by Al Lacy
“Y-yes, sir.” Dane’s mouth went even drier.
“I’m Captain J. D. Slater and this is Officer Calvin Bickford. We just talked to the landlord downstairs, and he told us he had seen you come home a while ago, so he figured you would still be here in the apartment.”
Fear gripped Dane’s heart.
“May we come in and talk to you, son?” asked Slater.
Dane ran his tongue over equally dry lips. He backed up a step. “Yes, sir.”
When the policemen had entered, Dane closed the door and led them into the parlor. There was an ever-tightening knot in the pit of his stomach as he told them to sit on the sofa, then sat down on the chair that faced them and waited for them to speak.
“Dane,” said the captain, “we hate to have to tell you this, but your parents and sister and brother were assaulted by a teenage gang on Third Avenue near Twenty-third Street at about seven-thirty.”
A frown creased the boy’s brow. “Are—are they all right, sir?”
Slater looked at Bickford, ran a palm over his mouth, then looked back at Dane. “No, they’re not. All—all but your sister, Diane, are dead.”
Dane felt as if the blood was running from his heart. He began to shake like a man in a palsy. His strength seemed to drain away. He sat, mouth gaping and breathless, with wide-open horror-struck eyes. “P-Papa and Mama and Ronnie are—are dead?”
The captain rose to his feet and laid a steady hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Yes, son.”
“And—and Diane is s-still alive?”
“Yes. Officer Bickford and I took her to Good Samaritan Hospital. She was unconscious when we picked her up off the ground. She regained consciousness shortly after we got her to the hospital and talked to us. Though she was battered and somewhat in shock, she spoke slowly and told us what happened. She’s in bad shape, son, but we’re hoping she’ll make it.”
Officer Bickford rose and laid a hand on the other shoulder. “Would you like us to take you to her?”
“Oh, y-yes, sir.”
“We have a paddy wagon. Let’s go.”
Dane put on his coat and the officers took him to the paddy wagon, which was parked in front of the building. The landlord and his wife were watching through their front window as Dane climbed up onto the seat. He was sitting between the officers as the paddy wagon pulled away and moved down the street.
On the seat, Dane felt like he was in a nightmare. He was numb with grief, and overcome with the enormity of it all. His tortured mind kept telling him it wasn’t really happening. But it was all too real. It wasn’t raining any longer.
Only a few hours ago, they were a happy, loving family, and now these men in uniform had told him that all but Diane were dead.
As the paddy wagon made its way along the dark streets, Captain J.D. Slater said, “Dane, when we talked to your sister at the hospital, she told us there were eight gang members who approached them from the alley there on Third Avenue when they were headed for home. They dragged all four of them into the alley and demanded her father’s wallet and her mother’s purse. When her father told them he had only a few dollars in the wallet, and her mother only had two dollars, he asked them to have mercy and not take their money. She said one of them slapped her father across the face and demanded his wallet.”
Dane winced and his head bobbed.
Slater went on. “At that moment, Diane said her mother begged the gang members not to take her husband’s wallet, and one of them slapped her face while another one snatched her purse from her hand. This stirred your father’s anger. He punched the one who had hit your mother, and suddenly the whole gang was beating all four of them.”
Dane drew in a shuddering breath and shook his head. Tears were in his eyes.
Officer Calvin Bickford put an arm around his shoulder and squeezed him tight.
The captain proceeded. “Diane said that after the gang members had emptied what little money was in her father’s wallet, they threw it and her mother’s purse on the ground and ran away, cursing because they hadn’t gotten more money. Diane told us that she felt herself passing out as she lay on the ground with her parents and her little brother lying around her. Some people on the street had seen the family dragged into the alley, and one of them ran to find a policeman. By the time the nearest policeman was located, the gang members were nowhere to be found. I’m so sorry, son.”
Dane looked up at him through a wall of tears. “Th-thank you, sir.”
