by Lesia Reid
“You are right, Sebastian, but I cannot help thinking about the hell Joey might be going through. He’s only eight, what can he do?”
“He’s almost nine going on forty,” Sebastian said. “He is your son and I believe there is so much of you in him, it would take more than Tony Pacelli to break him.”
The five men searched every corner of the property. Joey was not to be found. No one thought he would make it over the gate. It was difficult for an adult to climb; a kid would definitely find the task daunting. But one person had seen it. He had seen and prayed in his heart that the boy would make it. Luigi Ventura was not proud of giving Mia up ten years ago. It was a choice between his life and hers. Now, he wished he had chosen more wisely. Tony cracked a hard whip, and he had bolted under the pressure rather than play the hero. He owed her. It was his fault Mia was raped. She trusted him to take care of her, and Tony only wanted her because he thought she loved Luigi.
Now, he returned to the house after the fruitless search, knowing he had given the boy what he hadn’t given the mother—a chance to escape. The city was five miles away. The boy would probably need an hour to get there. They had spent at least forty-five minutes searching the grounds. He had seen to it that they double checked everything. Tony would be happy for that and never think twice. In the city the boy could get help. If he was anything like his mother, Tony would never be able to find him again.
“What do you mean you can’t find him?” Tony roared. “Did you check everywhere? He is a small boy he could have climbed up a tree or hidden in the bushes.”
“He’s not out there,” Tommy said. “He must have gotten over the gate.”
“Then find him. He doesn’t know the city, he’s never been here. Mia might be many things, but I doubt she’d be stupid enough to take him back to New York. You should be able to find him. Call in friends if you have to. I want him here in the next hour.”
The five men exited the house as the boy reached the city limits. It was almost sunset, and he was tired and hungry. He hadn’t eaten since sharing a candy bar with Trevor about ten in the morning. His legs hurt and were bleeding and his hands hurt from hitting Tony and everything else in the room. He should find a policeman he thought, they would help. But what if they called Tony and he told them he was his son, they would take him back. No, he must not talk to the police, if they were helpful, they would have been on their way to get him by this. He was sure Trevor had told his mother—Trevor who had fought the bad man with him, but was knocked over the head. He was breathing when the man pulled him away, and he had dropped the cell phone in Trevor’s shirt. If not his mother, Trevor would have called Sebastian or Aunt Thelma and they would be looking for them.
He had taught Trevor some Italian, and he had said the bastard in Italian. His mother would know what it means. She would have called the police if they could help. This was Tony’s city. He took him here because this was his orb of power, just like in the video games when the ghosts led you to their source of power so they could deal you fatal blows. No, he was alone. He wandered the streets and alleyways, careful to avoid as many people as possible. He was hungry and tired. He had to find somewhere to sleep. Then he saw them, people lying in the alleys on cardboard. That wouldn’t be so bad. He could spend the night there and maybe they could help him with some food.
Deana conceded to waiting at least one night before confronting Antonio. She needed to put an end to this one way or the other. She was not going to get up and move because he found them. She promised Joey when they bought the house that they would not move again. He had friends whom he cared about and who cared about him. And Sebastian was right; she had the element of surprise.
They were staying at one of the Torrance business condominiums. Her heart ached for her son.
Sebastian was on the telephone with contacts he knew. He had fired up his laptop as soon as they were inside the condo and was doing background on Antonio Pacelli. Deana couldn’t think about anything except Joey alone with that bully of a father. She thought about going out to buy herself a gun. She had taken target practice in Chicago. She’d vowed never to be helpless again, now here she was, without her child and helpless. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, she said. You beat him before, you will do it again.
“This is my fault,” Deana said.
“No it’s not,” Sebastian comforted.
“It is. I knew Tony found us. I knew I should have taken my child and go as far away from Florida as possible. I allowed everything else to cloud my judgment. It shouldn’t matter that we didn’t have the means to start over. It shouldn’t matter that Joey had gotten close to the Waynes or to you. Worse, it shouldn’t matter that I was in love with you. I saw the blue Cadillac. All my instinct screamed Tony, but I ignored it.”
“Deana you’re being hard on yourself. You stayed because you knew you couldn’t keep running. You knew you couldn’t drag Joey from town to town surviving on whatever job you might find. I wished you had told me sooner.”
“What would it matter? I promised Joey summer camp.”
“And I promised you safety. I know bodyguard services so discreet he would never know they were there. But that’s beside the point. You’re a damn good mother, and you did the right thing. No matter where you went, he would find you, sooner or later.”
“Can he hate me so much he would spend his life looking for me?” “You have his only child, so yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Think about it. You stabbed him in the crotch. If I was in his position, you would be the last person I want to see. But, if you had my heir, my only child, I would not rest until you’re found.”
“He can’t have Joey.”
“I know, and he won’t have him, I promise.”
Mother and son closed their eyes three hours later and tried not to think of the day. One went to bed hungry by choice snuggling next to the lover that tonight was only a friend. The other had chatted himself into pieces of stale bread, and snuggled close to the wayward dog that belonged to the lady who was calling him son.
