An English Boy in New York

by T. S. Easton

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said, smiling.

  I came out and ran straight into into a large lady stood outside the toilets. At least I think she was a lady. She looked a bit like Groo from Despicable Me.

  She was obviously waiting for me, as she gave me a huge smile and linked her arm through mine.

  ‘I want to show you something,’ she said.

  ‘Erm … ’ I began nervously. ‘Have we met?’

  Where was Gex when I needed him? Where was Keith?

  The lady looked behind her to check the coast was clear and ushered me to the end of the corridor, by the cigarette machine. She was a lot bigger than me and wore a suit that was very tight across the bust. I was in trouble.

  ‘I need you,’ she said urgently.

  ‘Look, I only came along to keep an eye on Gex,’ I said. ‘I’m not looking for any kind of seasonal romance.’

  ‘I’m in such a mess,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know where it all went wrong.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m the right person to … ’ I said, backing away and bumping into a pot plant.

  ‘I think you are,’ she said, fixing me with a hungry look. She jammed a hand into a large suede bag and pulled out a tangle of wool and needles.

  ‘It’s supposed to be moss stitch,’ she said. ‘But I keep losing track of what I’m doing.’

  Oh thank God.

  My heart resumed beating and I took the tangle from her.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, peering at it in the dim light. ‘You’ve missed a few rows.’

  ‘Should I just start again?’ she asked, crestfallen. ‘I spent ages.’

  ‘I think you might be able to salvage some sections,’ I said. ‘Let me have a look at it in the light of the glitter ball.’

  She told me her name was Ursula, and I took her back to our table to join the other ladies. Ignoring Gex’s glares, I repaired Ursula’s sweater as best I could. Then Monique pulled out her crochet from somewhere and began showing me the basics. After a time Gex was dragged onto the dance floor by Yasmin. And Keith danced with Cherry.

  As for me, I spent a happy hour or so stitching and bitching with the rest of the ladies. They were all very interested in the KnitFair. I even told them about the challenge of me knitting against the machine and they all thought I should go for it. It’s obviously a very go-for-it kind of place, New York.

  Keith sensibly walked away from Gex, who was cavorting on the dance floor, twisting and hopping in the middle of a dozen or so mature women like an ambulant handbag, to bring back some more drinks for our table.

  ‘What is that?’ Keith asked, pointing at the work.

  ‘It’s crochet,’ I said. ‘I’m just learning how to do it.’

  As I spoke, I saw a middle-aged man enter the bar and look around angrily. He spotted something, or someone on the dance floor and stalked in that direction. I suddenly had a flash of anxiety. I watched the man as he headed straight for Gex, who was slow-dancing with a lady in leopard print. Not Cherry, some other random lady. The man grabbed the leopard-print lady’s wrist and pulled her away from Gex. The lady shrieked and Gex fronted up to the newcomer, who was at least two inches taller and looked well-built. Say what you like about Gex, but he’s got bottle. ‘What the hell are you doing with my goddam WIFE?’ the man spat at Gex.

  ‘The lambada,’ Gex replied coolly.

  ‘My baby don’t lambada with nobody,’ the man said.

  ‘Yeah, well … nobody puts Baby in the corner,’ the slightly drunk Gex replied.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ I muttered. And then Baby’s husband took a swing at Gex, who ducked just in time. Keith leapt on the man’s back and tried unsuccessfully to pin his arms.

  The man roared and swung wildly in my direction. Instinctively I raised my arms to protect myself, only then realising I still held Monique’s doily and hook, which were knocked out of my hands as I fell to the floor.

  Baby shrieked again, her husband howled and I looked up to see him clutching his fist. Four inches of crochet hook were sticking out of the space between his first and second knuckles. The music suddenly stopped, and there was a deathly silence. A droplet of blood fell from the man’s knuckles, splashing onto the dance floor. ‘Oh God, I’m really sorry,’ I said, picking up the crochet and holding it out towards him in case he felt he needed a holey bandage.

  The man moaned and fell to his knees, staring at his knuckles, unable to believe what had happened to him. How was he going to explain this to his insurance company? Did they pay out for knitting-related injuries?

