chapter 46: pockets

Three tramps, two men and a woman, scurried along the brightly-lit Boulevard from the direction of the railroad tracks, flitting from shadow to shadow, fearful of being seen, headed for the alley between two large hotel buildings in front of the Courthouse.  The winter night was cold, with a promise of snow or sleet in the morning.

“What’s that?” asked Major, the leader of the group, stopping just inside the mouth of the alley.   “Sounded like it come from in here.”

“Was probably a dog.” whispered Dink, the other male.  “Or a cat.  Turned over a can.  Don’t matter.”

“Was a rat.  Turned over a can.” repeated Lady, the female, nervously.  “Don’t matter.”

Although it was almost dawn and the Boulevard was empty, the three looked around to see if they were being watched or followed.  Then silently, without any signal between them, they filed into the alley.  The dead-end passage was narrow, long and dirty.  Heavy metal doors and barred, blackened windows were the only breaks in the high brick walls.  The alley was filled with garbage cans—some full, others empty—and plastic bags of trash—some tied closed, others torn open and spilling their contents.

Deep in the alley, the tramps began to search among the cans and bags, groping through the trash in the dim, reflected light of the Boulevard street lamps.  Lady picked at the trash on top of each pile, as if shopping, examined it closely, and then either put it in her shopping bag or discarded it, leaving it only a bit more wrinkled than when she picked it up.  Dink was methodical and fast, pulling an empty can close to a full one and emptying the one into the other rapidly, piece by piece, until he has looked at everything.  Major attacked the plastic bags of garbage, ripping them open, strewing the contents onto the ground, kicking through it, scattering it around, and looking hard to see it all.

“Jesus God, I’m cold.” said Major finally, pulling his too small, military surplus jacket more tightly around him.  He tugged at the broken bill of his ragged winter cap.  The earflaps were turned down over his ears.

Neither Lady nor Dink responded to his statement.

“I said ‘Jesus God, I’m cold’.” repeated Major.

“Me, too, Major.” said Dink, smiling out at him from the woolen warmth of a tattered gray topcoat.  “Christ, it’s cold.”

Dink tried to flap his arms, as if to warm himself, but the heavy coat was too binding.  Lady, distracted by a gaudy bit of cloth she has found, responded absently.  “Cold.” she said.

She lifted her heavy black cape-like coat and deposited the piece of cloth with the other bright rags in one of the already overstuffed pockets of her shapeless green dress.

“Shit.” said Major scornfully.

“Don’t think about the cold so much, Major.” said Dink.  “You thinks about it all the time and that makes you cold.  Me and Lady don’t think about it so much, so we ain’t so cold as you.”

“Shit.” said Major.

“If you’re cold, it’s cause God wants you to be cold.” said Lady.  “Me and Dink loves God and fears him, so we ain’t so cold as you.  Ain’t that right, Dink?”

Dink nodded enthusiastically, then added slyly.  “That’s right, Major.  You’re cold because God wants you to be cold.”

“Shit.” said Major, for the third time.

“Shut up, Major.” said Lady.  “And you better start using your polite manners around me.  Or God will hear you and make you colder.”

Chastised, Major looked apologetically at Lady, but soon growled at Dink.  “Where’s those gloves of yours?” he asked.

“No, Major, these is my good gloves.  If you use them, you’ll get them all dirty.”

“Goddamn it, Dink, give me those gloves, or I’ll take them away from you.”

“Lady, don’t let him take my gloves.” whined Dink, sticking his gloved hands deep into the pockets of his heavy coat and pulling in his head like a turtle.  A large fur hat covered his head.  “Don’t let him take my gloves, Lady.  He’ll get them all dirty.”

Lady ignored the two men.

“Give me those gloves, Dink.” ordered Major.

Slowly, Dink’s head and hands came up out of the coat.  He pulled off the gloves and flung them at Major, then began to pull off the heavy coat and furry hat.  “Here.  Take them.”  he cried.  “Take it all.  I can get more.  And you can’t.  You can’t even take care of your own self.  I got to take care of you for you.  — Here.  Take it.”

“Fuck you.” said Major softly, picking up the gloves.

“Take it all.”

“I said ‘FUCK YOU’.” said Major, more loudly, throwing the gloves back at Dink, and stalking away down the alley.

Dink rebuttoned his coat and pulled his hat back down over his ears.  He picked up the gloves and put them on again.  “Always works.” he said, laughing softly.  “It always works, Lady.  He been after these gloves all week, and he ain’t got ‘em yet.  It always works, I tell you.”

Down the alley, Major kicked over a garbage can.

“One day it ain’t going to work no more.” said Lady.  “One day he’s going to get so mad, he’ll cut your guts out.  Talking to him that way.’

“He ain’t neither.  It always works, I tell you.”

Kicking through the garbage from the spilled can, Major found an apple, which had been thrown away after only two bites have been taken.  He picked it up and examined it closely.  The places where the apple had been bitten have turned soft and brown. 

