Free Zack (In the Company of Snipers Book 3) by Irish Winters Page A

“You look kinda familiar.”
    Zack sighed. Maybe this was a waste of time. Hagatha might be right. “The little Chinese girl you found in the dumpster behind the IGA store. Remember her?”
    Another swipe over his face, and Marty blinked a few times. “Oh. Her. I get kinda confused. I used to have my own little girl, ya know. Leastways, I think I did. Sometimes, I ain’t too sure ’bout nuthin’ no more.”
    “Come on.” Zack offered a hand up. “A good hot meal will help you remember. What do you say?”
    Marty pulled his hand away like Zack had just bit it. “I ain’t going nowhere. They’ll give my bed to someone else. Where will I sleep then?”
    “Nah.” Zack pulled Marty to his feet. “I’ll put in a good word for you. They’ll hold it.”
    “You sure?” He looked across the huge room where a hundred or so cots were set up in rows for another night of shelter from the cold. “Boy, I sure hope you’re right. It’s awful cold to be sleeping on a park bench. A fella could get his fingers froze off, if’n he don’t wake up dead.”
    “Don’t worry.” Zack helped Marty into the threadbare green and black plaid jacket laying on his cot. “They’ll hold it or they’ll have to answer to me.”
    “Eh, eh, eh.” Marty’s eyes twinkled. “You must be darned important if you think they’s going to listen to you.”
    They were at the entrance door where a swarthy man stood checking the transients and less fortunate as they came in for a night of warm food and sleep.
    “You’ll hold my friend’s bed until he gets back, won’t you?” With those words, Zack pressed a couple bills into the man’s hand. He nodded once, and Zack led Marty out into the frosty November night. An early winter storm was blowing in off the Atlantic, kicking the last of the autumn leaves out of the gutter. Marty was right. A man could freeze out here.
    “Br-r-r.” Marty pulled his jacket tighter. “Gonna be a cold one. Folks are gonna die tonight if’n they ain’t careful.”
    Together they walked across the street to the Fishmonger’s Diner where Zack knew he could get a decent meal and hopefully, a private conversation. It was one of Jake’s hangouts, a train car-sized Mom and Pop joint right next to Fat Larry’s Tavern.
    “Howdy, Stan.” Marty flashed a high-five to the man exiting the diner.
    Stan grumbled and kept on going, flashing nothing back but a whiskered sneer.
    Zack steered Marty to the corner table farthest from the door. Setting diagonal to the corner, it avoided the draft while offering the best view of everyone eating, serving, coming and going. He took the corner chair and positioned Marty in the chair to his left, not that the old guy was concerned with covering his back. Zack lived by the simple rule of every sniper. Watch everyone.
    The waitress was quick with their glasses of water, and quicker when Zack ordered a round of beers, two large bowls of Fishmonger’s specialty, their homemade oyster chowder, and triple-decker sandwiches stacked high with cheese and turkey.
    “Will that be all?” she asked politely after she’d delivered the spread.
    “How about the biggest slice of pumpkin pie in the house?” Zack clapped a hand on Marty’s shoulder. “My friend’s a little hungry.”
    “Coming right up, Hon.”
    Marty chuckled, rubbing a quick hand over his thinning hair. “You keep being so nice ta me, and folks are gonna think you’re my kid or something.”
    “You got kids?” Zack doffed his leather jacket, letting it slump to the back of his chair.
    The old man nodded, working his jaw like he needed to keep his dentures in place. “Yeah. Two. Leastways, I think I only had the two.” He scratched the end of his red chapped nose. “’Course, I been on the road awhile now. Ain’t seen ’em much lately.”
    “Well, dig in.” Zack sliced his sandwich in half, keeping an eye on Marty. The old man was hungry, licking his lips when he already had a mouthful. After the first