  Outside on the street we heard a siren.

  ‘Five-Oh coming!’ Gex screeched and suddenly we all panicked and rushed for the exit.

  ‘My crochet!’ Monique yelled as I ran past, but I was too stunned to react and it was only later that I realised I still held it in my hand. The man in the singlet watched us clatter back up the stairs and out of the door, then we sprinted around the corner to the car.

  Which wasn’t there.

  ‘Dude, where’s your car?’ Gex said.

  ‘Oh crap,’ I hissed, as another siren sounded, closer this time. Keith said we’d better head for the subway.

  ‘What about your car?’ I asked as we scurried along 84th Street.

  ‘It’s probably been towed,’ Keith said. ‘I gotta call the pound.’

  ‘You can crash at our hotel if you want?’ I offered.

  ‘I ain’t crashing anywhere, yet,’ Keith said, stopping and turning. ‘The night is young.’

  My heart sank. ‘Where are we going, now?’ I asked.

  ‘Jersey,’ Keith said.

  ‘Just to be clear, I am not going to Jersey,’ I told Gex. ‘The A train takes us back to the hotel.’

  ‘And the B train takes us to Jersey, innit,’ Gex replied. He clearly didn’t want to call it a day yet, either.

  The three of us were standing on the platform of the subway at 86th Street. Gex and Keith were planning to go to some dive to drink and play cards, as Keith put it. Gex was clearly thinking this was his chance to be initiated into Keith’s gang.

  ‘You wanted to see the sights, Bellend,’ Gex said. ‘Now’s your chance, bruv.’

  ‘Jersey wasn’t exactly top of my list,’ I said. ‘In fact, it was more like not on my list at all. I’ve heard it’s a bit rough.’

  ‘Nah,’ Gex said. ‘Keith says his crew have the whole district locked down tight. No one’s gonna touch us cos we’re in the gang.’

  ‘You and I are not in a gang,’ I pointed out. ‘And to be honest, I don’t think Keith is either.’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘He’s all mouth. Gangstas don’t talk about capping people while ordering a Starbucks Mocha Frappuccino.’

  A fast train rattled by, electrical flashes lighting up Gex’s thin face.

  ‘He’s not scared of nothing. He’s protected.’

  ‘Protected from reality. He ran like a girl when we heard that siren.’

  ‘Look, I’m going. You in or not?’

  ‘No, Gex,’ I said. ‘I’m drawing a line. Here’s the line.’ I pointed to a cracked line of tiles on the grimy floor.

  ‘I’m crossing the line,’ he said, stepping over it.

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I’m also crossing it.’ I stepped over the line as well.

  ‘I’m taking the B train tonight,’ he said.

  ‘I’m taking the A train tonight,’ I replied.

  It was then that I realised we’d both need to cross the line again to get to the right platforms.

  ‘We should of done this the other way round,’ Gex said.

  ‘Yeah. Look, stay out of trouble, OK?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ he said, and perhaps still a little drunk, gave me a hug.

  I felt bad all the way home on the rattly train. Should I have gone with him, to keep him out of trouble? I think I should have gone with him.

  2.45am

  I just had a call on the BlackBerry.

  ‘It’s
Keith. You gotta get here, man.’

  ‘What? Who? What?’ I said. ‘I have jet lag.’

  ‘It’s Gex. He’s in real trouble.’

  Immediately I was wide awake. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Just get down here.’

  ‘Put Gex on the phone.’

  ‘He can’t talk right now.’

  ‘Is he alive?’

  ‘For now. But he’s in too deep, man.’

  ‘Oh God. Should I call the police?’

  ‘Nuh huh! No cops.’

  Keith gave me the address. I thought for a minute how would I get there. Emergency or not. I don’t think I had enough money for a cab ride all the way to Jersey. Also, I wasn’t that keen about going on my own. I thought of getting Mum and Dad up, but they’d call the police.

  Brandi is a girl and shouldn’t be exposed to danger. Megan is also a girl and two thousand miles away. In the end I called the one person who seemed like he’d be there for me in a crisis.

