It was not long before Max had to stop; now that the fear and adrenaline had subsided, he was in a sea of pain. He asked for help from a dosser in a shop doorway. He had to trust someone, so why not this young lad? Now that he had some money, he could afford to reward his helper.
“Please help me,” Max gasped. “I’ve been attacked and need somewhere cheap to stay. I can pay if you are willing to help.” All he could see of the person under the hood was an oval face and whites of his eyes.
“What’s it worth to me?” replied the voice, the pitch much higher than Max expected.
“Free lodging and food until I get better, if that is what you want,” suggested Max. The pain was so overwhelming, he would have agreed to anything at that point.
“There’s a flop house I know, just around the corner. Bill the owner, asks no questions, but it’s cash up front all the way. Will that do?”
“Just get me there now and we can sort out the fine details tomorrow. I should be much better by then.” Max hoped he sounded convincing.
The lad was slightly built but strong, adequately supporting Max as he limped along, coughing occasionally and swallowing back blood. “Just what I don't need now is a punctured lung,” thought Max.
“What’s your name?” asked Max between gasps of pain.
“Call me Star.” was the succinct reply; though Max was not sure it was his real name and frankly, didn’t care.
“OK then Lucky Star, look after me and I’ll do my best to look after you.”
Bill, the flophouse owner, demanded £300 in advance for one week and deposit against breakages. Max no longer cared and paid up without a murmur. The vision of a safe bed filled his mind and provided the final surge of energy to get to the room.