Earl Luke Fisher was sprawled out on his park bench across from the building entrance, his head propped on an oil-stained canvas bag, the rest of his worldly possessions crammed into a grocery cart lashed to the back of the bench with a candy-striped bungee cord. The autumnal sun, low-angled and gentle, painted him gold to match the leaves pooled beneath the bench. He called out as Mason parked his car. "Hey, Mason!" Mason gave him a waist-high salute as he made for the front door. "Come here, Mason!" Earl Luke shouted, sitting up on his bench. "What's the matter? You too good for Earl Luke? Do I gotta make a damn appointment?" Earl Luke stood, eclipsing the sun at his back, his shadow rippling on the pavement, aiming at Mason, who looked at his watch and shrugged. It was close to dinner, and he guessed Earl Luke's meal plan was a little short. "How you doing, Earl Luke?" Mason asked, crossing the street. "I'm fit to spit," Earl Luke answered, closing one eye and slapping his hand over his heart, as if to prove the point.
What do You think about Lou Mason Mystery 03-Cold Truth?