“The bodies of your parents and Ronnie have been taken to the city morgue, Dane. It was your father’s identification in his wallet that told us who he was and where the family lived. Diane told us you would be at the flat. This is how we found you.”
Bickford said, “Oh. And with your father’s wallet and your mother’s purse, we found a book that was wrapped in a paper bag. We left them at the nurse’s station just outside the emergency room where the hospital attendants took Diane.”
The wagon continued to move through the wet streets.
Staring straight ahead with his tear-dimmed eyes fixed on nothing in particular, Dane tried to make his mind grasp and accept all of this dreadful information.
Completely unprepared for such an horrific event, he felt his stomach heave with nausea. He quickly put both hands over his mouth.
Officer Bickford still had his arm around the boy’s shoulders. He looked at Slater, who was driving. “Captain, you’d better stop.”
Slater noted Dane and pulled rein quickly.
Bickford jumped out and helped Dane to the ground. He laid a hand on his shoulder and bent his head down so he could look into Dane’s eyes. “Is it coming up?”
Dane closed his eyes and removed his hands from his mouth enough to say, “I’m not sure.”
“Take some deep breaths, son. I know all of this has been such a shock to you.”
Dane drew one deep breath after another, and after a few minutes, he looked at Bickford and said in a ragged voice, “I think—I think I’ll be all right, now.”
“Good. Just breathe easy, now. You’ll be okay.”
Dane did as the officer said, still keeping his hands close to his mouth and his head bent forward. After taking several gulps of the rain-dampened air, he straightened up, swallowed hard, and said haltingly, “We—we can go on now. I need to get—to my sister. She must be frantic with all that’s happened tonight.” His features pinched. “How awful for her to have to watch our parents and little brother beaten to death! I must get to her. Please. Let’s hurry!”
Officer Bickford hoisted Dane on to the wagon seat and climbed up behind him. “Let’s go, Captain.”
In his sick heart, Dane kept pleading with Diane not to die, but the same feeling of doom that he had experienced earlier claimed him. When the paddy wagon came to a halt in front of the Good Samaritan Hospital, Dane surprised Officer Calvin Bickford by squeezing past him and hopping to the ground.
He ran into the hospital while Slater and Bickford were alighting from the wagon. They called to him. He spotted the receptionist’s desk and darted toward it. He was skidding to a halt at the desk while the officers were hurrying through the door.
There was a portly, gray-haired nurse standing over the receptionist and talking to her. The older woman glanced at the two officers coming toward the desk, then looked at the teenage boy, whose eyes were wide. Her face turned pale. She moved around the desk. “You must be Dane Weston. I’m Nurse Martha Simpson. I work in the emergency room. Captain Slater and Officer Bickford said they were going to bring you here.”
“Yes, ma’am. I want to see my sister! Please take me to her. She needs me.”
The officers drew up, having heard Dane’s words.
Slater noted the pale look on Nurse Simpson’s face. “Can he see her?”
Martha blinked painfully, looked at Dane, then at Slater.
“Oh no!” gasped Dane. “Not Diane, too!”
Martha laid a hand on Dane’s shoulder. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I’
m sorry, son. Diane died about twenty minutes ago.”
Dane was stunned. He drew a sharp breath and burst into tears. Martha’s heart went out to the boy. He was an inch or two taller than her, but she took him into her arms and held him tightly as if he were a small child.
Not even aware of what he was doing, Dane wrapped his strong young arms around her ample body and gave way to the despair that was tearing him apart. Clinging to her, he sobbed incoherently. Other people passing through the lobby looked on with pinched faces as they heard the heartrending sobs of the teenage boy.
The officers stood observing the pitiful scene, both glad for the motherly instinct of Nurse Martha Simpson. They knew that she was of more help to him than both of them could give him together.
