As I rounded the corner toward home, a voice shouted, “Whoa, boy, what you running from—a fire?” I had to stop in my tracks. Officer Miller stood in my way. He pointed to the newspaper under my arm and said, “I don’t have to guess who was behind that tall tale, now, do I?”
“Adam’s innocent,” I said, staring at him as if daring him to fight. Briggs’s story made me bold. With the city newspaper backing my claim, I felt like I could take on any bully—even one in a policeman’s uniform. “Vincent Briggs is the paper’s ace crime reporter,” I added for effect.
Miller bent back his head and let out a hearty laugh. “Vincent Briggs writes stories fit for a novel—fiction through and through.”
“He does not,” I said, wishing I could think of something more clever to say. I wanted to tell Miller his story about “St. Caviar” was fiction. I wanted to tell him he was wrong about me and Adam and all Catholics—that the archbishop shouldn’t have to defend us.
A thousand phrases burned on my lips. But my anger jammed them up and kept them locked away. It was just as well. If I let my anger get the better of me, I might say something I shouldn’t about Adam.
Instead, I walked right past him, headed for home. He called after me, “Don’t think you made any friends with that newspaper story!” He laughed. “That Polack brother of yours is still in big trouble! And I will find him!”
With each step, my shoulders grew straighter and my stride stronger. Walking away, ignoring his taunts, felt like one of the best things I’d ever done.
Chapter Ten
Vincent Briggs’s story had me flying high above the clouds. It justified everything I’d tried to do for Adam. I’d used my smarts to fix a problem, and now everything would be all right.
Adam would be excited—he’d have to be. I envisioned him patting me on the back and telling me I’d done a great job. I imagined him smiling, even laughing, saying things would be different now, that he’d be different, like he used to be.
I imagined my mother smiling down on me.
So I was surprised and disappointed when Adam hardly changed expression as he scanned the small type. He sat on the edge of his bed, joylessly reading the story. He frowned instead of smiled.
“Well?” Still in my coat and hat, I couldn’t help asking as he folded the paper closed.
He looked up at me and smiled slightly. “It’s a pretty good story, that’s for sure,” he said softly. Pete was downstairs.
“It’ll help, don’t you think?”
“How?” he asked, staring at the wall as if something else was on his mind.
“Well, the police will have to look into other folks now. The whole city’ll know it.”
Adam let out a quick sigh and shook his head. “Maybe. I don’t know, kid.”
I was about to protest when he stood, looked past the door, and asked, “What’s Pete doing?”
Just like that, in an instant, he forgot the story, like it didn’t matter for either of us, like all my hard work meant nothing. My lips tightened. I waited for him to acknowledge my success. I kept waiting. Nothing. Instead, he looked restless, like he was getting ready to leave.
I wanted to argue with him, but I couldn’t find the words. What would I say? “Tell me I did something good”? I’d sound like a baby. I shouldn’t have to ask for praise—he should offer it.Tell me I did a good thing, Adam, I thought. Help me help you. Come back to me!
“I don’t know what Pete’s doing. Maybe napping,” I snapped. “What do you care?”
“I’m going crazy here,” he said. Turning, he pulled a jacket from the end of the bed and patted down the pockets. He was looking for money. “It’s like a cage, Carl. I have to get out and get some air.”
I ground my teeth. Going out was dangerous. Adam could be caught whenever he stepped outside, and now he was blithely talking about “getting some air.” Who would rescue him if he was caught? Me! I’d have to do it. Just like I’d been doing everything else so far.
“You can’t!” My voice rose and Adam’s eyes widened. “You have to stay here, where it’s safe. Let me see what I can find out on my newspaper route today. Maybe I can find you someplace else to stay.”
“I know of ‘some place,’” he said, hooking the jacket over his shoulder.
I didn’t like the sound of that. “You mean some place like the one you took Rose to?”
His lip curled up in a cynical smile, but by not answering, I knew he was going to search out some of his lowlife friends, maybe have some fun at a speakeasy. I was trying to save him, but he kept making things worse.
