Agent with a History

I flipped the paper around and asked, still not quite believing it, "You drew this?"

He ducked his bearded head a little in awkwardness and nodded before saying, "I used to be something of an artist in another life."

I flipped the paper back over and stared at it for a moment before looking back up at the homeless artist and said. "I don't know how life has let you down to be as you are now, but I don't think the world of art is done with you, should you wish to try it again. Thank you for this!"

His cheeks flushed a little red above his scraggly beard and he husked out a low, "Thank you".

I looked down at the picture he had drawn. The silhouette of a sleek black sedan formed the background that outlined the tall striding figure of the man in the foreground. He was a white male, deep tan and well over 6' in height. He was dressed in a suit and was in the process of an easy stride forward that bespoke of a man confidently within his element. His eyes were shielded by a pair of dark aviator glasses of a simple classic design. His shoulders were broad and in general, if the picture was accurate, he was a big man. As impressive as his powerful athletic build was, what was most captivating about the man were the intangibles that seemed to leap off the page at me.

I got several quick impressions. First was that this was a dangerous man. He had the poise that bespoke experience and a perceived intelligence that said he was quick on his feet to adapt to a new situation.

He was, in a word, perhaps the most intimidating man I had ever seen, other than my father. Where had he gotten such a poised bearing? Military? CIA or something like it or was he closer to a soldier of fortune type? It was hard to say. He appeared to be a little of all of them and something else more ancient. If I had to say a word that encapsulated him as well as the picture seemed to, it was: warrior.

I looked up at the homeless artist, "Earlier, when my fellow detectives questioned you they said that you didn't remember most of the people. Why do you have such a vivid memory of this man?"

He shrugged. "The others were like pigeons, seen one you've seen them all, but him, he had a real presence. You don't see many people like that, not anymore." He looked up at me speculatively and then added, "You have a strong presence too. Mind if I do a sketch?" He asked, as he reached for the sketch pad in front of him.