The Ragtime Fool

by Larry Karp

  “He’s a detective,” Alan said. “From back in New Jersey…well, all right. My parents weren’t going to let me come out here all by myself, so I ran off without their permission. My father hired that guy to come here and drag me back home.”

  Barton grinned. “You didn’t just happen to run off with five thousand of your old man’s dollars, did you?”

  “No! I told you, Mr. Campbell sent it. But that was another thing. My parents were afraid I’d get robbed or maybe even killed, carrying all that money around.” Alan scooped the last bit of potato onto his fork, licked it off, pushed his plate aside.

  Barton signaled the waitress. Alan and he were now the only customers in the restaurant. As the girl came up to the table, Barton said, “I think this young man could do with a piece of your world-famous apple pie. Fact, I suspect he could also put away a scoop of ice cream to go with it.” He shifted his gaze to Alan, winked.

  “I’ll give it my best,” Alan said.

  The waitress fluttered her eyelashes at him, blushed, then walked off. Barton watched her all the way back to the counter. “You’ve got a way with the ladies,” he said.

  Now, Alan blushed. “I don’t know.”

  Barton reached across the table to punch his arm lightly. “Coming out half-way across the country all by yourself, to bring that journal out here? I’d say you are a most determined young man.”

  “I am that, sir, though I guess my mother would say I’m just stubborn. Whatever, when I set my mind to do something, it’s pretty hard to stop me.”

  “I’ll warrant that. But why are you so bound to do this?”

  “It’s the music, Mr…Jerry. The first time I heard ragtime, I was hooked. Mr. Campbell’s been writing to me, telling me how to play it, and when he asked if I’d help him out with this ceremony, I jumped at the chance. It’s something I’ll remember all my life.”

  Barton grinned again. “Must be great to be young, and have that kind of enthusiasm. I can’t say I care much for any kind of music myself, but on the other hand, I know if a man’s community don’t prosper, neither will he. So, I do what I can to make my community prosper. If a museum’s going to bring in bunches of tourists, then I’m all for that museum. That’s why I’m on the committee for the ceremony you’ve been talking about.”

  “You are? Really?”

  Barton grinned again. “Cross my heart.”

  Alan shifted forward in his seat, leaned across the table. “I’ve been hoping I’d find somebody like you while I’m waiting for Mr. Campbell. Maybe I could play a piece in the ceremony, you know, show the people that it’s not just old men who like ragtime. If a white kid from New Jersey goes up on the stage and plays ‘Maple Leaf Rag,’ I bet the newspapers would notice that, and so would the radio station Mr. Campbell said was going to broadcast the whole thing.”

  Barton’s eyes widened; he nodded in time with Alan’s speech. “You know, you just might have something there. Tell you what. The committee’s having a meeting tonight, and I’ll talk to them. Bet they’ll be interested.”

  “You’d do that for me? You haven’t even heard me play piano.”

  Barton noticed that the boy’s growing passion did nothing to loosen his hold on the bag in his lap. The waitress smiled as she set a piece of pie in front of him, twice the usual size, with a monster scoop of vanilla ice cream on top, but he barely thanked the girl. His eyes locked with Barton’s.

  “Put it this way, Alan,” Barton said. “A boy as determined as you ain’t likely to be blowing smoke about how he can play piana. ‘Cause he knows if he can’t deliver the goods, there’s no way he’s gonna be able to fake it. So, I figure I’m looking at good odds. Where’re you staying?”

  Alan took a moment to swallow a mouthful of pie. “Milner Hotel, over on East Second Street. Why?”

  “’Cause you don’t have to spend your money on a hotel. You can stay at my place.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t put you out like that.”

  “Won’t be any trouble at all. I’ve got a farm off toward Smithton, a little way down the road, and there’s plenty of room. It’s just me living there. You don’t think that colored detective actually did run off and get on a train, do you? Bunk at my house, and you won’t have to worry about him sneaking up on you again. Next time he tries, I might not be around to help.”

  Alan nodded. “It sure was good luck you were here this time.”

  “It sure was. My old man always used to say, better lucky than good.”

