“Hey, Legs. Dante,” Benny said, nodding. “Thanks for seeing me.”

  “Sit. Do you want some coffee?” I pointed to a chair near Dante.

  “Water, please. And…”

  I knew what he was about to ask. “Dante, can you grab Benny a doughnut or something, and a bottle of water?”

  Dante exited the room, returning a moment later with a bottle of water and a plate of doughnuts. Benny licked his lips as he chose a chocolate frosted cake doughnut.

  “So, how’s it hanging?” I asked. “What did you need to see me about?”

  “I’m fine, though I can always use any jobs you want to throw my way. But I’m worried about a friend of mine.” He set the doughnut down on a napkin and his shoulders slumped. His usual sarcastically cheerful demeanor vanished.

  “Another goblin?” Dante asked.

  Benny shook his head. “He’s human. Every week, I meet Greg—that’s his name—in Reacher Park, down near the waterfront. We play checkers, and I take him some sandwiches and fruit…whatever I can afford. He always shows up, rain or snow or sun or clouds, once a week, never fail. When it’s cold, we meet in the indoor pavilion, which the park keeps heated.”

  I didn’t react, but to hear Benny say he performed acts of charity startled me. It seemed out of character. Or maybe I had never seen that side of him.

  “What’s Greg’s story?” Dante asked.

  “Greg Swift lives in the Soldiers of Misfortune homeless encampment. He’s a veteran from some war over in the Middle East. He fell through the cracks in the system, and has been living on the streets since his mid-forties. He’s probably about fifty-five or so now. Anyway, he never misses our weekly meetings. Until last week. I thought maybe he was sick, so I waited, but yesterday he missed our meeting again. So, I went to the encampment to look for him.”

  “What did you find?” Dante asked.

  “The only info I could get was that he hasn’t been seen since the night after our last meeting. So that’s been two weeks.” Benny shook his head. “Greg’s on the spectrum. He has a set routine and never varies from it unless something actively gets in his way.”

  “And you want us to find him?” I immediately found myself thinking that Greg might have vanished for one very, final reason.

  Benny nodded. “I can’t pay you much, but I’ll work off the fee.”

  “Never mind that right now,” I said, leaning forward in my chair. “Let me ask you some questions. I want you to answer them honestly because they’ll help us in our investigation. All right?”

  “Okay,” he said, downcast.

  “Do you know if Greg’s addicted to anything? Crystal, markette, opiates?”

  “I don’t know,” Benny said. “He never seems high to me. He’s articulate, but doesn’t talk much. And he’s smart. Way smarter than most people I’ve met.”

  “How about enemies? Has he ever mentioned anybody who might wish him harm?” Dante asked, looking interested.

  Benny thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. He’s a little paranoid, but I put that down to PTSD. Some of the men who go to war can’t handle the memories.”

  “You’re right about that,” I said, thinking that war and battle made for a rocky foundation for the rest of your life, especially when the men were young. Hell, I’d seen too much in my own days on the streets. If I’d had to add in constant fighting, as well as being terrified I was going to be blown away by some nameless enemy, it would make me paranoid, too.

  “Thing is…” Benny paused for a moment, staring at the floor. I didn’t rush him.

  “You see, the thing is…Greg’s one of the few people I consider a friend. I like him. I don’t want to see anything happen to him. He’s had a rough life, and he doesn’t deserve any more problems.” Benny shrugged. “So do you have time to look into this?”

  I nodded. “We can fit it in. We have a light caseload this week. You don’t have a picture of Greg, do you? That would go a long way.”

  Benny pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I thought you might ask for a picture, so I found this. I went to the library and looked him up. It was taken when he was in the special forces, so he’s aged, but he still basically looks the same. Turn his hair gray, add a few wrinkles and a scruff of a beard.” He handed me the photo.

  I looked at the photocopy. Greg Swift had been a rugged, patriotic type. But even back then, there was a certain look in his eyes… A faraway gaze that told me that he wasn’t living in the moment.

