Andrew loved Jason. He would never have let him pass by without speaking. But the Andrew I knew would never have left me. I reread the note. I had smoothed it as best I could. No matter how disheartening, it was the last thing I received from my husband.
11
Scott Harrington
I skipped breakfast at St. John’s to keep an early morning watch, determined that I wouldn’t miss Tyler when he left the shelter. Seated on a corner bench diagonal to Three Rivers Missions, I hid behind the morning newspaper but kept looking over it, scanning the surrounding area. I’d been sitting there for about two hours now and couldn’t possibly have missed him on my watch. The time on my phone showed nine in the morning. In the next thirty minutes, everyone had to be out.
But he didn’t come. I waited past nine, nine thirty, ten. Somehow I’d missed him. My lookout had been diligent. The only possibilities were that he left before I arrived at seven or he didn’t stay there last night.
My stomach knotted at the prospect of him doing another delivery tonight. Any one of them could lead to the cops busting him, or worse. But I had no idea where to find him. This place provided the only connection we had. What else could I do but be in the vicinity again late afternoon and wait some more?
At ten fifteen I headed home. This assignment wore me out physically and emotionally.
I hopped on a bus headed down the Ohio Valley toward Sewickley. I looked a mess, wrinkled and in need of a shower. I managed to blend in when I was in the city but stood out like an elephant on the highway in my little home town. Still, I risked offending people by stopping at Stella’s.
I exited the bus a few doors down the street from the café. The twenty-minute ride had transported me to a different world. The shrubbery that bordered the sidewalk created their own miniature skyline of coned, rounded, and squared shrubbery in hues of green, crimson, and gold. Sapling trees interspersed the shrubs.
I entered the café and the rich aroma of coffee delighted my senses. Stella worked the counter by herself this morning. One customer sat sipping coffee, his eyes glued to a laptop. I caught the glance of distaste when I walked past.
“Hey, if it isn’t Clark Kent. Welcome back to Metropolis. Man, are you a mess! Don’t even think about hugging me.” The tension of last night and this morning began to dissipate. Stella made the city seem so far away.
“Hi Stel.” I could manage no more. My legs felt too heavy to move.
“Hey, did you run a marathon and come in last? What can I get for you?”
“Definitely coffee. I know it’s almost lunch, but I haven’t had breakfast. What’s quick this morning?”
“Tell you what.” She poured my coffee into a to-go cup. “Julie came in to cover the register, and I need to run home. How about you take your coffee and go get your shower—I hope that’s your plan ’cause you need it. I’ll package you up something good and drop it off in five. Here’s a macadamia cookie to tide you over.”
I took the coffee and the cookie. “Thanks, Stella. You’re the best.”
She smiled. “You got that right. Don’t forget it.”
I was upstairs putting on some fresh clothes when I heard the doorbell, followed by the key turning. “It’s me,” Stella called. “And Ginger.”
Ginger barreled up the stairs, her tail thumping the wall. I ruffled her fur, pulled on my shirt, and went barefoot down the stairs.
The net had been removed from Stella’s clipped-up blond hair. She wore jeans and a neon-green polo shirt with Stella’s Café on the pocket. She set a feast on my table. “This is for later. I’ll put it in your fridge.”
I recognized the box lunch that held one of her specialty sandwiches and a side or two.
I glanced in the to-go box she set before me to find a quiche and crispy potatoes. “What do I owe you?”
“On the house, my friend.” She closed the refrigerator door and walked back toward the table.
“Stella, how do you make a living?”
“Hey, I’m doing OK. My car’s bigger than your car. The real question is, how do you make a living with months between projects?” Her brows arched.
The corners of my mouth lifted into a grin. “A little trust fund helps. Do you have time to sit? I could use some normal company. There’s enough food here for three of us.”
She sat across from me. “You planning to set a place for Ginger? And what’s with the glasses? I’ve never seen you wear them.”
“I pulled out my contacts. Not a good idea to leave them in all night.” I took a long, slow swallow of coffee, detecting a slight taste of hazelnut.
