Redemption (A Joe Burgess Mystery, Book 3) (23 page)

Burgess was thinking that Benjy was unlikely to accidentally end up in the harbor when he was ten blocks away—there'd been no public announcement that police suspected it wasn't an accident—when the old man added, "Grabbed right off the street like that."

Grabbed off the street? What was Benjy talking about? It might be just a street rumor, spurred by what he'd told Jim, or something that Kyle or Perry had said, or even a fabrication of Benjy's confused mind. But Kyle and Perry had been out talking to the street for hours and come up empty, so he needed to know if there was something to this.

"Getting kinda chilly out there," he said. "I was going to get some coffee. You want to come along?"

Benjy edged closer. "I'd like that... if you're sure you wanna."

"I'm sure." Burgess apologized to his abused stomach for sending it more coffee acid as the man swung himself up onto the seat and shut the door, carrying in the scents of cold sea air, unwashed skin, and stale tobacco.

"Dunkin' Donuts okay? I don't much like that convenience store stuff," Burgess said.

"I could sure go for one of their blueberry muffins," Benjy said wistfully. "Been a while since I had me one of those."

"Let's hope they've got one, then."

Burgess swung into the nearly empty parking lot and shut off the engine. He followed Benjy inside, waiting impatiently while the man unzipped and unbuttoned and rearranged his layers and got ready to order. It took a while for Benjy to choose a muffin and decide what size coffee he wanted. Burgess knew it was all to prolong the time he was inside off the street, and warm, and with someone who didn't shun his company.

When the choice had been narrowed to two, he said, "Why not get both. It's a holiday weekend, right? People are supposed to enjoy themselves."

Benjy's head bobbed. "You're a good guy, Joe."

He let Benjy finish the first muffin before asking any questions. Luckily, the eating went faster than the ordering. Then, as the old man was carefully picking the last crumbs off the napkin, Burgess said, "What you said a few minutes ago, about Reggie being snatched off the street. What was that about?"

"You didn't hear?"

"Hear what?"

"About Reggie. I woulda thought, you bein' a cop, that you'd a knowed this already."

"Afraid not," Burgess said.

"That right?" Benjy seemed genuinely surprised. "What I heard was that he was just walking down the street, pushing his shopping cart, like always—"

The watery eyes locked on Burgess's face. "You know how he was always out with that cart, all hours, day and night." The grizzled head moved in a sad arc. "Poor Reggie didn't sleep so good. Did you know he even had a bike lock for his cart? Nighttime, when he was gonna go in, he'd lug his cans and bottles upstairs, then lock the cart up to the light pole outside his place."

The door opened and shut, letting in a whoosh of cold as two delivery guys in heavy sweatshirts and watch caps came in. Benjy checked them out, saw no one he recognized, and shifted his eyes away. The larger one turned toward them, his face mean. "What you lookin' at?"

Benjy hunched his shoulders and started peeling the wrapper off his second muffin.

"Hey there, old fart," the man said, "I'm talking to you."

Benjy looked at Burgess and shrugged. "Lotta mean people around these days."

The friendly Hispanic woman behind the counter handed the man his coffee and his change and wished him a nice night, but he'd got his mind fixed on trouble. Instead of leaving, he sauntered toward them, the sway in his swaggering step suggesting he should have switched to coffee sooner. He had Tony in white script over his heart. He was maybe mid-thirties, with a gut that stretched the sweatshirt taut. He had a petulant mouth and small, ugly eyes.

"Old man," he said, "I betcha you never did a fucking thing in your life but live off us workin' guys."

The man he'd come in with hung back by the door.

Benjy tried to make himself smaller as Burgess pushed back his chair and stood. "Leave the man alone," he said.

"Yeah? And who the fuck are you?"

His buddy put a warning hand on his shoulder. "Jesus, come on, Tone. That's a cop," he said. "Let's just get out of here."

