November 11, 2012

Reese joined Finch at the coffee cart, stood towering behind him in line. Finch was just affixing something to his lapel, and Reese frowned down at the splodge of red he could just see from his angle.

"I really hope that isn't what I think it is, Finch."

"It's not for you, Mr. Reese. It's for him." Finch nodded at the man on the corner, huddled into an old Vietnam-era Army jacket with a fistful of plastic poppies in his gloved hand. It was easy to tell a homeless vet when you saw one, but today people weren't ignoring him. They were buying his poppies.

"New number, Finch?"

"Sergeant Joseph Cortez. It was almost as hard to track him down as it was to track you down. He must have had a very good reason for disappearing from his life. You're going to find out that reason." Finch did his full-upper-body swivel-and-tilt and looked up at Reese. "And I'm rather disappointed that you considered me capable of sentiment, Mr. Reese."