Chapter 1
1
“How did you end up on the streets?” the man asked, squatting beside Ben on the pavement in front of the shop where he was panhandling.
“Walked out of my house and there they were,” Ben replied, hoping he’d take the hint and either shut up or better yet move on.
“Hey, come on. It’s a serious question.”
Ben shrugged. “What’s it to you, anyway?”
His smile was ingratiating as he replied, “I’m nosy?”
“I’ll give you that,” Ben agreed before saluting a man who dropped some change into his cup.
“Okay, let’s start again. How long have you been homeless?”
“Again, none of your damned business.”
The man leaned back against the wall, studying Ban, who did his best to ignore his scrutiny—and his presence. Then he said, very softly, “You were a good cop, once upon a time, Mercer.”
Mercer was Ben’s surname and the man was right, he had been a good cop until everything went south.
“What happened?” the man asked.
“If you know who I am, you know damned well what happened,” Ben growled.
He nodded. “You got shot by your partner while the two of you were trying to bring down a drug dealer. He claimed you were taking a payoff and he caught you in the act. He said you and he pulled your guns at the same time, he managed to wound you because your shot went wild, and then he killed the dealer in self-defense.”
“Nice story, if you believe him,” Ben spat out.
“Unfortunately for you, the IA investigators did, despite you telling them that your partner was the one on the take, working for the dealer. When you tried to arrest them, he killed the guy seconds before you made a grab for his gun, which is why his shot hit your knee instead of killing you.”
“Fuckers,” Ben said angrily. “Every last one of them. Him, IA, my superiors. I was labeled a dirty cop. Even though they didn’t have the proof they needed to back it up, other than my partner’s word, they shoved me out on my ass.”
“Then your wife divorced you,” the man said.
“You’ve done your research.” Ben eyed him warily. “Why?”
“Later. Let’s finish your story, first.”
“Not much more to it, which you probably know. I was down, way down, and began drinking to drown my sorrows and the pain. She didn’t like it, told me to straighten up or else, I didn’t, she walked out and filed for divorce. I don’t really blame her. Our marriage had been a sham from the beginning. The problem was, she had a damned good lawyer and I didn’t because I couldn’t afford one, so she got everything except my clothes and the car.”
“That must have pissed you off.”
“You think?” Ben frowned at him at that point, asking, “You got a name?”
“You can call me Ray.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Is that your real name?”
“Yeah.”
“Got a last one to go with it?”
“Yes, but I’ll keep it to myself for the time being.”
“Whatever.”
Ben nodded his thanks to a woman who put two bills in his cup as she said, “May Jesus’ blessings be with you, young man.”
“Haven’t been so far,” he said under his breath.
Ray snickered before saying, “You were drinking heavily, and had only the clothes on your back and your car. Then what?”
“Lived in the car until it was impounded, stopped drinking because I couldn’t even afford rotgut wine, and here I am, footloose-and-fancy-free with what I’ve got in my backpack and my sleeping bag.”
“And this.” He tapped Ben’s knee.
Ben grimaced. Not that his touching it hurt, but he was making a point that Ben didn’t like but had to accept. His partner had shot him in the knee. It was the bastard’s bad luck, or good luck Ben supposed, that it hit him there, but his partner had been in panic mode. If it had hit anywhere else, Ben might have retaliated.
“They say kneecapping, and that’s basically what he did to me, causes the worst pain imaginable,” Ben said. “I can personally attest to that. I went down, screaming in agony. The doctors did the best they could to reconstruct my knee but as they told me at the time, a kneecap can never be fully restored. It didn’t leave me incapacitated but I’m lame, now, and I’ll never be able to walk or run the way I used to. Another byproduct of what happened,” he muttered sourly.
“How badly doesit handicap you?” Ray asked.
Ben replied with a slight smile, “Depends on how you mean that. It’s great for the pity factor when I’m panhandling. Not so good when I’m trying to find a safe place to crash for the night.”
“I’m sure.”
“Look, Ray, I appreciate the attention, I guess you could call it, but what the hell’s going on with you?”
“I’m trying to decide if you might be the kind of man I’m looking for.”
“In what respect?” Ben asked, his gaze wary.