Chapter 18
There was no place like home, but Joey was not worried about that now. When he woke, the sun was up and he was no longer beside the dog, but by himself, under a piece of cardboard. The lady, who had given him bread the evening before, was packing odds and ends in a shopping cart. Safe, he thought. He had spent his first night in New York on the streets with a stranger, but he was safe.
He groaned in pain as he got up. The cut on his leg had stop bleeding, but it was hurting. His feet still hurt from running and his arms were sore. He was hungry, but he didn’t think he could take another piece of bread. He rubbed his eyes, looked around him and started walking again. He asked a few people for nickels or dimes, but they looked at him as if he was insane.
“Where is your mother?” one lady asked him.
“In Florida,” he said. “I need to call her to come get me.”
“You poor thing,” the lady replied. “Let me get you to the police station, they can help you.”
Police, the sound made him dash down the street. He didn’t want the police. They couldn’t be any good. He ran for a long while before he stopped again. It was early in the morning, and people were everywhere. He had no idea where he was going.
He ran to a corner and into a man playing a flute. The man was in dark glasses. Joey apologized but the man didn’t stop playing, nor did he look at him. At his feet, there was a basket with coins and one dollar bills. I will have Mom find you and pay it back, he vowed to himself. He looked around to make sure no one was looking and picked up all the coins and paper dollars from the basket.
“Thief!” someone shouted.
Joey didn’t look; he started running as fast as he could down the street. He only stopped to look back when he had gone six or seven blocks down the road. No one was following him. The money jingled in his pocket and he felt queasy.
He walked for another ten minutes before finding a telephone
. It did not use coins.
He wasn’t deterred. He would find another one. He stopped on his search to buy an apple. No time to waste his money on anything else. The apple cost him a quarter. He found three more telephones, but none of them took a coin. He wondered how people in New York got by if the telephones didn’t work. He lifted the receiver and the telephone had a dial tone. He hit zero. The operator asked him his age and refused the collect call. He tried again saying he was sixteen, but whoever the operator was, was very smart because she refused his call again.
He continued walking to a bus stop, and then the name jumped out at him. Torrance Construction, now building, that was Sebastian’s company. It said offices in New York. He looked at the number, what was toll free? He shook the coat of the man in front of him.
“Excuse me sir, what does toll free mean?”
“It means you just dial the number. Are you by yourself? Where are your parents?” the man asked.
He thought about saying Florida, but this man might want to call the police also. So he pointed to the ad, “They are at Torrance Construction.” “You must have gotten lost, this is Westchester. That is all the way over in Manhattan.”
“How do I get to Man- what’s-its-name?” Joey asked.
“Manhattan? You have to take the bus or a taxi. But I don’t think you can go on the bus alone. You are only a boy. You should go to the police station. They could call your parents from there.”
“No,” Joey said. “How much is it anyway?”
“It’s going to cost a bit.”
“Hey, mister,” Joey said. “Do you have a pen? I would like to write down that number. I have to call my dad.”
“Sure.”
The man gave him a pen and he wrote the number in his hand.
“You sure I can just dial the number without paying any money?” Joey asked. “My mom always complains about those toll free ads on TV. She says they only want to take your money.”
“I’m sure you don’t have to pay.”
“Thank you.”
Joey went to the telephone and punched the numbers he had in his hand. He was placed on hold for a little while. He crouched in the phone booth as he saw a car with the scar-faced man passing. That was the man who had taken him from camp. He only knew two faces. There could be more looking for him. He had to be smart and stay away from the roads.
“Hello, Torrance Construction, how can I help you?”
“This is Joey Torrance,” he said. “I need to speak to my father Sebastian Torrance.”
“How old are you?” the operator asked.
“I am nine,” Joey said. “Just tell my father I’m on the telephone.”
“You should not be playing with the telephone young man,” the operator admonished. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Miss, I am not playing. Please tell Sebastian I am in some place called Westchester, I have—hold on.” He pulled the money from his pocket and scanned it. “I have four dollars and some. I am trying to get to Manhartan, to your office.” He hadn’t quite understood the name as the man pronounced it.
“I am going to hang up,” the operator said.
“That’s okay, miss, as long as you tell him. I will call back when I can; the bad men are driving on the street.”
The operator hung up and didn’t take any notes for the call. Joey hid in the store across from the bus stop. He would get in a bus as soon as one stopped. Four dollars should get him somewhere other than here. “Can I help you?” a clerk in the store asked.
“I am going to Manhartan,” Joey said. “I don’t know which bus to take.”
“You mean Manhattan,” the clerk said. “You are a ways from home. Where are your parents?”
“In Man-hat-tan,” Joey said. “Mister, can you tell me which bus goes to Man-hat-tan.”
“The next bus should be here any minute now; it will take you close but not quite. You may have to change buses, but the driver will help you. Do you have a transit card?”
“A what?” Joey asked.
“A transit card.”
“No.”
“Then you need the exact change, what do you have?”
“Four bucks and a few pennies,” Joey said.