Lady began to chant at Dink.  “Cut your guts out.  Cut your guts out.  Cut your guts out.”

“Stop it.  Shut up.” whined Dink.

Major walked back to the other two, holding up the apple proudly.  “Look what I found.”

“Hey, give me a bite.” said Lady, almost lovingly.

“Divide it up.” squealed Dink.  “Equal shares.  Equal shares.”

Major took a knife from the outer pocket of his military jacket.  He opened a single long-sharp, gleaming-shiny blade.

“All right, Dink, all right.  Don’t worry.  You’ll get your piece.”  said Major.  “Equal shares.  I’ll divide it up.”

Major sliced the apple in half, then divided the rotting, bitten half again.  Dink grabbed the large, good half and started to bite it.  “Fair’s fair.” he cried.

“Wait a minute.”  said Major.

“What are you do…”  began Lady.

Dink stopped in the middle of his bite, and quickly gave the large slice to Lady.  She ate it in one bite.  Dink and Major picked up the rotten apple quarters and ate them, without gusto.

“That was good.”  said Lady.  “Is they anymore?”

“Don’t know.”  said Major.  “Found this one.  Didn’t look to see was there any more.”

Dink led the way, running, bending down from his waist as if sniffing the ground, to the overturned garbage can.  The others ran behind.  The three searched, but found nothing.

“No more apples.” said Lady.  “No more nothing.”

“Goddammit, it’s too cold.  Got to have a fire.”  said Major, kicking the trash at his feet into a small pile.

“No, Major.  Remember the last time.”  said Dink.  “And the next time they said they’d call the police.”

“But, goddammit, it’s too cold.  And it’s getting colder.  Maybe might snow.  I’ll freeze without I build me a fire.” said Major. 

“Freeze then.” said Lady.  “It’ll serve you right.  But we ain’t having no fires.  — No fires, no police.  That’s what I say.”

“Hey, has anybody seen Slops come out yet?”  asked Dink suddenly.  “That’s what we come here for, ain’t it?  It’s almost time.”

“Almost forgot.” said Lady.  “We almost forgot about Slops.”

“Slops ain’t come out yet?” asked Major.

“Come on then, let’s get these cans out of the way.”  said Dink, dragging garbage cans away from a large green metal door for a distance of about ten feet.

Lady helped drag several cans.  “Goddammit.  We nearly forgot.”  she said.  “Major, you’re the one supposed to remember about Slops.”

Dink emptied an almost new-looking garbage can and scrubbed the bottom with newspaper, then placed other pieces of newspaper on the bottom of the can as a lining. 

“I remembered.  I didn’t forget.” said Major.  “Just wanted to see if you remembered.”

Dink placed the can just outside the green door.  “Come on, everybody.  Hide.” he said.

The three hid in a recessed area, among garbage cans, in a part of the alley where none of them had been before.

“I knowed.  I remembered.  I just wanted to see if you remembered.”  repeated Major.

“Bullshit.” said Lady.  “You forgot, Major.  I almost forgot.  Only Dink remembered.  Looks like he’s right.  He’s got to take care of us his own self.  You can’t do it no more.”

“Be quiet, you two.”  commanded Dink.  “Last time he saw us, he pissed in it.”

“I can still take care of us.” said Major.  “Who found the apple?  –  I found the apple, that’s who.  – I’m still taking care of us.”

“Taking care of us?  Shit.” said Lady.  “You can’t even take care of your own self.”

Offended, Major stood and wandered farther back among the garbage cans.

“Shut up, both of you.” said Dink, looking back.  “Major, you get back here.  If he sees you, he’ll piss in it.”

“Fuck you.  I can find food.  Who found the apple?”

Major banged his body into a line of cans, knocking them over, and suddenly saw the body of a boy lying on a huge pile of the trash bags, dressed only in blue jeans and a tee shirt.  The boy was young and pale and barefoot.

“Look here.” said Major proudly.  “Look what I found.”

Dink and Lady both turned to look, then ran back to Major.

“See has he got a wallet.” said Dink. 

“Check all his pockets.  See what’s in his pockets.” said Lady.

Major leaned down.  “Ain’t got no wallet.  Ain’t got no nothing.  Help me get him up.”

The three tramps placed the body on a row of cans.  “He’s still yet warm.” said Dink, leaning over the body.  “But he ain’t got no heartbeats.  And he ain’t got no breathing.”

“He’s dead then.” said Major.  “Dead.  That’s what he is.”

“He ain’t dead.” said Lady.  “He’s still warm, so he ain’t dead yet.”

“Ain’t got no breathing.  Ain’t got no heartbeats.  He’s dead.” said Major.  “He’ll be warm for a little while yet, but pretty soon he’ll be cold.”

“Maybe get him a doctor.” said Dink.  “Might not be dead.  Doctor could tell it for sure.”

Major laughed.  “Looks like the doctor done been here.  Boy ain’t got no wallet.  Ain’t got no shirt, no coat, no shoes.  The doctor’s done already been here and gone.”