  ‘I’ll meet you in your lobby in twenty minutes,’ Trey said after I’d woken him up and told him everything. ‘Don’t worry, Ben. We’ll find your friend.’

  I was sick with worry and self-recrimination as I dressed. Why had I left Gex? Why hadn’t I dragged him back home with me? The night staff were watching me curiously as I waited downstairs. Especially when Gex’s belt buckle felt a little tight and I had to loosen it.

  I saw Trey’s car pull up and rushed out.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ I said and gave Trey the address.

  ‘Sheesh,’ he said. ‘That’s one rough neighbourhood.’

  I checked my phone, there was a message. Private number.

  I want my Michael Bublé albums back. Can we meet up? G

  Another message from Brandi’s ex. I deleted it and scrolled back through the log until I found Keith’s number. I hit call but it just went straight to voicemail.

  It seemed to take forever to reach the address. Jersey looks close on the map, but even at this hour there was plenty of traffic around and a lot of the streets were single lane. People were walking on the road, some making threatening-looking gestures at the car as it went by.

  Eventually Trey pulled over. ‘We’re here,’ he said, peering out of the window at the shop front and sagging canopy. It looked like a restaurant. The windows were heavily draped and a tarnished single pole stood outside, a frayed velvet rope trailing from it forlornly. The place looked deserted. A faulty street light flickered on and off overhead, adding to the Day of the Dead atmosphere.

  He’s in too deep! Keith had said. I checked my phone again but there was no message. Even Brandi’s ex had given up for the time being.

  ‘Whatever we find in there, we stick together, right?’ Trey said, sounding like Russell Crowe in Gladiator.

  ‘OK.’ I nodded. I’ve never felt the need to breathe into a paper bag to control my anxiety until that moment. I was absolutely petrified.

  Trey waited until the street was clear then he got out and, after taking a deep breath, I followed. Trey walked to the door and found a buzzer, which he pressed.

  There was a long pause and he was just about to press it again when a voice crackled out.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Taxi. Here to collect a couple of guys.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Keith and Gex,’ Trey said coolly.

  There was another pause, then a buzzer sounded and the door clicked unlocked. As we entered, a drunk walked past behind us cackling softly to himself. I shivered. Inside was a restaurant with the chairs up on the tables. It looked like it might have been cosy during the day, when everyone was slurping down spaghetti vongole, chins greasy, wine sloshing in old-fashioned glasses. But right now, in the small hours, dimly lit, it looked like the sort of place where good guys got whacked.

  A short fat man poked his head out of a door at the back.

  ‘Through here, Tony wants to see you.’

  Trey and I looked at each other nervously and followed the man.

  It was a large room with a round table in the centre. Around it sat six men, including Gex and Keith, who were looking up at us, with terror on their faces, mixed with relief. I was immensely relieved to see that Gex was apparently unharmed. A pack of cards lay on the table along with poker chips. Everyone had a stack of chips except for Gex. Another man stood at the back of the room with his hand inside his jacket. Everyone was watching us except for one man who was shuffling the pack.

  ‘Tony,’ the fat man said to the shuffling man. ‘These are the guys.’

  ‘Taxi,’ Trey said.

  ‘Why are there two of you?’ said Tony without looking up.

  ‘Security,’ Trey said.

  The man looked up at me.

  ‘He’s your security?’

  The card players laughed.

  ‘He’s tougher than he looks,’ Trey said.

  ‘I doubt that,’ the man said, and he stood and walked over to me, looking me up and down.

  I swallowed. A trickle of sweat rolled down my spine. Gex stared at me, wide eyed.

  Tony leaned closer and closer to me and took a large sniff. I remembered the neat guy in the club. The trustworthy aftershave! The pheromones! Tony leaned back, nodding slightly, and I felt I’d passed the first test. If I get out of this, I told myself. I’m going back to the MILF Club and doubling the towel guy’s tip.

  ‘What you got in the bag, tough guy?’ Tony asked.

  It was only then that I realised I was still clutching the Bloomingdale’s bag. I must have grabbed it instinctively when getting out of the car.

