someone else.”

The man started searching frantically through his pockets. He pulled a crumpled newspaper and opened it to a page displaying a picture of Stanley outside the courthouse. The headline read: “Developer cleared.” “See, that you. The judge.”

 “I am actually a lawyer.”

The man feverishly looked at the article again. He then stopped and showed the paper to Bianca. “That’s the lawman protected the killer of your husband.” He got even closer to Stanley, shoving the paper in his face. 

Max moved between them. “Step back there Burt. We’re going to show an injured man some hospitality.”

The burly man stopped. Then, he lifted his hands up and moved back.

Bianca became very sad and turned to Stanley. “My Bennie was a good man. Didn’t deserve to die so young. Bad luck brought us here. He didn’t mean no harm. Now he’s gone. And I’m here with his boy.” She rubbed her protruding stomach. 

“Sorry for your loss, ma’am. I was just doing my job as a lawyer. Bad circumstances.” 

More people started to gather around them. Stanley could hear sirens approaching.

Max pulled him aside. “I don’t know what brought you here, but this is not a good place for you. Let the paramedics lead you away. And take your fancy meal with you before the hungry mob here tears it apart.” 

Max gave Stanley a pat on the back as two police cruisers arrived. The officers jumped out, trying to assess the situation. The crowd started dispersing, slowly going back to their separate tents. A fire truck arrived soon after, and the firemen, realizing what had happened, gave instructions on their radio to stop the water flow to the battered hydrant. The cops approached Max and started asking him questions. He pointed at Stanley.

Thanksgiving dinner had always conjured up good childhood memories for Stanley. Now, about to finish another holiday meal with his family, he thought about his good fortunes. The turkey, which he had managed to rescue after the accident, tasted even more delicious than usual. Stanley’s wife looked exceptionally beautiful, with her blonde hair cascading down her bare shoulders. His son and daughter, on vacation from their prestigious East Coast colleges, had made an effort to dress up for the occasion, which delighted his parents, who were sitting at the other end of the table, their tanned faces told of sunny days on a Costa Rican cruise that Stanley had paid for.

“You are definitely a celeb now, Stan,” his father’s deep voice penetrated his thoughts. “You crash into a hydrant and the press has a field day. And at that camp, of all places. Were you trying to finish the job your client had started?” 

Stanley touched the little scab on his forehead as he fumbled for an answer. “No, just . . . a total coincidence. The food got misplaced and distracted me. Maybe the car was not working properly. Just bad luck.”

“Ha, you should sue Bentley for the damages.” His father laughed.

“Well, we should all count our blessing to be here enjoying such a fine meal and not in those wretched places sprouting all over town,” said his mother. She turned to her grandchildren “You kids never met your dad’s cousin, Ashley. A lovely girl. She used to live at one of these camps, until she passed away . . .” She stopped to clear her throat.

Stanley raised his palm, signaling for her to stop. He thought of his talented cousin, who had left her home in Iowa to pursue singing stardom in Los Angeles. She and Stanley were best pals when he was younger. He adored her fresh and pretty face. He loved exploring the LA music scene with her and listening to her passionate voice. But Ashley fell into drugs and eventually became a street kid. Stanley remembered how they argued a lot. But she just got deeper into street life and the transients she hung out with. He began to loathe all of them and eventually lost contact with her. One day, working as a busy young lawyer, he learned that she was found dead in an alley. He was devastated. He felt guilty about not trying to help her more. In the years that followed, he developed a strong aversion to anything related to street people. He grew to hate them.

Stanley’s knife slid over his plate with a screech as he missed the intended cut and sent turkey meat flying to the floor. He kneeled down to collect it.  

“And we have so much extra food left, as always,” said his wife. 

“Just don’t lay these surplus turkey scraps on us, Mom,” said his son. He got up and pulled his phone out of his pocket. That was the signal for everyone that the meal was over.

I wish I was dressed like Santa Claus, so no one will recognize me. I can’t believe I am doing this, Stanley thought to himself. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, he made his way down the sidewalk toward the homeless camp, carrying the big Phil’s Deli box, still more than half-full with his family’s leftovers. Despite the smell of rotting food and discarded old clothes, the camp appeared more habitable up close, with its rows of small and tidy blue tents. 

