It was funny that I’d been worried about sounding emotional when there was nothing of Felix’s usual bravado and attitude in the way he’d said my name. “Yeah, it’s me. What’s wrong?”
“It’s… shit! I don’t know where to start.”
I muted the TV, stopping a grandma of three from detailing what she got out of pleasuring a man younger than one of her grandchildren in mid-flow. “Start at the beginning.”
Felix laughed. “Well, I guess the start was the graffiti all over the front of the house.”
“Graffiti?”
“Murderer in big red letters. Nothing imaginative. That was yesterday morning. The press turned up a few hours later.”
“How did they know?”
Felix let out a sigh. “I think it was my neighbor, Mrs. Featherstone. She saw me in the garden and made a big production out of telling me she knew exactly who I was. No surprise there when I lived next to her for the first eighteen years of my life. The only thing that proves is that the old bat doesn’t have dementia yet. Anyway, she was less than friendly.”
“You think she graffitied your house?”
Felix’s laugh had an edge to it. “No, Darien, I don’t think a woman in her late seventies got nifty with a spray can. I think she started a whisper network and news of me being out of prison spread like wildfire around the neighborhood, and someone else took it upon themselves to make a few improvements to the house and show their disapproval at me staying there.”
“Right…” The practical part of my brain kicked in. Graffiti was manageable. Not ideal, but manageable. I’d certainly dealt with bigger problems. “You need a power washer.”
“A power washer?”
“Your house is brick, right? You need a power washer to get the graffiti off. There are places that hire them out. I can probably find one for you tomorrow and send you the details.”
“Will it get rid of the press camped on my mother’s doorstep?”
I grimaced. “Shit!”
“Yeah, shit. Anyway, to cut a long story short, my mother doesn’t want me staying there anymore, so this is me notifying you of a change of address.”
“Okay…” I reached for a pen and a piece of paper. “Go on.”
“Go on, what?”
“Your address.”
“I don’t have one yet. I’m gonna have to stay in a hotel or something tonight.”
Felix sounded beaten down, like he’d had all the stuffing knocked out of him. “Where are you?”
“Do you need to know that in an official capacity?”
The bite was back in Felix’s voice. It should have made me feel better, but it didn’t. It meant he was feeling vulnerable enough that he’d gone on the attack. Classic behavior when you felt backed into a corner. Particularly for him. “No.” My voice was as soft as I could make it and still be audible. “I’m asking as a friend. Someone who’s concerned about you.”
“A friend! Is that what you are?”
A few answers circled through my brain.I could be. I want to be. Okay, we’re not friends.I went with none of them, repeating my earlier question instead. “Where are you?”
“I’m in a park. Happy now? Me and the ducks are having a great time. I’m waiting for them to discover my past and turn on me. At least none of them can notify the press and I assume holding a spray can would be difficult for them.”
“Which park?”
“Regent’s Park. I walked, and this is where I ended up.”
“Okay. Stay there.”
“All night? I know you don’t like me, but surely even you don’t want me to spend all night on a park bench?”