  “How tall is he? Weight? Any identifying marks that you can think of? And what does he generally wear?” Dante opened his tablet to take notes.

  Benny thought for a moment. “He’s about five-ten, one-sixty pounds. He’s lean—almost gaunt. His hair’s mostly gray and he wears it in a ponytail. His moustache and beard are salt-and-pepper. He has a limp on his left side, and his clothes…” He paused, frowning. “Blue jeans, but they’re pretty beat up. He owns a couple of sweaters. He has a blue rain poncho, and old combat boots. Oh—he has… In his right ear. What do you call them? The things that make big holes in the earlobe?”

  “Gauges,” I said. “You’re pretty observant. Does he have any tattoos?”

  “Not that I know of, but I’ve never seen him without a long-sleeve shirt or sweater. That’s about all I can think of. He’s one of the shopping cart people…he has a shopping cart that he carries some of his possessions in. And it’s still there, at his tent in the encampment. I tried to chase off somebody who wanted to take the space. I couldn’t, so I took what he had and bagged it up and I’m keeping it at my apartment.”

  “Anything else that you can think of?” Dante asked.

  Benny took another doughnut. “Let me think…Oh, yeah. He’s been going to some sort of meetings lately, but I can’t remember the name of the organization. Named Let Us Help You or…something like that.” His voice caught as he added, “Do what you can, Legs. He’s a good man. I’m worried about him.”

  “We’ll see what we can find, Benny,” I said. “I can’t promise anything, but we’ll check it out and see what we can find.”

  With that, Benny thanked us and headed out, promising to let us know if he thought of anything else in the meantime.

  As he left, I glanced at Dante. “What do you think?”

  “I think Benny may end up losing a friend,” Dante said. “Usually when someone goes missing from the encampments, it’s never good news.”

  “Well, we’ll check it out. I never knew Benny had a heart on him. I mean, I’ve always kind of liked the little weasel, but damn, this makes me think he may be redeemable.” I laughed. “I could be wrong, but Benny seems to actually give a damn about someone besides himself.”

  With that, we gathered our things and prepared for our morning meeting in the breakroom.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “So, there it is. I’m taking the case pro bono. I know full well that Benny can’t afford us, but he’s got my curiosity piqued now. Orik—” I paused as Orik’s phone rang.

  He glanced at the Caller ID. “My mother-in-law. Hold on,” he said, moving away from the table. Orik’s wife, Hilda, was pregnant with twins, and she could pop any day. Seconds after he took the call, he let out a shout. “I’ll meet you at the hospital as soon as I can…No, I won’t speed…No, I won’t stop on the way. Yes, Ana, I promise. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Well?” I asked as he turned. “Is it time?”

  “Yes, my girls on are on the way!” Orik was a massive man, six-foot-eight and as much of a Viking as they came. He was a priest of Odin, and he looked right out of some Norse legend, with long red hair, braided back, and a long red beard. He was already the father to two sets of twin girls, and now another pair was on the way. He called them his ‘little Valkyries’ and was a proud papa.

  “Woot!” Dante said, clapping.

  “Congrats—life’s about to get a lot busier,” Carson said, grinning.

  “Well, what are you standing here for?” I said. “Go, man. And call us with updates. Give Hilda our love.”

  Orik raced out of the room, then dashed back in. “I forgot my bag,” he said, blushing. He slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and then was gone again before we could speak.

  “Well, let’s change this up. Carson, can you look up information on a man named Greg Swift. He was a veteran. Dante will give you the notes. I’ll head out to the homeless encampment.” I turned to Dante. “You want to come with me or stay here? Oh wait,” I said. “I think Sophia has a new client coming in to talk about a case.” I turned to her. “Right?”

  “Yes, at two. I’ll need one of you here, because he’s already been through the preliminary meeting, so one of you has to decide whether to take the case.”

  “I’ll stay and talk to the client,” Dante said. “You seem to get better results in the field than I do. Be cautious, those places can be dangerous. You’ve been to several before.”

