Ollie’s Hands – Koontz, Dean

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OLLIE’S HANDS By Dean R. Koontz THE JULY NIGHT WAS HOT. THE AIR AGAINST

OLLIE’S PALMS MADE HIM aware of the discomfort of the city’s sweltering

residents: millions of people wishing for winter. Even in the cruelest

weather, however, even on a bitterly cold night filled with dry January wind,

Ollie’s hands would have been soft, moist, warm – and sensitive. His thin

fingers were tapered in an extraordinary manner. When he gripped anything, his

fingers seemed to fuse with the surface of the object. When he let it go, the

release was like a sigh. Every night, regardless of the season, Ollie

visited the unlighted alleyway behind Staznik’s Restaurant, where he searched

for the accidentally discarded silverware in the three large overflowing

garbage bins. Because Staznik himself believed in quality, and because his

prices were high, the tableware was expensive enough to make Ollie’s

undignified rooting worthwhile. Every two weeks, he managed to sense out

enough pieces to constitute a matched set, which he sold to one of several

used-furniture stores in exchange for wine money. Recovered tableware was

only one source of his funds. In his own way, Ollie was a clever man. On