"He works for the man in charge sometimes. Tall dude. Skinny, but strong. He has an eagle tattooed on one arm."
The Eagle. He did exist. At last they had a name for The Eagle.
"Who's the man in charge?" T.S. asked him. "Who pays you and Timmy to come to this apartment?"
Little Pete shrugged. His tears had slowed to a trickle and T.S. saw with some dismay that the tough little street survivor was about to take over again. "I can't tell you. If I tell you, he'll have me killed."
"You told me about Rodney," T.S. pointed out.
"I don't care about no Rodney anymore." The boy looked up and fierce hatred twisted his face. "I'm getting me a piece from a friend. After tonight, the dude will be dead."
If it was true, T.S. would have to do something to stop him. But for now, he needed more information. T.S. knew that he'd never convince the boy to tell him who the top man was, so he tried another approach. "Look, if you won't tell me who the man is who hired Rodney, at least tell me why he has you and Timmy come to this room?"
"Why?' Little Pete spat the word out like T.S. was too stupid to live. "Why do you think?"
"No, I know that..." T.S.'s words trailed off and his face flushed pink. Then he swallowed and continued, reminding himself that the new T.S. was in control. "I know about that part. But why does this man want to make the men you see happy?"
Little Pete shrugged. "Guess they pay him money. They sure don't pay me. The big man pays me, through Timmy."
T.S. thought hard. Hustling two boys didn't seem like a profitable enough venture to merit renting an apartment like this. "What does this man tell you to do with the men?" T.S. was fishing and he knew it.
"Whatever they want. Look, you sure you know what goes on up here?" Little Pete's distress had turned to incredulity. Who was this pathetically uninformed old geezer? Did he know nothing about real life?
T.S. surveyed the room. There had to be another reason why everything took place here. Yet it seemed an ordinary, if drab, apartment. There was a chair, a bed, a coffee table, small refrigerator and a makeshift bar in the room. The door to a small, empty bathroom stood open. And there was a single large cabinet against one wall with an old black-and-white television perched on top of it. Not a very nice place for an assignation. But not very nice assignations, either.
"Where does all your, um… action take place?" T.S. asked.
"We do it here, in the room," Little Pete pointed out patiently.
"Where in the room?" T.S. stood in the middle, turning in slow circles. It was as bare as a prison cell and not nearly as charming. Why did the meetings take place here, instead of the homes of the men? Or a hotel? And why was the cabinet here? It was tall and a rather nice piece of work. It gleamed with a black enamel finish.
"Here on the bed," Little Pete answered slowly, as if talking to a particularly stupid individual. This old dude was hopelessly out of step.
"Always on the bed?" T.S. confirmed.
"That's what the man says. Says he doesn't want his apartment trashed. Keep it on the bed, boys, he says," the kid answered sullenly.
Trash this place? T.S. stood by the bed next to Little Pete. The cabinet was lined up directly against the far wall. There were two sets of double doors on the cabinet, one on top and one below.
"I heard music coming from this apartment one time," T.S. told Little Pete.
"Sure. Stereo's in the bottom of the cabinet there. We're always supposed to turn on the music and say it's because of the neighbors. We turn on the music and the lights."
"The lights?" T.S. stared up at a large fixture hanging from the center of the room.
"Yeah. They get off on it," Little Pete answered dully. "Like to see what's going on, the man explained. The lights come on with the music."
What? T.S. winced at Little Pete's matter-of-fact explanation of what went on in the room, but at the moment he was more interested in why the lights went on with the music. There had to be more to it than giving perverts an eyeful of their perversion. Why always music? And why was the stereo in the bottom of the cabinet, instead of the top?
Maybe the men who hurried up to this room for their fun were too blinded by lust to consider the odd setup, but T.S. was clearly not sidetracked and knew that something odd was taking place.
"Turn on the music," he told Little Pete.
The boy stood suddenly and stared at him. "Hey, man, you said that..."
T.S. was appalled. "I don't care about anything but the music," T.S. quickly assured him. "I would never lay a hand on you, son." He felt a little sick to his stomach. What kind of world did he live in, where trust was so hard to maintain?