He walked gingerly, trying to avoid the garbage that was strewn about. A strong voice pierced the night air: “Glad you aren’t driving again. You carrying a gift?” Max was sitting on a crate next to one of the tents, with a few of the camp residents assembled around him. Some were drinking booze; others were huddled together due to the night’s chill. 

Stanley set the box on top of a crate, trying not to move some playing cards. He started with a low voice. “The Thanksgiving dinner I had brought home was way too big for our family; miscalculated a bit.” Blank stares. He raised his voice. “So, we decided . . . uh, my wife suggested that I bring all this here, so you guys can share.”

They eyed the box with suspicion—by now they all knew who Stanley was, whom he had defended. Stanley opened it: ivory utensils, paper plates adorned with pictures of pumpkins and seasonal flowers, a golden-brown turkey, Irish pasture dark green beans, fluffy white mashed potatoes with yellowish butter dripping down their summits, and ruby-red cranberry sauce, all appearing not to have been barely touched. Max’s eyes opened wide. “Well, thanks Stanley. What do you say folks? Can’t disappoint the Mrs., so let’s dig in.” Max passed the food around on the paper plates. Then he motioned to Stanley to come and walk with him around the camp, taking a covered plate loaded with food with him.

“What’s your interest with this place?” he said, waving his arms.

“I . . . I felt bad after the crash, and since we had extra food . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Yes, but seems you have other agendas: first, you defend a developer who wants us out, then you drive by and almost literally crash into us, and now the food. Is there something else?”

Stanley was not sure what Max knew, so he gave a noncommittal answer. “I drive by here on my way to work. I take a look.”

“Are we some sort of a local zoo where you can watch the animals in their habitat?”

“I don’t think of you guys like that.”

“Then maybe you know who is making the latest effort to kick us all out of here. Seems there is some new day care nearby initiating actions. Are you a part of that?”

Stanley was not prepared for this and didn’t know what to say. 

Max continued: “You don’t seem surprised by this new case—maybe just by the fact that I know. Well, some of our people got the initial citations today, so best you level with me.”

Stanley came clean and told him that Geins was pushing for this action. “But this could actually help you all find a new place.”

“You think that leaving here will get us some beachside condos somewhere? Usually, we are given temp housing. Maybe a few make it back to regular society, get jobs with pay they can barely survive on. But the majority? Would you hire any of these lost souls? They go right back to the streets.”

Stanley examined Max’s face. “So, what are you doing here? You seem smart. You can talk better than most of the lawyers I come against.”

Max chuckled. “I used to have higher positions, but circumstances knocked me down. Led me here. And once here, I realized that this could be my mission. Help these people maintain some level of humanity. Try to get a few of them back to regular society before drugs and alcohol destroy their brains.”

“That is a big sacrifice.”  

Max brushed his hair slightly with his palm. “I do miss a cushy bed once in a while.”

They kept walking, and Stanley grasped for the first time how big the encampment was. They passed two women huddled under a blanket, smoking cigarettes. Dull eyes peered from dirty faces. The younger, a teenager, likely the daughter, flicked her ashes at Stanley’s feet without looking up. A bicycle loaded with clothes, cooking utensils, and toiletries came to a stop. Its owner unpacked a torn blanket, placed it on the pavement, and sat down. A young boy ran by him chasing a ball dangerously close to the street. His mom threw a broken chair at him to make him stop. 

Max shrugged and then continued. “Take that Bianca, for example, the wife of the victim Bennie. How does she get back to anything when she is about to give birth any day now? And no medical. Might have to do it right here. On the street.”

“Isn’t there something that can be done?” said Stanley.

“The first thing you can do is call off the hounds. It would be worse if she had to deal with a move in the middle of it all. The birth alone is almost thirty grand, more if it’s a C-section, and then there’s the cost of the baby. No baby showers with these folks.” He pointed to a couple of unshaven men huddled inside an open tent, smoking, as far Stanly could tell, crack. He looked back at Stanley and straightened his collar. “I liaison with LA Alliance for Human Rights. Maybe they can help some.” 