“Maybe a policeman would come see for sure is he dead?”  said Lady.

“A policeman?” said Major, laughing louder.  “Sure.  We could say to him, ‘Mister Policeman, sir, we found us a dead boy over here in the alley, sir.  And we was just wondering could you come look and tell us for sure is he dead or not?’  – He’d ask you your name so many times you’d forget what it was.”

There was a noise from behind the green door.  Dink shoved the body from the cans to the ground.  “Get down, you guys.” he said softly.  “Slops is coming.”

The three squatted on their heels and remained still.  More noise was heard near the green door, and suddenly it opened wide.  A short, fat cook emerged, wearing a dirty white paper hat, a stained white tee shirt, and white pants with a dirty white handkerchief sticking out of the back pocket.  He carried a silver bowl.

The fat cook shivered in the cold morning air, and blinked his eyes trying to see deeper into the darkness.  Steam escaped from the hot kitchen behind him.  Quickly, he put a hand to his mouth and called.  “Sooeey.  Soo—eey.  Here pig, pig, pig.”

His call echoed from the high walls.  The cook stamped his feet impatiently.  “Sooeey.  Soo—eey.  Here pig, pig, pig.  SOOO—EEEY.”  he yelled, dumping his shiny bowl of scraps into the garbage can nearest the door, then laughed.  “Fuck you, then, you don’t want to eat.”

The fat cook blew his nose violently onto his fingers, then shook his hand over the garbage can until the moisture fell from his fingers into the can.  He wiped his hand on his pants and went back into the kitchen, slamming the heavy green door behind him, but the door opened again almost immediately.  “SOOO—EEEY.  SOOO—EEEY.  HERE PIG, PIG, PIG.”

Again, the door slammed shut, and was bolted and locked from the inside.  The three tramps did not move.  “He’s gone.” whispered Dink finally.  “Lady, you get the food.”

Lady tiptoed up to the door, leaned into the can, and grabbed the newspaper full of scraps.  Dink and Major remained still, kneeling beside the body of the boy.

“The bastard.”  said Lady, returning, laying the newspaper full of scraps on the boy’s chest.  “He blowed his nose in it.  Almost rather he piss in it than do that.”

“It ain’t hurt.” said Dink, wiping up the moisture with a finger of his gloved hand, rubbing it off on the boy’s tee shirt.  “It’s just water.  What’d we get?”

“What you think?” asked Major.  “What do we always get?  Steak and baked potato?  –  Or tater peels and burned fatback.”

Major took the knife from his pocket again, opened it with a flourish, and began to divide the food.  “Two pieces of fatback and a pile of delicious tater peels for you, Lady.  And for you, Dink, two pieces of fatback and a pile of tater peels.  And for me, the same.”

“You got three pieces of fatback.” said Dink quickly.

“And two of yours is the biggest.” added Lady.

Major was surprised when Dink reached over, took the two largest pieces of meat, and gave one to himself and one to Lady.  “And you got more tater peels, too.”  said Dink, picking up the knife and raking half of Major’s potato peelings into a pile between Lady and himself.

“What you doing?”  yelled Major.

“I found this food.  –  Like you found the apple.”  said Dink.  “And I’m dividing it up.  Like you divided up the apple.”

Dink threw the knife back at Major, into his food.

The three tramps began to eat at once, ravenously.

Major talked as he ate, between bites.  “You didn’t found this food neither. –––We all knew about this food was coming. –––And I always divide up the food anyway. –––No matter who finds it. –––Because it’s my knife. –––You didn’t found this food. –––I always divides up the food. –––No matter who,,,”

“Don’t matter who divides up the food no way.”  said Lady.  “Cause they ain’t no more food left to divide up.”

“But what about the boy?” asked Dink.  “What are we going to do with him?”

“Do with him?” said Major.  “We ain’t going to do nothing with him.  He’s dead.  We can’t do nothing with him but put him back where we found him –– where I found him.”

“But he’s still yet warm.” said Lady.  “Feel his stomach.  He might not be dead yet.”

“Got to go get somebody to come look at him.” said Dink.

“Somebody to tell us for sure is he dead.” said Lady, walking toward the alley entrance.  “I’ll go see can I find somebody.”

“Don’t waste your time, Lady.  Stay here.” said Major, standing.  “The boy’s dead.”

“Gots to go to the bathroom anyway.” said Lady.

Dink rose and stomped the ground.  “Shut up, Major.  Just shut up.  – The boy might not be dead.  Shut up, and we’ll find out for sure.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up, you little shit.” said Major.  “Or somebody’ll have to come find out if you’re dead.”

“Big man going to slice me up with his big knife?”

“Might just do that.” said Major, stooping to pick up the knife.  “Cut you up so you don’t talk so big and so smart.”

“Careful, Major.  Watch that thing.  Before you hurt somebody.  ––Then you’d be all alone.  Alone with a dead person.”

