The Heavenly Fugitive

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Yes, I’ve read about what’s happening.” Phil hesitated and then said, “Do you know Tony Morino?”

  Instantly Novak’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I know him. What about him?”

  “Well, I’ve met him. As a matter of fact, I’ve been in his home.”

  Novak stared at him and shook his head. “How did you get in there?”

  He listened as Phil told him about the encounter he had had with the Morinos. He ended by saying, “I thought the girl was pretty spoiled at first, but she’s turned out to be quite nice. So is her mother.”

  “I’m sure they are. But their family’s built on wrong principles, and it can’t survive.”

  Phil shifted uncomfortably. “Is he really that bad a man, Lee?”

  “He’s evil. That’s all there is to it. We can’t let men like that run our cities and our countries. That’s the kind of man I’m out to stop. And, Phil, I hope one day you’ll join the fight.”

  “Well, maybe I can someday . . . if I can ever afford to go to law school. That’s what I’d really like to do.”

  Lee Novak said quietly, “We need good people in the law—both as lawyers and law-enforcement officers—to help bring justice to this land. I, for one, want to do something to make this a better world. It’s gone rotten, and it’s people like Big Tony who make the rottenness spread.”

  ****

  The day after Christmas Amelia had packed her things and was ready to go. She found Lola waiting for her and Phil carrying the things out to the car where the driver waited. Embracing her grandmother, she held her tightly, feeling the thinness of her frame. “I’ve had such a good time.”

  “I’m glad you could come, my dear, and I want you to come as often as you’d like. Here, I’ve got something for you.”

  Amelia stared at the envelope. “What is it?”

  “I know you’re short of money, and I wanted to help. Mark would have wanted me to do it.”

  “But, Grandmother, I’m planning to do something you won’t approve of.”

  “I approve of you, and whatever you do, you still need to eat. Come and see me. You can tell me anything.”

  Amelia kissed her grandmother and turned, leaving the house. She had been moved by her grandmother’s gift and even more by the trust that she knew she in no way deserved.

  When she’d gotten into the car, Phil climbed in beside her and shut the door. They rode silently for a time, and finally Phil said, “Well, was it as bad as you thought?”

  “I was so glad to see everybody, but I’m going to be a disappointment to them. You know what Grandmother did?” she whispered. “She gave me some money. She knows I’ll use it to try to get into show business, and she hates the idea, but she said she loved me.”

  Phil did not answer. He simply reached over and took her hand. She turned to face him, and he saw tears in her eyes.

  “I’ve got enough to live on for three months,” she said. “If I don’t get some kind of a break—”

  “What will you do?”

  “I’ll do what I’ve set out to do, Phil. I’ll never quit!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A Biblical Principle

  Amelia emerged from a small shop and looked up at the three balls hanging on the side of the building. The sign beneath them read Abe’s Pawnshop. She stopped dead still, staring at the icon for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders and, smiling wryly, turned and walked down the street.

  March in New York was an unpredictable month, caught in the stasis between winter and spring. February had been bitter cold, and the skies had dumped mountains of snow on the city, rendering it nearly helpless. April would no doubt bring lush grass, daisies, and robins. But here at the beginning of March, one never knew what each day would bring. A freezing blast might touch the cheeks of those making their way down Forty-second Street, while across town a mild, warming breeze might bring a moment’s relief from winter’s chill.

  Involuntarily Amelia reached up and touched her throat. She felt strangely naked, for the necklace that had hung there almost constantly since her sixteenth birthday was absent. The beautiful gold chain with a sapphire pendant now resided inside Abe’s Pawnshop. It had been the delight of her life when her parents had given it to her for her birthday, and it had wrenched her heart to march into the pawnshop and exchange it for a few bills. Amelia felt like a traitor as she picked up her pace and hurried along the street.

  The shops in this part of town were not first-class, but rather businesses serving the poorer inhabitants of the city. Pawnshops and used clothing and furniture stores alternated with liquor stores. Many of the buildings were closed, the dreams of their prior owners reduced to vacant spaces.

