"Okay, Tyler. Tell me what's got you so upset?"
Tyler sniffled and spoke in a halting voice between sobs. "I hate my uncle. All he wants is the money Grandpa left me. He's been cussing me since the minute he picked me up from Tolley House. He shoves me around and calls me names. Last night, I told him if he hated me so much, I could tell Miss Martin to find me another home. He told me I wasn't talking to anybody about him, and then he whipped me with his belt."
"He shouldn't have hit you with a belt, Tyler."
"Well, he did. He went crazy and whipped me all over. I didn't think he was ever going to stop. It was like he was trying to kill me."
I was pissed. I told Tyler to stay there while I went in the store and confronted his uncle. My first thought was to knock him on his sorry ass. As I started to stand, Tyler pulled me back.
"No, River. You'll make it worse, and you'll get in trouble too."
"Well, we have to do something. What he did is child abuse, and it's against the law. Tell you what, Tyler. Why don't I get Papa to talk to Miss Martin for you?"
"No! My uncle will know I told. He said he would whip the skin off me if I said anything bad about him."
"Well, then what are you going to do?"
"I'm thinking of running."
"And where would you go with no money and no place to live?"
"I don't know. I just know I can't keep living with him. We need to hurry. I don't want him to see me talking to anyone when he comes out of the store."
"Okay, Tyler. You're coming to the football camp, aren't you?"
"After I told him that Papa paid camp fees for foster kids, my uncle said it was fine with him to get rid of me for a while, but he won't take me there. He said if I want to go, I got to get a ride."
"Tyler, I'll come get you and take you out there. Does your uncle know when the camp starts and how long it is?"
"Not really."
"Why don't I come get you a few days early then? Like tonight. I might have a reason to come to town anyway, but if not, I'll still pick you up."
"Thanks, River. That'll give me time to get my stuff together."
"You can bunk in my room for the weekend and then join the other campers in the barn when they come." I noticed the shape of Tyler's prepaid phone in his jeans pocket. All the boys in Tolley House had one for emergencies, and the minutes were always at a minimum. "If you still have some minutes on your phone, I'll call you when I'm coming."
"I still have minutes, and thanks again. I didn't think you cared."
"Tyler, I can be a jerk, but it has nothing to do with you. You're my buddy, okay?"
Tyler nodded his head. "Okay."
"I promise that I won't let your uncle keep hurting you, but I have to tell Papa. He saw that you were upset, and he'll want to know what's going on. He'll know what to do, and he won't make it worse. Trust me."
***
I was helping Papa prepare dinner when Jean Simmons called at a little past five o'clock to end my agonizing wait. Our conversation was brief since she was on duty and more than a little paranoid that someone might overhear her giving out the former security guard's personal information. She had intended to give me a phone number and an address, but his file noted that the man didn't have his own phone. The landlord of his apartment building would relay a message to him, but only in the case of an emergency. Jean told me that Chapman lived in unit 6B of Franklin Apartments on Railroad Street in Harper Springs.
Papa heard enough from my end of the conversation to know that I had Chapman's address, and since I repeated the address to Jean, Papa knew where Chapman lived. He told me something that everyone in Harper Springs knew, and that was that Railroad Street was the center of the worst area of town. Good parents from other parts of town would never allow their kids to hang out on Railroad Street even in daylight hours. I was fortunate that it was summer, and the light would not begin to fade until after eight o'clock that night. I planned to leave right after dinner, which would put me on Railroad Street no later than seven. Papa reminded me that I would have his company.
"River, you know I'm going with you, right?"
I grinned. "Of course."
***
Railroad Street was the main drag through what had been a nearly self-sufficient mill community before I was born. Papa told me that at one time, the street was lined with the same kinds of stores and shops, as there were on Main Street in downtown Harper Springs. The mill and a shirt manufacturing plant had provided plenty of work for all the people in the area, and local businesses thrived until both the mill and the shirt plant closed. The railroad tracks still ran parallel to the street, but they no longer cut over near the yard of the old mill. The building stood condemned with large signs warning people away from its broken windows, tumbling bricks, and weak supports.
As Papa's truck rolled down Railroad Street, I saw that there were more businesses closed and boarded than there were operating, and there were more people, mostly young and black, hanging out in small groups on the sidewalks than there were patronizing the few businesses that were open. The only place I saw much customer traffic was at a beer joint, which was nowhere near nice enough to call a bar. When we reached Franklin Apartments, it was hard for me to believe that people lived in the old three-story building. I hoped for the tenants that it was much nicer on the inside because when a state kid turns his nose up at a place, it's bad.
People stared at Papa and me as if we were trespassers when we rode by them on the street. After we parked, the natives, some black and some Latino, spied on us even more suspiciously as we walked up the front steps of the apartment building. Papa told me that the members of the community knew everyone who belonged there, and that the two of us were obviously outsiders, and outsiders usually meant trouble. The locals were probably trying to decide if Papa and I were bill collectors, undercover cops, or representatives of the Atlanta drug kings, who often sent enforcers to Railroad Street to resolve problems with the local dealers.