Little Pete clicked open the bottom doors of the cabinet and pressed a button. Loud music filled the room and the light above came on, illuminating the room with an even glow that was somewhat discreet, but nonetheless very thorough.
"Can you turn that music down?" T.S. asked, wincing at the pounding beat. "And what's in the upper cabinet?"
Little Pete shrugged, twisting the volume dial. "Don't know. It's locked."
T.S. examined the wooden front. Though the bottom doors were secured with magnetic latches, the upper ones had not one, but two large traditional keyholes. And the upper keyhole had lost its center bolt. He looked at it closely. Of course. It concealed a camera lens. "Let me have your knife," he told Little Pete. Dumbfounded, the boy handed it over.
It took several minutes and, by the time he had finished, the front of the cabinet was splintered and ruined. Little Pete was moaning about what the man who called the shots would do to him as T.S. finally pried the upper doors open.
The device was surprisingly simple. Anyone with the money for a smaller lens could have set it up. The cabinet housed a video camera and the red light showed that the unit was busy recording. T.S. was sure it had been turned on as soon as Little Pete had flipped the music switch. Other equipment was stored in the locked cabinet—including an enlarger, chemicals and darkroom supplies—indicating that other photographic activity went on in the apartment. And there had been those strips of Polaroid paper on the fire escape shared with Emily's apartment, T.S. remembered.
Little Pete was staring at the camera. "It's on," he said, genuinely enraged. "The man's going to see you talking to me." He reached for the tape.
T.S. stopped him. "It's all right, son. He'll never know. We'll make it look like someone broke in and stole the tapes. He'll never even find out." T.S. was desperate, lying, promising anything he could. Because he knew that he needed that camera on. It had occurred to him that it was a very good time to have Little Pete go over what he could reveal about The Eagle. On tape. In case the kid decided to pull another disappearing act.
Besides, it was also a good way to preserve his own integrity.
15
There was nothing to do but to wait, surrounded by the misery of the overcrowded emergency waiting room. It was nearly ten o'clock and they had been at the hospital for over five hours. Stubbornly, they still sat there, thinking of the young boy upstairs, old far beyond his years, without friends or family.
It was an assorted group that kept vigil. Each of them was determined not to budge for his or her own reasons. Auntie Lil wanted to keep an eye on Father Stebbins and, yes, she admitted it, Annie O'Day. Herbert stayed put in case Auntie Lil needed his services, but also because it would be unthinkable of him not to contribute what goodwill he could in such a sad situation. Adelle refused to budge, waiting out of curiosity and a desire to help. Her two followers would stay as long as Adelle. Fran waited because Father Stebbins had helped her so much in the past, and now he truly needed her. And Father Stebbins, well, he waited for reasons unknown to most of the others, overcome with guilt, fingering his rosary as he prayed over and over.
They were there for so long, hoping for more news of Timmy, that even the elderly couple had been administered to and the young boy with the basketball injury bandaged. Others had limped and coughed their way inside to take their place
by the time Annie O'Day reappeared.
"He's going to be sleeping through the night," Annie told the group. "There's nothing more that we can do."
The cumulative effect of her words, their growing hunger and the increasingly crowded conditions in the waiting room finally convinced them all that it was time to move on.
"There's nothing you can do tonight," Fran repeated to a distraught Father Stebbins. "Let me make you a strong cup of tea before you go to bed. It will do you good."
The big priest rose numbly. "It's all my fault," he repeated. "I tried to do the right thing. He trusted me and look what I did to him." He shook his head and allowed himself to be guided by Fran toward the exit door. "Texas," he mumbled on his way out. "I should have called Texas. And damn the seal."
"Well, that's it for the Father," Adelle remarked crisply. "He's blathering on about Texas and seals." Her followers murmured in appreciation of her observation, but Auntie Lil was annoyed. She did not approve of witty remarks that were made at the expense of common sense. Of course he was blathering about seals, she thought to herself. The confessional seal. Not the kind that balanced balls on their noses.