They arrived at a tent that was decorated with kids’ animal stickers. It was at the edge of the camp, situated right next to the entrance to the new development. Behind it was a bright sign announcing the coming availability of luxury condominiums with a picture of a smiling family frolicking by an indoor swimming pool. The light from the sign saturated the area with a blinding golden-yellow color.

Max called out. “Bebe, I got the iron and the supplements for you.” She came out of the tent, looking like a teenager with her hair gathered in a ponytail. He handed her two boxes with the vitamins she’d been waiting for, as well as a plate with the turkey Stanley had brought. “With compliments from this lawyer.”

She smiled big, turned to Stanley. “Thank you. How is your forehead? I was worried about you.”

“All OK, thanks. You are the one we should be worried about.”

“With Max here, I will survive. And you’ll be surprised how handy we all are around here.”

“You going to be OK with this?” Stanley pointed to her belly.

“Going to be one tough child. Born to hustle for everything.” 

She motioned for Stanley to step closer, then she dove into the tent and came out with an old-fashion photo album. She started leafing through the pages. “My Bennie made this. Here are pictures from when we had our own place, before he lost his job. Wanted our son to see we were not always homeless.”

Stanley peeked at the smiling pictures of Bianca and Bennie inside a small, sparsely furnished apartment. One showed them cooking with worn-out skillets. “Yes. This looks, uh … really nice.”

“I know it wasn’t that much, but better than this. We were happy. My son deserves to be happy too. I’m going to make sure he is.”

He looked around and saw cars zipping by. “Well, I am impressed with how well you’re handling this. But you should deliver in a protected place, a hospital.”

“We got this woman here. She knows a lot about giving birth. We call her a doula. She’ll help me.”

Stanley tried to nod his approval. His face was blank.

Geins was looking at a certificate from the Los Angeles County Museum of Art Legacy Circle. It thanked him for supporting the arts with his generous donations. He motioned to Stanley to take a seat on an oversized metal chair with a luxurious arched top. The rest of the furniture was also large with tapered legs, contoured edges, and reinforced fabrics. To complete the Deco look, a vintage clock with mirrored panels hung on a brightly painted textured wall between two large pieces of bold art. He started cracking up as he addressed Stanley. “Were you trying to outdo me, driving your monster of a car up that vagrant camp?”

“Just an unfortunate accident. No one got hurt.”

“Good. Probably best you steer clear of that place until we get it vacated. I’m sure those transients aren’t terribly fond of you. Could turn violent.”

“For the most part, they treated me well,” replied Stanley.

“Why are you talking to these people?”

“My wife thought it’d be a good idea to deliver our dinner leftovers to them.”

“Are you nuts!” Geins recoiled. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I expect to have that whole dangerous place cleared up any day now.”

“They were actually quite civil. Especially the wife of that fellow you accidentally killed.”

“I hope you are not developing some infatuation with her.”

“She is pregnant, you know. Going to deliver soon. Nothing sleazy here, just charity.” 

“Sure. I also give to all kinds of charities. But this is business.” He looked at the donation certificate. “And I don’t have to apologize to anyone. I invest my own time, and money, to build a more luxurious Los Angeles, and these people are in the way.”

“And where should they go?”

“Why is that my concern? I didn’t put them there. And if you are feeling sorry all of a sudden for that dead vagrant’s wife, well, he should have thought twice before attacking me. Remember who you’re working for, Stanley.”

Stanley got up and looked outside the window at the sprawling city below. “I already got you off in court, what else do you want?”

Geins waived him off.

He didn’t have better luck with Amy Trent. She had already booked a few day care clients and was not about to slaughter her new cash cow prematurely. 

 On the way home, traffic was hell. Countless shoppers headed toward the palaces of retail, as if beckoned by ancient sirens, ready to crash their bank accounts with the traps of new merchandise. 

The following week, Stanley was trying to focus on the endless words that filled the stack of files on his office desk. Each held a promise of a hefty retainer to come. The phone rang.

It was his wife. She was worried because he’d seemed distracted since his accident. She wondered if he should see a doctor about that head scratch. 

“Is it that bad?” he asked. 

“I’ve never seen you so preoccupied. I just want to make sure you are fine.”

