They found him sitting on a bench not far from the Prospect Park Boathouse. That part of the park was usually busy, but today few people gathered near the marshy pond at the back of the boathouse. The man was long and thin as the reeds lining the banks of the lake. His stringy gray hair was tied back with a red sock, and he wore the matching sock on his left hand, with holes cut in it so that his fingers poked out. His bony right hand was bare, and the fingers twitched spasmodically from time to time.
His clothes were decent: a sturdy pair of brown corduroy trousers fastened with a leather belt, tied in a knot because the buckle was missing. Blue and green flannel shirt, also in good shape, over a long red undershirt, clumsily tucked into the pants, bits of it still poking out. A forest green down parka in good condition, wool socks, and leather Docksiders with thick soles completed his outfit. Either someone was taking care of him or he had hit a thrift store jackpot, Lee thought-either way, he was glad the man was warmly dressed. Being homeless wasn't any picnic even in the best weather, but it could be especially brutal in February.
He watched Lee and Eddie approach with a wary frown.
"Hiya," said Eddie. "Remember me?"
"Sure I remember you. You were here with your two bodyguards." The man scrutinized Lee. "This guy doesn't look so impressive. What happened to the other two?"
Eddie laughed. "This is my weekend bodyguard."
The man's frown deepened. "No offense," he said to Lee, "but you don't look very scary."
"I'm not."
"My friend's name is Lee," Eddie said. "And I'm-"
"No, don't tell me," the man interrupted. "Larry. Elmer. Pete. Elijah."
"Eddie."
"Right, right-Eddie. I remember now. My friends call me Willow," he said to Lee. Then, with a chuckle that was more like a hiccough, he added, "My enemies don't call me. You won't tell them you saw me, will you?" he asked, his eyes searching Lee's face. His eyes were watery and bloodshot, but radiated a sharp intelligence.
His face was as long and thin as his body, with cheeks so sunken that they made his protruding buckteeth look even more prominent. His eyes were dark and deeply recessed in their sockets, and Lee didn't know if they were red-rimmed from booze, lack of sleep, disease, or just general ill health.
"Hey, don't worry," Eddie said. "We won't tell anyone. Here-we brought you somethin'." He dug a carton of Marlboros out from under his jacket. Willow leapt up from the bench and snatched them up eagerly, his eyes gleaming.
"Thanks! How d'you know my brand?" he asked as he tore away the cellophane wrapping and dug out a pack. He ripped it open and extracted a cigarette, examining it, peering at both ends. "Gotta check for microchips," he said, placing the cigarette in his mouth. He pulled a stainless-steel lighter from his pants pocket and lit the cigarette, sucking on it so deeply that Lee imagined his cheeks touching inside his mouth. He exhaled a plume of blue-gray smoke and smiled blissfully. The expression sat oddly on his lean features, making his face even more grotesque.
"Oh, that's better," he said, taking another deep drag before settling back down on the bench. The hand holding the cigarette was still, resting on his bony knee, but the other one danced about nervously. He picked at the green chipped paint on the bench, and that seemed to calm him somewhat. His eyes roamed the park, as if trying to spot potential spies and saboteurs. The only people in sight, though, were a young mother rolling a baby in a stroller, and an old man walking a decrepit Boston terrier. Owner and dog shuffled along, both of them arthritic, the dog's bulbous eyes cloudy with age. The man was wrapped in a red wool scarf under his parka, and the dog wore a little red wool coat made from the same material.
The pair didn't escape Willow's roving gaze. "Look at that!" he said. "Like master, like dog." He muttered something under his breath and took another drag of the cigarette, pulling at it with his whole body. He held in the smoke and then let it snake slowly out through his nostrils.
Eddie sat next to him. "So you told my friend that you had something for us? Some information-something you saw."
"I see a lot of things," Willow said, almost to himself. "I see a lot of things."
"Yeah, I know," Eddie replied. "But there was somethin' in particular you saw that we was interested in, remember?"
Instead of answering, Willow dug another cigarette from the pack and lit it with the first one, which he tossed over his shoulder. Lee's hopes sank-this man was a washout, a dead end. He had come all the way out to Prospect Park to watch a homeless schizophrenic smoke himself to death.
But then, to his surprise, Willow nodded. Looking around one last time, he lowered his voice even more. "Okay, I'll tell you what I saw, right?"
"Right," Eddie said.
"If you promise not to tell the Feds. CIA, FBI-they all want to get me, you know?"