  ‘Oh, nothing. Just personal items.’

  The man fixed me with a hard stare. The man at the back of the room straightened and pushed his hand further into his jacket. I couldn’t help but notice there was a bulge in the jacket over the left breast.

  I swallowed and reached into the bag. Everyone stiffened. Three of the card players reached into their jackets.

  I pulled out my knitting. There was a long silence.

  ‘What is that?’ Tony said, eventually.

  ‘It’s called a Hoopie,’ I replied. ‘It’s my design, a hooded cardigan.’

  ‘No. I mean is it yarn-back? Backward loop?

  ‘Oh. It’s just straight knit and purl, just with chunky needles .… You knit?’

  ‘I sure do. Those are some big needles.’

  ‘10.5s. The cardigan is designed to have big holes.’

  ‘I never heard of a knitting bodyguard before,’ Tony said.

  I’ve never heard of a knitting Mob boss before, I thought, but didn’t say.

  ‘I find it relaxes me,’ I said, acutely conscious that everyone in the room was watching me intently. I wasn’t feeling at all relaxed.

  ‘Yeah me too,’ Tony said, and came over.

  ‘Do you mind?’ He held out a hand. I passed him the Hoopie and he inspected it closely.

  ‘Well,’ said Keith. ‘I think it’s time we were going.’

  ‘Sure, no problem,’ said the standing man with the lump in his jacket. ‘Once you’ve paid up.’

  ‘Right,’ Keith said. ‘So how much do we owe?’

  ‘You owe thirty dollars. Your friend in the tracksuit owes one hundred and sixty-five dollars.’

  ‘How much?’ I spluttered.

  Gex shrugged. ‘I had a full house. Sal went all in, I had to borrow to match his bet. I couldn’t lose.’

  ‘Sal had four kings,’ Keith said. ‘So you did lose.’

  ‘How much you got?’ Trey said, pulling out his wallet.

  ‘Thirty-five,’ I replied, throwing it down on the table.

  ‘I got a fifty,’ Trey said.

  ‘Me too,’ Keith said, adding that to the pile.

  ‘Fifty-five short,’ the man with the bulge said.

  ‘We could go to an ATM,’ Trey said. ‘Get the rest.’

  ‘Your friend stays here until you get back,’ bulge man said, nodding at Gex, who looked terrified.

  ‘Wait
,’ Tony said, looking up at me from the Hoopie. ‘You knit a lot of these, kid?’

  ‘A few,’ I said nervously.

  ‘OK. How about you knit one for me and we forget all about the money your friend owes.’

  ‘Sure, of course,’ I said, relief flooding through me. ‘Is it a gift for your wife?’

  ‘Nah. My mistress.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, trying to look totally down with this information. I’ll just need her measurements?’

  ‘No problem, Tony said. ‘She’s 44, 28, 45.’ As he spoke, he outlined an hourglass figure with his hands. The other card players nodded appreciatively behind him. ‘She’s a whole lotta woman, capiche?’

  ‘Capiche.’

  ‘I’m seeing her Saturday night,’ he said. ‘So I need it by then.’

  ‘No problem,’ I said, already panicking about when I’d have the time to do it. My only hope was adjusting the one Tony had in his hands. It would save on wool too.

  But Tony was scrutinising the Hoopie with a worrying frown.

  ‘Everything OK?’ I said. ‘You like that one?’

  ‘Sure I do, except for the colour,’ he said. ‘I’ll need it in her favourite colour.’

  Damn.

  ‘And what is that?’ I asked.

  ‘Cerise.’

  ‘Cerise?’

  ‘Cerise.’

  Trey laughed all the way back to Manhattan. He found the whole episode hilarious. Unlike the rest of us.

  ‘So, Keith. Do you remember earlier, on the phone,’ I said. ‘I asked you if Gex was alive?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘And you said for now. I thought you meant he was in danger of losing his life.’

  ‘What? No way. I meant he was nearly out of chips.’

  ‘Right. But you can see how I might have got the wrong end of the stick?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘You guess?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘But you’re saying now that Gex was actually in no danger at all?’