Page 41 of Cold, Cold Bones
“?‘Odd’ meaning rough?” I asked.
“I guess you could say that.” She was selecting her words with torturous care.
“Violent?” My pulse kicking up again.
“I don’t think so. The homeless are like any subculture. You have to learn the jargon, the etiquette, the rules about personal space, belongings, that kind of thing. Basically, if you can avoid pissing folks off, you’re fine.”
She went quiet again. Closing it down? Doing more mental triage: what to give, what to hold back, what to keep for possible future discussion. I decided to prod.
“So what’s the story with this ‘creep’?” Hooking air quotes. Which was largely pointless in the gloom. “Is he threatening you?”
“Not directly.”
“Is it Slinky?”
“Winky. Let’s not talk names.”
“Why not?”
“Seriously, Mom?”
Right. Etiquette.
“Why does he make you nervous?”
She didn’t deny it.
“I think he was following me today. At lunch, I went into JJ’s for a hot dog. I saw him on East Boulevard when I left. Later, when I took my break, I spotted him on a sidewalk, walking in the same direction behind me. I tested whether I was being paranoid by varying my pace, speeding up and slowing down. He did the same. I trieddodging him by darting into a CVS. When I came out, he was loitering in the parking lot.”
“You’re sure it was always the same man?”
“Yes.”
There was another long silence.
Up the block, a dog barked, either protecting his turf or confused by its sudden change in appearance.
“That’s not all.”
Katy’s chin dropped, I assumed to stare at her hands. Which were again clasped in her lap.
“He’s talking some really jacked-up shit. All day I tried to avoid him, but…” She left the sentence unfinished. “The dude’s disgusting.”
“Creepy.”
“Yeah.”
I couldn’t read her expression, but the tautness of her body revealed her fear.
“Does he sleep at the shelter?”
She shook her head. “Sometimes he eats there.”
“Has he ever been violent?”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
“Is he into drugs?”