Finally, Dane gained control, eased back from Martha’s tender grasp, and wiped tears from his cheeks with trembling hands. He looked into her sympathetic eyes, sniffed, and said, “Th-thank you, ma’am. I’m sorry I broke down. All of this just seems like an impossible nightmare. I don’t know what to do about having a funeral for my family, or how to have them buried.”
Tears once again filled his red-rimmed eyes.
Captain Bickford moved up close. “Dane, do you have someone you can stay with? You know, some relatives?”
“No, sir. I have no relatives at all. My school friends all have brothers and sisters, so there would be no room for me in any of their homes, even if their parents wanted to take me in. For right now, I’ll just have to live at our apartment.”
Slater nodded silently. “On the subject of a funeral and burial for your family, Dane, the coroner at the morgue will take care of it. I’ll take you to him as soon as I can. As chief of police, I want to talk to the coroner myself. We’ll take you home now.”
“Captain,” said Bickford, “I’ll go get the wallet, purse, and book at the nurse’s station. Be right back.”
Nurse Martha Simpson tried to comfort Dane while Bickford was gone. Dane hugged her and thanked her for caring.
Bickford returned, and with the wallet, purse, and paper sack containing the book in his hand, he said, “All right, son, let’s take you to your apartment.”
While the paddy wagon was moving along the streets, Dane felt like the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders. He took a deep breath and told himself that somehow he would make it alone, and a determination to do so filled his aching heart.
Captain Slater interrupted Dane’s thoughts. “Son, when is the rent on the apartment due?”
Dane looked up at him. “Papa paid the rent every Saturday for the following week. This is Tuesday, so the rent is paid through next Saturday.”
“I’m concerned about where you’re going then.”
Dane shrugged his shoulders. “Well, sir, I guess I’ll just have to take to the streets like so many orphans have to do.”
“I hate that, Captain,” said Officer Bickford. “I wish there were more orphanages in this city.”
“I do, too,” said Slater, “but there’s nothing either one of us can do about it.”
“Yeah. I know.”
When they arrived at 218 Thirty-third Street, Captain Slater said, “Dane, we’ve got to get back to headquarters. I’ll come back and take you to the morgue as soon as I can.”
Dane moved past Officer Bickford and hopped down. “All right, Captain. I appreciate all the help you and Officer Bickford have been to me.”
Bickford leaned down and handed him the purse, wallet, and paper bag. “See you later, son.”
Dane tried to smile. “Yes, sir. See you later.”
“Keep your chin up, Dane,” said Slater. “If you ever need help of the kind that takes a policeman to handle, don’t hesitate to come and see me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’ll probably be day after tomorrow before I can take you to the morgue. See you then.”
“Yes, sir. See you then.”
Slater rubbed his chin. “In fact, tell you what—I’ll go by the morgue tomorrow and just tell the coroner to come to the apartment and let you know when the funeral will be. It’ll probably be three or four days from now. Going by myself will save time, since the morgue is only a block and a half from precinct headquarters. I won’t have to come all the way over here and pick you up.”
“All right, Captain. That will be fine.”
The wagon pulled away. Dane stood and watched until it turned the corner and disappeared, then headed for the front door of the apartment building.
Chapter Three
Upon entering the apartment building, a heavy-hearted Dane Weston knocked on the door of the landlord’s apartment. When Mitchell Bendrick—who was in his midfifties—opened the door, he smiled. “Hello, Dane. I saw you go in the paddy wagon with Chief Slater and the other officer. Is everything all right?”
“They told me they had talked to you. Didn’t they tell you what happened?”
“No. Come in and tell me what has happened.”
As Dane stepped in and Mitchell closed the door, Sylvia Bendrick appeared, curiosity showing on her face. To her husband, she said, “Did you find out why the police wanted to see Dane?”
“Not yet, honey, but Dane is about to tell us.”
Sylvia focused on the purse, wallet, and paper bag in Dane’s hand, then on his ashen face. “It’s something bad, isn’t it? Is that your mother’s purse? Is that your father’s wallet?”