“Just stay here,” I said forcefully. “Don’t mess things up while I’m trying to fix them.” It was like I was the older brother. “I need to do my route and when I come back, I’ll get you some food. While I’m gone, I’ll seek out a new hideout. But don’t go anywhere, Adam. Not yet.”
That afternoon, I threw myself into my newspaper route with an energy I hadn’t felt since the first day on the job. The activity was good for me. The cool air numbed my anger and cleared my head.
Adam’s attitude was a problem, but not the most immediate one. First, I had to think of a place where Adam would be safe. Our room probably did feel like a cage to him, and he did need some place better to stay—some place he could move around freely. I even thought of going to Vincent Briggs to see if Adam could stay with him, but then I remembered what a posh house Briggs lived in. He might have enjoyed writing up Adam’s story, but Briggs would probably turn him in.
My route took me past our church, a big gray stone building with arched oak doors and a spire that pierced the sky. The church! That was it! The chapel in the basement of the church would be closed tomorrow for renovation—I’d heard about it for weeks. If Adam could wait one more day, he could hole up in the chapel at night, protected in a locked sacristy that went untouched by the work crews. It would be warm, from the heated church above, and far more spacious than our cramped little room. Just one more day—that’s all he had to wait.
With one problem down, I moved on. Briggs’s story had revealed that Rose’s brother was in debt. Officer Miller had said the police were on the lookout at pawn shops and jewelry stores where the jewelry might be sold. But Bernard Peterson might not know that. If he’d taken the jewelry to generate some quick cash, he could have sold it already. I wanted to find a way to contact jewelers myself, as a double-check on whatever the police discovered. I no longer trusted anyone except myself to clear Adam.
On top of all that, I still hadn’t given up on the idea that one of the Petersons’ servants could have committed the crime. Rose might think they were trustworthy, but that didn’t necessarily mean they were. How could I find out where they lived?
On the way home, I stopped at a store and bought my brother a chocolate bar. It would be a peace offering. Maybe Adam just needed some cheering up.
Later, at home, Adam and I ate dinner in the kitchen. Pete had gone to some meeting at the church, so I’d roused Adam and told him to come downstairs. Although I’d planned on talking to him about my ideas, his dour mood brought mine back as well. We fed ourselves in silence.
After a while, however, Adam pointed to my plate.
“You’re not eating much. You’re afraid Pete will figure out I’m here,” he said.
He was right. I was only eating a little, nervous that Pete would know I was hiding and taking care of Adam. Shoving my half-empty plate forward, I shook my head. “Naw, I’m just not that hungry, that’s all.” My stomach growled.
Adam laughed, and just like that, he was my brother again, the fellow who looked on the bright side, who didn’t want harm to come to me, but didn’t make me feel weak for needing his protection. Back in Baltimore, he’d laughed like that when a bully had chased me home from school one day. By screeching out the boy’s name in a high-pitched voice, he’d tricked him into thinking his mother was coming after him. I laughed at Adam’s imitation and my own narrow escape.
Adam pushed my pla
te back toward me and threw his own drumstick on it.
“Huh?” I said.
“I’ll get something to eat later,” he said, licking his fingers.
I stared at him before greedily devouring the chicken. He was right—I was hungry, and the food sure tasted good. “Where?” I said, between bites. “Where you going?”
“Just out.” He stood and took his plate to the sink. “I told you I’d go crazy if I stayed here.”
“I understand that, Adam, but. . .” And then I told him about the chapel. “Just one more night, Adam—that’s all you have to stay here.” I didn’t like the way my voice sounded—kind of high and whiny, like I was afraid he’d say no and disappoint me.
With his back toward me, he said, “All right. It’s just one night anyway.” Whistling a happy tune, he washed our dirty dishes. When I was done eating, he did mine, too, and his cheerful generosity made me suspicious. As I watched him, I realized, sadly, that I didn’t trust him.