But Tony wasn't leaving without a final word. "You"—he said, jabbing his finger in the air at Burgess—"tell the old pisspot to stop staring at people."

Burgess looked at the man who had his hand on Tony's shoulder. "Better take your pal out of here before he earns himself a ride downtown."

Tony glanced at Benjy and down at his coffee, his fingers scrabbling to get the top off. Like Benjy had said, there were a lot of mean people around. A guy had to be careful. As the lid came off and the man's hand started forward, Burgess countered with a hand under the cup, sending the coffee meant for the cowering Benjy all over the man's shirt and pants.

An enraged "Fuck!" brought all eyes in the room in their direction.

"Oops," Burgess said.

When the man still hesitated, he added, "Big penalties for assaulting the elderly. That what you want, Tony? To screw up your life because you couldn't control a bad mood?"

Tony stared stupidly, his half-pickled brain trying to process what had just happened.

"Go on. Get out," Burgess said. "I'm counting to three. One. Two." Burgess planted himself between the man and Benjy, his scarred face offering no compromise.

"Jesus, will you come on!" The other man grabbed the dripping, belligerent Tony and dragged him toward the door, just as the Hispanic woman came out from behind the counter, carrying a cup of coffee.

She held it out to Tony with a disarming smile. "Because your other one is spilled." He took it and she wrapped her hands around his, now holding the cup, and looked up at him, still smiling. It was a tender smile, the kind a mother wears when she tucks her children into bed. "I know, Tony, that you are upset about your wife. But I feel, in my heart, that it will be all right." Like a child, he took the cup, nodded his thanks, and let himself be dragged away.

Wishing he could have diffused the situation like that, Burgess shot her a smile. "Thanks, Magdalena." In his own misery, he was forgetting. Everyone has a story.

"He's not a nice man, Sergeant Burgess," she said, "but he's not usually as bad as this." Her shrug was philosophical. "He has the troubles at home."

Didn't they all. He sat back down. "So, Benjy. You were telling me about Reggie and his shopping cart?"

"Oh, yeah." Benjy shook his head. "He'd use that WD-40 on the wheels and steel wool on the rust, kept it nice and shiny. Ole Reggie took better care of that cart than some people do their cars." He leaned in close, like he was delivering confidential information. "They think we're all dirty, 'cuz we live on the street, but Reggie weren't like that. He was neat. Kept himself good when he wasn't having one of his spells."

"Tell me what you heard," Burgess reminded him, his vow of patience already being eroded by this meander down memory lane.

"Oh. Yeah. About Reggie gettin' grabbed. I heard he was just walkin' along, checking the trash for cans and stuff like he'd do, minding his own business, when this van pulls up and a guy gets out. He and Reggie start arguing, then another guy gets out, and the two of them haul Reggie into the truck and drive away."

Questions flooded his mind. Van or truck? What the men looked like. Burgess tried not to overwhelm Benjy by blurting them out all at once. "You didn't see this yourself?" Reggie shook his head. "Who'd you hear it from?"

Benjy kept his eyes down as he carefully removed the top of his second muffin, broke it into six pieces, and ate the first. "I dunno, Joe. I was somewhere, and people were talking. Maybe over to the park sharing a bottle? I heard it and it scared me, ya know. Life's hard enough on the street. There's always people think they can beat on us. Like that guy was just here? He coulda hurt me and no one would care. You learn to be careful, ya know. Stay away from the Old Port at night, especially on the weekend, things like that. Be real careful when you meet groups of young guys. Be extra careful when you pass them Africans. Heck, I know one woman, she got beat by a group of young girls."

The cops cared, but they couldn't be everywhere.

Benjy sighed and ate two more pieces of muffin. "I don't know what the world's comin' to. You gotta stay away from the crazies and the druggies when your check comes. Be real careful about who you hang with. There's always someone looking to make what you got theirs." He grinned as he ate the fourth piece of muffin. "This sure is good, Joe. I appreciate it."