“Might not be so bad.  Might could get warm.” said Major, extending his hands toward the body of the boy, as if it were a fire.  “He’s still yet warm. ––Dink, give me those gloves of yours.”

Dink stopped cowering and smiled.  He moved closer to Major and whined.  “These is my gloves, Major.  My hands’ll freeze without my gloves.  Your hands is already cold anyway.”

Major moved away from the body of the boy and held up the knife threateningly.  “Goddammit, my hands is freezing, Dink.  Give me those goddamn gloves.”

“All right, Major.  You win.  I can’t do this no more.  Here.  Take it.  Take everything I got.  I can get more.  And you can’t.  You can’t even take care of your own self.  I got to take care of you for you.  Here.  Take it all.”

Major reached out and accepted the gloves.  “Thanks, Dink.”

Dink was surprised.  “Wait a minute.  Them’s my good gloves.  You ain’t supposed to take my gloves.”

“I need them, Dink.” said Major, juggling the open knife as he puts on the gloves.  “I need them more than you.  God, they’re so warm.  My hands ain’t been this warm all winter.”

“Give me back my gloves, Major.”

“No, Dink.  I need them.”

Dink thought hard for a moment.  “Well, fuck you, anyway, Major.  I ain’t losed nothing.” he said, taking an identical pair of gloves from the deepest pocket of his coat.  “I had another same pair all the time.”

“You had another same pair?” said Major, his face turning red, anger giving way to hatred.  “All this time?  Why you––I’m going to cut your son of a bitch head off.”

Major lunged at Dink, waving the knife from side to side.  From the alley entrance, Lady walked toward them, ignoring the conflict, and found an almost empty bottle of wine perched on top of a pile of trash.

“Wait a minute, Major.” said Dink.  “All you had to do was ask for them.  I would have gived them to you.  Honest.”

“Look what I found.” said Lady happily, unscrewing the cap from the bottle and drinking the few remaining swallows of wine.

Major and Dink rushed to her.

“Hey.” yelled Major.

“Stop.” cried Dink.

Major seized the empty bottle from her hand and tried to drain a last drop into his mouth.  But there was no more.  Glowering at Lady, Major smashed the bottle against the brick wall.

“Didn’t find nobody.” said Lady.  “To come see about the boy.”

“He’s dead, I already told you.” said Major.  “Ain’t no reason to find somebody to come see about him.”

“But what are we going to do?” asked Lady.  “He’s still yet warm.  What can we do?”

“Push him over behind the cans and cover him up again.  Then somebody else can find him that knows what to do.”

“We can’t do that, Major.” said Dink.  “Somebody’s done already found him. – We done already found him, and we got to do something with him.”

“He’s dead.  Don’t matter what gets did with him.”

“But he’s still yet warm.” said Lady.  “We got to take him somewhere before he gets cold and freezes.”

Dink reached down and touched the boy.  “He’s not so warm no more.  He’ll be getting almost cold before long.”

“Goddammit, he’s dead.” said Major.  “Dead people don’t get cold.”

Major leaned down and began to unfasten the boy’s pants and pull them off.

“What are you doing, Major?” asked Dink.

“Dead people don’t get cold.  Dead people don’t need no pants.  Alive people do.”

Major pulled the pants on over his own.

“Robbing off the dead.  Lord God, what are you going to do next.” said Lady.  “Just what the hell are you going to do next?”

Major looked at Lady and stripped the body of the tee shirt.  He took off his gloves and jacket to put it on over his own shirt.

“Don’t do that, Major.  He’ll freeze if you take all his clothes.  And nobody won’t do nothing if they find him and he ain’t got no clothes on.  Give him back his clothes, Major.  Please give him back his clothes.” said Dink, stooping to grab the gloves when Major has the tee shirt over his head.

“Dead people don’t need no clothes.” said Major, pulling his jacket back on.  “Somebody will find him and call the police.  And they’re going to take his clothes anyway. – And they’re going to freeze him anyway, so it don’t make no difference. – Hey, where’s my gloves?”

“Your gloves?  Where’s your gloves?” said Dink.  “They’re my gloves.  Always has been my gloves –– since I stole them from that store last week.”

“Goddamn you, Dink.  Give me my gloves.”

Dink moved to hide behind Lady.  “Why don’t you ask the boy?” he said.  “Maybe he brung some gloves for you.”

“Maybe he’ll give you some gloves.” said Lady.  “Ask the boy.”

“Goddammit.” said Major, reaching around Lady, trying to catch hold of Dink, beginning to cry.  “Goddamn you.  I’ll cut your son of a bitch head off.”

Lady began to chant softly.  “Ask the boy.  Ask the boy.  Ask the boy.”

“Where’s my gloves?” said Dink, mocking Major.  “Goddamn you, Dink.  Where’s my gloves?”

“Damn you.  Goddamn both of you.” screamed Major, rubbing at the tears in his eyes, accidentally cutting his own forehead with the still open knife in his hand. 