Papa and I found apartment 6B. I knocked and waited in the hall for a response that wasn't coming. I was disappointed, but I decided that I would keep trying until I caught the former security guard at home one day. We were turning to leave when we saw a tall, middle-aged black man coming down the hall towards us.
"I'm the landlord. Can I help you guys?" His voice was deep and loud. I could have heard him from the street.
Papa spoke up, his voice as loud as the landlord's. "Yes, maybe you can. I'm Ray Long and this River Blue. Eddie Chapman knows someone that I need to speak with, and I was hoping he could help me out with a phone number, but I guess he's not here. Would you have any idea where I might find him?"
The landlord stared at Papa a moment. "I'm Marvin and I might know something, but I'm really not supposed to tell things like that, unless I have a good reason."
Papa reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill. Showing the money to Marvin, he said, "Is this enough reason? I'll add another one to it if I really believe what you tell me."
Marvin took the fifty. When he spoke, he sounded like a more educated man than I expected to find in that building. "Chapman lost his job at the hospital back in January. He looked for two months and couldn't find work here. When he moved out in March, he said he was going to live with his cousin on the Outer Banks. His cousin said with the tourist season starting soon that he could give him plenty of work."
"Did he say what town or whether it's the upper or lower part of the Banks?" Papa held out the other fifty.
"No, but he did say that his cousin owns a couple of shops on the beach and was part owner in a restaurant. Chapman was going to work in one of those places. That's all I know." Marvin slid the fifty from Papa's fingers.
"Thanks, Marvin. If there's anything else that you think of that could help me locate Chapman, give me a call and I'll be grateful." Papa gave Marvin one of his Deer Lake Farm business cards with the horse head silhouette in the background.
When Papa and I turned to leave
, Marvin addressed me. "I watched you play once, young man. You were damned good. It's a shame life gave you the shaft."
"Yeah, well, shit happens. I'm over it," I lied.
In Papa's truck, I thought about the information Marvin gave us, and a familiar shroud of depression settled over me. Eddie Chapman had moved to the Outer Banks of North Carolina to work for his cousin who owned a couple of shops and part of a restaurant. I had no name for Chapman's cousin or for the businesses. I had no picture of either man. How would I even begin a search with that little information? When I considered what I knew about the Outer Banks, it did nothing to improve my mood.
I had been there once during the summer after my junior year when Papa took Ant and me on our first real vacation. Papa wanted to expand our knowledge of American history while we were there, so we spent half of our time learning the historical significance of the chain of barrier islands that make up the Outer Banks. The number of permanent residents made the area two of the least populated counties in North Carolina, but a brochure I read boasted of four and a half million visitors just in the month of June the year before I was there. In Dare County where the normal population was around 34,000, the seasonal daytime population rose to around 220,000.
The Outer Banks was one hundred thirty miles of coastline, and the place was hopping with business in the summer. As far as the stores, shops, and restaurants, I remembered seeing too many of them to count on the same road where our hotel was located. I recalled the names of the towns we passed. There was Duck, Southern Shores, Kitty Hawk, Kill Devil Hills, Nags Head, and Manteo. Eddie Chapman could be living in any one of those towns, or he could be driving from some inland town over the bridge to his place of work on the Banks.
"You okay?" Papa asked.
"Sure." It was a silly question and a sarcastic answer.
"I'm sorry, River," said Papa. "Let's give it a day or so for our heads to clear and see if we can think of some other way to attack this thing."
"Okay. Sounds good." It was a good suggestion with my current mood. I didn't want to give up the search for my mother, but part of me believed that it just wasn't meant to be and that I should get on with the business of making the best out of my new life.
"Are you ready to pick up Tyler?"
"Yes, sir. I'll call him."
Tyler answered on the first ring, and gave me the street address that I repeated for Papa to hear. Tyler said he would be waiting at the end of the driveway. Five minutes later, Papa brought his truck to a stop on the street in front of the small rental house where Tyler was living with his uncle. There were two old cars parked in the driveway. Papa cut his engine and stepped out of his truck just as Tyler slung his duffel and sleeping bag into the truck bed.
"Hi, Tyler. How are you?" Papa asked.
"I'm okay. Thanks for letting me stay with you early."
"Are you sure you have permission?"
"Yes, sir. My uncle said he didn't care how long I was there."
"Okay, good enough. Slide in the seat behind River. I want to speak to your uncle."
"Why?" Tyler asked. "He's been drinking and stuff. Can't we just go? Please?"
Papa did his best to assure Tyler that there would be no trouble. With a stronger nudge, Tyler crawled into the seat behind me, and Papa walked to the front of the small, white rental house. It was growing dark, and when the door opened and spilled light onto the porch, I could see Tyler's uncle in the doorway. The man, who was wearing only a wife beater and boxers, clutched a beer can in his hand. He and Papa were speaking, but I couldn't understand their words. Papa was not invited inside, or he chose not to accept.
"I hate this," said Tyler. "I don't want them to argue. My uncle might make me stay here."
"Don't worry, Tyler," I said. "I told Papa your problem, so he knows to be cool."
Tyler muttered, "I just want to get out of here."