“Well, I’ve been troubled by that homeless camp.”

“But the case is over.” 

“It is more complicated than just that. I’m coming home early. We can talk then.”

“So, what’s the big mystery?” asked Michelle as he walked onto their patio. She was sitting on a padded chair, drinking a cup of coffee from a big earth-brown cup. She nibbled on slices of sourdough avocado toast and fresh berries laid out on a ceramic tray. 

Stanley joined her and told her all the details of his encounters with Max and Bianca and his growing feelings that he had to do something.

“You brought them the turkey. That was a very nice gesture.”

“Yes, and it felt good. But remember I told you I had started some action to kick these people off that encampment. Well, I can’t stop it anymore. Geins is involved and he is determined to see them gone.”

Stanley knew she didn’t love Geins, but he also knew she wanted the homeless moved. 

“Wouldn’t they be better off? They will get a chance at new housing, won’t they?”

“Temporary. Most of them end up right back on the streets. The city still lacks proper resources to deal with it. And with some of them, it’s mental. They don’t want to go back to normal society. Just boozing it up on a sidewalk.”

“So? It’s not your job to fix all of this city’s problems. You’ve worked hard for what we got here. You deserve it without any guilty feelings.”

Stanley stretched on the chair and took in the view. It was an LA tapestry. Green rolling hills, tall palm trees, big homes, swimming pools. “I know. But that pregnant girl about to give birth in the middle of all that chaos—maybe I just feel accountable for getting her husband’s killer off.”

“Are you saying Geins deliberately killed that man?”

“Hazy circumstances. She told me that her husband wanted Geins’s bright sign out, to allow her to sleep better. They got into some altercation. And he died. Obviously, Geins should have let the authorities deal with that. Maybe then it wouldn’t have ended with a loss of life.”

 “Nothing definite here. And you were just doing your job. I don’t know how we can help that young girl.”

“I can possibly find her some place to stay.” 

“Just don’t ask me to adopt her. Already been through two kids and four dogs.”

Michelle was only vaguely familiar with the story of Stanley’s cousin. But she wondered aloud if past guilt was playing a role here. Stanley dismissed that and curled up in his chair.

He got his car back a few days later and drove toward his work on a perfect Southern California morning. The sky was crisp blue and the early winter sun kissed the hills with its softer rays, giving them a deeper hue of green and brown. He turned in the direction of the homeless encampment for a quick consultation with Max. 

The camp was gone! The sidewalk was completely bare—the tents and the people had disappeared. Cityscape Paradise loomed larger now behind the wall that had previously separated the encampment from the development. Stanley stopped the car. Had he been away from there for that long, or did Geins move things up in fear of Stanley botching up his plans? He got out of the car and looked for some sign of life. A cleaning crew was finishing with the final pieces of trash left behind, depositing them into a metal dumpster parked by the curb. Stanley asked the bored supervisor what had happened to the homeless. 

“Police came yesterday; had a court order. Took them all away.” 

“Where did they take the people?” Stanley asked.

“A bunch were arrested for drugs and other illegal activities. Probably will be arraigned today.” The supervisor studied Stanley’s face. “What are these people to you, sir?”

“I’m a lawyer. I had business with some of them. Do you know where they are holding them?”

“Best start at Superior. Downtown. I’m sure they will have details on the others if you can’t find your convict.” 

Stanley got back in his car. He grabbed his phone but realized he had no way of reaching Max, or any of them. He headed to court.

Max was sitting on a worn-out bench outside the courtroom, reading a newspaper. A small headline on the second page announced: “Residents Cheer Police Sweep of Unhoused from Sidewalk.” Stanley approached. “I’m glad you are not incarcerated. Where are they putting everyone?”

“No one knows yet. I slept at a temp shelter last night. Got weak coffee and burnt toast this morning. I came here to check on some of the folks about to appear in front of the judge. Bianca was taken too. She sat next to a couple guys doing meth and the cops nabbed all of them.”

“She is in the pen here? In her condition?” 

“Yep. She is a street person and being treated like one. I hope they tested her, so they’d see that she was clean. Hopefully, the judge will let her go.”

Stanley turned to go. “I’m going to talk to her. I’ll try to represent her at the arraignment.”