“Well, you look quite intelligent. Kind of sophisticated.”
“That’s not what they said in third grade.”
She grimaced. “Ouch. Eight-year-olds can be cruel.”
“Tell me about it. I got ‘Four-eyes’ and ‘Specky’ all the time. One day in second grade, we were leaving school and a kid, fooling around, acted like he couldn’t see. He bumped into me and said, ‘Sorry Speckles. Couldn’t see you behind those goggles.’ Edwin sprinted over and decked him. A teacher had to pull him off of the kid. I stood watching while one went to the nurse and the other to the office. Edwin had a three-day suspension.”
I picked up the knife. “Half a quiche?”
“No. Just this.” She took an orange scone from the bag and opened a little container of marmalade. I’d talked with her before about my project and shared a little about Pete, D.J., and Tyler, but not about the drugs. So I filled her in. “I waited for over three hours and didn’t catch him. It’s eating at me because I wanted to get him out of there.”
“Scott, what are you planning? How do you get him out of that environment without offering him something different?” Stella could always read me.
I rubbed my temples and moved my head from side to side to relieve the stiffness. My hair was still damp from my shower.
She continued. “You’re planning to bring him here, aren’t you?”
I gave her a grin. “I’ve thought about it.”
She wrinkled her brows. “You sure that’s a good idea? You don’t know this kid.”
“What choice do I have? I feel like I know him. I think he’s a good kid who’s had some bad breaks.”
“Let’s not forget he’s a drug trafficker. He knows what he’s doing.”
She had a point. “Only because he’s desperate. Take that away and…I don’t know, Stel. Am I being foolish to think of this?”
Right now, her thoughts would be clearer than mine.
“You know, you can’t save every stray dog that comes to your door.” She refuted herself. “Bad analogy. I know this is more important than that. Just be careful. I could talk with Pastor Doug and see if he knows of any avenues for help? There must be places someone like him can go.”
“Not yet. Let me think about it.”
She glanced at the stack of magazines and DVDs that contained some past work I’d done. Stella would have been familiar with much of it. “What’s with the nostalgia?”
“Going through to pick out a few things. I met a young lady at the offices of Three Rivers Missions and promised to bring some of my work to show her.”
“Oh.” Her arms crossed over her chest, and she stood to leave. “Gotta go. The deli’s calling me. You can leave Ginger here. I’ll pick her up on my way home.” With that, she bolted out the door without any good-bye.
I had many things to do but couldn’t be effective without a rest. I finished my food, set my phone alarm for one hour, and hit the sofa. Ginger hopped up and lay at my feet.
I woke rested and thankful for the blissful unconsciousness. What to do about Tyler? I went to my laptop and typed “Tyler Pulkowski” into a search engine. Three Tylers were pictured, but none were him. However, one link identified him as part of the graduating class from a Pittsburgh high school. I clicked to open it but only found school reports.
Tyler’s name registered in the list of five-hundred other students. I narrowe
d my search to the Southside of Pittsburgh where Tyler said they lived before his dad left. That produced an obituary for Francis Pulkowski, survived by two sons, Francis, Jr. and Samuel Pulkowski and by four grandchildren who remained unnamed. I searched Francis and Samuel. Bingo. An article featured Sam Pulkowski leading a construction crew of volunteers rebuilding a home destroyed by fire. One picture featured Sam and his young son, Tyler, then about seven years old. Tyler’s frame nestled close to Sam’s leg, and Sam’s hand rested on Tyler’s crew cut.
Sam Pulkowski. I gazed at the picture. Print media can’t show a person’s character, but he sure didn’t look like a dad who would leave his son behind. I’d love to hear his side of the story. He shouldn’t be too difficult to find.
Refreshed and ready, I reached for the stack of articles I’d selected to show…or show off to Caroline. That’s what was really happening here.
