“How dare you,” he says, putting his hand on his chest in a lil ol’ me gesture. “I’m helping people here. And if it just so happens that I’m investigating a case at the same time, even better.”
“You’re not looking for Jacky Seever,” Hoskins says, grabbing Loren’s arm, and two nurses who’d been walking toward them turn and walk the other direction so abruptly it would be funny if Hoskins were in a laughing mood. “You should be looking for Secondhand. He’s out there while you’re fucking around with this shit.”
“You remember what I used to tell you?” Loren says, pulling his arm out of Hoskins’s grip. “I’m hunting, Paulie. Be vewy, vewy quiet. I think we’re close, vewy close. Did you know Alan Cole volunteered with Seever a few times? Dressed up like a clown too. Danced the motherfucking jig for the kids.”
“You found him?”
“Not yet,” Loren says, and he chuckles. He’s lost it, Hoskins thinks. This case finally sent him over the edge. “But we’ll have him locked up before the weekend. Scout’s honor.”
Loren pops three of his fingers up in a salute and waggles his eyebrows, up and down, then grabs the red bulb on the end of his nose and honks it twice, sketches a bow, and skips away, his long clown shoes slapping against the tile floor.
*
“Where have you been?” the caretaker woman asks. He’s late, much later than he’d thought he’d be, because of the shit with Loren. “This will put me into overtime for the week.”
“I’ll pay it,” he says. “How was he today?”
“He urinated in the kitchen sink,” she says. “He said it was too far to walk to the bathroom. And he laughed about it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He did it all over the dishes I’d just cleaned.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not sure what else I can say.”
But she must not think Hoskins is sorry enough, because she leaves in a huff, without saying goodbye. All over some hot water, he thinks. Sooner or later she won’t come back and he’ll have to call the service again, ask them to send out someone else.
“Is she finally gone?” Joe asks. He’s sitting on his bed like a kid, knees drawn up, the newspaper propped up on his thighs. “All day, all she does is nag. It’s like being married.”
“It’s cold in here, Dad. You should be wearing socks.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, I know you are.”
Hoskins gets a pair of clean socks from the dresser and starts to roll them over Joe’s feet, but the old man’s toenails are long, and yellowed, so he stops and gets a pair of clippers from the bathroom. He could ask the woman to do it in the morning, but the last time he did that she’d ignored his request, so he won’t bother. He doesn’t want to get into it with her, it’s not worth his time.
“Hold still, I don’t want to cut you,” Hoskins says. He sits at the end of the bed, takes Joe’s feet onto his lap. The old man’s heels feel weird in his hands—like sandpaper, rough and ridged, but somehow still soft.
“All right, all right. You don’t have to pinch so hard.”
“I’m not pinching.”
“It tickles. Don’t touch there! Goddammit.”
“Sit still. Quit acting like a baby.”
“I’m not a baby.”
“You sure as hell act like one. Don’t move.”
Joe sits for a moment,
“I’ve got money, you know. Savings.”
Hoskins straightens up, looks at his father.
“Yeah, I know,” he says. “So?”
“We could take that money, get me a spot at one of those retirement places,” Joe says. “There’re some nice ones in town.”
“We’re not doing that,” Hoskins says. “I’ve seen some of the shit that goes on in those places. You can’t trust anyone. It’s better for you to stay here.”
“There’d be people taking care of me.”
“I take care of you.”
“I know.”
“You used to say how you’d rather die before moving into an old folks’ home,” Hoskins says. “What made you change your tune?”
“You’ve got a lot going on. You’ve gotta work, get a woman. I have a feeling I’m the worst cockblock there is.”
Hoskins smiles a little at that.
“It’s not like you’ve had too many chances to put your blocking skills to the test.”
“True.” Joe pauses. “That woman tell you I pissed in the sink?”
“Yeah.”
“I did.”
“Why’d you do it?”
“I wanted to make her mad. It was quiet today. We needed some excitement.”
“Got it.”
“This going crazy business isn’t all bad, you know,” Joe says. He’s looking at the newspaper again, running the tip of his pencil along the crossword clues. “It’s really not that bad at all.”