“How’d it start?”
“The runty bastard pounced on the homeless man. No provocation whatsoever.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I’m telling you. None whatsoever.”
“Okay. Could he have recognized the homeless man?”
“Not under all the matted hair, dirt, grubby clothes, et cetera.”
“Did the homeless man recognize his assailant?”
“No.”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive,” Mitch said. “With no provocation, and being unknown to each other, why did the punk attack?”
“Just meanness, I guess,” Tucker replied.
“Maybe.”
“You think there was more to it?”
“I think the ‘more to it’ isn’t so much about why it happened, aswhere.”
“Ah. The heart of the matter.”
“I have it on good authority that the owner of the restaurant doesn’t have a warm fuzzy for the homeless.”
“On whose good authority?”
“An eyewitness. Two nights ago.”
Tucker got the message because he cussed some more. “How’d the incident tonight pan out?”
In short-speak, Mitch explained about the mother and child. “The screaming spooked them both. They split. The whole thing lasted ninety seconds max.”
“Police presence?”
“They were quick to arrive, but, as far as I know, the assailant got away.”
“What about the homeless guy?”
“He got the hell out of there.”
“Undetected?”
“Unapprehended.”
Tucker snorted. “He’s one lucky son of a bitch. Batshit crazy, but lucky.”
Mitch couldn’t think of anything to say to that.
Tucker said, “The short and spry guy may have nothing to do with that restaurant or its operation.”
“Or he may.”
