Callahan nodded. “The victim was this kid of about fifteen, looked Puerto Rican or maybe Dominican. He had a boombox between his feet. I don’t remember what it was playing, so it probably wasn’t ‘Someone Saved My Life Tonight.’ Five minutes went by. I was about to start snapping my fingers under his nose or maybe patting his cheeks, when he blinked, staggered, shook his head, and came around. He saw me standing there in front of him and the first thing he did was grab his boombox. He held it to his chest, like it was a baby. Then he said, ‘What joo want, man?’ I said I didn’t want anything, not a single thing, no harm and no foul, but I was curious about those clothes lying beside him. The kid looked, then knelt down and started going through the pockets. I thought he’d find enough to keep him occupied—more than enough—and so I just walked away. And that was the second one. The third one was easier. The fourth one, easier still. By the end of August, I’d gotten half a dozen. The sixth was the woman I’d seen in the Marine Midland Bank. Small world, isn’t it?

“Quite often I’d go down to First and Forty-seventh and stand across from Home. Sometimes I’d find myself there in the late afternoon, watching the drunks and the homeless people showing up for dinner. Sometimes Rowan would come out and talk to them. He didn’t smoke, but he always kept cigarettes in his pockets, a couple of packs, and he’d pass them out until they were gone. I never made any particular effort to hide from him, but if he ever pegged me, I never saw any sign of it.”

“You’d probably changed by then,” Eddie said.