The Voting Machine

Finding Home

After we finished cleaning the kitchen, Fatima and Ravi gave me a ride down to the Dollar Delight to work the voting table that afternoon. The registration deadline for the election was only a few weeks away. We'd signed up thousands of new voters since June at sites across Las Vegas.

It seemed like it would be so close, like every last vote might be the deciding factor, the one that tipped the balance to Salinger. I thought about Luke's offer. How many people did he know living on the streets, living "underground?" Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands?

"How does it work with the homeless?" I asked Ravi and Fatima. "Are you allowed to vote if you're homeless?"

"You don't need a home to register," Ravi said. I knew the college kids would have this answer in their back pocket. "But you still have to identify a place of residence. It can be a street corner, a park, or a shelter."

"Makes sense," I said. "Everybody lives somewhere."

"You should also provide an address," Ravi said. "It can be a local shelter or a drug center, anywhere willing to accept mail on your behalf."

"We could use the Sunflower Clinic for that."

"For what?"

"This guy Luke Dust, the ex-con who helps out at the North Vegas branch, he wants to help us register a bunch of street people."

Fatima shook her head. "I don't think it's going to be that easy."

"Why not?"

"Because they're going to need ID, especially if they're first time voters in Nevada. If they don't have a street address, they might have to sign a sworn affidavit under penalty of perjury to prove their identity and residency. How many homeless are willing to do that?"

I went home that night and called Suzy. I knew that she with someone else. But I knew she still received my phone calls. We had a daughter and she knew we would always have some kind of relationship, no matter what happened. I still had dreams of being reunited and she didn't reject this outright. I would have to make a convincing case that we belonged together. I'd have to prove it beyond a reasonable doubt.

It was the last month of the election campaign so I was making plans for the future. After the general vote during the first week of November, the terms of my criminal sentence would be complete. I'd be released from the supervision of the Sunflower Foundation and free to return to LA and resume my life.

I'd been scheming how to get a normal paying job again. The labor market was tough for me before. With a drunk-driving mark on my record, it would be even harder to land an opportunity with a new employer. I was better off trying to get on with someone I knew, someone who'd seen my work and had some reason to give me the benefit of the doubt. It would be better if it was a company that was prospering during tough times. Giving me a second chance was a gamble for any employer. It's always easier to take a gamble when you have cash in the bank.

During my time in Las Vegas, I continued to follow the fate of Passion Financial. The company had staged an incredible comeback in recent months, posting record profits since Chet Castle took over and moved the labor force from LA to India. Passion stock price had soared and Chet was hailed on the cover of business magazines as an investment genius who was engineering a new kind of global finance company.

I knew that Chet liked me and believed in my talent. That was the reason he invited me to his top-floor office that day for our conversation about chimpanzees in the Congo and terror on the slopes of the Himalayas. That was the reason he gave me the chance to work with Gina in the Second World.

If I was going to return to meaningful employment, the kind that could support a family, going back to Passion seemed like my best hope. Sure I still had painful memories from those final months working with Gina. But scars can heal over time and Passion had lots of money. Money can be a powerful force of healing. Anyone who tells you different is full of it.