“Big time! Usually, our kind get a twentysomething fresh off the bar PD, still lugging around their law books for assistance.”

“Well, it’s the least I can do for her. I’ll see you inside the courtroom.” Stanley walked toward the detention area.

Bianca was brought over. She looked frightened. She also seemed to be under physical stress, holding her stomach. “Am so sorry to bother you, sir. But I am glad you are here. I didn’t have anything to do with the drugs. Can you help me get out?” She winced in discomfort.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” 

She signaled, so-so. 

“I can represent you at the arraignment and do my best to get you out of here. Please tell me all the circumstances of your arrest.”

Bianca described her arrest and the other transients who did the drugs.

“Did they do a drug test on you at any point,” asked Stanley.

“Yes, they took a blood sample.”

The judge lowered his gavel and the courtroom went silent. Stanley observed the judge’s furrowed brows and imagined he hated these loaded morning sessions. One by one, various suspects were brought in to argue for their freedom, while the overworked public defender pleaded their cases. These were mainly small drug charges, disturbances, and homeless sweeps. When Bianca came in holding her stomach, the judge sat up with some apparent uneasiness. The charges were read. 

Stanley came forward. “Your honor. My client is, as you can see, in the last stages of pregnancy. Her only crime was not having enough money for an overpriced LA rental. She was not doing any drugs, nor violating any other laws. I ask to see her overnight drug test immediately, to confirm her innocence.” 

The deputy DA waived any objection to producing the drug test and the judge asked the bailiff to inquire. Stanley imagined the DA was not looking forward to facing a new mother and her baby in an actual trial. Bianca was looking quite pale now and had to lean on Stanley’s arm and the counsel’s table. The judge studied her. “You may sit down ma’am. Do you need a cup of water?” She nodded yes, and the judge signaled for an officer to get it. The bailiff returned and shared the drug test results. Stanley made the case that as both the negative results and the arresting officers’ report proved that his client had not been doing drugs, she should be set free.

“Well, in consideration of this evidence,” said the deputy, “I can drop the drug charges, but we still have the matter of sleeping in an encampment within five hundred feet of a child care facility.”

Stanley looked at him. “Are you going to waste the taxpayers’ money and the court’s time on a pregnant woman, because she was living on the street?”

The DA started fidgeting. The judge seemed to want this to go away. But he needed something from Bianca. “Ma’am, if the DA dismisses all charges against you, do you have any family you could stay with?”

Bianca was clutching her stomach. She whispered in Stanley’s ear. “My father is dead; my mother lives far away; and my brothers move around all the time, so none of them can help me right now.” She turned to the judge, tears welling in her eyes. “I have no one. All I want is to be a good mom and care for my baby. I need help with a place, somewhere, anywhere …”

Stanley asked the judge to approach the bench.

“Don’t you see how ridiculous it is to not release this woman immediately?”

The deputy DA shook his head, then turned to the judge. “I have no choice but to pursue this. Policy from above, to clear the homeless where we can.”

 The judge shifted in his seat, then looked down at Stanley. “You need to give us something else here, to make this go away.” He then signaled the lawmen to go back to their desks.

Stanley looked around and saw the distress on the faces of the court spectators. Max’s face reflected confidence and resolution. He nodded to Stanley, urging him to take action. And then something snapped. 

Stanley raised his voice as he addressed the court. “She will be staying at my house until she is well and ready to take care of her own circumstances.”

The judge sat up. “Are you sure you want to take the responsibility for this woman?”

“Yes. We have a big house. The kids are off to college. Plenty of room.”

Bianca tried to wipe away her tears.

The deputy DA spoke: “In that case, and with the court’s permission, we will dismiss all charges.”

Some of the spectators voiced their approval. The judge thumped his gavel again. Bianca clutched Stanley’s hand.

Stanley was relieved that Michelle’s reaction to the surprise of Bianca and Max coming to the house was one of hospitality. She seemed touched by the strength of the young woman. 

Stanley took a deep breath and then observed Michelle as she led Bianca to one of the guest rooms and gave her a set of casual clothes she had taken out of her daughter’s room. While Bianca was changing, she left the room and joined Stanley and Max in the family room. ”I am sorry we barged in on you like this,” said Max. “We’re just trying to get this expectant mother situated. Your husband did a great thing today, rescuing her in court and bringing her here.”

