Felicity nodded as she left the van. Prickly she could handle. It wasn’t like she was unfamiliar with that trait herself.
“Most of the homeless here used to be at Fordham Plaza,” Cooper said conversationally as they picked their way across a park. “The Fordham Metro–North station across from the plaza was a good spot to stay out of the cold and use the restrooms. But local businesses complained about the number of homeless sleeping inside. So they padlocked it.”
“Well, I suppose you wouldn’t want a subway station filled up with the homeless every night,” Felicity said. “How could commuters use it as it was intended?”
“That’s the thing. They padlocked it to everyone and for all hours. It’s just empty and stays locked now, servicing no one. It’s a case of even if the homeless aren’t bothering anyone or aren’t in anyone’s way, people don’t want them around. Happens a lot. Have a look at park benches some time. Have they got dividers in the middle to prevent people stretching out? Little random bumps in weird places under freeway overpasses? They’re all anti-homelessness measures. It’s cruel, is what it is. Anyway,” Cooper said, “here’s where a lot of the homeless gather in the northwest Bronx these days. Many won’t go near a shelter because they’re afraid or don’t want their gear stolen. So they’ve formed a little community. Yes, they’ll fight each other sometimes, often over nothing at all, but they’ll have each other’s backs, too. If someone needs help, they’ll be there.”
They stood in a clearing filled with small tents and tarpaulins strung up from trees. Smells of cooking rose from a tiny camp stove with a man crouched over it. Scrambled eggs. Maybe.
Trash seemed to be everywhere, but Felicity soon realized it was mainly recyclables, which seemed to be the stock in trade for the homeless. At the far end, one of the newer tarpaulin constructions had been hung with what seemed to be great care. The front was open like a tepee but could easily be lashed shut at night. A battered suitcase sat open to one side, a handful of clothes spilling from it—a black and red T-shirt, torn black jeans. An old ice-cream container held a knife, fork, and spoon. Next to it sat an enamel mug and a slice of bread on the ice-cream lid. Above, strung like Christmas lights, was the owner’s laundry: four pairs of battered socks, an old bra, and assorted panties.
In front, a large white and gray dog lay sprawled out, more or less guarding the figure inside. The animal seemed to be some sort of bulldog or a bullmastiff or, hell, something with bull in the name.
A woman sat cross-legged on a mat, bent over a torn, mud-spattered newspaper, pen in hand, doing a crossword puzzle. She was white, lean, midthirties, and sharp-featured.
So this was Kristie.
She glanced up, sized Felicity up, and snorted. “You’re new. It shows.”
“I’m not anything. I don’t work with Dr. Cooper.”
Kristie bent her head back down. “That’s timing. A six-letter word for exacting and annoying?”
“Felicity Simmons, meet Kristie.”
Kristie looked up. “I’m thinking pedant.”
“Excuse me?” Felicity sputtered.
“I meant the crossword clue. But if the Manolo Blahnik fits…” she smirked.
Felicity blinked. How the hell had some park-dwelling woman correctly identified her shoe brand?
Cooper’s eyes shot down to Felicity’s feet, mouth falling open. “Oh Jesus, tell me they’re not designer.”
“Oh, they are.” Kristie said helpfully. “That’s the Listony navy blue suede pump. Thirty-mil heel. Retails for seven hundred. You know, I had a pair just like them once. Bold wearing suede out here, though, with the mud and all, but I imagine Felicity here didn’t plan ahead too well for her slumming-it day.” She gave her dog a playful pat and turned to Cooper. “Here for Ruby, then? She’s been gassy lately.”
Cooper got to work while Felicity observed, disconcerted beyond measure. Every word out of Kristie’s mouth turned out to be sharp and biting, which fit, since that’s how she would describe Kristie’s personality.
Sharp and biting? The woman was a damned cheese.
Kristie apparently didn’t mind sharing, unbidden, her story. She’d run her own business before being in a bad car accident. Unable to work, she’d lost her company. No job ended her insurance, which cost Kristie her home, spiraled her into depression, and led to a painkiller addiction. She’d driven her few remaining friends away with an asshole attitude.
Try as she might, Felicity couldn’t find any part of her downfall that wasn’t just pure chance, not poor decisions. Something that could happen to anyone. Well, maybe not the addiction, but Kristie had already been homeless by then. Random bad luck. That’s all it was. Compounding awfulness upon awfulness. Felicity had never felt so disconcerted.
The woman’s shrewd, calculating gaze never left her the whole time. That was disconcerting, too.
“Nice dog” was all Felicity said, pointing to the brute of a thing slumbering on Kristie’s thigh.
“She stops me getting robbed, bashed, or raped, so yeah,” Kristie said, eyes lethal as ever. “Almost lost her last year when a social worker thought she would be better off without me. I told the bitch I’d kill myself if she took her.” Steady, even gaze. Her eyes were fixed on Felicity’s like points. “Meant it, too. I had to threaten to take my case to the media. Bitch backed down. Benefits of being a former PR expert—I can still talk the talk.”
Felicity could believe it. She didn’t know what to say to that.
“Pleased to report that Ruby is happy and healthy.” Cooper broke the silence, looking up. “And I for one am very glad you’re still around, Kristie. Besides, I’m sure Ruby appreciates her nice warm human pillow.”
“Thanks, doc,” Kristie said, breaking into a rare smile. “You’re good people. So that Pets in the Park open day thing still happening on Wednesday?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there. Time Ruby got the wash and pampering of her dreams.”
Cooper smiled. “I think she’ll enjoy that. You can get some pampering, too, if you want. We’re laying on the full works. Mobile showers, haircuts, and so on.”
“I won’t say no.”
“Excellent. I might see you both there.”
Cooper rose, said farewell, and headed back to the van.
Felicity found herself frozen under Kristie’s assessing gaze.
“Sucks, doesn’t it?” Kristie intoned. “Knowing it’s not just those other people who end up here. Sometimes it’s people exactly like you. That must rattle your cage.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Felicity folded her arms.
“Oh, fuck off with the defensive crap. Sure you do. Hell, I used to be you. I even thought the homeless were to blame for being where they are. Karma fucking sucks, let me tell you. Be grateful you still have it all. It can go just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “And you get that now; I know you do or you wouldn’t look so fucking haunted.”
“You don’t know me.” Felicity turned on her heel and left, heart racing.