“Ask the boy.  Ask the boy.  Ask the boy.” chanted Lady.

“Damn you.  Goddamn you both.” mocked Dink.

“God, my hands.  –– My hands are so cold.” sobbed Major, wiping the blood from his forehead out of his eyes.  “My hands are freezing.  My head hurts.  I can’t think.”

“Ask the boy.  Ask the boy.  Ask the boy.”

“My head hurts.  I can’t think.” mocks Dink.

Major sank to the ground almost on top of the naked boy, crying uncontrollably, still holding the open knife.  He puts his hands out toward the boy’s body, as if it were a fire.  “Boy?” he said.  “My hands are cold. – Do you have any gloves?  My hands are so cold. –– I can’t think. –– And now you’re cold, too.  Still a little warm, but now you’re cold, too. –– Gloves.  Warm inside. –– Gloves.  Can’t think.  Gloves. –– Gloves.  Warm inside. ”

Suddenly Major stuck the knife in the boy’s stomach and ripped the belly open.  Dink and Lady were instantly quiet, horrified and afraid, slowly, involuntarily backing away from Major.  At once, Major tossed the knife aside onto the ground and placed both his hands on the wound.

“Warm inside.” said Major happily.  “Gloves.  Gloves.”

“God.” wailed Lady softly.

“He killed the boy.” said Dink, almost inaudibly.

“God. God. God.” screamed Lady, backing away faster.

“Warm inside. Warm.  Gloves.”

“He’s going to kill us next, Lady.” yelled Dink, following her.

Dink and Lady turned and ran crazily, screaming and yelling, screeching and crying out of the alley.

“Warm.  Warm inside.” said Major, rubbing his bloody hands together, smearing blood onto his face.  “Good warm.  Warm good.”

Slowly, Major put his hands back on the body and lowers his face down onto the belly.  “Good.  Warm.” he repeats. 

chapter 47: breakfast

The restaurant was just opening for breakfast as Jack and Jim came in together.  “Why do you want to buy me breakfast?” Jim asked.  “I ought to be buying you breakfast for helping me out last night.”

“It’s a promise I made to a guy before I met you.  To have a big breakfast before I went to church.  He gave me enough money for ten breakfasts.” said Jack.  “I’m just trying to keep a promise I made to him before I go put the rest of the money in the collection plate.  Promises are important.  Especially on Sunday.  Especially about church.”

Jim smiled.  “Yes, promises are important.  You’re right about that.  I made a promise to Monica – that’s my wife – one time and forgot about it.  She never lets me forget that one broken promise.  Maybe there were more.  I don’t remember.  But she never lets me forget that one.” he said.  “I don’t remember much about last night either.”

They found a table near a window that looked out at the Courthouse and the Park.  A single waitress, a young, perky pretty girl carrying a pot of coffee, came to them quickly.  “Coffee, gents?” she asked, looking out the window.  “Do you think it’s going to snow?  I’ve never seen snow before.  I’m not from the City, you know.  I’m from down south.”

Both nodded.  The waitress filled their cups, which were already on the table.  “Do you know what you want?  Or should I come back?” asked the waitress, still looking out the window.

“I want the biggest breakfast you’ve got.  Eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage, everything.  Just keep it coming until I say STOP.”  said Jack.

Again, Jim laughed.  “Make that two, please.  Sounds like my friend here has enough appetite to eat both breakfasts.”

Just then Officer Charles entered the restaurant and walked to a table in the corner where Leon was already seated.  He nodded and sat down.  The perky girl lowered her voice.  “I forgot it was Sunday.” she said softly.  “Those two come in here every Sunday morning and eat together, but they always talk so quiet, I can never hear a word they say to each other.  And they always order exactly the same thing.  They come in separate, one orders something—it’s never the same as last time—and five minutes later the other one walks in and orders the exact same thing.  I think it’s spooky.  – But I think they must come from the same place and decide what they’re going to eat before they come here. I think they just do it that way because they know it gives me the willies.”

Jack nodded.  “I know the policeman.  Met him last night.  Seems like a nice enough guy.  But I don’t know the other man.”

“I don’t know either one of them.” said Jim. 

“I’ll get your breakfast.” said the girl, after a pause, looking at the two men in the corner and shaking her head.

Jack looked hard at Officer Charles, thinking he would pat the book in his chest pocket and nod in his direction.  But Charles stared without blinking at Leon, conversing quietly, although his face changed as if the conversation were deep and disturbing.  “That’s strange.” said Jack to himself, then across the table to Jim.  “That’s strange.”

Jim turns and looks at the two men.  “What?” he asked.

“It looks like they’re arguing.  But neither one of them is talking above a whisper.  – The policeman gave me a New Testament Bible earlier tonight.  Told me to keep it over my heart.  He said it might could stop a bullet.” said Jack.

“I’ve heard about that.” said Jim.  “But I never believed it.”

“I told him I didn’t believe it either.  He said ‘well, maybe it would slow one down’.  – You said last night you were going home today.”