  Amelia had managed to put several blocks between herself and Abe’s Pawnshop, and as she came to an intersection, she turned and saw a poor woman leaning against a building. A child clung to her ragged skirts, and she held an infant in her arms. The woman’s face was pale and her clothes thin, as were those of the children. There was a stricken quality about her and a hungry look in the faces of the children. She seemed to have no purpose in life except to stand helplessly, her eyes fixed on those who passed by. It was not the first time Amelia had seen poverty, for plenty of that existed in the city. She had been approached many times by panhandlers and beggars, but she usually ignored them. Now she paused, waiting for an opening in the traffic. Yet she could not turn away from the woman, as she might have ordinarily.

  An impulse tugged at her to give the woman some money, but she well knew what was in her purse—her month’s rent plus twenty dollars extra to cover the bare necessities for two weeks. For some reason her attention was caught by a bird that perched on a sign reading Sing’s Laundry. He was ruffled by a blast of cold air and seemed rather tattered. He puffed his chest out, however, and began to sing as if he had not a care in the world. Amelia had no idea what kind of bird it was, but she could not help thinking of a Scripture passage she had heard her father preach on often: Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they? Dropping her eyes, she was gripped by a cynical spirit. Well, God, there’s your bird, and there’s your woman and her helpless babies. Are you going to come through or not?

  At that instant the woman’s eyes met hers, and for a moment Amelia thought the woman would approach her for money. But nothing like that happened. The woman simply stood there. She was not young and had probably never been particularly pretty. Want and sickness and hard times had whittled her down in spirit and appearance, so that even the clothes she wore were a flag proclaiming her great need.

  Unable to meet the woman’s glance, Amelia turned and dashed out through a narrow gap in the traffic. She heard the blast of horns and a man’s voice cursing her, but she paid no heed. Grateful to reach the other side of the street, she moved quickly away from the troubling scene and headed for the theater district. She glanced at her reflection in the plate-glass window of a clothing store and saw herself wearing a cloche hat, a pale blue woolen jacket, a pleated skirt, and a loose sweater with detachable collars and cuffs. Amelia had learned to achieve different looks with a small wardrobe by varying her accessories.

  As she leaned against the biting chill of the March wind, she thought of the heat of Africa and how she had disliked it, but now she would cherish such warmth even for a few seconds. She had a moment’s daydream of faces from that world—some of them dear, yet all of them now vague. She remembered standing once in the midst of the veldt, the blue sky stretching above her into the reaches of nothingness, the endless distances surrounding her, and she yearned for that. The crowded streets of New York, the hustle and bustle, the ceaseless voices that filled this world, at times hammered on her nerves. Knowing she would not go back, there were still some parts of her old life she could not abandon completely.

  Her pace slowed to a walk, and a thought suddenly invaded her mind. She was so startled she stopped, tur
ned, and looked back over her shoulder as if someone had called her name. No one had, of course, and she stood uncertainly as people passed her, throwing her irritated glances.

  The thought was very clear. She had a strong impulse to return to the woman and give her the twenty dollars Amelia would need for food. Almost with disgust she shook her head, then passed her hand over her forehead. It’s the kind of thing Daddy would do, or Uncle Barney, and that’s all it is. I just feel sorry for that woman, but I can’t give her my food money. I’d starve to death.

  Even as she stood irresolutely between her two choices, a Scripture verse came to mind that she had heard so often from her parents: Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over. . . . And she also remembered a sermon her father had preached years ago. She could not recall the subject nor the location, but she remembered as clearly as if it were carved in marble the verse her father had repeated several times from the book of Proverbs: He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord; and that which he hath given will he pay him again. Amelia had long been an involuntary student of the Bible. How could she be anything else being brought up in the home of missionaries? Most of her friends had been the children of ministers, and the Bible had been a primary textbook in her education. She had a good memory—not as good as her brother’s, but the verses she had soaked up in her childhood still remained alive in her. Now this verse had risen to her mind, and the more she tried to shake it off, the more she found she could not. She started to hurry away but had taken no more than a dozen steps when the impulse grew even more importunate.

