He didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he said, “Not if you toss that parcel over here right quick.” He took a step forward, but I knew he wouldn’t lunge at me; he wasn’t fit to do any wrestling.
“Pa, you wouldn’t shoot me.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
I stared at him. “I hate you,” I said.
He laughed. “Hate away. It’s no skin off my nose.”
“Pa, I’m going to make a run for it. You can shoot me if you want.”
He raised the gun and pointed it dead into my face. I turned and ran as hard as I could down the street, ducking and dodging left and right, towards the nearest corner.
“Roger, drop that parcel or I’ll shoot,” he shouted. But I didn’t stop. I went on running. There came a tremendous crack. I twisted my head to look around. He was hobbling along after me as quick as he could. But his gun wasn’t pointed at me. It was pointed up in the air. I flashed around the corner, and I knew I was safe.
I went on running, zigzagging through the streets until I was a good mile away, four or five blocks behind the Peacock. I stopped running, and leaned up against a wall gasping for breath. After a minute I began to cry.
For a while I couldn’t figure out why I was crying—whether it was because Penrose was dead, or because I couldn’t go home, or just because of everything. But after a while I figured it out. It was because of the double-crossing. None of them had any interest in each other. It wasn’t like they were all great pals and would look out for each other, and share. And it was pretty clear to me now that they hadn’t brought me into it because I was a smart, likely kid. It all had something to do with Pa. I didn’t know exactly what, and I probably wouldn’t ever know, but once they saw that Pa wasn’t going to die, they knew he was bound to come after them. He was dangerous; he would be like a tiger let out of a cage. So they brought me in to have something to hold over him. And blamed if they weren’t right, for when it came down to it Pa couldn’t bring himself to kill me. He just couldn’t do it, and I’d got away with the bonds for them. That was why I was crying, because I never meant any more to Russell and Penrose than the pants they put on in the morning and the shirts they took off at night.
Oh, Russell would see that I got my share, and he’d bring me in on other things if I wanted, for I’d done two good jobs for him now. He could see I was useful, and he’d encourage me by seeing that I got a nice chunk of money. But he wouldn’t give me any more than he figured he had to; he’d push me out ahead of him to take the chances; and he’d get rid of me when he didn’t need me anymore.
Once I got this all clear in my head I felt better. I told myself to quit snuffling. From now on I’d have to be hard and tough. I’d have to get like Pa, to where I didn’t care about anything—about my pals, about the rain, even about myself. For that’s the way it was with these fellas.
So I went on into the Peacock and stood at the bar for about fifteen minutes, trying to keep my mind on the business and not think about Penrose or Pa or anyone else. In a little bit a fella I’d never seen before came in and asked if I’d got the tickets.
“Yes, I got them.” I looked around the bar to see who might be listening. Then I clutched the parcel with both hands so he couldn’t make a grab for it. “But I need some money for them. I’m broke.”
“You’ll get took care of later,” he said.
I shook my head. “I need some money now.”
He looked at me. “They won’t like this.”
“They won’t like it, either, if I take this parcel up to the park and chuck it in the lake.”
He turned and went out and five minutes later he stuck his head through the door and gestured for me to come out. But I knew better than to go outside where somebody could wallop me on the head. I gestured at him to come down. He came on in and tucked a little roll of bills into my hand. “That’s a down payment,” he said. “There’ll be plenty more later if you behave yourself.”
“There better be,” I said.
“That’s pretty tough talk for a young fella,” he said.
“Keep it in mind,” I said. I handed him the parcel, and he went out of there. I followed him up to the top of the stairs of the dive and looked out. There was a motor car there, with the motor running. I couldn’t see who was in it. The man went to the car, got in, and the motor car drove away. I went off around the corner, unrolled the bills, and counted them. It was two hundred dollars. A few days ago two hundred dollars would have seemed unbelievable to me. It didn’t anymore, for now I was thinking about thousands. But two hundred would keep me going for a while, until they’d got the bonds sold.
I took a streetcar down to the south end of town, where there was cheap lodging—just a big room where you could get a bed for a dime a night. I slept until eight o’clock in the morning, when they put everybody out. First thing, I went to a second-hand clothes store and bought myself a pair of worn overalls and some work shoes, for I wanted to look like an ordinary working man, not like I had two hundred dollars tucked into my pocket. The next thing I did was go to a cheap restaurant and buy myself the biggest breakfast I ever ate in my life—three eggs, sausages, pancakes and syrup, a slice of ham, and two cups of coffee. If I was going crooked, I figured I ought to get some fun out of it whenever I could.
Once I got all that breakfast down, I took myself out shopping. I was bound and determined to get something for Lulu. But I wasn’t going to give her a ring with a stone—the kind the whores wore. I’d get a little watch to pin to her shirt, like Grandma’s. So I found a store that sold watches, bought one, and two days later, when I figured Pa might have quieted down and wouldn’t be on the prowl, I slipped back into the old neighborhood and grabbed Lulu when she came down the stoop to go to school. I was mighty glad to see her. I’d been gone from home for four days already. We’d never been apart that long. “Hey, Lulu.”
“Roger,” she shouted, and flung her arms around me.
“Shush, shush.” I took her hand and we raced around the corner and down a back alley where we weren’t likely to be spotted. She put her arms around my neck.
“Where have you been, Roger?”
I gave her a hug, and then unwrapped her from me. “Let go, I brought you something.”
“Roger, where’ve you been, when are you coming home? Ma’s so worried, she sits up all night waiting.”
“She shouldn’t worry. I’m okay.”
“Roger, Pa got arrested. They said he murdered somebody.”
“Arrested?” But I wasn’t too surprised, for we’d made an awful lot of noise and Pa wouldn’t have been able to clear off fast enough.
