The Man of Legends by Johnson Kenneth

Author:Johnson, Kenneth [Johnson, Kenneth]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781477819685
Publisher: 47North
Published: 2017-06-30T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-THREE

Tito. . .

The next day, January second, was like freezin’-ass cold. It’uz the kinda day made me wonder how come I couldn’ta been borned in Florida or somewheres warm instead o’the fuckin’ Bronx. But I’uz pushin’ through the cold ’cause I wanted to show Will them photos I’d took o’my tags. I had ’em stuck in my new port-fole-ee-o. Classy-assed word. Sound funny, even kinda stupid, for me t’be sayin’ it. I knowed them photos wudn’t the best or nothin’, but I’uz prouda how some of ’em looked.

I brung some sketches I done, too. For some new tags. I wudn’t much good at sketchin’ and sure as shit didn’t like doin’ the extra work, but I seen what Will’uz sayin’ about thinkin’ out ideas some up front.

But more’n anything I’uz mostly hot to axe him ’bout that pitcher o’that 1600s artist guy who looked exactly like him. That’uz some mondo strange kinda shit. I’d been spooked ever since I seen it.

My damn hands’uz almost numb by the time I zipped down 125th Street and knocked on the door o’Will’s rig. Didn’t get no answer so I banged again, shoutin’, “Yo, Will dude. It’s me, man, Tito. Got some shit to show you. What up?” I looped round to the other side, tried peekin’ in, but ain’t no Will.

I’uz pissed; come all the way down here in the freezin’ cold! Shit! Frustrated, know what I’m sayin’? Wanted Will to see my stuff. But more’n that, way more’n that: mostly I’uz positively itchin’ to know what’uz up ’tween him and that creepy pitcher hangin’ in the Met. Been buzzin’ in my head like a hornet’s nest since I seen it.

I wanted t’know, but same time I’uz kinda scared ’bout it. Like when I’uz little and I’uz sure they was somethin’ under my bed that’uz gonna get me. And get me bad.

Jillian. . .

I’d spent the night in the Lenox Hill ICU waiting area, so I was feeling a little gamey by the time Chris came by in the late morning to check in. He looked ruddy cheeked and windblown, bringing a refreshing taste of the cold outdoors in with him. Both his Nikons were hanging around his neck inside his heavy leather car coat.

“Had a little shoot over at the UN,” he said offhandedly, “so I was in the area anyway.”

The UN was thirty blocks south and all the way over by the river, so I smiled wryly. “Oh yeah, you were right next door.” Chris gave me a small smirk to admit I’d busted him as he handed me a plastic bag containing some Colgate and a toothbrush.

“You can’t be a good reporter with morning breath.” Then he raised an eyebrow. “Of course I wouldn’t mind nudging you some morning to check out your breath.”

“So you’ve told me,” I said appreciatively while looking in the bag. “Thanks for this.”

He sat down on the couch beside me and stretched out his long Montana legs. He was wearing his favorite old weathered cowboy boots.

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