“Yes.” said Jim.  “Got to hit the road soon.  I already checked out of the hotel, and packed the car.  Got a long drive ahead of me.  And in the snow, too.  But it’ll be good to get home and see the wife and kids again.”

“Last night you said you were going to divorce your wife and kids.” said Jack.  “Said you wanted to be free.”

“Every drunk man wants to be free.  You must know that by now.  Don’t you drink?”

“Sure.” said Jack.  “But not that much, I guess.  A few beers.  Enough to get a buzz, but not enough to get a divorce.”

Jim laughed.  “Come back and see me in twenty years.” he said.

“Twenty years is a long time.  A long sentence.” said Jack.  “Don’t I get time off for good behavior?  And a good breakfast?”

“I didn’t.” said Jim laughing.  “And if I regret anything, it’s all that good behavior.  I don’t know what possessed me to behave as well as I did.  It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“So now you’re happy to be going home?”  asked Jack. 

“Maybe.  Not really.  I don’t know.”

“That’s not much help.”

“It’s just that sometimes life throws you a curve ball.” said Jim.  “Tries to wake you up, I guess.  – That’s what happened to me last night.  Yeah, I know I said a lot of shit about divorce, but, in the cold light of day, I guess I think I got it pretty good.  Not like a lot of poor bastards, you know.  I was just feeling sorry for myself last night, that’s all.”

“So, no divorce.” said Jack.  “I’m glad.  And I guess I won’t look you up in twenty years and tell you all about it.  I’m just getting started.  I don’t know what it’s all about yet.  But I’m going to give it a shot and see what happens.”

“That’s probably the best thing then.” said Jim.  “Spin the wheel, and see where it lands.”

“It won’t all be happy, but it won’t all be bad either.  My Mom used to say something like that.  Something about ‘Make the best of what the Good Lord gives you.’  That’s all I know how to do.”

“That’s good advice, I guess.”  said Jim.  “Make the best of what the Good Lord gives you.  Right now, I wish he’d give me some breakfast.”

“Here it comes now.” said Jack, adding.  “She’s bringing it to us right now.  ——  He’s bringing it to us right now.”  

chapter 48: the courthouse

Down the Boulevard from the Courthouse, Joey sat silently on the curb in the shadows, his feet in the gutter.  Pink vomit covered the front of his white shirt and black coat, and a pink froth dripped from his mouth.  With one hand he tried to cover his mouth and stop the flow of pink liquid, a mixture of wine and blood and bile.  In his other hand he held the dirty string of a single white balloon, “THE DADDY” of all his tomorrow balloons.

Farther down the block, almost invisible, possibly asleep, in a recessed doorway on the corner, Mister Charles, the old police officer, stood calmly, waiting, the polished brim of his hat pulled low over his eyes.

From the alleyway beside the hotel, Jesús Rodríguez emerged slowly, his face twisted in pain, hiding a broken bloodstained knife, with one blade open, between his large hand and the leg of his jeans.  He stopped for a moment, dazed and confused, as he reached the sidewalk, and brushed at his eyes with his fist.  He looked across the street at the Courthouse, and up and down the Boulevard.  He saw Joey down the street, suffering in the gutter, and started toward him, but stopped, taking three long, deep breaths, trying to clear his head.  Hugging the wall, Jesús stumbled up the street to the hot dog stand, opened the door and slipped inside.  He went behind the counter and found the empty cash box.  From his pockets, he removed the gun, Frank’s stolen cash, and then the crisp careful roll of bills he stole from Jim.  He put it all in the box and struggled back out the door to the street again.

Across the Boulevard, the front of the Courthouse shone in the darkness, shining white in artificial light, shining bright in the deep darkness before dawn.  Jesús’s eyes widened and he stepped into the street, walking across the empty Boulevard toward the Courthouse.  He stopped at the motorcycle, still parked in the “NO PARKING” zone beside the fire hydrant.  His eyes were locked in an intense stare with the magnificent marble face of the Courthouse building.  He did not see or remove the parking ticket from the handlebars.  Jesús swung one leg over the machine and settled comfortably onto the contoured leather seat of the bike, still staring at the big building.  Quickly, he inserted the key and stomped the machine to life.  He twisted the throttle on the handlebars of the bike, holding the knife flat against the grip, causing a deafening throbbing noise, as he sat and stared blankly at the Courthouse.  “The Lady.”  he murmured.  “Around the Lady one more time before I go.”

In his mind and imagination, Jesus circles the Courthouse for the final time, staring at each face of the building, searching for a flaw, but finding none. 

Joey looked up from the gutter, but did not move.  Mister Charles raised his head slightly, no longer seeming to sleep, and looked at Jesús.