  “They aren’t dangerous unless you’re roughing them up,” I said. “That’s a myth spread by the not in my neighborhood brigade.”

  “Yeah, but this one seems to be focused for ex-military, and you know that can be a hornet’s nest, especially with PTSD running rampant among a number of the vets.” Dante frowned. “Maybe we should reschedule and I should come with you?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “Call me if you’re unsure about whatever this new client wants.” I wrapped up the meeting and returned to my office. Slipping into my jacket, I brought up Maps and pinpointed where the Soldiers of Misfortune encampment was, then—slinging my bag over my shoulder—I headed out of the building, still surprised to see the sunshine.

  I was headed east, toward the 520 Floating Bridge. The Soldiers of Misfortune encampment was located beneath an overpass that had been closed for over a year. The roadwork to fix the overpass was supposed to be completed by late summer, but the city kept pushing it back, and now the overpass was considered so unstable the city wasn’t sure they were going to bother fixing it, or tear it down and start over again. Until then, the homeless veterans had put down roots there.

  All the way there, I thought about Benny and his friend. I’d started out wanting to wring the goblin’s neck—he was such a little wanker. But as time went on, I’d become rather fond of him, in the way you take a stray dog under your wing. Today, he’d managed to surprise me again. Benny didn’t have many friends, and Greg sounded like one of his closest.

  As I sped past the exits, nearing the turnoff to the encampment, I tensed. We’d already dealt with a mentally unstable man who had lived in one of the temporary shelters, and that had nearly been a disaster. But maybe this would be a simple case. Maybe Greg had taken a hiatus and he’d be back soon.

  I began to see signs of the encampment a few minutes before the exit. A blue and gold pennant hung from a telephone pole. Over the years, the encampments had developed their own structure and loose government, adopting names and identifying colors.

  They had created internal laws and hierarchies. Though the government didn’t like them because they showed the underbelly of the cities, the fact was, there were a lot of homeless people with no other place to go.

  And since people weren’t willing to fork over enough in taxes to help lift up everyone, it was inevitable that tent cities would pop up. Most citizens didn’t seem to realize that a good share of the country was one paycheck away from the streets. All it took was a downturn in profits to be laid off, or staggering medical bills to go bankrupt. King County alone had over sixteen thousand homeless and the number was rising.

  Sobering, I turned at the sign. To the left, the camp sprawled out beneath the overpass along the side of the road. Though it was hard to estimate how many people might be living here, I thought that the camp probably housed around one hundred and fifty individuals. There didn’t seem to be any children that I could see, but given the fact the camp was mostly veterans, that made sense.

  I wondered how many of these men and women had left families behind, betrayed by a broken system, and forgotten by those they had defended. A wave of sadness swept over me, but I took a deep breath, shook off the mood, and walked into the camp.

  Immediately, I felt watched. That didn’t bother me. I was a stranger, so of course they wouldn’t trust me. I glanced around, trying to find a face that looked welcome to being approached. A moment later, a woman stepped forward. She was dressed in a uniform that had seen too many days without a washing machine or a needle and thread to repair rips.

  “Are you looking for something?” she asked, warily.

  I nodded. “Someone, actually. I’m checking on someone for a friend. Do you know a Greg Swift? He⁠—”

  She stiffened, then said, “I know Greg. What do you want with him?”

  I glanced over at a tree trunk that stretched out along the ground. “Do you mind if we sit down?”

  “All right.” The woman led me over to the trunk. “So, why are you looking for Greg?”

  I took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. The smells in the camp were ripe, but I restrained wrinkling of my nose or showing any sign that I felt vaguely nauseated.

  “My name’s Kyann, and I’m friends with a friend of Greg. He’s worried because they get together every week to talk and play checkers, and it’s been two weeks since Greg’s shown up. Benny came out here looking for Greg the other day, but nobody could help him. So, he asked me to see if I can find out what’s going on.”

  The woman paused for a moment. “I’m Patricia. Are you a cop?”