  Alan put away another chunk of pie. “I guess it makes sense, if it really wouldn’t be any trouble.”

  Barton laughed out loud. “This ain’t the east coast, Alan. Out here, folks go outa their way to make a stranger welcome.” He brushed hair back from in front of his eyes, then pushed back from the table. “Okay, then, it’s settled. I’ll take you by the Milner, and you can check out. Then we’ll go back to my place.”

  ***

  From behind stacks of soda-bottle cases, two colored men, one small, one large, watched Barton and Alan get into a red Chevy pickup, drive off down Osage, then turn left on Second. Green nodded to Slim, then motioned: come on.

  ***

  Barton walked to a tan vinyl armchair next to a fan, opposite the desk in the Milner Hotel lobby. “Go on up, get your things,” he said to Alan. “I’ll wait here for you.”

  The boy nodded. “I might be a few minutes. I’m going to call my parents and tell them I’m all right, and I’ll be staying with you. Maybe that’ll get them to take Slim off my back.”

  Barton broke into laughter. “Slim, huh? That’s what you call him?”

  Alan turned away quickly, before the panic on his face could give him away. Lucky that Barton thought Alan had just made up the nickname as a joke. He’d have to watch his step.

  Barton watched the boy climb the stairs. This was one nervy kid, pretty damn good at playing fast and loose with truth. But if he thought for one minute that Barton believed he was going to call his parents, he was mistaken, sorely so. Clever little move to put Barton on notice that someone would know where he was staying, but the last people in the world a runaway kid would call were the mother and father who’d put a detective on his tail.

  ***

  Up in Room 214, Alan locked the door, sat on the bed, closed his eyes, thought hard. Then he picked up the phone receiver, and asked the desk clerk for the long distance operator. When he heard “Long distance, number, please,” he said, “Hobart, New Jersey. Lambert 8-4144.”

  The phone rang once, twice, three times. “Be there, the boy murmured. Please be—”

  “Broaca residence. This is Mir—”

  “Miriam, oh boy. Am I glad you’re home.”

  “Alan? Are you in Sedalia? Did you get the journal okay? What’s going on? Listen, I’ve got to tell you something.”

  “Miriam, Miriam, hold on. Let me talk, okay?”

  “I’m so glad to hear your voice, Alan. I wish I could see you.”

  “Could anyone there be listening in?”

  “On Sunday afternoon? You’ve got to be kidding. My parents are off playing golf. But my father found out the money was gone. He had a little string tied so if anyone opened the suitcase, it’d break. He accused Slim of stealing the money, and fired him, and then Slim went off with Sally, I don’t know where.”

  “Well, I know where Slim is. He’s here.”

  “In Sedalia? How did he know to go to Sedalia?”

  “Beats me. But he found me, told me he wanted the five thousand dollars back that I stole from your father, and if I didn’t have it, then he wanted Scott Joplin’s journal. And he had a gun.”

  “Oh, God. What happened? Did you give him the journal?”

  “No. We were out on the street, and a man came along, saw what was happening, and got the drop on Slim. The man took away Slim’s gun, and told him to get lost.”

  “Oh, no. Slim will be furious. I’ve got to talk to him.” />
  “Slim is furious, and there’s no way you can talk to him. But the man who got me away is on the committee for the ceremony. He’s offered to let me stay at his house. I just wanted to tell you what’s happening, and see if you know how Slim managed to find me.”

  “I don’t have any idea. But he’s not somebody you want to fool around with.”

  “No kidding. But I should be okay as long as I’m with Mr. Barton. He’s the man who helped me, Jerry Barton. He’s got a farm out of town, near some place called Smithton, so I won’t even be in the city. Slim won’t know where to look for me.”

  “Alan, you don’t know Slim.”

  “Listen, this is going to cost a fortune. I better go. I’ll try to call you again when I get the chance.”

  “Alan—”

  “I’ll call you again. ‘Bye.”

