Tenderness Read Online Free PDF Page A

brown slacks.
    She carried herself aloofly as if she were balancing a book on her head.
    He began to follow her, limping a bit. He had chosen this day to affect a limp, dragging his right foot as he walked. He was careful to keep her in view, not too distant from her, not too near. The mall was crowded. Thursday was payday at the local mills and factories, and workers streamed in to cash their checks at one of the bank branches, eat at McDonald’s or Friendly’s, and go on small shopping sprees.
    The girl headed toward Exit E, perfect for his purposes, the distant end of the mall, woods lessthan the length of a football field away from the bus stop. He watched as the doors opened automatically for her departure. Careful to keep limping, he managed to quicken his pace, all senses keen and alert, colors everywhere bright and vivid, his step unable to keep pace with his hastening heart.
    “My problem, Eric, is your lack of remorse.”
    “But that’s my problem, not yours.”
    “And your insolence.”
    “I don’t mean to be insolent. I’m truthful. I tell the truth and the truth sometimes hurts. For instance, you have bad breath, Lieutenant. I can smell it from here. It must offend a lot of people. That’s the truth. But how many people have told you that? Instead, they either lie or try to avoid your company.”
    Actually, Eric did not know whether or not the lieutenant had bad breath. But enjoyed baiting him, watching for his reaction. Was there a faint blush now emerging on his cheeks?
    “Your gift of gab. That’s a problem, too,” the lieutenant said, continuing the verbal assault for which Eric admired him, not a whole lot but somewhat.
    “Look, Lieutenant, we know what the problem is, right? Not my lack of remorse or my gift ofgab. The problem is that I’m turning eighteen in three days. The state says that I can’t be held any longer. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
    The lieutenant said nothing. He was an old man, crevices in his face, sorrowful blue eyes, wispy gray hair. He smoked endless cigarettes, the ashes falling indiscriminately on his shirt or tie. His jacket never matched his trousers. He had been one of the arresting officers three years ago and had slipped the handcuffs on Eric’s wrists. Then began visiting Eric after he started serving his sentence. He had been coming to the facility four times a year, at each change of seasons, for the three years Eric had been incarcerated.
    “Why do you keep coming here?” Eric asked at the end of the first year.
    “Why do you keep seeing me?” the lieutenant countered. Like a teacher making the student answer.
    “Isn’t it about time for you to retire? You look old and tired,” Eric said, without sympathy in his voice. The old man looked sad, too, but Eric remained silent about that.
    “What would I do if I retired? I don’t have any hobbies, and no family. They give me easy cases. Wait a minute—you’re my hobby, Eric. Finding out what makes you tick. Like you’re the broken watch and I’m the repairman.”
    “Who says the watch is broken?” Eric asked, annoyed, but the old cop hadn’t answered, merely lit another cigarette.
    Which was exactly what he was doing now, probably the final cigarette on this, his final visit.
    Lieutenant Proctor said, “You’re a psychopath, Eric.” The smoke came out of the lieutenant’s mouth as if his words were stoked by an inner fire. “A monster.”
    Eric recoiled, as if the old cop had struck him in the face. Monster?
    “Chances are you’ll kill again. You know it and I know it.”
    Or was the old cop merely trying to taunt him? Trying to make him lose his cool?
Don’t let him do that. Monster
was only a word, anyway. And those were the only weapons the lieutenant had: words.
    “You’re taking a lot for granted, Lieutenant,” Eric said, the sound of his voice reassuring, establishing his control of the conversation once more. “You’re making wild accusations. I wasn’t even convicted