Eagle's Last Stand. Aimee ThurloЧитать онлайн книгу.
more often, Rick.”
He grew serious again. “I don’t usually have many reasons to do that.”
“Then find them,” she answered with a smile of her own.
Seeing a homeless man she recognized sitting on the sidewalk against the wall of a laundry, soaking up the sunshine, she quickened her pace. “That’s Mike. I brought him leftover food every night at the end of my shift at the Brickhouse. He’s going to have to find other help now.”
As they neared, the man looked over then jumped to his feet. “Mike, don’t go. I need to talk to you,” she called out.
The homeless man stood around six feet tall, with a red beard and brown hair. He was wearing a camouflage jacket, jeans, lace-up boots and was carrying a backpack.
Mike glanced at her, then Rick. A second later he stepped off the sidewalk into the alley and disappeared.
As they reached the alley, they saw his back just for an instant before he slipped around the far corner of the building.
“Rats!” she grumbled. “The weather’s going to be turning cold pretty soon. Mike’s going to need food and shelter. We have a food pantry over on 4th Street that feeds the homeless, but they already have to turn people away. One of the churches plans to take up the slack, though, and I wanted to make sure he knew.”
“Mike is behind the Brickhouse every night?” Rick asked quickly.
“Yeah. He always sits on the steps of the furniture store’s loading dock, waiting for me to come out into the alley.”
“If he was there last night, he may have seen something important,” Rick said. “Maybe even the guy who clobbered Frank and sabotaged the gas line. We have to find him again.”
“That’s going to be tough. You saw how he can disappear in a flash,” she said. “I know I mentioned talking to him, but except for a few rare times, it was mostly a one-way conversation. My guess is that even if he saw something, he won’t talk about it.”
“He may be emotionally disturbed. Whatever the situation, I want to talk to him,” Rick said. “Even if all he does is nod or shake his head, it might be enough to give us a lead.”
“Good luck.”
* * *
SEVERAL MINUTES LATER they arrived at the small community college campus and walked up the wide sidewalk toward a large, white, concrete-and-stone building. “This is my stop.” Kim met his gaze. “If you find Mike, be kind but careful around him. Some things can’t be forced. He’s been living on the street for years now, and he’s wary of everyone.”
“It never hurts to try. Did you ever learn his last name?”
“I don’t even know what his real first name is. I’ve always admired the football player Michael Oher, particularly after seeing The Blind Side, so I asked him if I could call him Mike. He nodded.”
“All right. Let’s see what I can do.”
She checked her watch. “I’ve got to go. Class lasts an hour. Should we meet afterward and go to Turquoise Dreams, Angelina’s other shop?”
“Okay, sounds good.”
“See you later, then,” she said.
* * *
AFTER LEAVING CAMPUS, Rick headed back to the center of town, deliberately choosing the side streets and alleys along Main, watching carefully as he approached restaurants and fast-food establishments. Mike undoubtedly already knew about the explosion at the Brickhouse Tavern and would be searching for a new place to score a meal.
At first Rick had no luck, but eventually he spotted Mike standing on a wooden pallet as he searched through the big green trash bin behind Hamburger Haven.
Instead of approaching him, Rick circled the block and came up the alley, looking down at the pavement and never making eye contact. About twenty feet away, he sat on a flattened cardboard box, his back to the wall. He was wearing a turtlenecked sweater and jeans, not his usual jacket, which often served to hide a handgun at his waist. Instead he had it in his boot for emergencies, but he knew what he was dealing with here and doubted there’d be a problem. Unless cornered, with no escape possible, Mike was unlikely to turn violent. He’d run. Though Rick pretended to be looking toward the street, he could see Mike in his peripheral vision. He knew that Mike, aware of him from the moment he’d entered the alley, had been watching him.
As Mike stepped down off the pallet, Rick saw the tattoo on the man’s left forearm. It was the outline of a horse head with a diagonal line beneath it—the insignia of the Army’s First Cavalry division.
“Ooorah, soldier,” Rick said in a barely audible voice.
Mike looked at him, his gaze focusing on Rick’s scar.
“Some scars are easier to see than others,” Rick said, still avoiding direct eye contact. “You like cheeseburgers? I’m hungry. I’m going to get myself one. I’ll pick one up for you, too, if you want.”
Rick glanced at Mike and noted the vacant expression on his face. For a moment he wondered if the man was beyond the ability to answer questions.
Then it happened. A spark of intelligence lit up Mike’s face for an instant. Rick realized that what he’d seen before was the thousand-yard stare: the blank look of someone who’d seen too much suffering and death.
“Cheeseburger. And fries,” Mike said.
“Coming right up.”
Rick went inside the small fast-food place, eager to return but afraid to look as though he was in a hurry. He’d just found his first asset and, with luck, he’d also be able to help the man.
One thing he knew about was adversity. It either broke or remade you, but sometimes finding your strength again required retreating to a place so deep inside yourself, the world couldn’t reach you. He understood that. He’d done it himself.
When Rick returned to the alley, Mike was gone, but Rick could sense he was being watched. Mike was nearby, probably trying to make up his mind about him. Rick placed the sandwich bag filled with food on a cardboard box next to the wall where he’d been sitting. Mike would find it there.
“I’m after the man who nearly killed Kim, her uncle and my family,” Rick called out as clearly as possible without shouting. “You see things most of us miss, Mike. Whatever you tell me will stay between us, but I could really use your help. Whoever it is may not be through yet.”
Rick left the alley and crossed the street. As an undercover operative he’d lived engulfed by a darkness most sane people would do anything to avoid. Yet it was there, in that world of senseless violence, that the true measure of a man was often found...and sometimes lost.
Rick picked up a soft drink inside the fast food place, then walked back to where he’d left Daniel’s loaner SUV. He’d drive rather than walk back to campus. With time to spare, he took the long way, reacquainting himself with Hartley. Eventually he pulled into campus.
When he’d taken classes here right out of high school, the community college had been nothing more than a multi-classroom structure and administration building. Now the campus comprised about three acres, with a grassy commons area and central fountain.
Rick took the road leading to the visitors’ parking area and pulled into the first slot he found. After a short walk, he found Kim standing just down the hall talking to a man who looked vaguely familiar. It hit him a moment later when the guy turned and Rick saw his face clearly for the first time.
“Karl Edmonds. It’s been a lifetime,” Rick said.
“You know my professor?” Kim asked.
“Professor?