Stanley dismissed that with a wave of his hand. The rapid pace of events had not allowed him to really consider his own actions. His life had been moving along pleasantly, and all of a sudden, he pushed it off track. Was he just acting impulsively? Actually not. He turned to Max. “Once in a while, life presents you with an opportunity to go beyond your self-interests.” 

He paused to weigh his own words. But seeing how Max was receptive to what he was saying, he added: “If you step into that unchartered place, you might get a glimpse of something bigger than ordinary life. But I don’t have to tell you that.”

Max smiled. “It’s called destiny. Maybe even divine, if you are so inclined.”

They could hear Bianca scream in the guest room. They all ran in. She was propped against a chair; there was a sticky substance on the floor. She seemed frightened. “I am sorry, I messed up your floor. My water just started coming out of me.”

“Don’t worry,” Michelle said. “With my first boy, my water broke at a concert hall.” She turned to Stanley. “She’s ready to deliver. We need to take her to a hospital.”

Stanley hesitated. “There is a slight problem. She has no insurance, and they might not even take her in.”

“I’ll call Dr. Berg,” said Michelle with determined efficiency. She turned to Max. “He delivered my kids, and is a neighbor. Maybe he could help here.” She assisted Bianca to the bed and brought her some water. 

A little later, Dr. Berg, a man with a head of white hair and an alert face, entered the house with his wife, carrying medical bags. He quickly went to check on Bianca, and afterwards turned to the group. “This woman is fully dilated with rapid contractions. I am afraid if we try to move her, she could end up delivering in the car. Especially if we run into issues with the hospital because of the lack of insurance.”

“What about delivering here?” Stanley asked. “You have your equipment, right?” He pointed to the bags.

The doctor looked at his wife and then at Michelle. “I’ve delivered under far worse conditions. Let’s do it. And you boys”—he pointed to Max and Stanley—“bring me several pots or buckets of water and then wait outside.”

The place turned into a hub of activity, with water buckets, towels, and sheets brought in. Stanley and Max stepped out onto the patio. Max looked wistfully at a blue sky speckled with fluffy white clouds drifting lazily toward the setting sun. “You know, they say a birth gives a great blessing to a house and its inhabitants.”

“I can do with some blessing today,” said Stanley. “My recent actions have brought quite the chaos to my family.” He thought for a moment. “So what are you going to do next, Max?”

“There are more than a hundred thousand homeless people in the LA area. I think I can find something to do.”

“Maybe you should run for office. I’m sure you could do a better job than the current crop. You might bring some hope back.” 

Max waved his arm. “Politics are for clowns and scoundrels. I’m better in the trenches . . .” He took a deep breath. “I need to set a better example, though, of how to get from here back to normal society. Maybe get my own place?”

They heard the cry of a baby. Moments later, the doctor asked them to come in. Bianca was holding the newborn, already clean and swaddled in a colorful blanket. Stanley leaned over and she handed him the tiny bundle. “Here, meet Bennie Stanley Lago. My Bennie Jr.” 

Stanley held the baby. Through the open shutters, the setting sun bathed the room in red, pink, and yellow. Stanley lifted the baby, pointing him toward the window. “This is your world, Bennie. Make it a good one.”

Evening fell. Max was gone. The baby was fast asleep next to his mom. 

Michelle sat down next to Stanley in the dark living room. She reminded Stanley that she had not wanted to bring that girl into their lives. He grabbed her hand. She looked away from him.

“I needed to step up. Sorry to have put you in this position.” No response. He got up and walked to the large window. He noticed that the palm trees outside cast long shadows on the patio in the faint moonlight.

THE END

Peter R West has transformed his diverse life experiences—USC Cinema School grad; film purveyor at the Cannes and Milan festivals; finance expert at HSBC Bank—into topical writing: “The Unhoused Gift,” which is his first published short story, and his upcoming 2024 novel: The Emancipation of My AI Love Doll.

(Portfolio “Top of the Pop” photo c/o Richard Vogel/AP)