Silent Screams - C. E. Lawrence [71]
“This guy is homeless, okay? Hangs out mostly in Prospect Park. Wouldn’t make a great witness in court, but—well, you talk to him. See what you think.”
“How did you find him?”
Eddie leaned forward. “Remember Diesel and Rhino?”
Lee laughed. “Remember them? You’re kidding, right?”
Eddie grinned, displaying his crooked, yellowing teeth. “Okay, I guess you don’t forget them too easily.”
“No, you don’t. They found him?”
Eddie shoved an entire samosa into his mouth. He chewed once, then swallowed. Lee was reminded of a crocodile—a smiling, yellow-toothed crocodile. “Yeah. They been sort of stakin’ out the church, you know? Watchin’ it to see who comes, who goes. And this guy’s been there a couple a nights in a row. Goes to the soup kitchen on weekends.”
“Okay,” he said. “Let me know when and where.” Eddie’s homely face spread into another broad grin. “Okay, Boss—you got it.”
Chapter Thirty
They found him sitting on a bench not far from the Prospect Park Boathouse. That part of the park was usually busy, but today few people gathered near the marshy pond at the back of the boathouse. The man was long and thin as the reeds lining the banks of the lake. His stringy gray hair was tied back with a red sock, and he wore the matching sock on his left hand, with holes cut in it so that his fingers poked out. His bony right hand was bare, and the fingers twitched spasmodically from time to time.
His clothes were decent: a sturdy pair of brown corduroy trousers fastened with a leather belt, tied in a knot because the buckle was missing. Blue and green flannel shirt, also in good shape, over a long red undershirt, clumsily tucked into the pants, bits of it still poking out. A forest green down parka in good condition, wool socks, and leather Docksiders with thick soles completed his outfit. Either someone was taking care of him or he had hit a thrift store jackpot, Lee thought—either way, he was glad the man was warmly dressed. Being homeless wasn’t any picnic even in the best weather, but it could be especially brutal in February.
He watched Lee and Eddie approach with a wary frown.
“Hiya,” said Eddie. “Remember me?”
“Sure I remember you. You were here with your two bodyguards.” The man scrutinized Lee. “This guy doesn’t look so impressive. What happened to the other two?”
Eddie laughed. “This is my weekend bodyguard.”
The man’s frown deepened. “No offense,” he said to Lee, “but you don’t look very scary.”
“I’m not.”
“My friend’s name is Lee,” Eddie said. “And I’m—”
“No, don’t tell me,” the man interrupted. “Larry. Elmer. Pete. Elijah.”
“Eddie.”
“Right, right—Eddie. I remember now. My friends call me Willow,” he said to Lee. Then, with a chuckle that was more like a hiccough, he added, “My enemies don’t call me. You won’t tell them you saw me, will you?” he asked, his eyes searching Lee’s face. His eyes were watery and bloodshot, but radiated a sharp intelligence.
His face was as long and thin as his body, with cheeks so sunken that they made his protruding buckteeth look even more prominent. His eyes were dark and deeply recessed in their sockets, and Lee didn’t know if they were red-rimmed from booze, lack of sleep, disease, or just general ill health.
“Hey, don’t worry,” Eddie said. “We won’t tell anyone. Here—we brought you somethin’.” He dug a carton of Marlboros out from under his jacket. Willow leapt up from the bench and snatched them up eagerly, his eyes gleaming.
“Thanks! How d’you know my brand?” he asked as he tore away the cellophane wrapping and dug out a pack. He ripped it open and extracted a cigarette, examining it, peering at both ends. “Gotta check for microchips,” he said, placing the cigarette in his mouth. He pulled a stainless-steel lighter from his pants pocket and lit the cigarette, sucking on it so deeply that Lee imagined his cheeks touching