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.Fill you up, though.You ever see one of them things get wet? Puffs right up like a sponge.""You ever steal any food?""Try not to, 'less I'm real hungry.Bible says thou shalt not steal."Rags quotes the Bible quite a bit, something I found surprising at first, until he told me he had once been a preacher.I didn't ask him how he ended up like he has.When and if he wants me to know, I assume he'll tell me, and till then, it's none of my business."Whatta you feel like?" he asked.I said it didn't matter, that anything was fine, and he suggested we get on the Seventh Avenue line and head over to Penn Station, that the food was good there.I didn't like it.It meant leaving the subway, going up into the station itself."How'll we get back on the lines?" I asked him.From somewhere in the folds of his swaddling, he brought out two tokens."With these," he said, smiling at me."I always got tokens, just like I always got pennies.Other stuff shines, and people pick it up, but not pennies.Even they see pennies, don't wanta pick 'em up.Not worth bendin' over for a penny.Is for me, though.And tokens.They're dark, not so shiny.See it, think it's old gum or dog shit or somethin'.Not me, though.I can tell a token fifty yards off.People always droppin' tokens."My argument went up in flames, but I thought, after all, Penn Station is still underground.There is something important to me about not seeing daylight, and I knew I wouldn't unless I went out to where the old ticket windows used to be, and I would be careful not to do that.Penn Station, like the subways themselves, contains a mixture of people—businessmen, travelers, and a few skells, but not many.I felt terribly out of place there, mostly because of Rags's presence.My own appearance might be called scruffy, but not yet shabby, while Rags is unmistakably a derelict.I recalled that when I had taken trains out of Penn station I'd seen police rousting tramps and obvious psycho cases out of the terminal area and up onto the streets or down to the tracks below, and I asked Rags if we—while thinking he—wouldn't be bothered."Just keep movin'," he told me."They see you goin' someplace, they hope it's out of their eyesight, so they leave you alone.Don't matter you move slow or fast, just so's you keep movin'."We went up the stairs to the large, low-ceilinged room whose middle is taken up by the big call-board.Rags stationed us between the islands of seats where the passengers waited and the west stairways to the tracks."We'll stand here, but you see a cop, you start movin'."A few passed while we stood there, and when we saw them we moved, hugging the wall, going toward the subway entrance.They gave us the eye, but didn't say anything, and after they'd passed, we returned to our original location.After a while Rags nudged me, and I looked where he directed and saw a bearded man in his mid thirties sitting on one of the benches.He was hurriedly eating a hot dog and watching the call-board as the train information rolled.His arm was looped through the strap of his leather shoulder bag, and he balanced a bag of french fries in his other hand.When he ate a french fry he did so gingerly, with an expression of distaste."He's the one," Rags said."Watch me."Rags stood beside me until the call-board started to change again.Then he walked purposefully toward the trash can nearest the man, who, simultaneously with Rags, stood up and moved toward it as well, thrusting his half-eaten sandwich and barely touched french fries into the paper bag.Rags didn't say a word—just stood by the trash can and begged the man with his eyes.The man's face soured, but he thrust the food into Rags's hand and disappeared down a track entrance.Chuckling, Rags returned to me."You pick 'em out," he said, holding out the wet and stringy french fries.I ate a few and thanked him."Pick out the ones eatin' on the run don't look like they're enjoyin' it anyways.Know damn well they ain't gonna finish.Then, when their train comes, get between them and the garbage and get a little old puppy dog look in your eyes.Easier for them to give it to you than to step around you to throw it away." He held up the packet of ketchup and I shook my head.He tore it open and squeezed the entire contents directly into his mouth, so that I could see what was left of his teeth.It wasn't much.As he threw the empty packet into the trash, I saw his face change, grow very cold.There was fear in it too."Come on," he said, and moved toward the subway entrance.I caught up easily."What's wrong?" I asked."Saw a man we don't wanta meet."The name came to me quickly."Enoch?""No, ain't Enoch.Montcalm."We were going down the stairs by now, and I took the token Rags handed me."Montcalm? Who's that?""TA cop.""Just a cop?""Not just a cop.Montcalm knows me.Hates me.He's the one cop'd bust my ass sure.""Why?"I know what he is."CHAPTER 5Bob Montcalm sucked in a bolt of smoke and blew it out again immediately.It had been the rag man, he was sure of it.Nobody dressed like that for fun.New York was fucked up all right, but wearing layers of rags hadn't become the newest fashion trend.Not yet anyway, he thought bitterly, watching the staircase where the black man had disappeared.Who had it been in the Oz books he'd read when he was a kid, the ones in his grandfather's apartment? That had been a rag man too, hadn't it?No.The Raggedy Man, that was it.Montcalm bet nobody in Oz smelled like his rag man did.He would have gone after the old fart if he hadn't more important things to do.Montcalm looked at the clock on the call-board and checked it against his watch.2:38 P.M.Rodriguez had said 2:30, but Rodriguez was always late.Finally Montcalm spotted him, coming out of the newsstand with a Post tucked beneath his arm.Calmly, leisurely, the Latino walked through the crowded concourse, looking neither right nor left, and headed toward the men's room on the lower level.Montcalm followed.The restroom was nearly empty, but it didn't matter.When Montcalm entered, Rodriguez was already in one of the booths [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Fill you up, though.You ever see one of them things get wet? Puffs right up like a sponge.""You ever steal any food?""Try not to, 'less I'm real hungry.Bible says thou shalt not steal."Rags quotes the Bible quite a bit, something I found surprising at first, until he told me he had once been a preacher.I didn't ask him how he ended up like he has.When and if he wants me to know, I assume he'll tell me, and till then, it's none of my business."Whatta you feel like?" he asked.I said it didn't matter, that anything was fine, and he suggested we get on the Seventh Avenue line and head over to Penn Station, that the food was good there.I didn't like it.It meant leaving the subway, going up into the station itself."How'll we get back on the lines?" I asked him.From somewhere in the folds of his swaddling, he brought out two tokens."With these," he said, smiling at me."I always got tokens, just like I always got pennies.Other stuff shines, and people pick it up, but not pennies.Even they see pennies, don't wanta pick 'em up.Not worth bendin' over for a penny.Is for me, though.And tokens.They're dark, not so shiny.See it, think it's old gum or dog shit or somethin'.Not me, though.I can tell a token fifty yards off.People always droppin' tokens."My argument went up in flames, but I thought, after all, Penn Station is still underground.There is something important to me about not seeing daylight, and I knew I wouldn't unless I went out to where the old ticket windows used to be, and I would be careful not to do that.Penn Station, like the subways themselves, contains a mixture of people—businessmen, travelers, and a few skells, but not many.I felt terribly out of place there, mostly because of Rags's presence.My own appearance might be called scruffy, but not yet shabby, while Rags is unmistakably a derelict.I recalled that when I had taken trains out of Penn station I'd seen police rousting tramps and obvious psycho cases out of the terminal area and up onto the streets or down to the tracks below, and I asked Rags if we—while thinking he—wouldn't be bothered."Just keep movin'," he told me."They see you goin' someplace, they hope it's out of their eyesight, so they leave you alone.Don't matter you move slow or fast, just so's you keep movin'."We went up the stairs to the large, low-ceilinged room whose middle is taken up by the big call-board.Rags stationed us between the islands of seats where the passengers waited and the west stairways to the tracks."We'll stand here, but you see a cop, you start movin'."A few passed while we stood there, and when we saw them we moved, hugging the wall, going toward the subway entrance.They gave us the eye, but didn't say anything, and after they'd passed, we returned to our original location.After a while Rags nudged me, and I looked where he directed and saw a bearded man in his mid thirties sitting on one of the benches.He was hurriedly eating a hot dog and watching the call-board as the train information rolled.His arm was looped through the strap of his leather shoulder bag, and he balanced a bag of french fries in his other hand.When he ate a french fry he did so gingerly, with an expression of distaste."He's the one," Rags said."Watch me."Rags stood beside me until the call-board started to change again.Then he walked purposefully toward the trash can nearest the man, who, simultaneously with Rags, stood up and moved toward it as well, thrusting his half-eaten sandwich and barely touched french fries into the paper bag.Rags didn't say a word—just stood by the trash can and begged the man with his eyes.The man's face soured, but he thrust the food into Rags's hand and disappeared down a track entrance.Chuckling, Rags returned to me."You pick 'em out," he said, holding out the wet and stringy french fries.I ate a few and thanked him."Pick out the ones eatin' on the run don't look like they're enjoyin' it anyways.Know damn well they ain't gonna finish.Then, when their train comes, get between them and the garbage and get a little old puppy dog look in your eyes.Easier for them to give it to you than to step around you to throw it away." He held up the packet of ketchup and I shook my head.He tore it open and squeezed the entire contents directly into his mouth, so that I could see what was left of his teeth.It wasn't much.As he threw the empty packet into the trash, I saw his face change, grow very cold.There was fear in it too."Come on," he said, and moved toward the subway entrance.I caught up easily."What's wrong?" I asked."Saw a man we don't wanta meet."The name came to me quickly."Enoch?""No, ain't Enoch.Montcalm."We were going down the stairs by now, and I took the token Rags handed me."Montcalm? Who's that?""TA cop.""Just a cop?""Not just a cop.Montcalm knows me.Hates me.He's the one cop'd bust my ass sure.""Why?"I know what he is."CHAPTER 5Bob Montcalm sucked in a bolt of smoke and blew it out again immediately.It had been the rag man, he was sure of it.Nobody dressed like that for fun.New York was fucked up all right, but wearing layers of rags hadn't become the newest fashion trend.Not yet anyway, he thought bitterly, watching the staircase where the black man had disappeared.Who had it been in the Oz books he'd read when he was a kid, the ones in his grandfather's apartment? That had been a rag man too, hadn't it?No.The Raggedy Man, that was it.Montcalm bet nobody in Oz smelled like his rag man did.He would have gone after the old fart if he hadn't more important things to do.Montcalm looked at the clock on the call-board and checked it against his watch.2:38 P.M.Rodriguez had said 2:30, but Rodriguez was always late.Finally Montcalm spotted him, coming out of the newsstand with a Post tucked beneath his arm.Calmly, leisurely, the Latino walked through the crowded concourse, looking neither right nor left, and headed toward the men's room on the lower level.Montcalm followed.The restroom was nearly empty, but it didn't matter.When Montcalm entered, Rodriguez was already in one of the booths [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]