Inconsolable (Love Triumphs 2)

He went to the shore and washed his face, the salt water bite took his thick-headedness away. He rinsed the blood out of his hoodie under a tap. Next stop the pavilion where there was always a chess game to be had, fat to chew and information he could use.

There was a game in progress: Noddy and Blue. Clint and Scully were spectating and sharing a bottle in a brown paper bag that smelled like rum. Mulder was under the table. He’d hoped to avoid Scully.

“Boys, Mully,” he said.

“Holy shit, Joker, what happened to your face?”

That was as close an invitation to sit as he was going to get. He slid into the bench seat beside Scully. The nickname Joker was so close to Trick, Drum always wondered if Scully had worked out who he was. If he had, he was decent enough to keep it to himself, but not so decent he didn’t give Drum a hard time whenever he could.

“Fell,” he answered, knowing that’d get a laugh.

“Someone hit you?” asked Noddy. “Some copper? That’s fuckin’ nasty.” No surprise they knew about that. For homeless men they were well-read, and newspapers doubled as good insulation.

“Nope. The cops were cool. I did fall.”

Noddy moved a pawn. He had this game unless Blue was willing to sacrifice. That’s what he’d have been asking Foley to do if he’d stayed, sacrifice her well-being, her social standing. It was unacceptable. “Thought that pretty chicky you’ve been hanging around with might’ve slugged you one.”

Jesus. Yes. But it wasn’t his face Foley had damaged, and it wasn’t her fault he was pulled all apart and on the run again.

“You do that other bird, the one what dobbed you in to the fuzz?” said Blue.

“Nope.”

“The coppers feed you?” That came from Clint. Clint was always hungry.

“Yeah, they fed me. They were decent. Doing their jobs.”

Scully knocked his shoulder. “Thought you were a goner. Ta-ta the goose. Tell a good story, did ya?”

“I didn’t touch her. I didn’t need a story.”

“Saint Joker of the cliff face, that’s you.”

“Shoulda done her anyway,” said Blue. “Long as she was offerin’.”

“Joker don’t need no park prossie. He’s still young and pretty, not like us,” said Scully, and that was a fair observation. These men were all in their fifties. Clint might’ve been eighty. It was hard to tell, he’d been living rough so long the dirt was engrained in his skin.

Drum put his hand under the table and gave Mully a pat. “Woman was sick. Making stuff up for attention.”

“Aren’t we all,” said Noddy. “Checkmate.”

Blue grunted. “Shit.” His Queen was under threat. He’d have to sacrifice her and even then Noddy had the game in the bag.

“Why are you gracing us with your presence?” said Scully.

“Got any food?” said Clint.

Drum had change from the fifty he broke to buy breakfast. He handed it to Clint and the older man pocketed it furtively. “I need sage advice and counsel.”

That got a laugh, muttered comments about him being in the wrong place.

“I need a new place to live. Council is boarding up the cave.” That’s all they needed to know. “Thinking I’ll head out somewhere else.”

“Go south, get on the dole,” said Noddy.

Blue set up for another game. “Get yourself an old van. You can live in one of ‘em. That’d be luxury.”

“Joker’d be too good to live in a van. He needs real estate, trillion dollar views,” said Scully.