  As Miriam heard the line click dead, she slammed down the receiver, jumped out of the chair, pounded a fist on the wall. “Oh, Slim will kill him.” She launched a shriek, no one in the house to hear it other than the shrieker, which inflamed her all the more. She wiped a sleeve savagely across her eyes. The minute her parents got home, she’d talk to her father, and then, when Alan called again, she’d tell him to tell Slim she’d confessed. That would take care of the immediate problem. As for what might come later, she’d figure it out then.

  ***

  Behind the registration counter of the Milner Hotel, the desk clerk pulled the headphones from his ears, set them onto the counter, and leaned across. “Hey, Jerry,” he called in a stage whisper. “Better come over here a minute.”

  Barton trotted over, listened to the clerk’s throaty narrative, then muttered, “God damn that little bastard,” and reached for the telephone at the end of the counter.”

  ***

  Alan replaced the receiver, flopped back onto the pillow, stared at the ceiling. How the hell did Slim know he was going to Sedalia? The boy shook his head. Things were getting complicated. But he was where he wanted to be, he still had the journal, and now he had someone to help him until he could find Brun Campbell. He’d even wangled a shot at getting himself onto the program. He jumped to the floor, ran into the bathroom, picked up his toothbrush and toothpaste, threw them into the book bag along with his extra shirt and underwear, and ran out of the room and back down the stairs.

  ***

  Out on the sidewalk in front of the hotel, Barton suddenly stopped walking and slapped the side of his head. “Doggone, I just remembered. I ain’t gonna have room for you, darn it. My aunt and her husband and three kids are coming in for a visit later today.” He turned a sheepish grin on Alan, then gave the boy a conspiratorial nudge to the arm. “Guess that’s something I didn’t really want to remember, huh?”

  Alan shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ll just go back to the hotel. I can keep my eyes open for Slim.”

  Barton reached for the boy’s arm. “I’ve got a better idea. I’ll take you to Otto Klein’s. His wife and him’ll be glad to put you up.”

  Alan shook his head. “I don’t want to trouble them. I mean, I don’t even know them.”

  “It won’t be any trouble. Otto Klein’s on the ceremony committee too, and I know he’ll want to hear about that journal of yours.” Barton gave Alan a gentle push toward the truck at the curb.” Come on. I’ll drive you over to Kleins’.”

  ***

  Green and Slim watched the man and the boy drive off down Lamine. “They’s turnin’ left on Fifth,” Green said. “That ain’t the way to Barton’s place. God knows where he’s taking the kid.”

  Slim made a face, muttered something Green couldn’t make out. He tugged at the big man’s arm. “Let’s see if we can’t catch up to them.”

  As they turned off Lamine onto East Fifth, Green tapped Slim’s arm. “Look there.”

  Slim shaded his eyes. “Truck’s parked just a few blocks down, an’ they’s gettin’ out…goin’ up to a house.” The men quickened their pace.

  Green motioned Slim to stop at the corner of Fifth and Washington, a half-block up from the red Chevy truck. “Don’t want to take a chance either of them might see you,” Green said. “You wait here. Be right back.”

  ***

  As Barton rang the doorbell of the little white frame house on East Fifth Street, he said to Alan, “You’ll like staying here. Otto and Rowena are the best sort of people. And they got a daughter, nice girl, just about your age.”

  The door opened. Alan looked at a fireplug of a man with a bullet head, short-cropped hair in full retreat over a sloping forehead. He wore a blue denim shirt and a pair of old dungarees, torn at one knee. “Hi, there, Otto,” Barton said. “This boy here’s come all the way from New Jersey for that ceremony Tuesday night, and he needs a place to stay. Alan…dang, I’m sorry. What’d you say your last name is?”

  “Chandler.” Alan hitched the blue carrying bag up onto his left shoulder.

  “Right. Alan Chandler, this’s Otto Klein. Like I said, he’s also on the committee. Otto, I’ll bet my farm you’re gonna be interested in hearing what this young man has to say.”

  Klein showed yellowed teeth. “Well, now, if you say so, Jerry, I’m sure I will. And no trouble puttin’ him up while he’s here.” He clapped a ham of a hand onto Alan’s shoulder. “Come on in, boy, and let’s hear it.”