At once, Jesús stopped playing with the throttle and held the knife up in front of his face, studying it and looking past it at the Courthouse.  Sitting erect astride the bike he brought both hands in close to his chest, and slowly pushed the blade of the knife through the palm of his empty hand.  Quickly he pulled the knife out and held his hand close to his face, looking at the blood beginning to flow thickly and darkly red, down his palm and over the heavy metal bracelet on his wrist.  Jesús was unaware of any pain in his hand.  Suddenly he brought the knife up to his face again and slashed three quick strokes across his forehead.  Unbuttoning his jacket, Jesús drove the knife easily through the work shirt and deep into his left side.  At once his face twisted in agony as he became conscious of the pain.  Tears came into his eyes, but he made no sound.  Slowly he withdrew the knife from his side and switched it to his pierced and bloody hand, holding it upside down, the handle held firmly against his knee.  He closed his eyes and pressed the palm of his good hand down on the knife until the hand is impaled halfway down the thick and bloody blade.  Opening his eyes, Jesús took the handle from his knee and pulled the knife from the palm of his hand, letting it fall to the ground as it came out.  The blood from his side soaked down his jeans and spilled onto the contoured leather seat of the bike.

Joey lurched to his feet, his hands reaching out to help Jesús.  He stumbled from the shadows into the light, walking out into the middle of the Boulevard.  His tight black coat was open, and the pink stain spread across his chest.  Once again, the vomit surged in his throat, and out his mouth, streaming from his lips.  He fell to his knees on the concrete median of the Boulevard.  “No, Jesus, no.  You don’t know what you’re doing.  You don’t know what you’re doing, sweet Jesus.” he said softly, choking on another gurgling rush of vomit.

Slowly, almost stupidly, Jesús twisted in the saddle of the bike, surveying the scene around him, trying to see everything, but seeing only blurs of shapes he knew were there.  To one side the green black blur of the Park sloped gently down to join the smooth flowing brown blur of the River.  To the other side, the weather-beaten, small gray buildings of Old Town blended in his sight to one dark, decaying mass, joined with the deeper gray of the factories and their smokestacks across the railroad tracks behind them.  Behind Jesús, the tall buildings of New Town, the hotels and restaurants and parking garages, and the massive office buildings leaped into the sky, hovering over him.  And before him, the Courthouse, the rays of the rising sun just beginning to touch it with little fingers of light, shone brightly.

A cold, but gentle, dawn rain began to fall slowly, mixed with snow, fulfilling the promise of last night’s clouds and Mister Charles.

Joey struggled to rise again, but could not get up.  He knelt once more, falling forward onto the concrete into the pool of his own vomit.

Jesús, transfixed by the gleaming, pure white stone and glass of the Courthouse, finally, could see nothing else.  Carefully he turned the bike, twisting the throttle, kicking the clutch with his foot, twisting the gear shift, and the motorcycle lumbered, as Jesús slumped, looking backwards, across the Boulevard, hitting the median with an uncomfortable jolt as the machine ascended and descended the concrete.  Across the Boulevard in front of the hotels, Jesús turned the bike and sat calmly, bleeding from all his wounds, staring at the Courthouse.  Several people—early risers—some in red windbreaker jackets, one a soldier with a heavy overcoat across his arm—had finished breakfast, and stopped to stare at Jesús.

In the middle of the Boulevard, Joey again struggled to move toward Jesús, his hand clutching and dragging the string of his one balloon, his body shuddering with a terrible racking, as if all his insides were fighting him, trying to escape from his body through his mouth.  Joey began to crawl forward through the pool of vomit.

Jesús twisted the throttle of the bike rhythmically, the pulsation of the engine corresponding with the ragged in and out of his own struggle for breath.  Suddenly he screamed a long, low cry of pain, and twisted the throttle and held it, the throbbing engine drowning out the sound of his wail.  With a movement of his foot and one bloody hand, Jesús engaged the machine’s gears and disengaged the clutch.  The motorcycle screamed across the Boulevard, jumping median, curb, and sidewalk easily, and mounted the first of sixty-four steps leading up to the Courthouse doors, shrieking furiously and trying to shake the rider from its back.

Jesús slumped forward toward the handlebars, standing slightly, holding the machine erect, squeezing it tightly between his knees, pressing his groin against the protruding gas cap.  Quickly, the bike ascended the stairs, rolling rapidly across the terraces, and bumping and bucking up the small sets of steps.  As Jesús and the machine conquered the stairs and roared into the open space between the two central white columns, Jesús pulled the front wheel of the bike off the ground and guided the machine, leaping, into the center of an eight-foot square of tinted blue glass, splitting it open in a shower of sharp shards and broken bits of sparkling glass.  Man and machine crashed down hard onto the freshly waxed and polished floor of the Courthouse lobby.  Jesús lay shaking where he fell, the blood no longer spurting, but now dripping and leaking from his wounds to the floor, his body writhing, crumpled and broken, battered and bruised.  He tried to stretch his arms out on either side to make a cross shape, but pain overcame him and he curled tightly into a fetal ball. The motorcycle, purring softly, lay on its side against the back wall of the lobby.

