Old Crazy was a fixture of Liberty Park, a landmark as recognizable and immutable as the mermaid fountain in the square.
“They’re watching,” he’d say with faraway eyes and a discordant tone of immediacy.
“Axiom,” they called him. They’d been on assignment together for three months and she’d never seen his face—never would. Never should, anyway. But suppose next time she were to linger on the park bench, flicking through a newspaper until the stranger came along to collect what she’d left him?