“Okay, a few quarters should do it.” The clerk took his four dollars and gave him four dollars in quarters. “Here comes the bus, try to get on it.” Joey darted out the store and barely made it to the bus. The bus driver asked him where he was going.
“As close to Man-hat-tan as possible,” he said.
“Where are your parents?” the driver asked.
“Man-hat-tan. This is my dad’s number.” Joey showed her the number in his hand. “He said to get on a bus and he will meet me when I call again. How much is it?”
“Three dollars.”
Joey counted three dollars and handed it to her. She smiled and put the money in the meter and gave him his ticket and a transfer card.
“You need to keep the card for the next bus. You look a little too young to be traveling by yourself. That’s a nasty cut on your leg. Are you running away from home?” she said.
“No, ma’am, I’m trying to get home. My dad’s Sebastian Torrance,” Joey said. “Do you know Torrance Construction?”
“Yes, I bought a house from them.”
“Well, we are in Man-hat-tan for vacation and we got lost. I took a bus because it looked like this one, and I ended up here. The man in the store over there,” Joey pointed to the clerk who waved at him, “called my dad to make sure I would take the right bus.”
“Okay, have a seat,” the driver said.
Joey sighed with relief as the bus started. He was getting away from the worst of the bad men. Joey Lang, you are a dirty liar, he told himself. And a thief, he added, thinking that he only had only a dollar and four cents now and if Man-hat-an was as far away as they said it was he would need to get more money.
Deana woke when Joey got of the bus, five miles closer to Manhattan, and had already completed his second telephone call to Torrance Construction.
“I need to do something,” she said.
“We will,” Sebastian replied.
“Today,” Deana insisted. “I have to do this today. I don’t want to think about Joey with that bastard.”
“Neither do I, Deana, but you have to believe he is all right. Joey is a smart kid. Tony will not break him. I am waiting for some data on the man and then we can make a plan for action. Do you want breakfast?”
“No, I cannot eat.”
Joey could eat though, and he was starving. He bought a candy bar at a convenience store and took the transfer bus. One more bus to go and he would be in Manhattan.
Ten miles closer to Manhattan, he made another call to Torrance Construction.
“I told you not to call back,” the operator said. “This is a place of business and not a playground.”
“Miss, just call his cell phone number or my mom. He’s going to be my dad.” Joey raced off the number to her. “Tell them I am in some place called Eastchester Bay. I’m heading to your office in Man-hat-tan. The bus is here.”
He hung up before she did this time. The operator was tempted to throw the number in the trash, but the little boy was persistent and specific. If this was a joke, then she was going to tell off whoever was at the end of this number. She dialed the number the boy had given her.
Deana picked up in the first ring.
“This is Deana,” she said.
“Miss, there is a young boy who keeps calling our number all morning. He gave me this number to call you. He claims his mother—”
“Joey?” Deana asked. She was out of the bed.
“He said that was his name. He also said Sebastian Torrance was his father. We do not—”
“Sebastian is his father. What did he say? Where was he calling from?” “Miss, Mr. Torrance has no children. Good-bye.” The woman hung up. “Merda!” Deana swore and pulled the number up on her cell phone. “Deana was that Joey?” Sebastia
n asked. He was beside her.
“No, it was—,” she paused to look on the name, “Torrance Construction. The woman said a boy has been calling all morning and that you are his father.”
Sebastian saw the light in her face. It was hope, not the dark despair he had seen her take to bed. He was on his cell phone calling the Manhattan Office. That was the only office in New York. Joey must have seen the number on a billboard. If he had called, it means Tony didn’t have him.
“This is Sebastian Torrance,” Sebastian said. “My son called earlier, what did he say?”
“Listen to me, if any of you call this office again, I’m going to have the police tap your phones and have you arrested for harassment.” She hung up.
“She’s fired,” Sebastian said. “Get dressed, we’re heading to Manhattan.”
The limousine sped through the streets, heading towards his Manhattan office. He called his general manager directly from the car. He was mad. The woman stood between him and Joey at the moment. He wanted to wring her neck as badly as he wanted a piece of Antonio Pacelli.
He got out of the car before the limousine driver could make it to the door. The general manager was in the lobby waiting for him.
“Sebastian,” Bill McGraves said, “you should have called me directly. We didn’t know you were in New York.”
“I don’t have much time, Bill, where’s the receptionist.”
“She’s new, she didn’t know. She’s in my office.”
“And right now I don’t care,” Sebastian said as they took the elevator to the fourth floor. “By the way Bill, this is my fiancée Deana Lang.”
Deana didn’t bother to comment as she shook hands with Bill. If Sebastian hadn’t left her after all he heard, then the answer to the proposal was yes.
The receptionist was waiting in Bill’s office.
“Mr. Torrance, I’m sorry I had no—”
“What did he say?” Sebastian demanded.
“I didn’t take note. He said something about heading here.” “Where is he now?”
“I don’t know,” the receptionist said.
“Did you record the phone call?” Sebastian asked. It was standard policy to record any suspicious or threatening phone calls.