  ***

  Slim watched Green saunter along Fifth, pause briefly between the truck and the house it was parked in front of, then disappear around the next corner. A few minutes later, he reappeared on Washington, and walked quickly up to Slim. The big man hunched his shoulders. “So?”

  “So the name on the mailbox there is Klein. That’d be Otto Klein. Him an’ Barton, they’s ham an’ eggs, if you figure there’s worms in the ham and the eggs is spoilt. Wonder what the hell they’re up to.”

  “What do we do now?”

  Green pulled a package of cigarettes from his pocket, tapped out two smokes, gave one to Slim, struck a match on his shoe. “Guess we gonna wait an’ see what develops.”

  ***

  In Otto Klein’s living room, Barton sat next to Alan on a sofa with a spectacularly-garish cover of green, yellow, and white swirls. Alan could almost hear his mother sniff. “Peasants!” Klein sat on a matching armchair opposite his visitors. The boy took care to tell his host the same story he’d told Barton earlier, but all the while he talked, he had trouble keeping his eyes off the framed color print of Christ on the wall behind Klein, the Savior’s eyes turned toward heaven, his hands clasped in apparent fervent prayer.

  When Alan finished, Klein said “My, my, my,” then shifted his attention to Barton. “So, Jerry, what do you think about that diary?”

  Barton shrugged. “Can’t really think anything about something I ain’t seen.”

  Klein raised an eyebrow, then grinned and extended a hand in Alan’s direction. “Well, come on, then, boy. Let’s have us a look-see.”

  Alan glanced toward the door.

  “Mr. Klein’s right.” Barton’s words flowed like melted butter. “Sounds like that book could be the biggest thing at the ceremony, but how are we supposed to get it in the program without us ever seein’ it? We ain’t got a whole lot of time. Got a meeting tonight, and then tomorrow we do the final preparations.”

  Alan tightened his grip on the book bag. The day before, he’d felt certain he could get the journal back from two ancient colored men, but here, in Klein’s living room, with a couple of very able-bodied Joes, the boy’s confidence was far from complete. “I don’t know…just seems like I should show it to Mr. Campbell first.”

  “Do that, and it’ll be too late,” said Klein. “Programs’re set to be printed up tomorrow morning, and Mr. Campbell ain’t comin’ in till late tomorrow.”

  “Did he tell you that?” Alan asked.

  Klein nodded. “He called me up a couple weeks ago. Said he’d be in the night before the ceremony.”

  Mr. Campbell doesn’t have a phone
, at least not a listed one, Alan thought. But I guess he could’ve called from a phone booth.

  Barton leaned toward the boy. “Think a little bit about what Mr. Campbell’s gonna say when he finds out he coulda had that book mentioned in the program.” Barton motioned toward the bag. “You need to give Mr. Klein and me a look.”

  Alan hesitated, then opened the bag and pulled out the journal as if careless handling might cause it to explode. Klein reached to take it, but Alan shifted to the right, toward Barton, and motioned Klein to sit at his left.

  Klein looked like an urchin in a candy store who’d just been told to keep his hands behind his back. “You don’t trust us or something?”

  “It’s not that,” Alan said. “I’m sorry, but I promised Mr. Campbell I wouldn’t let this journal out of my sight or my hands, not for anything. I’ll turn the pages for you.” He opened the diary to the first page.

  He’d turned five pages when Barton said, “I guess that’s enough. Gives us something to talk about at the meeting tonight.”

  Klein grinned. “How about we take Alan along, and he tells them about the book?”

  Barton seemed to be chewing a cud. “He wants to play piana at the ceremony, too. Ain’t that right, Alan?”

  “If I could, sure.”

  “So maybe it’d be better if just you and me talk to the committee tonight, Otto. Couple of those guys can be pretty touchy if they think somebody’s tryin’ to squeeze them. If they’re interested, there’ll still be time in the morning to get him on the program.”

  Klein looked dubious. “Well, okay, if you think.” He hauled himself off the sofa. “Let me go get my wife and daughter. They can show you your room.”

  “You sure it’s not a problem, Mr. Klein? I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

  Klein waved off the concern. “No trouble at all.”