“That’s right,” he replied with forced pleasantness, “I’m not from the county, or the city.”
“Well, where you from, then?” asked another boy curiously. His tee shirt was cut off just below the sternum, revealing his bare brown belly to the sun. Whether this was the result of local fashion trends or just poverty Huddy couldn’t have said and didn’t much care.
Nearby a little black-haired girl stared solemnly at him. Occasionally her stare was interrupted as sharp, racking coughs bent her over. Huddy knew that cough, could surmise its likely cause. Now that the dump had been cleaned up, maybe her cough would go away. Maybe.
It would be impossible for the county inspectors to prove anything from the few chronically ill people who remained around the dump. Besides, these people were habitually ill, weren’t they? No telling where the girl’s family had acquired their coughs. Probably south of the border. Likely as not, the little girl’s parents were illegals. Huddy grinned. They’d no more talk to a government official than they’d take a union job. His attention went back to the trail.
“Hey mon, if you not from welfare,” the older boy persisted, “then what you doin’ here?”
“I’m going to visit a friend.” He pointed toward the surprisingly neat little house not far beyond the dead-end barrier. “Does Mr. Pickett live in that house?”
“Pickett?” The eldest boy frowned while his gang clustered close around him.
“He means el magico hombre,” one of the other boys finally said, “stupido.”
“Who you calling stupido, Victor?” He started to push the younger boy, then thought better of it. He still wasn’t sure this stranger with the nice car was harmless.
“Yeah, that’s his place, I guess. He not in any trouble, is he? You sure you not from welfare?”
“Positive,” Huddy reassured him.
“That’s good,” said one of the other boys. “El hombre magico, he’s a nice old guy. Not too good here, though.” He tapped his chest. “Enfermedad del corazon.”
“Right,” said Huddy, hoping he was. “Has he had any attacks or bad spells with his heart lately?”
“Hey, I’m no paramed, mon,” said the oldest boy, shrugging. “We don’ see him all that much.” His attention shifted away from Huddy abruptly. “Hey, mama’s home. Come on, Carmela. Come on, everybody. Maybe she got some soda.
“Adios, mister. You say hi to el hombre magico for us. And don’ worry about your car.” Laughing and trailing fragments of clothes, the children ran barefooted down the street toward the house where a battered old Oldsmobile had just pulled into the driveway.
Huddy was glad to see the kids go. Making sure his tie was straight, he flicked dust from the hem of his jacket and tucked the clipboard under his right arm as he started up the shrunken road. Despite the older boy’s assurances he didn’t want to leave his car exposed to this neighborhood any longer than absolutely necessary. He’d make the interview with Pickett as brief as possible.
The slope was gentle and the walk not long. Standing in front of the little stucco palace Huddy had to admire the view. The top of the ridge commanded a sweeping view of the city of Riverside, the mountains to the north and east, and Corona to the south.
The beige stucco was not as badly cracked as some Huddy had seen, considering the house’s likely age and the forces it had been subjected to down through the years. Stucco did not react kindly to water and earthquakes. A few ancient rose bushes shared space with newer irises. The roses were probably as old as the house.
He stepped up on the porch and put out a finger toward the doorbell, wondering if it would work. His hand never touched it. The door opened.
“Howdy.” Pickett nodded down the trail toward the barrier, correctly interpreting Huddy’s look of discomfort. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Heard your car drive up and the kids laughing. Not many folks come up this way. Those that do are usually lost. They turn right around and go back down. You didn’t. I expect it’s me you want to see, then.”
“If you’re Jake Pickett.” Huddy made a show of checking his clipboard.
“Unless my mother lied to me.” He grinned, stepped aside. “Come on in.”
“Thank you.” This would be easier, Huddy thought as he mounted the porch steps, if Pickett were a grouchy, irritable old man. Not that it mattered in the end. Huddy wanted cooperation, not courtesy.
The interior was a surprise. It was far from immaculate, but it was a lot cleaner than many bachelor pads Huddy had seen. The small living room was dominated by an ancient sofa. Worn but clean blankets hid the rubbed places in the floral upholstery. There was an old rocking chair, an easy chair with overstuffed arms neatly patched, a very plain coffee table that had to date from the thirties, and a small TV sitting on a wooden stand. Huddy’s eyes flicked from one opening to the next, missing nothing. From what he could see through the short hallways the rest of the house matched the front room in cleanliness as well as scarcity of furniture.
Pickett looked his age. He didn’t seem particularly un-healthy, but not every cardiac sufferer wore the troubles of his chest on his face. He was slightly over average height, which surprised Huddy. He’d always thought of sick old men as small and crumpled, walking with heads bent forward and backs crooked. Pickett was as tall as Huddy, and he stood straight. A belly bulge showed through the clean brown shirt and the blue jeans billowed around thighs and calves where muscle had shrunk away. Pickett’s shoulders were rounded as those of a career typist. His face was pleasant and open, the chin sharp, nose slightly hooked, the eyes bright and alert and blue. Thick white hair that showed little hint of thinning was combed straight back on top and sides in the style of fifty years ago. Funny, Huddy mused, how reluctant men are to change their hair style.
He extended a hand. “Benjamin Huddy, Mr. Pickett.” The grip that enveloped his was firm but still only the shadow of what once was.
“You know mine.” The old man’s voice was strong, with no quaver whatsoever. Out of the corner of one eye Huddy read the label on the small bottle standing on the coffee table. The letters were red: Nitrostat. For angina, Huddy thought. It was comforting to see some sign of illness in this house. Pickett in person did not conform to Huddy’s preconceived notions.
“Have a seat, sonny.” Pickett slipped into the easy chair and gestured at the couch. “What can I do for you?”
Huddy sat down … and nearly lost his balance as he continued to sink. New furniture did not make you welcome like the old couch did. He flipped through the papers on the clipboard and assumed a serious mien.
“My information indicates that you’ve lived in this house for a long time, Mr. Pickett.”
The old man nodded. “Most of my life. Grew up in this place, really.”
“Then I can understand your reluctance.”
“My reluctance?”
“To accept the job you were offered by the company I represent, the Masters Security Systems out of San Diego. You remember that?”
“Oh sure.” Pickett studied the ceiling. “I do recall another young fella, younger than you, showin’ up one day and offering me some sort of guard job down thataway. I’d just about forgotten it.”
“It was a guard job, Mr. Pickett. In one of the numerous highrises Masters is responsible for. Late night work. You watch half a dozen television monitors and radio for help if you see any trouble. It’s a good job for a man your age, Mr. Pickett. Wouldn’t it be nice to have some real cash coming in? I know what social security pays.
“I believe Masters’ representative also offered you assistance in resettling in a nice, modern new apartment in an adult retirement complex.” He smiled ingratiatingly at Pickett. “You refused the offer. I’d like to know why.”
“You with this Masters company, then?”
“I’m associated, though I don’t function directly under them. We take care to choose the people we want to hire, Mr. Pickett. We’re disappointed when it looks like we’ve made a wrong choice, and we like to find out where we went wrong.”
“Not much to it,” Pickett told him. “It’s just what I told him. I grew up in this place, spent my life here. I’ve been to San Diego. It’s a nice town. I liked Sea World and the Space Theater a lot. But I ain’t interested in moving there. Also, I don’t much like guns.”
