BEAN'S PROCESS read white letters painted in a crumbling arc on the tiny storefront. The barbershop hadn't changed since the fifties. It was wedged flat as a jelly sandwich between a rib joint and a restored apartment building. Its fluorescent lights shone bright through the snowstorm.
Bean lived above the shop, but he met Bennie in it, standing next to her as she sat in one of the old-fashioned chairs, of white porcelain with cracked red leather cushions and headrests. Bean was most at home in his shop, which Bennie understood perfectly. 'Sorry to get you out of bed,' she said.
'Don't think nothin' about it.' Bean waved her off with a dark hand that was surprisingly small for someone of his girth. At sixty-seven, Washington 'Bean' Baker was still large, with chubby cheeks and brown, wide-set eyes, but the most remarkable aspect of his appearance was the unusual shape of his bald head. His forehead bulged where his hairline used to be, his chin protruded, and his skin color was brown tinged with red. Growing up his mother had decided her baby's head looked just like a kidney bean, so she called him Bean. 'I'd come down for you anytime, lady,' he said.
'Even though I lost your case?'
'I tol' you nothin' would come of it. Nobody gonna stand up agains' the cops. They shake you down and get away with it.'
'Now they wouldn't.'
'Why?' he asked, with a slow smile. Bean did everything slowly. He thought carefully before he spoke and moved only with deliberation. It was a comforting trait in a man with a straight razor at the carotid. 'You learn a few tricks since you were young?'
'Just a few. So have the juries. Today those cops would have been convicted.'
'Should I be waitin' on a refund?'
'Hey, I took you on contingency, remember? I didn't stick you.'
Bean smiled. 'I know. I jus' said it to get you riled up.'
'I feel bad enough already,' Bennie grumbled. 'I shoulda had 'em. They lied on the stand.'
'They sure did.' His voice was soft, his tone matter-of-fact. 'They're cops.'
'I owe you one.'
'Forget it. I jus' like to see you get worked up.'
Bennie edged forward on the barber chair. 'Do you know anyone named Eb Darning, Bean?'
'Eb?' Bean rubbed his bald head with his fingertips, kneading his red-brown scalp like soft clay. 'Eb? Long time ago. Eb. I remember Eb.'
'What do you remember about him?'
'Only one thing to know about Eb. He drank too much. Had a problem with the bottle. Went to the state store every day. I used to see him. Eb was there soon as they opened. He'd be waitin' on the sidewalk. Tol' me he only bought one bottle a day. If he got more than one, he'd try to drink 'em both down.'
'Any drugs?'
'Just the bottle.'
'When was the last time you saw him?'
'Ten years, maybe twelve.'
'Take a look at this.' Bennie pulled the computer photo of the clean-shaven Eb Darning from her coat pocket and handed to Bean. 'Is this him?'
'Sure. That's Eb.'
'Now I want to show you another photo.' She passed Bean the photo with the beard. 'Take a look at it and tell me if you think it's Eb, too.'
'This him?' he asked after a minute.
'You tell me.'
Bean walked with the photo to the cushioned benches against the shop wall and eased his bulk into one of them. The benches had been scavenged from various restaurant booths and were stuck together in mismatched banks of red, blue, and brown. They made a vinyl rainbow against the white porcelain tile on the wall. A black pay phone with a rotary dial was mounted next to the tile, and yellowed political posters were taped to the back wall, with faded pictures of black ward leaders. Bennie let her eyes linger on their bright, ambitious faces because Bean would be looking at the photo for the foreseeable future. 'Well?' she said when she couldn't wait any longer.
Bean looked up, blinking. 'Doesn't look like the Eb I knew, but it could be him. The eyes, it could be him. He didn't have no beard when I knew him. That I know for sure. He came in for a shave, time to time.'
'If the beard were gone, would that be Eb?'
'Could be. Could be.' Bean handed back the photos. 'Got old fast, he did. I wouldn'ta recognized him if you hadn'ta said somethin'.'
Bennie took it as a tentative yes and slipped the photos back in her pocket. 'What kind of man was Eb, do you remember?'
'A drunk.'
'I mean his personality.'
'To me, he was a drunk. Thas' all. All drunks the same.' Bean shrugged a heavy set of shoulders. He wore a loose-fitting blue barber smock with baggy pants even though the shop was closed. Bean always said he slept in his smock, but Bennie hadn't believed him until now. 'Eb was quiet in the chair, when he was sober. Rest of the time he jabbered.'
