Samaritan Read Free Page B

of
Grendel
in Old English.”
    “
Beowulf
?” he gently corrected.
    “What did I say,” Nerese flushed, praying that he hadn’t sat through her Looney Tunes lecture.
    “So you’re a detective,” he beamed. “That’s great, just great.”
    “I also had two years of college,” she blurted, embarrassing herself further. “You still teaching English?”
    “Well, these days I’m the principal, actually,” he said, almost apologetically.
    “Hey, there you go.” Nerese smiled, but just wanting to get the hell out of there now.
    “Listen,” Egan took her hand in both of his. “These kids, I can’t tell you how grateful we are for you coming in like this.”
    “No problem.” Her hand slid free as she headed once again for the doors.
    “Listen, Denise . . .”
    “Nerese,” she listlessly corrected him, just like she had to correct every third or fourth person who addressed her by name every day of her life.
    “Nerese. Sorry.” He perched on the arm of a chair. “Can I talk to you about something?”
    She dropped into the hinged seat directly across the aisle from him, the two of them dwarfed by the oceanic emptiness of the hall.
    “Which district do you work out of?”
    “The Bow and Arrow district,” she said.
    “Come again?”
    “I’m ten weeks from retirement. When you have less than a half-year to go they take you out of the field, give you stuff like this.” She flapped a hand toward the stage.
    “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
    “It’s a long story.” Nerese sinking, sinking.
    “The reason I’m asking, Nerese, is that we had a teacher here, a volunteer no less, local guy, terrific guy, was a very successful television writer out in California, came back to town, came to us, offered to teach a writing class off the cuff, got stood up by the kids three four times in a row before I could make it happen. The guy was patient, never complained, just kept showing up until we finally got the thing airborne. Taught here for a month, like I said, a great guy, an incredible resource for us . . .” Egan took a breath, hauled one leg up across the other.
    Nerese stole a peek at her watch: 2:15.
    “Anyways, two days ago, the guy was assaulted, got his head bashed in pretty good. He’s laid up in Dempsy Medical. And, I made some inquiries, they don’t know what happened, who did it, but the poor bastard almost died.”
    “This was in school?”
    “No no no. In his apartment. Now, I know a few detectives, made some calls, but my guys, turns out they’re retired, on vacation, one guy’s under indictment apparently. The thing is, whoever did this? They’re still out there and for whatever reason there doesn’t seem to be much of an investigation going on, and you know, Jesus Christ, I’d like to see someone nail that sonofabitch.”
    “No, I hear you,” Nerese said softly, thinking, Not my table.
    “I mean, I feel like I owe this guy for what he did for the kids here, you know?”
    “You think it was any of them?”
    “His students? Nah. I mean who the hell knows these days, but no. Not really. Anyways, I’m just wondering if I could impose on you, you know, see if you could look into it, light a fire under somebody’s ass, because . . .”
    “I’ll look into it,” Nerese said, just to say something, as she cautiously rose from her seat.
    “That’s great, just great.” Egan offered his hand again, Nerese having to put down her shopping bag to shake.
    “By the way,” she said. “Your security guard?” She nodded to the lobby. “Has got a real attitude problem.”
    “Hey,” he shrugged, “she’s a security guard.”
    “Nice to see you again, Mr. Egan.” And once again she began to make her way up the aisle to the doors.
    “Nerese?”
    She turned.
    “You want the guy’s name?”
    She just caught herself before asking him, What guy.
    “Ray Mitchell,” he said.
    “Ray Mitchell.” She nodded, embarrassed yet again; lethargy tending to perpetrate itself.
    She headed