I didn’t want to believe Adam would put himself in danger, let alone lie to me. But as I lay on my bed that evening, I was convinced he was going to sneak out of the house. My throat and chest tightened and my eyes burned. My muscles ached from staying still. I wanted to walk away from the house and let the cool air freeze my fears away.
I puzzled through the past year, trying to figure out when Adam’s fun-loving spirit had turned into something risky. I couldn’t identify the moment, though, when he’d turned that corner, when he’d stopped being helpful, strong, and happy.
Things happen so fast in life you don’t realize something important is going by. Or maybe it’s that things happen too slowly and we don’t take notice because we expect the big moments to be accompanied by fireworks. Instead, they glide past us so peacefully that we’re tricked into thinking everything’s as easy as the passage of time itself.
Adam’s change had occurred as smoothly as that, when I wasn’t paying attention.
Maybe I should have helped out more during that time, instead of just waiting for him to lead. Why hadn’t I pulled my weight before? Maybe it had all been too much for him to bear alone. If I had tried harder then, maybe he wouldn’t be in trouble now.
If, if, if. . . maybe, maybe, maybe. The possibilities swirled in the night, making me drowsy. But I had to stay alert.
It was hard pretending I was asleep without actually falling asleep. I managed to do it by blinking my eyes real fast and keeping the blankets off so I’d be cold. About an hour after I’d turned out the light, I heard Adam moving off the bed. He sat silently for a few moments before getting up, probably to make sure I was really asleep. I kept my eyes closed. I breathed steadily.
After he’d moved stealthily into the hallway and down the stairs, I jumped out of bed and grabbed my own clothes. Hopping into my pants, I nearly stumbled down the stairs, but I had to be quick or I wouldn’t see which direction he’d headed. A sock in one hand and another between my teeth, I peered out the back door. Outside the house, he’d made a right. Quickly, I wriggled into my shirt and put on my scuffed shoes. Grabbing my jacket from the hooks by the back door, I was off, following him into the darkness.
Damp air pricked at my face and neck as I quietly tracked him. I was careful to walk on grass or dirt whenever possible so he wouldn’t hear my footsteps behind him. Once, when he stopped and listened, I hid behind a tin trash bin. He headed down Fourth and over Morrison toward Broadway, then hopped over a rickety fence that surrounded an old house in the middle of a block of similar dwellings. It was a bad section of the city where police often patrolled. Adam was risking arrest by coming here—and for what? What was so important to him?
Music drifted into the night from somewhere deep inside the house, and light framed each window, escaping dark shades.
Hiding behind the fence, I peered through a slit, observing him. He walked up to the door and knocked, using our “secret” knock—the one he’d suggested I use when he’d found the empty building to hide in. A few seconds later, the door opened and the music grew louder. A small jazz band was playing “Ain’t We Got Fun.” As the tune drifted into the night, though, it sounded sad and empty, like someone trying to keep away bad spirits by pretending to be carefree. A burly figure looked up and down the street, then let Adam in.
I stood, breathing hard and swallowing my fears. I had to get in there. But what if I was mistaken, as at the train station, and the figure who’d entered wasn’t Adam? It was dark and hard to see. I could be going into a bad place—a place where they shanghaied fellows to work as sailors on ships. What if that heavy figure at the door gave me a good beating for trying to enter? What if they asked me questions I couldn’t answer, or made fun of me, or called the police?
But I had to do it. This could be the speakeasy where Adam’s friends had seen him with Rose the night she’d worn the jewels. I’d done a lot so far, I reminded myself. I’d talked with Vincent Briggs, I’d found his home, I’d helped Lester. This was one more thing on my list. I could do it. I had to. Hadn’t I just been worrying about how I hadn’t helped Adam enough when he needed me? This was my chance. I shouldn’t expect it to be easy.
Squaring my shoulders, I walked up to the door. Next to the doorbell was a small sign: Café Parisienne. Smoothing my hair, I pulled myself up to try and feel as adult as possible. Then I raised my hand and knocked, using that special pattern, the one Adam had made sure I remembered.