Auntie Lil was suddenly very tired and hungry and ready to be away from this all. "I could use a cup of coffee myself," she announced abruptly.
"I could use a gallon," Annie added. She took Auntie Lil's arm as if to help her to the door but, in truth, it was Annie that needed the support. "I'm exhausted," the big woman admitted.
Auntie Lil patted her arm in reassurance. "You were magnificent tonight," she told her. "You saved the boy's life." Annie nodded weakly, and Auntie Lil was alarmed at her sudden lack of vigor. Perhaps she, too, had not eaten all day. "Let's stop by the deli for a bite," Auntie Lil decided for them both. "If I know you, you're planning to go by the police station and see Bob. You can't do that without proper nourishment."
"Coffee?" Adelle said scornfully, a bit miffed at being left out. "I believe a good stiff drink is in order." She looked hopefully around at her followers and settled her gaze on Herbert Wong. Her entire face rearranged itself: eyes widened, her eyebrows rose and her lips pursed in an inviting smile. She looked as if she were preparing for a screen test. "Herbert," she cooed prettily, "regrettably, it appears as if our adventure is at an end. What say we toast to auld lang syne before resuming our humdrum lives?" She placed a tentative hand on his arm and cocked her eyebrows higher. "We really should raise a toast to Eva’s dear memory."
Herbert's face brightened. He was not averse to either drinks or escorting three lovely ladies. Nonetheless, he glanced at Auntie Lil first.
"Go on, I don't mind a bit," Auntie Lil told him with exaggerated dignity. Mustering an air of superiority, she declared, "I don't feel the need to depend on alcohol at the moment, anyway."
Herbert bowed politely to Lillian, then escorted Adelle and her followers out the door.
"Wait until he finds out he has to pay," Auntie Lil muttered under her breath.
"We could join them," Annie offered, but her heart wasn't in it.
"No. You need something hot," Auntie Lil decided. "And so do I." They negotiated their way around a tramp who had made his home across the entrance ramp, then turned south on Ninth Avenue. Behind them, heading north, Herbert and the elderly actresses chatted together eagerly. Adelle laughed loudly at something Herbert said; Auntie Lil gritted her teeth and ignored them.
"Look—there's Fran and Father Stebbins." Annie pointed out two figures half a block ahead of them, making their way down the darkened sidewalk, heads bent low together as they talked.
"I'd give anything to know what's going on with those two," Auntie Lil remarked wistfully. "It seems I haven't cracked a single secret yet."
"Let's slow down and follow them," Annie suggested. "Maybe we'll learn something along the way." They matched their pace to the couple ahead of them.
Thus, a strange parade formed. At the front ambled a distraught Father Stebbins and a preoccupied Fran. They walked, unseeing, past busy stores and crowded restaurants, their minds focused on distant problems. Behind them, Annie and Auntie Lil walked slowly. They were all too distraught or so busy scrutinizing their own prey that they failed to notice those who, in turn, were watching them.
"She's going up to his room," Annie predicted. They stood across the street, watching in the shadows, as Father Stebbins fumbled with the key to the massive padlock that secured the front gate. Fran waited quietly, as if she knew the routine. The pair disappeared inside the church and a series of lights flickering on charted their progress to the upstairs back room. Annie was right. But what did it prove?
"I don't think waiting here any longer will do us much good," Auntie Lil decided reluctantly. "Besides, I'm getting a chill. I'm sorry I didn't bring that nice shawl I bought in Devonshire last year."
"Coffee, then," Annie said. "Good and hot." They headed for the cheerily lit windows of the Delicious Deli. They could see Billy inside, busily wiping down the counter and arranging the desserts in preparation for the after-theater crowd. Auntie Lil and Annie were his only customers. He looked up briefly, spotted the blood on Annie's sweat shirt and did a double take. Adding Auntie Lil into the equation called for yet a third look at them.
"That your blood or her blood?" he asked evenly, nodding at the mess.
"I've got to get home and change," Annie admitted. "Someone beat up a street kid, Timmy. The one that ran with Little Pete. Know him?"
