'Ah, yes. Our tea party with Mephisto.'
Bottle in hand, D'Agosta ambled up to the stoop, pausing before the men. 'How are you boys today?'
Silence.
'I'm Sergeant D'Agosta, and this is my associate, Special Agent Pendergast. FBI.'
Silence.
'We're not here to bust anyone's balls, gentlemen. I'm not even going to ask your names. We're just looking for any information on one Ranier Beckmann, who lived here several years back.'
Three pairs of rheumy eyes continued staring at him. One of the men hawked up a gobbet of phlegm and deposited it gently between his badly scuffed shoes.
With a rustle, D'Agosta removed the bottle from the paper bag. He held it up. The light shone through it, illuminating pieces of fruit floating in an amber-colored liquid.
The oldest wino turned to the others. 'Rock 'n' Rye. The cop has class.'
'Beware of cops bearing gifts.'
D'Agosta glanced at Pendergast, who was looking on from a few paces back, hands in his pockets. He turned back. 'Look, guys, don't make a fool out of me in front of the feds, okay? Please.'
The oldest man shifted. 'Now that you've said the magic word, have a seat.'
D'Agosta perched gingerly on the sticky steps. The man reached out a hand for the bottle, took a swig, spat out a piece of fruit, passed it on. 'You too, friend,' he said to Pendergast.
'I would prefer to stand, thank you.'
There were some chuckles.
'My name's Jedediah,' said the oldest drunk. 'Call me Jed. You're looking for who again?'
'Ranier Beckmann,' said Pendergast.
Two of the drunks shrugged, but after a moment, Jed nodded slowly. 'Beckmann. Name rings a bell.'
'He lived in room 4C. Died of cancer almost ten years ago.'
Jed thought another moment, took a swig of the Rock 'n' Rye to lubricate the brain cells. 'I remember now. He's the guy who used to play gin rummy with Willie. Willie's gone, too. Man, did they argue. Cancer, you say?' He shook his head.
'Did you know anything about his life? Marriage, former addresses, that sort of thing?'
'He was a college-educated fellow. Smart. Nobody ever came to visit him, didn't seem to have any kids or family. He might have been married, I suppose. For a while, I thought he had a girl named Kay.'
'Kay?'
'Yeah. He'd say her name now and then, usually when he was mad at himself. Like when he lost at rummy. 'Kay Biskerow!' he'd say. As if he wouldn't have been in such a fix if she were there to look after him.'
Pendergast nodded. 'Any friends of his still here we could talk to?'
'Can't think of anybody. Beckmann mostly kept to himself. He was sort of depressed.'
'I see.'
D'Agosta shifted on the uncomfortable stoop. 'When someone dies here, what usually happens to his stuff?'
'They clean out his room and throw it away. Except that John sometimes saves a few things.'
'John?'
'Yeah. He saves dead people's shit. He's a little strange.'
'Did John save any of Beckmann's possessions?' Pendergast asked.
'Maybe. His room's full of junk. Why don't you go on up there and ask? It's 6A. Top floor, head of the stairs.'
Pendergast thanked the man, then led the way into the dim lobby and up the wooden staircase. The treads creaked alarmingly under their feet. As they reached the sixth floor, Pendergast laid a hand on D'Agosta's arm.
'I compliment you on your adroitness back there,' he said. 'Thinking to ask about his belongings was a clever move. Care to handle John, too?'
'Sure thing.'
D'Agosta rapped on the door marked6A , but it was already ajar and creaked inward at his knock. It opened a little, then stopped, blocked by a mountain of cardboard boxes. The room was almost completely filled with vermin-gnawed cartons, stacks of books, all manner of memorabilia. D'Agosta stepped in, threading a narrow path between walls of assorted junk: old pictures, photo albums, a tricycle, a signed baseball bat.
In the far corner, beneath a grimy window, a space just big enough for a bed had been cleared. A white-haired man lay on the filthy bed, fully clothed. He looked at them but did not rise or move.
'John?' D'Agosta asked.
He gave a faint nod.
D'Agosta went over to the bed, showed his badge. The man's face was creased and sunken, and his eyes were