Seconds seemed like hours. Maybe they hadn’t heard. Maybe I’d used the wrong combination. I had just raised my hand to knock again when the door flung open. This time, it wasn’t a man standing there but a woman, and unlike any I’d ever seen. Her unnatural whitish-blonde hair framed a face heavy with makeup. Her natural eyebrows were gone, and new, thinly arched ones drawn in their place. Her lips were ruby red, and she wore a white satin dress that came to the hems of her rolled-up stockings, revealing dimpled knees. When she saw me, she giggled, clutching a cigarette holder in her right hand.
“You must have the wrong address. This isn’t a school play yard!” Her speech was slurred and I detected the same whiskey-like odor that had been on Adam’s breath the other day.
She started to close the door, but I boldly stuck my foot in the way. I wasn’t going back—not without finding Adam and getting some more information. “I’m older than I look,” I said, trying to deepen my voice. “And I’m here with Adam.” I nodded inside.
After shrugging her shoulders, she opened the door wide to let me pass. Inside, a small foyer opened onto a restaurant, where a few patrons sipped from tea cups, talking and laughing. Why had Adam come here? Was he hungry?
The woman brushed past me and I followed her down a narrow hallway next to the front dining room. After pushing open a door, she leaned forward and said something to a heavy-set man, which I couldn’t hear over the music. The man nodded and the woman led me in.
“There he is,” she said, pointing to the far side of another room.
Unlike the front room, this one was dark, smoky, and noisy. Small round tables were crammed against one another, and a pianist and other musicians played jazz on a little stage at the far end. Adjusting to the lack of light, I focused on Adam, hunched over one of the tables, talking intently to a red-headed girl dressed much like the one who’d answered the door. A bottle and two glasses sat before them.
With all the noise and movement, Adam didn’t notice me until I was standing right in front of him, and then he jumped out of his chair.
“Holy Christmas!” Adam said, standing. “What are you doing here? How’d you even know—”
“I followed you,” I said.
“Well, you shouldn’t be here, Carl. Go home!” Adam looked uneasy, but I wasn’t going anywhere. I wanted to haul Adam out of that place and give him a licking. But I needed to be stronger than my own worst feelings, and I needed to find out more about the theft.
“I’m not going home. I want to meet your friends,” I said, nodding to the woman at the table. I wanted
to meet all of them—and find out if they might have seen Adam bring Rose to this joint, or seen her jewels before they were stolen.
Reluctantly, Adam gestured to the woman. “This is Lillian,” he said. And to her, he said, “This is my brother, Carl.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said, smiling broadly. “Adam never told me he had a brother.”
I slid into a seat opposite her and Adam. “How long you been coming here?” I asked Lillian. I figured she’d tell me more than Adam would, and besides, I didn’t want to talk to Adam just then. I was too angry.
He frowned at me as I talked to Lillian.
“Oh, I found this place a year ago,” Lillian said. “And then your brother and me, we just kind of met recently and liked each other. . .” She looked shyly at her hands.
If Adam was sweet on Lillian, what about Rose? I looked at Adam, who was no longer looking at me.
“You have a lot of friends who come here?” I asked Lillian.
“What? You mean me and Adam? Why, sure.” She smiled proudly. “We have a whole gang. Right, honey?” She looked at Adam, who grimaced.
“Like who? Maybe I know some of ’em, too,” I said.
Adam lifted up his face. “You won’t know them,” he said.
“I might,” I pressed.
Lillian was only too happy to oblige. She rattled off a list of names. “Anton, and Mark, and Paul, and there’s Jonesy. . . but he don’t come around much anymore.”
“Why not?”
She tilted her head and her smile fell. “Some trouble or something.”
“What trouble?” I asked.
“Well, they say he was taking money from a bank where he works. . .” She tapped her fingers on the table.
I perked up. Adam was hanging with a crowd of bad types— and one of them might already be in trouble with the law. If this Jonesy fellow had been at the speakeasy the night Adam brought Rose in wearing the jewels, he could have decided to make some easy cash by burglarizing her house.
The Case Against My Brother Page 9