Not a muscle twitched, not an eyelid flickered. The proprietor's face was perfectly still. Finally he shrugged and gave a heavy sigh. "Yeah, I know him. He was just a boy. A kind of well-educated boy, if you know what I mean, but it doesn't seem quite fair that an adult would beat him up like that."
"She didn't say an adult beat him up," Auntie Lil said sharply. There was a silence and they looked at one another.
"I just assumed," Billy said evenly. He pointed to Annie's sweat shirt. "Looks like he took it pretty bad. I figured the other guy had to be bigger."
Either Billy had known the beating was coming or he had grown so weary of the neighborhood's sad lessons that he was adopting a fatalistic calm in response.
"Can I get a black coffee and a hero?" Annie asked. She laid her head briefly on the upper counter. "And no cracks about Bob, please. He didn't do what they said in the papers and I'm tired of people thinking he did."
Billy looked away quickly and filled her cup without comment. He turned to Auntie Lil as a sudden thought struck him. "I have a message for you," he told her. "People seem to think I'm some kind of a post office."
"A message?" she repeated. Perhaps Little Pete wanted to see her again.
"Yeah. From some guy claiming to be your nephew."
"That was my nephew, Theodore," Auntie Lil told him crisply, her coffee order forgotten. "What did he say?"
"He said to tell you that he'd had an invitation to go to the building."
Auntie Lil stared out the window and thought hard. Who had invited Theodore to Emily's building and why? How annoying that he had found something out without her. "What time was that?" she asked Billy, acutely aware that Annie was listening carefully.
"About an hour ago. You want anything or do you just want to leave another message back?" He raised his eyebrows sarcastically and slapped meat and cheese on a hard roll for Annie.
"I'll be back in a minute," Auntie Lil decided. "Wait here for me, Annie. We may need your help."
Before the younger woman could protest, Auntie Lil was heading out the door. She planned to pass by Emily's building and see if she could get in the building somehow. Listening in at doors might have been beneath her, but she was not above being petty. She might hear something useful, and if she heard anything that indicated Theodore was in trouble, she'd be able to go for help.
As Auntie Lil left the deli, the door of a car parked nearby opened. A lanky figure cut across to the avenue opposite Auntie Lil and stepped into a doorway. The remaining occupants stayed put, peering into the deli to wat
ch as Annie O'Day chatted with Billy.
The nearby Broadway theaters had emptied their audiences almost simultaneously and noisy groups of people were making a beeline to Eighth Avenue from the east, hoping to snag a cab uptown. The women were snugly wrapped in furs and the men were taking this early opportunity to show off their new fall coats. The chattering crowd shoved past Auntie Lil, oblivious to her age. They wanted only to be the first to reach the street with an outstretched hand and the first chance at a taxi. The avenue grew quite crowded and, though preoccupied with her plans, Auntie Lil was highly annoyed. She elbowed her way across the street, then stepped to one side for a breather. A vacant storefront at the corner of Forty-Sixth and Eighth afforded her more room, although the small pool of darkness cast by the decrepit awning and deep doorway probably housed a wino or two.
Or something much worse. A big woman dressed in a strapless gown and wearing a long blonde wig stepped out from the darkness and gripped Auntie Lil's left elbow. An even stronger hand grabbed her from the right and twisted her arm sharply. "Don't say a word," a gruff voice ordered. "Just start walking and look straight ahead. Go straight down Forty-Sixth Street."
Stunned, Auntie Lil obeyed their order. Her feet moved of their own accord, though her stomach sank in complete terror. A small pricking sensation in her side told her that the woman on the right held a small knife and would use it to goad her if she had to. Auntie Lil slid her eyes to the right and caught a glimpse of black hair piled high above silver spangles. The hand gripping her elbow wore gloves.
They moved swiftly down the sidewalk, passing the man with the huge bulbous nose who liked to hang out near the corner. He was sitting in his usual spot in a lawn chair, blending into the building behind him. They passed by and Auntie Lil did not dare turn her head, but he saw her and stared after them, his sleepy eyes regarding the unusual trio with careful disinterest. He turned back and stared across Eighth Avenue at the bright lights of the Delicious Deli.
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