He licked a finger and caught up some crumbs. "Me, I got direct deposit for my check. Some lady over to the Preble, she suggested that. Makes my money go a lot farther. Harder to spend if it ain't in my pocket and I gotta go to the bank to get it." The fifth piece disappeared as Benjy shook his head. "Sound like an ad for one a them banks, Joe, don't I?"

"You sure do," Burgess agreed, wondering if Reggie had had direct deposit. He'd found no bank stuff among Reggie's papers. "So, you've got no idea who you heard it from?"

"Nope. I'll think on it, though. Sometimes, I go lookin' for information in my head and it ain't there. Then, later, I'm just walking along, mindin' my own business, and whammo, there it is, when it's no use anymore."

"I think that happens to all of us. Even if you can't remember who you were talking to, can you recall what they said happened to Reggie?"

"He was fightin' with them. Reggie didn't wanna get in that truck. Swung a fist at one of 'em. Hit him pretty hard, too. Reggie wasn't one to let people push him around. You know that, Joe. Wasn't never mean or violent, but he was no sissy. I've seen him stand up for Maura coupla times when guys were making fun of her. Reggie didn't take to people not being treated decent."

Benjy stopped talking as he ate the last piece of the muffin top, and drank some coffee. "I dunno what kind of truck it was. I used to know all my trucks and cars but there's so many more brands these days. Lotta foreign ones. This one was a double cab. Think it was American." He hunched his shoulders. "That's all I know. It maybe had a logo or somethin', but I'm not too clear on that."

"What day did this happen?"

Benjy looked surprised. "Friday, of course. Reggie wasn't workin' that day. He hadn't been feelin' too good, so he took him a day off. I thought you knew that."

He knew nothing. That's why he was here. Ordinary people had lives with schedules and habits and regular contacts with people. The forgotten people had some of those, too. Like Reggie's regular date with Maura. But there were a lot of blank spots, too. They lived meager lives without a lot of documentation. He couldn't use Reggie's social security number to look up his employer, for example, because he worked under the table. Couldn't trace phone records 'cuz Reggie had no phone.

The old man contemplated his empty napkin. Hefted his cup, but it was empty. "Sometimes he had Fridays off. That was day he and Maura..."

"I know," Burgess said. "Had sex. And that was why Maura was worried."

"How's Maura doing?" the old man asked. "I haven't seen her around."

"I haven't seen her, either," Burgess said. "Getting back to Reggie and that truck, did you hear where this happened?"

Again, the old man registered surprise, as though Burgess should know this. "Down by the waterfront. See, Reggie was down there having lunch with his cousin. That crazy one, ya know, thinks she's a witch. He used to spend time with her 'cuz he felt bad for her, on accounta losing her husband. She was real broke up about that, so Reggie, ya know, tried to look after her." Benjy giggled. "Kinda the blind leadin' the blind, you ask me, but Reggie done what he could."

"You know where on the waterfront?"

Benjy looked offended. "Sure I do. Not too far from where the bridge goes over to South Portland, that new bridge replaced the Million Dollar Bridge. We were walking along near there. It was a pretty nice day. The sun was out. Then all of a sudden, the truck pulls up and stops. Reggie, he stares at it and he gets this look, sorta half scared and half angry. Then he gives me a shove. 'Get on outa here, Ben,' he says. Well, I ain't fast, but I got. Went between two buildings and hid, but I could still see what was happening."

"So you were there."

Benjy slapped his palm on the counter. "Shoot, Joe. I didn't mean to tell you that."

"You see him forced into a truck, he ends up dead, and you don't want to talk about it?"

The old man's bent head shook from side to side. He wouldn't look up. He stuck out a hopeful finger, licked it, and stabbed at the napkin, searching for crumbs. Finally, he raised his eyes to Burgess's face. "I'm an old coward, is all," he said. "I just didn't wanna end up dead, too. And that's what the man said would happen if I opened my big mouth."

Chapter 17