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“Did you have to shoot someone?” He came closer to the bench.
“No.”
“Did you beat someone down?”
“Yes, but not as much as I wanted to,” Liam said with a chuckle. “But I got in a few good hits before he ran off.” He waited a beat, then said, “I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”
“It wasn’t no big thing.” Billy sank onto the bench. “Albert—he’s my foster dad. He and his buddies like to drink, that’s all.” He said it like that was all the explanation he needed.
“Ah.” Liam clenched his hands into fists, casually crossing his arms so Billy wouldn’t see how angry it made him. “So your foster dad did that?” He’d hunt the man down. Hell, he’d even learn the stupid computer program at the station just so he could find him. Never mind the fact that Liam might not be asked back to the station; he’d find a way to make sure that bastard never hit another kid again.
“Naw, it wasn’t him. Albert’s not that dumb. He knows he’ll get in trouble with the state if he gets caught hitting kids, and then he wouldn’t get the checks he loves so much. His friend Cecil, though.” A look of true fear crossed Billy’s face. “That man’s the biggest douchebag on the planet.”
“I’ve known a few Cecils, myself.” Liam pulled up his shirtsleeve and showed Billy a scar from where someone at the Goose & Gander once broke a chair over his arm during a brawl.
Billy seemed impressed. He relaxed on the bench. “They call him Crack Rock Cecil because I guess he used to sell it. Of all Albert’s friends, that guy is the worst. Anyway, they bet money on games and horse races and stuff, and you don’t want to be around if Cecil’s losing money.” Billy absently brushed his fingertips over his black eye. “I was passing through the living room and I accidentally knocked his beer over the other night.” Billy pretended to box a punching bag to make light of it, which just made Liam angrier. The fact that Billy was so blasé about getting hit only made it clear he’d been through it before.
“It ain’t no thing,” Billy said again, waving a hand. “I don’t even care.”
Liam could tell Billy didn’t want to dwell on the bad memory, so he let it go, for now. Later he’d find a way to hunt Cecil down.
“So how’d you get yours?” Billy asked, gesturing to Liam’s fading bruises.
“An old man got mugged near an ATM last Saturday night. I tried to stop the attacker, but he ran off before I could.”
Billy’s face paled. “That’s good.”
“Not really,” Liam said in amusement. “He got away, and I didn’t get a good look at him. He’ll probably do it again.”
“Right,” Billy said quickly. “I just meant it’s good he ran off before you got hurt worse. Like, with a knife or something.”
“Aye, there’s that, I suppose. But nobody saw it happen, so now I’m in trouble at work.”
He scrunched his freckled face. “Why?”
Liam considered how much he should tell him. It was one thing to tell the kid about a fistfight, and another to discuss a murder case. “Something really bad went down across town that night, and because I don’t have a solid alibi placing me at the ATM, it makes me look like a suspect. It’s a long story, but I got sent home, and now I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Dang.” Billy’s eyes practically bugged out of his head.
“Yeah. And there’s no way for me to prove I was helping that old man, so it is what it is.”
“What happens now?” Billy looked worried for him, which Liam found endearing. It was nice to know at least one person on God’s green earth was still on his side.
“No idea. Probably nothing good.”
Billy glanced away, fidgeting with his hands. He was quiet for a long time. They sat watching the joggers, the mothers pushing strollers and the ducks pecking in the grass. Some of the ducks waddled over to their bench and Billy pulled the hunk of bread from his jacket pocket. He appeared to be deep in thought and didn’t realize he was doing it.
“You feed the ducks a lot?” Liam asked.
“Huh?” Billy’s ears turned pink at the tips, and he tossed the last chunk of bread on the grass. “No. I just happened to be walking by, is all.”
“That’s cool.” Liam kept his voice casual. “I might come around here next Sunday, same time. Maybe I’ll try feeding the ducks myself.”
“Why would you bother?” Billy was wearing his street stare now, the one that made him look hardened and bored, but Liam knew better.
“Why not? A man needs to think sometimes. Seems like a decent place to do it.”
Billy didn’t respond, he just toyed with a loose thread on the hem of his T-shirt. Whatever was on the kid’s mind, it was heavy. A few minutes later, he stood and jammed his hands into his pockets. “I gotta go. See you around.”
Liam watched the kid stroll away, his narrow shoulders hunched against unseen burdens. A few ducks trailed after him, and Liam smiled. Billy might pretend he didn’t come around often, but the ducks told another story. The kid was a survivor, and Liam liked him. It was strange how just that short interaction with him made Liam feel less alone. He rose and took the path around the pond, determined to find a way to make things right. He still had time, and he wasn’t going to give up without a fight.
