BooksBarbecue
Back The Lying House Save as PDF
Chapters (103)
  1. Cover
  2. Back Cover Text
  3. Praise
  4. Booklist
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. 70
  77. 71
  78. 72
  79. 73
  80. 74
  81. 75
  82. 76
  83. 77
  84. 78
  85. 79
  86. 80
  87. 81
  88. 82
  89. 83
  90. 84
  91. 85
  92. 86
  93. 87
  94. 88
  95. 89
  96. 90
  97. 91
  98. 92
  99. 93
  100. 94
  101. Epilogue
  102. Acknowledgments and a Personal Note
  103. Excerpt

Miami police made routine passes through the mission, staying a short time, talking to the managers or casually observing things. Nothing ever came of those visits. Loften knew that people never really looked at you here, especially if you looked them in the eye—and he’d altered his appearance.

He knew he had to be smart at every turn.

Wilson picked him up early every morning on the street outside the mission. He had other crews, but new hires worked with him for a week or so. The work was hard and hot, hefting fifty-pound bags and installing mulch, stone and sod, or taking care of lawns, trees, shrubbery and perennials.

“It’s going well, Henry,” Wilson said to him a few days in. “Next week, I’ll assign you to work with my crew chief, Delbert, for jobs south of downtown.”

One morning, while Loften waited on the street for Wilson, a Miami patrol car stopped next to him, and two uniformed officers approached him.

“What are you waiting here for, sir?” one of them asked as radio transmissions spilled from the car.

“My boss is picking me up. I’m a landscaper.”

“You have any ID?”

Loften gave the officer the temporary ID Wilson had helped him get, and the cop studied it, then looked at him. Loften looked at him directly.

“Okay, all this ID says is that you’re an employee with a landscaper. Got anything with an address, Henry?”

The radio hissed and crackled.

“No, not yet. I lost everything in an apartment fire in Wynwood. That’s why I’m living here in the mission for now.”

At that moment, Sister Emily was arriving at the mission and approached the officers, recognizing one of them.

“Good morning, Officer Denley.”

“Sister Emily.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Is this man a resident at the mission?”

“He is. Why do you ask?”

At that moment, Wilson eased his pickup behind the patrol car and walked up to them, as well.

“May I ask what’s going on?” Wilson said.

“And you are?” Officer Denley asked.

“Alfred Wilson. I’m a landscaper.” Automatically, Wilson produced ID, while one of the officers glanced at the company logo on his truck. “And Henry here is one of my employees. I’m here to pick him up for work. Is something wrong?”

Denley exchanged a look with the other officer.

“Mr. Call here doesn’t have any other ID.”

“I know,” Wilson said. “He lost everything in a fire, even his dog. He’s trying to get back on his feet. Give the man a break. What did he do? Why’re you questioning him?”

Denley looked at Loften.

“What kind of dog did you lose?”

“A Lab. Her name was Daisy. She was three.”

Denley nodded. “I had a Lab. Sorry to hear that.” He handed Loften his ID. “We had a report of a car prowling near here, and you fit the general description.”