Outside, Joey watched in horror the agony of Jesús Rodríguez, and now he sobbed into his dirty hands, his tears cleansing long strips of skin, his hands now open and empty.  The balloon, dull white in the early morning light of approaching dawn, hung over him, dragging its dirty string along the concrete median.  With an effort, the balloon lifted the string free from the ground, and hovered in the air.  It moved toward the Courthouse, now turning from dull to bright white in the increasing sunlight and misty-cold sleet, but suddenly, as if taken by a burst of gusting wind, the balloon reversed its course, and soared away into the sky, floating free, climbing higher and higher, becoming brighter and brighter as it climbed out of the shadows of tall buildings, until finally it was lost, absorbed into the multicolored, early morning winter sky. 

Officer Charles leaned down from behind Joey and wiped the pink from his face and mouth with a spotless white handkerchief.  Gratefully, Joey took the handkerchief from Charles and wiped his hands clean, too.  Joey looked up at the old policeman.  “I want to go home, Mister Charles.” he said clearly.

“Home?” asked the old calm voice.

“Will you take me home, please, Officer Charles?”

The old policeman nodded, and lifted Joey from the ground, supporting him with both his arms, and led him across the Boulevard away from the Courthouse, and the crowd of people beginning to gather there.

Inside the Courthouse, Old Pete, the night watchman and janitor, the front of his pants wet with the urine of his own fright, walked slowly around the body on the newly polished floor.  “Crazy bastard.” he muttered, making a motion as if to kick the body, but not kicking it.  Instead, he walked slowly to the machine against the back wall, and stood studying it minutely, wondering how it was possible that it was still running.  He touched it tentatively with the steel toe of his boot, then kicked violently at the heavy wire which led to an exposed spark plug, breaking off the wire and turning off the machine.  Slowly he walked to the reception desk on one side of the room and picked up the chair in which he had been sleeping, his feet propped up on the desk, his cigarette burned down to the filter in his ashtray.  He opened a drawer and pulled out a heavy telephone directory and opened it to a well-worn page.  He studied the page intently, then dialed a number on the phone in front of him on the desk, and spoke into the receiver softly.  “Yes, this is the Courthouse.  — We got us a kind of a situation over here.  Could you send somebody over please?”

Old Pete hung up the phone and went to the door behind the desk.  From his pocket he pulled a long string, which is attached to the belt loop of his pants, and pulled out a single, shiny large key tied to the string.  With the key he opened the door and reached into a small closet, pulling out a small pan and broom.  Leaving the closet door open, he walked to the body in the center of the floor.  Carefully he swept the glass away from the body and into the little pan, making several trips to empty the pan into the wastebasket next to the desk.  Finally, he returned the broom and pan to the little closet, and locked the door again with the large shiny key.  He lit another cigarette, looking once at the large crowd gathered in the blowing snow outside the gaping hole in the shiny wall of glass, and sat down at the desk to wait.

From out of the crowd, a soldier stepped through the hole in the glass brushing snow from his uniform and walked to the body.  He unfolded the heavy overcoat that he carried across his arm and spread it over the body on the floor, then turned quickly and walked away.

In the distance, a fire alarm sounded, followed almost immediately by sirens.  Smoke rose from the top of the hotel building as fire swept through the eighth floor.  

And snow fell on the living and the dead.

epilog

“The Sun he rises.  AMEN.  He is the evil eye.

And the City she’s alive.  I know it.  I seen her.  She’s alive.

She wakes up and smiles at the Sun, and shines back at him with all her thousand sparkle eyes.  She raises up her steel arms, and she stretches and yawns.  Her concrete cement skin she stretches and shakes, and shivers from the raindrops and snow and the cold of the night.  But she wakes up.

She loves the Sun, and tries to get him to come down to her, so she can show him her love.  But the Sun he just stays up in the sky, playing hard to get.  Playing hard to forget.  Playing hard.  Playing. 

And the City she warms up, and she starts up her heart.

And her heart she pumps and pumps and pumps.  Pumps the people out the houses, out the hotels, and out into the street.  And pumps the cars and buses and trucks and trains.  Into the street.  And the City she’s alive.  And the people and the cars are everywhere like her blood.

And her blood—her people blood and her car blood—jumps all around, all through the City.  Jumps all around making the City dance. 

Sometimes it stops.  Sometimes it goes.  Sometimes it don’t know what to do.  But it keeps dancing.  Dancing.  Dancing.

All day long dancing.  The City she shakes her butt at the Sun.  Trying to get him to come down.  But the Sun he don’t come down.  And the City she gets tired.  Tired.  Tired. Tired.

Late in the night, the City she fights with sleep. 

But she don’t close all her thousand sparkle eyes at the same time. 

A long time goes by and she sleeps. 

But the City she don’t never die.  Amen.

Like my cat.  My cat he is dead.  He died last night.

He didn’t come back in the morning after the night. 

He got caught by the Sun. 

Caught by the morning. 

The Sun is the evil eye.”

THE END