Disclaimer: Don't own Goren or Eames. So far, only own the characters of Sketch and Nicky.
A/N: First LO:CI fic, so please review!
People are fascinating. It's amazing what you can learn from simply watching body language. The flick of a wrist. The turn of a head. The wave of a hand. The shift in posture. They all tell you something about a person and even who they are with. As an artist, such details are the fodder for many a sketch, which is what draws me to Central Park every day. It is here that people from all walks of life gather. Old and young, fat and slim, mothers and fathers, single and married. It doesn't matter. They can all be found in the Park, especially in good weather. It's so strange. New York is the city that never sleeps. People always rushing about, and the sidewalks are often crammed full of people heading in one direction or another. Yet here, in the park, you forget where you are, and tranquility can be attained. Let me tell you, that kind of peace is only fleeting for hardcore runaways like me. It makes me feel. . . well. . .normal. No one notices a sixteen-year-old sitting on a bench reading a book or drawing. No one stops and stares at a teenager playing chess at the Chess and Checkers House or laying on the grass, enjoying the sun. It is times like that I feel like I belong. . .like I'm just like you or anyone else. An illusion, I know, but it's nice to feel that way every once in a while.
Now, that has changed, and the serenity I usually find here has been shattered by one unmistakable event, an incident that has prompted a section of the park to be cordoned off with yellow "Caution" tape and has invited a swarm of cops to invade the place I have irrationally come to think of as my safe haven. From my hiding place behind a nearby tree, I had watched them arrive and had seen the tape go up, and I have not been able to pull my eyes away since. As close as I was, I could hear the whispers of the crowd and even the rookie cops, so I knew who they had found. It was Jonathan Robinson, the newest up-and-coming stockbroker whose face graced the cover of every business magazine available in the vendor booths.
I watched with interest as the detectives arrived on the scene. One, a petite woman, walked over, pulling a pad and pen out of the pocket of her jeans. I suppose, she had been called back to duty; it was a Friday night after all. Her partner, a large man with black hair, stared at her back for a few seconds, making me wonder if perhaps he found her backside appealing. Shaking his head, the bulky, six foot Detective Hulk, as I had come to think of him, snapped on his gloves and walked straight to the body. He knelt next to it, seemingly careful not to disturb evidence or to get blood on his black jeans. Seems he, too, had been off duty.
I watched in trepidation as he continued his examination. He walked around the body, examining it from every possible angle. He even leaned in and smelled it. Apparently this was nothing new because his partner simply squatted next to him and began talking to him. A slight wind picked up, causing me to shiver and huddle closer into my large jeans jacket and oversized sweatshirt. I glanced warily up at the sky, hoping it wouldn't rain or, worse, snow tonight, but it's February so what can I expect, right? It was then I heard her say, "A couple found him. ME estimates time of death was about an hour ago. Apparently, Mr. Robinson is a regular jogger here and always buys a hot dog at that vendor over there." My eyes followed her finger, spotting the back of a man walking with one of the boy's dressed in blue. "Mr. Rossi said he saw Mr. Robinson arguing with a young guy a couple of days ago. They're taking him down to get him with a sketch artist."
I remembered that meeting well. Robinson had been indignant, shoving my sketches into my chest. "I know who you are, Sketch!" He yelled, emphasizing the street name I had taken upon coming to New York. A new name for a new place. It had made sense at the time. "Didn't I make it clear the last time I saw you! We don't want you in our lives, so just stay the hell away from Nicky! Stay away from my son!" He had stormed off then.
The deep voice of Detective Hulk pulled me from my thoughts, and I saw him gently turn Robinson's head and point at something there. "He was hit from behind. Throat cut, and a stab wound in the stomach." With a sinking feeling, I watched as his gloved hand turned the body slightly and pointed to something. "Another in his back."
Bile rose in my throat, and I swallowed it down as dread filled my soul. He was back. I had known he was out; it was the reason I had come to New York in the first place. The blood rushed to my head, and I knew I couldn't stay there any more. I slipped through crowd that had gathered and left the park in a hurry. I had to know. I had to know Nicky was okay. He would go there next. It was the only logical choice; his game was nearing completion. I had to protect Nicky. After all, he was my family too, no matter what Jonathan had said.