After stopping by Three Rivers offices, I would find Tyler. This time I’d take my car to the city—no bus, no ragged clothes, no backpack. After that, I’d bring Tyler home with me. I couldn’t wait for Stella to talk with her pastor. She’d agree once she got to know him. I had enough connections that should help Tyler to secure a job. His time in my home would be short. It would be an easy sacrifice on my end.
Driving on I-279 into the city, a cold afternoon rain spattered against my windshield. I cursed at the thought of sitting on a wet bench for hours. I’d see Caroline first.
I opened the office door to déjà vu. A spreadsheet stretched across Caroline’s desk. She peeked over her glasses without a word, as she penciled something into the columns. Remember, Harrington, rude, cute, snarky, sassy. First comes rude. I proceeded to her desk and spoke, even though she had returned to her task.
“Hello, Carol-line.”
“Oh, hi. It’s the newspaper guy.”
“Or it’s the journalist.”
“You like to make a big deal out of that, don’t you?” She pointed her pencil at me.
“Well, the newspaper guy could be the one throwing them on the porch from a bicycle. He could be the one doing the print setting. Could be the person…”
“OK, OK. I get it. What can I do for you today?”
“Well, two things. First, I brought some articles I wrote in the past so you can scan my work. I’m sure you’ll want to know you’re being represented well.” That caught her attention.
“Oh yeah, you said you’d be doing that. Pull that chair on over so you can tell me what I’m looking at.”
I found my cold metal chair and brought it to her desk, placing it along the side rather than across from her. I knew this work inside out but would rather not be looking at it upside down.
As I sat beside her, she closed the cover of her spreadsheet.
“Quite old school, doing paper and pencil. Excel can handle that for you.”
Strawberry-blond eyebrows raised over her glasses. “Well, why didn’t I think of that?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. She slid the spreadsheet in the middle drawer of her desk and turned back with a smile. “So, let’s see what you’ve done, Mr. Harrington.”
This girl could change like a chameleon.
“Scott,” I reminded her.
For the next hour, we flipped through some of my work. Caroline pulled out the Pittsburgh travelogue I’d done two years ago. It had won an award, but only for a local magazine, nothing too prestigious.
“So, walk me through Pittsburgh,” she requested.
The clock in my sights said three twenty and as much as I would’ve liked to stick around, I had resolved to be out the door by three forty. I couldn’t let Tyler down. I decided to play her game.
“I’ve got twenty minutes. Do you want a quick overview or shall I focus on one or two places?”
“Well, I certainly don’t want to keep you from something more important, Mr. Harrington.” Snippy returned, and it made me smile.
“No problem at all. I’ll start at the beginning and keep moving. If something catches your fancy, we’ll slow down.”
We didn’t get too far before Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens caught her eye.
“That reminds me of the gardens behind my home in Savannah. Look, there’s a Camellia. They bloom in the spring and in the winter. Oh, a magnolia. That, my friend, is a real magnolia, not one of the poor imitations you have up here in the north. Crepe myrtle. Ahh. I haven’t seen one of those in way too long.”
Her eyes had a genuine glow I hadn’t seen before. Nostalgia. She missed Savannah.
With her hand covering the foliage, she inhaled. “I can almost smell it. Where is this place? I want to go there.”
Somewhat amused, I grinned. “It’s in Schenley Park.”
“And where exactly is that?” Why did her question sound like a commanding officer?
“It’s at…never mind. I’ll take you there. One o’clock Saturday afternoon?”
She pulled her glasses to the tip of her nose and turned to study me. I’d never seen her speechless except when she should be greeting visitors in the office.
Her answer came with arched brows. “So, no lunch first?”
“OK, Miss Savannah, Georgia—noon. Where shall I pick you up?”
“Oh, I’ll meet you.” She riffled back a few pages and pointed. “At this place.”
The Wellford Lounge on the overlook at Mount Washington. The girl had good taste.
The clock read three forty-five. “Gotta go. I’ll meet you at the Wellford Lounge at noon on Saturday.”
