Lawyers, Guns and Money

WEST SIDE HIGHWAY, MANHATTAN

Upon leaving the diner, Kane delayed the workout and took a detour over to the West Side Highway, next to the closed northbound ramp on 19th. He walked around the barriers. The ramp merged with the road in the center, rather than on the side, a strange quirk that contributed to the highway's negative reputation. When he reached the elevated roadway, he turned south. He pulled the moleskin notebook out of the breast pocket and did a quick check for particulars.

Nature had taken root on the stretch of abandoned roadway with grass and bushes struggling to survive in the gutters on either side. A derelict wall of plywood bisected the abandoned roadway. Kane slid through. A section of the northbound side was gone.

Beyond was a makeshift camp for the homeless. Tarps, tents, even cardboard boxes to provide shade were scattered about.

"Hey, Mac." Kane greeted the same old man he'd met on his first trip here a month ago, when he'd initially tracked Wile-E down after the junkie had held up a pizza place on the West Side while Kane was waiting on a slice.

Kane had no idea if 'Mac' was a real name, but he'd heard someone else call him that and written it down in his notebook full of 'particulars'; this one on the page titled WILE-E. There wasn't much more on the page other than 1st Cav. The grizzled veteran sat in a rusting and tattered folding chair staring at a smoldering fire and a #10 can hanging over it from a tripod. He sported a dirty white beard and long hair and wore stained, rummaged clothing. He glanced up at Kane. "Hey, young fella." His voice was rough, gravelly. He held out his hand, palm up.

Kane gave him a fiver.

"Aint seen 'im since last time you checked," Mac said as he stuffed the bill into his pocket.

"I know a guy at the Soldiers and Sailors Home," Kane said. "I can get you a bed for a couple of nights. On the arm."

"I'd need cab fare," Mac said.

Kane peeled twenty from his money clip. "Tell the guy at the desk Will Kane sent you."

"Roger that." Mac didn't seem enthused.

"You going there?" Kane asked, scanning the area, just in case Mac was wrong, but that was doubtful since he seemed the linchpin to this community.

"Nope. Just wanted the extra money."

"Why not?"

"And leave all this?" Mac was incredulous.

"Hot shower. You can do laundry."

"I'd just get dirty again." He looked up from the can. "Why do you care about Wile-E? What's he to you? Were you in the same unit?"

"Same war," Kane said.

The old man harrumphed and spit, indicating what he, a World War II veteran, thought of Vietnam. "Lots of guys in the same war. Bunch of vets end up here. My war, Korea, Vietnam. We had a guy from the Great War, but he died a few months ago. Whatever the next one will be, they'll end up here. You gonna save them all?"

"Nope."

"Damn right."

"But I did just offer you some help," Kane pointed out.

"Yeah," Mac grudgingly admitted. "You know what happened to Wile-E?"

"What do you mean?"

"In the war? What happened to him?"

"No."

Mac spit again, this time close to Kane's boots. "But you're trying to help him?"

"Why do I have to know what happened to someone to give them a hand?" Kane asked. "He wants me to know, he'll tell me."