“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” I said, as I stopped a couple feet from her. “I just have a few questions. I’m looking for someone.”
She didn’t say anything, her bright blue eyes, surprisingly clear, seemed to look right through me.
“Mind if I sit down?”
She didn’t say anything, so I slowly, as non-aggressively as I could manage, pulled a chair out and sat down. She didn’t get up and leave, so I figured I could forge ahead.
“I understand you had a medal…”
“I didn’t steal it,” she said defensively, her body moving away from me slightly.
“I’m sure you didn’t.”
“They took it from me.”
“I know. I was just wondering who you got it from.”
“Why do you care?”
“I’m not going to lie to you, Lucy. That’s your name, right?”
“Yes,” she said slowly, never taking her eyes off mine.
“Well, I’m looking for the man who gave you the medal because his daughter hired me to find him. She wants to help him, if he’s in trouble.”
“He ain’t in no trouble.”
“Why do you say that?”
“We look out for each other down here. We’re like family. Ever since he showed up he’s been like an angel for everyone, looking out for us, getting us food, clothes, whatever we need. Me, I’m conducting research on human behavior.”
“His daughter would like to help him. Can you tell me where he is?”
“I can, but that don’t mean I will. He’s a friend of mine. That’s why he gave me the medal to hold on to, now they took that from me, too. What if you’re lying to me?”
“I’m not lying. I don’t want to hurt him, I just want to talk to him. Can you tell me how to find him?”
“You got any money?”
“You want me to give you money?”
“It look like I have any of my own?”
I reached into my back pocket and took out my wallet. I peeled off two twenties and laid them on the table. She eyed them a moment, then quick as a frog’s tongue, her hand shot out, she grabbed them, and stuffed them in her pocket.
She looked at me suspiciously a moment, then finally said, “He’s not here all the time.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“’bout an hour ago maybe, but I’m not too good with time.”
“Where’s his spot?”
“He moves around a lot. Maybe over by those tracks over there.” She indicated by bobbing her head past me, toward the east end of the terminal.
“Can you describe him to me?”
She laughed.
“That’s funny.”
“People think all us homeless people look alike. But he dresses up real good… for a homeless person. He’s got this gray jacket he wears. Looks like it came from a suit or something. And jeans. He always wears jeans. But they ain’t dirty jeans.”
“I’ll find him,” I said, as I got up. “Listen, Lucy, thanks.” I opened my wallet and put another twenty on the table. “Take care of yourself,” I said, but I don’t think she heard me.
Lucy’s description was right on target. Seated on a bench close to track 125, he was reading a newspaper, a carry-on bag at his feet. He looked like just another commuter. He ignored me until I got close enough so that I was standing only a couple of feet from him. Only then did he look up. We stared at each other a moment, sizing each other up.
He looked to be in his early-to-late sixties and didn’t look as if he’d been on the streets. He was clean-shaven, his grey hair cropped short, almost military style. He was dressed just as Lucy had described and was wearing a clean white Oxford button-down shirt and a faded blue tie. I recognized that same stoic expression as the guy in the school paper.
I sat down beside him, remaining silent for a moment. He paid me no attention. He was reading the Sports section of the Times.
“Yankees or Mets?” I asked in an attempt to break the ice.
He looked up.
“You’re Donald Osborne, aren’t you?”
I could feel an electric jolt coming from him, as he shot me a killer look.
“I’m not here to cause you any trouble,” I said as soothingly as I could. “But you’re him, aren’t you?”
“I used to be him. I’m not him anymore.”
“That’s fine, because I’m only interested in the him you were, not the him you are now.”
“Funny, ’cause I’m only interested in the now. What do you want?”
“I found you after the cops picked up Lucy and found your medal. It wasn’t hard to track you from there. And as to why, well, someone wants to meet you. You served in Vietnam, didn’t you?”
“Yes. They called me a war hero, but for the past forty-four years I’ve been trying to push that stuff out of my head. That and a lot of other stuff. I done some horrible things, other things, things I shouldn’t have done. I live this way ’cause I deserve to live this way. Hell, maybe I don’t deserve to live at all. At least down here there’s people I can help, and no one pays any attention. We’re all invisible here. Invisible in plain sight. I ain’t nothin’ anymore. It can be rush hour, packed, and I’ll be sipping my coffee and going through the trash, and sometimes I’ll notice a kid staring at me. I wish I could say something to put them at ease. They look so scared and confused. Like the rest of the world, only we don’t show it.
“They said it was my fault. We were crying like babies, worse than that, ’cause we were armed and we knew what we were doing, but it was us or them and self-preservation won out. Sometimes, when I’m lowering myself down the tracks for the night, between closing the terminal and the dawn of rush hour, I feel like I’m going down that foxhole. But alone. We’re born alone, we died alone.”
I wanted to stop him, to get him back on track, but I couldn’t. Maybe I didn’t want to. He had to get this out and maybe I was the only one who would listen to him.
“I like going to the public library. It’s the only place in the world I feel safe. Where life’s predictable. Where I can have control. I knew this day would come. What now?”
“Does the name Karyn Shaw mean anything to you?”
“Jesus.” He almost whispered, putting his hands up and covering his eyes. “God help me.”
“She’s your daughter?”
“I don’t have anyone. Except maybe people like Lucy, people who are as bad off as me. We look out for each other, you know.”
“You’re sure you don’t have a daughter?”
“She’s not my daughter. I don’t know her.” He said, but he was looking ahead in a way that told me he was looking back, looking back at a picture that included Karyn.
There wasn’t any point in going further. Either Osborne was lying or Karyn was mistaken. Either way, I was at a dead end, so I left him a couple of twenties and took off.
I called Karyn and asked her to meet me the next morning in the Atrium, 10 a.m.
“You found him?” she asked, and I could tell she was excited.
“Yes and no.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll tell you in the morning.”
The next day, Karyn was at the same table, waiting for me.
“So, where is he?”
“He says he doesn’t have a daughter.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“He’s telling the truth, isn’t he?”
She paused a moment before answering. “No.”
“Sure he is. He’s not your father, is he?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m good at what I do, Karyn. Things just didn’t add up. You’re not exactly who you led me to believe you were.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I did some research on you and Donald Osborne. You two are connected, but not the way you want me to believe. He’s not your father, but he did have something to do with your father.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Your father didn’t disappear after you were born, he was killed. By Donald Osborne.”