A wide smile. “Oh, you said there were two things you wanted today.”
I had to think for a minute. “Oh yeah, I wanted to see if I could meet Ray Brockman. But I’m tight on time. Some other day.”
“Has to be. He’s not in anyway.”
I opened the door to exit but turned toward her once again.
“Hey, one final question. Do you know if there’s much drug activity around the Three Rivers Mission on Stanwix?”
Caroline leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. Her chin tipped upward. “It’s a homeless shelter. I would imagine some of those men are junkies.”
I started to clarify my question but decided to let it drop. “Yeah, you’re right.”
She furrowed her brows. “So why the question?”
No way would I mention Tyler. “I want to keep it out of my story.”
“Good plan. I’ll see you Saturday.”
12
Scott Harrington
I was determined to find Tyler before he went to the shelter. Carnegie Library had branches throughout the Pittsburgh area, but only the Smithfield Street branch was downtown. That must be where Tyler spent his days.
Approaching the library, I glanced up at the colorful mural, The Two Andys, painted on the side of a building. Andy Warhal and Andrew Carnegie depicted in a beauty parlor displayed the artists’ attempt to symbolize a revitalized city.
I entered the library and began scanning the rows of bookshelves. There was no sign of Tyler. He had said he used the computers to check e-mail, so I made my way to the database center. He wasn’t there.
I left the library and turned toward Stanwix Street. The shelter wouldn’t be open yet, but I’d keep walking back and forth. Eventually, I’d find him somewhere between these two places.
As I turned a corner, I caught sight of his lanky frame and wheat-colored hair in the distance. I’d have to sprint to catch up with him.
I picked up my pace but slowed as I saw Jim lumbering toward Tyler, his shoulders held tight with fisted hands. When he reached Tyler, he jabbed a finger in his chest. They were too far away to hear their conversation, but Jim stepped close to Tyler, face-to-face. Tyler’s attempt to inch back was futile as Jim stepped in again, wrapping a huge hand around Tyler’s arm. A few more words were exchanged. Then Jim pointed his finger toward his face before pivoting around. As he walked away, Tyler leaned over, hands on his thighs.
I approached, watching for any return of Jim. When I stood
behind him, close enough to touch, I laid a hand on his shoulder. “You OK?”
I hadn’t intended to startle him, but he jumped at my touch. “Scott.” He let out a relieved breath, his eyes darting in the direction where Jim had just walked.
I motioned in the opposite direction. “Let’s get out of here.”
This time, he didn’t argue. He fell into step beside me, and we walked. Pedestrian traffic was thick. Meandering away from the crowds, we ended up under the bridge where I slept that first night. With the place unoccupied now, we leaned against the massive pillars imbedded in a concrete foundation.
Daytime sounded so different, with the constant swoosh of cars passing above like a pulsing heartbeat. Brakes squealed and a distant siren beat out a series of high and low tones. But the dampness and trash were the same, as though they were rooted under this bridge. I shuddered from the memory of sleeping here.
Tyler shut his eyes, exhaling deep breaths. The emotional fatigue was evident.
I silently watched him for a few minutes. “You OK?”
“Yeah, I’m OK. I was looking for you.” His breathing returned to normal.
“Well, that makes two of us. I was looking for you as well.”
“You looking so you could tell me how much trouble I was getting in? To say ‘I told you so’? Well, too late. I figured that one out.” He glanced from side-to-side.
I shook my head. “No, I was looking because I’m worried about you. Jim’s trying his best to intimidate you. What did he say?”
Tyler moved from the concrete pylons and sat on a railroad tie. “I didn’t stay at the shelter last night. He came looking for me to find out why.”
“Did he threaten you?”
He gave a half-shrug. “He wanted to make sure I’m still in. The threat was implied if I’d have answered differently.”
I leaned back and folded my hands in front of my chest. “So you’re still going to work for him?”
“No, but I’m not stupid enough to tell him that. I had a bad scare last night. I’ve got to get out.”
The Least of These. Page 8