Page 91

“She’ll be up in a while,” he said, looking everywhere but at me.

I called Mikey a black man because that’s the term I use for people who come from our so-called race. But he was actually a shade of gray that was tending toward black, where his eyes were a similar shade headed in the opposite direction.

He turned away, leading with his shoulders, and left me to the chilly shack. I had Steppenwolf in my overcoat pocket, but before I could take it out, I spied an old textbook of first-year Latin on the cluttered worktable. All around the old russet-colored hardback were tools that had to do with bees and their honey.

Reading the editor’s introduction to the book (which had been published in 1932), I learned that there had been something called The General Report of the Classical Investigation. This university study had recommended a new way for learning the ancient language, a way that took a historical and also a cultural approach.

I skimmed through the author’s preface, then delved into the meat of the book. I had just learned that “Vergil called his countrymen gēns togāta, which meant toga-clad people,” when the unlocked door swung open and black-clad Hester walked in. She was followed by another slender man of color who wore a yellow-and-green sports jacket, stiff jeans, and no shirt at all.

“Theodore,” Hester said, “I’d like you to meet Mr. Joe King Oliver.”

The fact that she knew my middle name was truly a shock.

“Hey,” the man I would always think of as Burns said.

I closed the book, stood, and took his proffered hand. His face was a deep brown, but all along the left side there were craters and calloused, scarred skin. His left hand was also mutilated and defaced. The skin was scabrous and scaly.

While I studied the details of his disfigurement he stared at me. I was sure he couldn’t see my scar, but somehow I believed that he intuited it.

“Mr. Oliver wants to ask you some questions,” Hester said.

“Have a seat,” I said to both the young man and his chaperone.

The worktable was against an unpainted pine wall and there were five backless stools along it. We each took a stool.

Hester was staring at me, prepared at any moment to end the interview.

Burns was the epitome of what I understood to be a junkie. He was afraid of me but at the same time wondering if there might be a profit in our interaction. He was always looking for the next fix. Maybe he could smell the packets I scored from Kierin.

“It’s good to meet you, Theodore,” I said.

“You too.” He nodded.

“Miranda told me to tell you hello.”

“You know Mir?”

“I met with Lamont out on Coney Island and he sent me to her. She told me her story and said I might want to talk to you.”

“Mir didn’t know I was here,” Theodore said with suspicion. Hester swiveled her shoulders as if she were about to pronounce judgment.

“She told me you used, so I asked a friend on the force to look up your nickname along with Theodore. They knew you came here sometimes.”

“All the time,” Hester said. “He’s trying to get his head together.”

“Why you go from Lamont to Mir to me?” Burns asked.

“Because I was hired to prove that A Free Man was hunted and conspired against by members of the NYPD; specifically Officers Valence and Pratt.”

Both Burns and Hester had the same frown on their faces.

“Manny?” said Burns.

I nodded.

“What does Theodore have to do with that?” Hester asked.

“I have no idea,” I said truthfully. “I talked to Miranda and she pointed me here.”