If you'd cross him in a busy crowd you might not do a double take. But that was his forte, he could get lost in a crowd. He was anonymous, unremarkable to look at first. But then again the man was at 72, well past his prime.
If I were to describe him, he was like any old sour crunt, living in the country. He had the voice of Clint Eastwood and a poker face that reminded me of Steve McQueen. He'd served in the military as most men his age, and had even seen active service. As a sharp-shooter. I'd ask him how many he killed, but he'd just grunt and turn away. He was still lean, not plagued by the portly stature that afflicts men of that age. I might have been in a poor shape after my accident, but I'm certain even before that he, Kincaid, could have given me a run for my money.
I had a lot to learn, but Kincaid didn't seem to be much in a teaching mood.
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