  “I’m not even a real believer. It can’t be God,” she muttered.

  The woman grew ever larger in her imagination, and Amelia could no longer ignore the image. It was like a magnet drawing her back, and finally, half angrily, she whirled and said, “All right, I’ll go back. She’s probably not there anymore. It’s just my crazy thinking and hearing too many sermons.”

  She retraced her steps, half hoping to find the woman gone and thus proving that it was not God speaking at all, but when she was a block away she saw the woman still standing there. Amelia considered turning and walking away, but she could not do it. The urge to help the woman was so strong she could not dismiss it. And somehow a feeling of dread held her—that perhaps one day she would be miserable and hungry and someone would turn away from her. Crossing the street, she pulled the twenty-dollar bill from her purse and extended it to the woman.

  The woman stared at her in disbelief. She reached out a trembling hand and took the bill, clutching the infant tighter to her breast. The child at her side looked up at Amelia with big eyes, saying nothing.

  “Why are you giving this to me?” the woman asked.

  The words came out of Amelia’s mouth before she could think. “God told me to do it.”

  Tears formed in the poor woman’s eyes as she clasped the bill. “Thank you,” she whispered. “May God repay you a thousandfold.”

  Amelia turned away then, touched by the woman’s gratitude. She made her way back across the street and had not gone a block when she began to berate herself. That’s what you get for being a preacher’s kid! Now what are you going to eat? You’ve been a fool. That’s what you’ve been!

  ****

  Keeping a smile on one’s face was part of the secret of success in the entertainment business. Amelia had learned that quickly. She was dressed well enough, and that was another part of the challenge. But being confident was the most important. People who produced Broadway shows did not want to hire failures. Amelia had learned to enter each interview with a smile on her lips and her eyes wide open as if she had not a care in the world.

  As she exited from the offices of talent agent Alan Mosgrove, she allowed the smile to slip from her face, however. There was no one to see her now except strangers passing by on the street, and they could not help her. The agent said they weren’t hiring people to sing or be on the stage right now. It was that simple. Mosgrove had been nice enough, nicer than most of the agents she’d seen. The diminutive man had listened to her sing one song, but at the end of the audition he’d said almost with pity, “Leave me your name and phone number. I don’t have an opening right now, but who knows what will happen.”

  Amelia had smiled brightly as if he had just announced she had won a million dollars and left him one of her newly printed business cards. But now as she rejoined those who hurried down the streets on their ceaseless errands, the smile was nowhere to be seen, and her shoulders slumped slightly. Slowly she walked along. She had one more stop to make, but it seemed almost hopeless to her now. She was hungry and she had no money left. A cynical smirk twisted her lips. Go hungry if you’re going to be a fool! You deserve it!

  Five minutes later she heard someone call her name, and turning, she saw Dom Costello hurrying to catch up with her. The big man was wearing a brown woolen overcoat, open at the neck, with a thick furry collar. A derby was perched on his head, and his shoes were so highly polished they gleamed in the noon sunlight. He stopped in front of her, his wide lips turning up in a smile. His battered face bore many scars, but his light gray eyes were friendly. “What are you doing in this part of town?”

  “Nothing much. What about you, Dom? Do you have to break somebody’s knees because they didn’t pay off a loan?”

  Costello’s eyes almost disappeared in the folds of his face as he smiled. His one gold tooth glistened as he grinned at her. “I’m past all that. I’ll admit I started out as a knee breaker, but I’m more refined now.” Costello’s eyes searched her face with interest. He had been taken with her audacity the night she’d pulled the pistol on him. He enjoyed telling the story now. He took in her smooth skin and the elegant clothes but could see in her eyes that Amelia Winslow was not the happiest woman in the world. Impulsively he offered, “Let’s you and me go get a bite to eat. It’s about lunchtime.”

