“Heard you retired.”
“I unretired.”
He glanced at her with interest. “You can do that?”
“Is Kenny in the same spot?”
Shaunnie refilled the bucket of oats. “Where else would Kenny be?”
“All I needed to know.”
“So you’re back working?” he asked.
“For now.”
“You should have stayed retired, Kelly.”
“Why?”
“Live longer.”
“We all have to die sometime, Shaunnie. The lucky ones get to pick the time.”
“I don’t think I’m in that group.”
“You’re Irish, you have to be.”
“What about you?”
“I’m not that Irish,” said Paul.
The rain picked up as she eased her way through the park. She kept to the walking paths until she drew near to her destination. She had on waterproof boots that raised her considerable height another two inches. The old man was hunkered down on a bench behind a large rock outcrop. On sunny days people would drape over the stone, improving their tans. On this rain-drenched day, it was deserted.
Kenny sat with his back to her. At the sound of her approach, he turned. He was dressed only a notch above a street person. This was by design—less attention that way. His face and hands were clean, however, and his eyes were clear. He pulled his crumpled hat down farther on his head and studied her.
“Heard you were in town.”
She sat down next to him. He was small and seemed smaller still with her tall frame beside him.
“News travels uncomfortably fast these days.”
“Not that fast. Shaunnie called me on the cell just now. What do you need?”
“Two.”
“The usual?”
“Always worked for me.”
“How’s your trigger finger?”
“A bit stiff, actually. Maybe early arthritis.”
“I’ll factor that in. When?”
“Two hours. Here.”
He rose. “See you in two hours.”