“He’s in jail. They found him with a body and blamed it on him. Pa wouldn’t murder anyone. You don’t believe that, do you, Roger?”
“No, of course not,” I said. “It must be a mistake. He’ll be home soon.”
“He’s going to get bail. Ma said he might be home tomorrow.”
“Who put up the bail?”
“I don’t know. Some friend of his or something. When are you coming home, Roger?”
“Not for a while, Lulu. Maybe sometime.”
“Aren’t you coming home now, Roger?”
“No, not now.” I wished I could take her away with me. But I couldn’t. She wouldn’t want to leave Ma, for one thing. “Look, I brought you something.”
“Aren’t you going to school anymore?” she said.
“No. I’ve got a job. It’s too far away for me to live at home.”
She looked puzzled. “Why couldn’t you get a job near here, Roger?”
“I just can’t.” She was making me feel like a louse.
“Why didn’t you tell Ma? She’s mighty worried.”
Poor Ma. It wasn’t her fault, really. She couldn’t help herself. “Tell her I’ll write her a letter.”
“Why do you have to write her a letter, Roger? Why can’t you just go up and tell her?”
Why couldn’t I? Would it hurt anything? It was bound to
make her feel better at least to know I was okay and would come around to visit when I could. “Maybe I will when I have a chance.”
“Why can’t you go up to see her now, Roger?”
Why couldn’t I? It’d make me feel better too. “All right, I will.” I reached into my pocket and took out the watch. It came in a little box with purple plush on the outside and some kind of shiny cloth inside. “Here.”
She took it, and rubbed her hand over the plush. “It’s nice, Roger. It feels like a pussy cat.”
“No, no, Lulu. There’s something inside.”
She opened the box. Her eyes went big and she sucked in a breath. “It’s for me, Roger?”
“Yes, I bought it for you.”
“I can’t believe it’s going to be mine,” she said. “How do you put it on, Roger? Put it on me.”
So I pinned it on her, and told her I’d see her soon, and sent her off to school. First thing I did was to go into the basement and collect the money I’d hidden there. Then I went upstairs, feeling strange.
Ma was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking her coffee. When she heard the sound of the door she jumped up, like it was something she was waiting for.
“Roger.” She grabbed my arm. “Where have you been? We’ve been frantic. Your father’s in jail.”
“I know. I just saw Lulu on the way to school. She told me.”
“Roger, what on earth is going on? It’s something awful, isn’t it? Everything is falling apart around me. I feel as if I were going mad. Your father won’t tell me anything. What on earth is happening?” She sat down at the kitchen table.
I didn’t sit down but stood by the kitchen table, looking at her. She looked bad. She looked like she’d been crying, and I could believe that she hadn’t slept much. But she didn’t look the way she did when she was drinking. “Ma, I’m going in with Russell Qualey.”
“Oh, no,” she cried. She put her hands up to her face and began to sob. “Not you, Roger. Not my baby. Not you. You were always such a wonderful boy, so intelligent, such a fine boy.”
I felt like crying myself. “I’m sorry, Ma. I just got into it some way.”
She took her hands off her face and looked at me. Her cheeks and eyes were wet. “But how?”
How had it happened? I wasn’t sure myself anymore. “I don’t know. It just worked out this way.”
She sucked in her breath a few times to get control of her crying. “Roger, I can’t bear it. You can’t do it to me. Think about Lulu.” She wiped her face with her sleeve.
“I guess it’s too late.”
She looked at me. “Is your father in on it? Is that what happened?”
“No, not really. Why do you think that?”
“Russell Qualey’s putting up bail. He’s going to get your father a lawyer.”
“What?” It was the strangest thing I’d ever heard. “Why’s he doing that? He and Pa were on the outs.”
She nodded. “Your father says it’s because he knows too much. Your father says they want him out so they can take another crack at him. I’m going crazy, Roger.”
So that was it. Russell and Pa would be gunning for each other now until one of them was killed. What about me? I knew enough to send Russell to the chair, because of that man who’d got killed on the first job. Would Russell be gunning for me someday, too?
“Ma, leave Pa. Take Lulu and go live with Grandpa and Grandma.”
She looked at me, and then away. “How can I do that? How can I leave your father when he’s in trouble?”
“Ma, Pa’s always going to be in trouble.”
“Roger, I beg you. Come home. Don’t get involved with Russell Qualey.”
Could I? Was it too late or not? “I don’t think I can, Ma.”
“Please. I’m begging you,” She stared at me.
I stood there, thinking. Maybe I could. But did I want to? “I don’t know if I can, Ma. Let me think about it.”
“Please. Think of Lulu.”
I didn’t say anything. She went on staring at me. Then she looked away. “Roger, this is absolutely exhausting me. You’ve no idea what I’ve been through. I’m completely unnerved.” She got up, went to the cupboard, opened it, and took out a whiskey bottle.
“Ma, I have to go now.”
“Please, Roger. Sit with me for a while.”
She took a tumbler out of the cupboard.
But I wasn’t going to sit with her. “I have to go.”
She poured some whiskey into the glass and took a swallow. “Roger, I wish you’d think about it.”
“I will, Ma. But now I got to go.” I got up. I wondered if I’d ever see her again.
“Roger—”
“I got to go.” I didn’t feel too good about leaving her sitting there like that. But I wasn’t going to stay there anymore. I headed on out of there, and down the stairs.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
James Lincoln Collier is the coauthor, with his brother, Christopher Collier, of My Brother Sam Is Dead, a Newbery Honor Book, and the Arabus Family Saga. He has written many other highly acclaimed books for young readers and adults.
Mr. Collier lives in New York City.
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