"Yeah," Eddie assured him. "Don't worry, we won't tell anyone."
"Plant microchips in your brain, that's what they do when they get you, you know. Did you know that?"
"I heard something' about it, yeah," Eddie said. "Now what was it you saw?"
"Well, it was this guy, you know, and what was weird about it was that he was taking trash into the church. I thought that was odd. Thought maybe he was one of the ones after me-I'm always on the lookout."
"Right, right," Eddie encouraged him. "This is All Souls Church, right?"
"Yeah."
"When was this?" Lee asked.
"Well, it was last Saturday night. I know 'cause that's the day they have their soup kitchen, and I always go. Well, sometimes they throw stuff out later in the day, so I was just poking around, you know-nothin' illegal."
"No, of course not," Lee reassured him.
"So it's Saturday evening and there's really no one else around, and then I see this guy."
"What he look like?" Eddie asked.
"Little guy-runty, you know? Like if he was a pup in a litter they woulda drowned him. Only they didn't, 'cause there he was."
Lee had the uncomfortable thought that it might have been better for everyone if someone had drowned the man they were pursuing.
"Runty like how?" said Eddie. "You mean deformed or something?"
"Naw, nothin' like that. Just small-short, you know-and skinny. Not as thin as me, maybe, but pretty damn skinny, I'll tell you."
"Did you get a look at his face at all?" said Lee.
Willow shook his head, loosening the sock holding his gray ponytail. Lee didn't want to think about what might be living inside that greasy nest of hair.
"Not real well-too dark. No moon that night, and one a' the street lamps was burned out-has been for a while. But I did see the light across the street shine on his forehead. He had a big forehead. High, y'know, like his hair is receding."
"This trash can he was carrying," Eddie said, "did it seem like it was full?"
"Yeah, that's the other weird thing," Willow said, scratching his head. "Who brings a full trash can into a building, you know? Weird."
"Did you see him bring anything back out?" Lee asked.
"Nope. I saw a guy light up on the corner, bummed a smoke from him. Didn't see anything after that."
"Do you remember how he was dressed?"
"Mmm…dark clothes. Raincoat sort of like the ones the Feds wear, except this guy was no Fed-not well enough fed for that. Hey, that's not bad," he said, smiling broadly, displaying a mouth badly in need of dentistry. Several teeth were chipped; others were missing altogether. "Not well enough fed for a Fed-hey, not bad." He gave a chuckle, a low rumbling sound of phlegm rattling in his lungs.
"Anything else?"
"Oh, yeah-there was one thing."
"What?"
"His breathing. It was wheezy, you know? Like a guy who's been smokin' too long-except he didn't light up or nothin'."
"Do you think you could identify him from a police sketch?"
Willow picked at a scab on his chin. "I don't know. Maybe. What's in it for me?"
"Okay, look," Lee said, "you've been really helpful. Is there anything we can get you-some food, a place to sleep?"
Willow held up the carton of cigarettes. "More of these?"
"Hey, look," Lee said, pulling five twenty-dollar bills from his wallet. "If I give you this, will you promise to spend some of it on food and shelter?"
Willow took the money and counted it. "You made a mistake, man-these are twenties."
"It's not a mistake. I want you to have them. But please buy some decent food for yourself, will you? And maybe a room at the Y?"
"Y-M-J-A," Willow sang softly as he stuffed the money into his shoe. "I can stay at the Y-M-J-A. Da da da da da da, I can get anything I want, at the Y-M-J-A." He looked at Lee. "I'm Jewish-get it?"
"Yes," Lee said. "I get it. You will? Promise?"
"Sure!" Willow sang out, but his attention was drawn by a passing jogger, a well-built young black man in red spandex.
"Now he's a Fed," Willow whispered. "You see? They've found me already-they move fast, lemme tell you." He began singing again. "Who needs a bunker in Iraq-aq-aq-aq-aq-aq?" He sang to the tune of the Billy Joel song, "Movin' Out." "If that's what's movin' in, I'm gettin' out."
Without saying good-bye, Willow stood up and wandered off in the direction of the boathouse.
Eddie looked at Lee. "Well, I guess that's all she wrote."
"Yeah," Lee said. "Listen, how can I reach you?
"You can't," Eddie replied. "I'll call you."
Lee wanted to protest, but he knew there was nothing like pressure to drive Eddie even further away. And, as they walked out of the park, he was busy thinking about why someone would drag a trash can into a church in the middle of the night.