The Same Place (The Lamb and the Lion #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,46

in the pockets of his denim jacket, probably holding on to one of those improvised weapons he carried. Tean’s first glance at the man he assumed was Leroy Erickson made him glad, for many reasons, he had Jem along with him.

Leroy looked like he was in his late fifties, maybe early sixties, with a thick beard going to gray and his head completely shaved. He wore overalls without a shirt under them, and he was a very big man—taller than Jem and built with a lot more mass. At some point, most of it had probably been muscle, although age had given him sagging shoulders and a belly. On his neck, a black-ink tattoo of Fozzie Bear stared back at Tean.

“Can I help you?”

“Mr. Erickson?” Jem said. “My name is Jem. This is Tean. We were hoping we could have a few minutes of your time.”

“You’re having them, and they’re going fast.”

“Leroy—can I call you Leroy?”

“Son, you can call me anything but late for dinner, but you’re about out of time.”

“Leroy, I think you’re the only person who can help us at this point. I wanted to say that right at the beginning so you know how important this is. Hannah Prince is in trouble, Leroy. Pretty serious trouble, actually. Do you know Hannah, Leroy?”

Leroy crossed his arms.

“Her maiden name is Lackey,” Tean said.

“Maybe you knew her as Hannah Lackey,” Jem said. “Does that sound familiar, Leroy?”

“I think you’d better talk a little faster,” Leroy said. “My dinner’s about to burn.”

“The police are trying to get Hannah into trouble. They’re making her life miserable. Hannah asked us to help her find Joy. Leroy, that’s why we need your help. You are seriously the only person who can help us. Anything, we’ll take absolutely anything at this point.”

Leroy just stood there, the fingers of one hand coming up to tease his beard.

“Zalie fired a shotgun at us when we tried to ask her the same question,” Jem said. “What does that tell you, Leroy?”

“Nothing new,” he muttered. Something beeped behind him. “You boys better come in. Shoes off, please.” He turned and headed into the house without looking back at them.

“Why’d you bring up Zalie?” Tean whispered.

“His daughter is either getting divorced or really pissed off at her wife,” Jem whispered back. “Parents like to take sides too.”

They took their shoes off in the foyer, and Tean tried to breathe through his mouth as they moved into the living room. The air was a composite of dog, body odor, and what Tean’s grandfather had called ‘plastic food,’ meaning anything boxed, canned, or frozen—a smell that Tean associated with microwave dinners. The sofa was the only place to sit. The upholstery had originally been cream colored, with what looked like old-fashioned drawings of plants printed on the fabric; now, stains marked the cushions, and body oil had darkened the sofa after years of use. A CRT television the size of a buffet table took up one wall. An opening at the back connected to the kitchen, where Tean could hear Leroy moving around, and a hallway led to the rest of the house. The dog—Roger, presumably—was still barking in one of the back bedrooms.

“Look,” Jem said, grinning over his shoulder at Tean. “Captain Hook’s crocodile.”

The blond man was standing at a wall of photographs: dogs, cats, birds, lizards, snakes, rodents, fish. The only human featured in any of the pictures was Leroy Erickson, and the photos must have represented much of Leroy’s life: in some of them, he was young, still tall and big, but his skin tight and shiny, his eyes bright; in a few of them, he was older, his head shaved, his beard already long and bristly.

“That’s an alligator,” Tean said.

“Same thing. He even dressed up like Captain Hook.”

“They’re not the same thing, although they look a lot alike.”

“I’m going to ask him if it’s a crocodile. Why would he dress up like Captain Hook if it wasn’t a crocodile? Captain Hook wasn’t afraid of an alligator.”

“You don’t need to ask him,” Tean said. “You can tell by the teeth. Alligators usually don’t have visible lower teeth when the jaw is closed. Crocodiles do—especially the fourth tooth on each side. No lower teeth visible, so it’s not a crocodile.”

Jem narrowed his eyes.

“Sorry,” Tean said. “I know I’m annoying.”

“Do it again.”

“Do what again?”

Jem put his hands on his hips. “Do it again.”

“I don’t—”

“Whale,” Jem said, whipping out a finger to point at a porpoise; Leroy was floating in what looked