Dane looked at her with tears welling up in his eyes. “Could we sit down? I’ll tell you all about it.”
When they were seated in the parlor, the brokenhearted boy told the Bendricks the story, and when he finished, tears were flowing.
Mitchell and Sylvia were stunned, and together left their chairs and wrapped their arms around the sobbing boy, telling him how sorry they were that this awful tragedy had happened.
When Dane’s emotions had settled down and the Bendricks had let go of him and returned to their chairs, he set his gaze on them. “Will I be able to stay in the apartment until Saturday since Papa already paid you for this week’s rent?”
“You most certainly can,” replied Mitchell. “Where are you going to live after Saturday?”
Dane took a deep breath. “I’ll have to live on the streets like so many orphans do.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” said Sylvia. “I wish we could afford to let you just keep on living in the apartment, but we have to have the rent money from it.”
“We’d sure do it if we could,” Mitchell assured him.
Dane managed a thin smile. “I know you would. But I understand. Thank you, though.”
Sylvia looked at him compassionately. “Dane, you can take your meals with us until you move out on Saturday.”
His face brightened a bit. “Okay. I’d like that. Thank you very much.”
Mitchell stood up and laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Since we only have one bedroom in this apartment, we can’t offer you a bed, but would you like for me to stay in your apartment with you tonight so you will have some company? I’ll be glad to do it.”
“I appreciate your offer, Mr. Bendrick, but I’ll be all right. I—I sort of need some time alone. I hope you understand.”
“Certainly. But if you should need us for anything, all you have to do is knock on our door.”
Dane rose from his chair and picked up the purse, wallet, and paper bag. “Thank you. I appreciate that. Well, I’d better go.”
Sylvia stood up. “Are you hungry, dear?”
“Not really, ma’am. Right now my stomach is sort of tied in knots.”
“Of course. Well, we’ll plan on you eating breakfast with us in the morning. Maybe you’ll feel better by then.”
The landlord and his wife walked Dane to the door, and as he started up the stairs, they reminded him that if he needed them, he was to let them know.
When Dane stepped into the apartment, it was pitch black. But knowing every nook and cranny, he made his way to the small table in the parlor that stood at one e
nd of the couch, and laid the purse, wallet, and paper bag on it. He then moved to a larger table in the center of the room, and his fingers found the matches and the lantern that lay on it. Striking a match on the disk, he lit the wick. At first it gave off a feeble glow, then the flame brightened as he turned up the wick.
Standing there in the center of the room, he let his weary eyes roam over the shabby furnishings. Memories of happy family times in the parlor flooded his mind. Fighting his upsurge of emotions, he picked up the flickering lantern and made his way to the small kitchen. Faint odors of his mother’s cooking still remained in the room.
He swallowed hard as a hot lump rose up in his throat. “Oh, Mama, I will miss you so. I can’t even imagine never seeing your smiling face again, or feeling the comfort of your arms around me. You—you had a special knack for making every day seem like a happy event.”
Blinking at the tears that were surfacing, Dane went to the cupboard, set the lantern down, and picked up a pitcher of water and a cup. He filled the cup with water and drank it slowly while letting his eyes roam around the room, which was once filled with laughter and joy.
Now it lay in total silence.
Listening carefully, he thought he could almost hear that sound again. Scalding tears were now on his cheeks. He shook his head, set the empty cup down, picked up the lantern, and left the kitchen.
Slowly, Dane made his way down the narrow hall. When he came to Diane’s room, he paused and held the lantern so he could see inside. Sniffling, he moved to the next room, which was the one he and Ronnie had shared. After a few seconds, he moved to the back bedroom, which had belonged to his parents.
He swallowed with difficulty and took a step inside. Memories quickly flooded his troubled mind. He remembered himself as a small child seeking the security of his parents’ loving arms in that big feather bed many a time when he had woken up from a nightmare.