  I shook my head. “No, not a cop. My name’s Kyann Sarasan. I run the Shadow Blade Investigation Agency. I’m a private investigator, mostly into all things Supe Community oriented. I agreed to help Benny—Greg’s friend—because he was so concerned.”

  “Your friend wouldn’t happen to be a goblin?” Patricia asked.

  I snorted. “So, you’ve met Benny? Yes, he’s the friend I’m talking about.”

  Patricia relaxed a little. She let out a long sigh. “I wouldn’t brag about being friends with a goblin, but he seems okay. And yes, it’s well known here that Greg and Benny are buddies.”

  “Trust me, I was surprised as well. Benny’s okay, once you get to know him. And if you watch him around your money.” I grinned. “He’s actually got something of a conscience.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Patricia said. “Anyway, I’m not surprised he’s worried about Greg—they are pretty tight.”

  “So, do you know what happened to Greg?” I asked, shading my eyes as a semi passed the camp, the shiny cargo hold sending a ray of sunlight to blind us. “Bright,” I said.

  Patricia squinted. “I guess it’s better than rain.”

  “I imagine so.” I glanced around at the array of tents set up. There were a couple communal picnic-type tables with benches, a fire pit that was big enough for a good-sized group to gather around it. The smell was rank, but it looked like the inhabitants did their best to corral the garbage and keep it bagged and set to the side.

  “I’m not sure where Greg went. He hasn’t been around for days, that I know of. When somebody here vanishes, you… Well, you look the other way.”

  “You don’t call the cops?”

  Patricia rolled her eyes. “That’s seldom an option. You learn to make friends for the moment, because eventually, everybody vanishes. Whether it’s to another encampment, or they die, or somehow—thanks to a miracle—they get off the streets. But one way or another, everybody moves on.” She looked so resolute that I wondered how she had ended up here.

  “What do you think, though? Speculate?”

  After a moment, Patricia leaned forward. “I’ve been concerned for a couple weeks now—well, a couple weeks before he vanished. I don’t want to say too much—it’s never safe. But I will tell you to look into an organization that calls itself the Give A Hand Up. Greg was talking to them a lot.” A look flashed in her eyes, and my first impulse was to think she was afraid.

  “Who are they?” I asked, but she shook her head.

  “They filled his head with hopes that he hasn’t had for years. Greg’s a veteran—both from the military and from being here for so long. He made life bearable for the new vets coming in.” Patricia was obvious uncomfortable talking to me, but she also seemed relieved to have someone to confide in.

  I jotted down the name. “Give A Hand Up…it sounds like some sort of rescue organization.”

  “Savior mentality. They tried to encourage me to join but I don’t want their help. I get motivational speaker vibes from them and that makes me nervous. My brother joined an MLM and now he’s a religious freak and spouts off a lot of inaccurate health advice, last I heard.”

  The more she spoke, the more I wondered what Patricia was doing out here. How had she ended up homeless? She was smart, she was well-spoken. She seemed clear-headed and capable. I knew that not everybody who was homeless struggled with mental health or addiction issues, but then again, you never really knew what was beneath the surface. Civilization and society both wore thin veneers, often tissue-paper thin.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked. “You have an odd look on your face.”

  I took a deep breath. “You want my honest answer?”

  She nodded. “I’d prefer that.”

  “How did you…why are you here? You seem so smart and so capable. I’m not sure how to ask this without sounding rude.”

  Patrica paused, then she let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “What’s a woman like me doing in a place like this?”

  I nodded, blushing.

  “A lot of smart and capable people end up under a bridge.”

  “I know, and I didn’t mean it to sound that way,” I said.

  “How did I end up here? Well, it started when I came home for a two week leave from the service one day to find that my husband had left me and took our little girl with him. I didn’t know anything was wrong till I found the house empty. I went to court and fought him for custody, but given I was still on deployment, the judge gave him custody and I got the right to see her on my leaves. I was heartbroken, and threw myself into my job.” She gave me a painful shrug.