  Amelia could not help laughing at him—a most attractive laugh, he thought—and shaking her head in disbelief. “You’ve got some nerve, Dom. You almost kill my brother and then want me to eat with you?”

  Dom Costello was not a man of many sentiments, but now he assumed an almost meek stance, his hat off before her, and said, “You know, Miss Winslow, I’m a pretty tough nut. Not much of a conscience in me, I don’t guess, but I’ve been thinkin’ about your brother ever since the day I put him down. I don’t know why.” He laughed shortly. “Maybe I’m afraid you’ll change your mind and come at me with that rod you’re packin’ in your purse. C’mon,” he said. “There’s Louie’s place across the street. It’s a nice café. I can tell you how I turned to a life of crime while you eat.”

  “All right, Dom,” Amelia said, still shaking her head, this time in disbelief that she was actually going with the man.

  She accompanied him into Louie’s, where he greeted the owner like an old friend. “Hey, Louie, give us the best you got. This is Miss Winslow. She’s a right one.”

  Louie, a heavyset Italian with a broad smile, bobbed up and down. “I got justa the thing. Right this way, Mr. Costello.”

  Amelia took her seat at the table, which was covered with a red-and-white-checkered cloth, and looked around. The place was very clean, and the aroma of Italian cooking touched off acute hunger pangs. “Order something good, big guy.”

  Dom took over capably, and soon Louie left with the order. He returned with two cups of coffee, and as soon as Dom had dumped in four heaping spoonfuls of sugar and stirred it, he tested it and smiled. “I like a little coffee with my sugar.”

  Amelia, who took hers black, smiled but said nothing. The warmth of the café was almost intoxicating, and she found her stomach rumbling at the enticing smells of garlic and oregano.

  “So how’s the kid doin’?”

  “He’s doing fine, Dom. He’s so smart! I can’t believe we’re related to each other.” Amelia loved to talk about her brother, and she elaborated on Phil’s accomplishments and how
he’d never made anything but top grades all the way through school. “Now at that college,” she said, “they’re testing him like he’s a freak or something. They throw the hardest things they’ve got at him, and he still comes out with the top grades every time. He’s going to finish in two years instead of four. I’m so proud of him.”

  Dom encouraged her to talk, and finally, when a heaping plateful of spaghetti was set before each of them and a basket of wonderful-smelling garlic bread was set in the middle of the table, he said, “I guess we’d better dig in. Looks great, Louie.”

  “The very best in the house, Mr. Costello. I’ll bring you a bottle of our best wine to go with it.”

  As Louie turned to leave, Dom hesitated. “I guess being the preacher’s daughter, you say grace, huh?”

  “I should, but I’m the black sheep of the family, Dominic. I haven’t got it in me anymore.”

  “That’s too bad,” Dom said. He began winding the spaghetti with a fork and spoon and eating it expertly, all the while watching Amelia. She ate voraciously, and he knew she was hungry.

  To Amelia the spaghetti was like manna from heaven, and the freshly baked Italian bread the best she had ever tasted. She savored the red wine, knowing her parents wouldn’t approve, but she enjoyed it anyway.

  “That was so good, Dom,” she said, sitting back.

  “You were pretty hungry, kid.”

  “Yes, I was. Not very ladylike, I’m afraid.”

  “What’s happening with you?”

  “Nothing is happening with me.”

  A touch of defensiveness in her voice alerted Dom, however, and he said, “Having it tough? The city’s that way. People come here with big hopes and dreams, and they get shot down mighty fast—down in flames sometimes.” He studied her reaction.

  “I haven’t had much luck,” Amelia admitted.

  “Tell me about it. I’ve eaten too much to move for a while.”

  And then Amelia found herself talking to Dom in a way she would never have thought possible. She had not quite blotted out of her mind the sight of Dom beating her brother so brutally, but now in the warmth of the café and filled with good food, she was off her guard. She sat there describing her struggles, how she had lost her roommate and could not find another one, and even how she had hocked her necklace and given all of her food money to a poor woman on the street.