“Watching you,” he said. “Of course. When I came to the city, I worked out at the racetrack for a week and made enough money to live off of for a couple months, and avoided the tough guys who watched me winning and waited to catch me alone at the streetcar stop. I made enough and then I went to watch you.
“I knew where you were, of course. Always knew where you were. I could see you whenever I closed my eyes. I knew when you opened your shops and I went by at night and in the busy parts of the day so that I could get a better sense of them. I kept an eye on you, Alan, watched over you. I had to get close enough to smell you and hear you and see you, though, it wasn’t enough to see you in my mind.
“Because I had to know the why. I could see the what, but I had to know the why—why were you opening your stores? Why were you saying the things you said? I had to get close enough because from the outside, it’s impossible to tell if you’re winking because you’ve got a secret, or if you’ve got dust in your eye, or if you’re making fun of someone who’s winking, or if you’re trying out a wink to see how it might feel later.
“It’s been four years I’ve been watching you when I could, going back to the track for more when I ran out of money, and you know what? I know what you’re doing.”
Alan nodded. “Yeah,” he said.
“You’re watching. You’re doing what I’m doing. You’re watching them to figure out what they’re doing.”
Alvin nodded. “Yeah,” he said.
“You don’t know any more about the world than I do.”
Albert nodded. “Yeah,” he said.
Billy shook his head and leaned more heavily on Alan’s arm. “I want a drink,” he said.