Page 149 of Cold, Cold Bones
After departing Kenmore Avenue, we grabbed burgers at the Five Guys on Central. Ryan ate both mine and his. And all the fries. I had no appetite.
Our next stop was Roof Above. The thermometer was flirting with thirty and an ice-water wind had ridden in on the dusk. Only one man was smoking outside the shelter, a chunky twentysomething with blond dreads and skinny jeans several sizes too skinny, given his poundage.
Dreads watched as Ryan and I walked toward him, not hostile, not welcoming. Not anything. A metal ring winked from one brow when his head moved.
“Hey,” I said when we drew close.
“Hey.” Dreads sucked smoke into his lungs, exhaled it in an impressively sharp-edged cone.
“Nicely done,” I said.
“Practice,” he said.
“You crashing at the shelter?”
“Dining. I heard the chef just earned his third star.”
“Good one.” And not a response I’d expected.
“Thanks.”
“Do you come here often?”
“Now you offer me a beer or mixed drink?”
Dreads was right. My question sounded like a clichéd pickup line. And he was doing a good job of parrying my lame overtures.
I introduced myself and Ryan. Dreads didn’t offer a name. Remembering etiquette, I didn’t inquire.
“You into the Lil Wayne thing?” I asked, referencing the bleached dreads.
“I’m into the Socrates thing,” he said.
I had no response to that.
“Plato, Aristotle, Descartes, Kant.”
“Beware the barrenness of a busy life,” Ryan said.
Dreads took another long drag and blew the smoke skyward. No cone. “Cogito ergo sum.”
“Too much thinking can get a guy into trouble,” Ryan said.
“Sothatexplains the lightness of my wallet.” The hint of a smile. “SumHersh Bender, a grad student of very limited means.”
“Cadging a free three-star meal?” Ryan guessed.
“Conserving my metaphorical bread.”
I explained to Hersh about Katy. He gave me a vague look that could have meant anything. After pausing for a beat, he drew smoke into his lungs, then dropped and crushed the butt with his heel.
“I can picture the woman you’re talking about. Nice looking. Tough. Someone said she was army. Never spoke to her, though.”
“When did you last see her?”Calm, Brennan.
Hersh wagged his head. The dreads danced. “Sorry. I only hit this place once every couple of weeks. The conscience thing and all.”
“Do you know a man named Calvin Winkard? Goes by Winky?”