In a few minutes, Papa returned to the truck. When he was in his seat, he fastened his belt, turned towards Tyler and me, and said, "Interesting fellow. You boys ready to go?"
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
"So you're giving up?" Tyler asked. He sat next to me with his back against the headboard of my bed. I rested on my side with a pillow between my legs, hoping my back pain would ease.
"What am I supposed to do, Tyler? Go hunting all over the Outer Banks for a man I wouldn't know if he was standing three feet in front of me?" I was wondering if I should have updated Tyler about all that had happened since I found the money in my bank account.
Tyler shook his blond hair back out of his face and rolled his blues. "Well, why don't you get a picture? If that woman at the hospital gave you his address from his file then that means she could get more. When my grandpa was in the hospital, the employees wore photo ID badges. They had to have a picture to put on the nametag, and I bet they kept a copy in his file."
I didn't know why Tyler surprised me. I should have been used to the fact that Tyler was much smarter than I was at thirteen years old, and I suspected that the kid was smarter than I was at my current age of eighteen. Why had I not already thought of asking Jean Simmons to get a picture of Chapman?
"Okay, Tyler, I admit that's a good idea, but I still can't see me wandering all over the Banks with a picture that may not look that much like him. You know how some of those are. My driver's license picture doesn't look like me now. I need the picture, but I also need something that narrows the search more."
I hated the patronizing look Tyler gave me when he appeared to choose his words carefully to make sure they were simple enough for me to grasp.
"River, don't you think there might be more information in the guy's file? You can laugh about the crime shows I watch, but the cops are always digging up information about people from places like their employment file. I bet, if you had a copy of his file, you would see a next of kin listed and an emergency contact. If he had life insurance, he listed a beneficiary with the name, address, and phone number. So maybe this cousin from the Outer Banks is listed, but even if it's another family member, I bet they would know how to reach the same cousin. This Chapman dude would have names of places he worked before, and anyone who worked with him might know something that would help you. Anyway, you got all kinds of possibilities. Just get your nurse friend to copy the file for you."
"Tyler, hand me my phone off the nightstand."
"What are you doing?" Tyler asked as he gave me my phone.
"What the hell do you think? I'm calling my nurse friend. It's almost ten when her shift ends, so it's not like I'll wake her up."
The expression on Tyler's face was the definition of smug.
***
The old ball fields of Harper Park were deserted at eight o'clock Sunday morning, exactly the way Jean Simmons and I thought they would be. I arrived first, and as I waited on the last bench on the wooded trail just before it joined the baseball field, I worried that Jean's nerves might get the best of her. I knew she might be a no-show because neither Jean nor Jan was comfortable with my request for a copy of Chapman's entire file. They only agreed after I told Jean that I would ask Mr. Edwards for the information if that's the only choice I had. I told Jean that the man would probably not give up the file unless I threatened him with what I knew, which might involve both sisters. Jean was upset and I didn't blame her. However, I wanted the information in that file more than I wanted to be her friend.
If I had not been expecting her, I might not have recognized Jean dressed in a nylon hoody that partially covered her face and looked out of place on a summer morning. With her head down, but turning side to side as if she were watching for spies hidden off the trail, she was obviously nervous. Nervous and angry. As she approached me, everything about her mannerisms told me that she wished she had never tried to help me. I think it would be accurate to say that she wished she had never met me.
Jean slowed down when she was even with the bench, and dropped a green, zippered laundry bag at my feet. I began to thank her and to a
pologize for everything, but she cut me off before the second word came out of my mouth.
"Don't. I don't want to hear anything more from you now or ever," she hissed. "Just leave us alone." She glanced around again and quickly disappeared down the trail that would circle back to where she started.
I was back in my room in time to see Tyler stretch, yawn, and throw the covers off him. Dressed only in his boxers, Tyler mumbled "morning" and stumbled zombie-like from my room on his way to use the bathroom that Manny and I shared. After rooming with Tyler at Tolley House, I learned that the younger boy was not a morning person no matter how much sleep he got the previous night.
I had the papers from Eddie Chapman's file spread out on my bed by the time Tyler came back from the bathroom and sat down next to me. Uninvited, he leaned in closely to peruse the documents, which made me remember when the boy was still in awe of rooming with his sports hero. When we first became roommates, Tyler wouldn't have invaded my space, but after living with me for a while, he became as comfortable with his snooping as a little brother might be. I nudged him over and glared at him.
"What?" Tyler innocently held both hands up. "I thought you might want a second opinion."
"You think I can't read?"
"I didn't say that, River." He paused a moment before adding, "However, there was this article I read about jocks and their average reading grade level. It was very disturbing, and naturally, I did think about you."
Tyler fought to keep a straight face while I spoke. "Little man, remember that you had to climb stairs to get to my room. You should look out the window and see how far it is to the ground. Then you should weigh your chances of having broken bones and internal injuries if you were to suddenly find your skinny little ass flying out of that window."
"Okay, okay. I got it. Dang, you're tense. I can tell when you're hurting because you hunch your shoulders. You just relax and study the file. Don't pay attention to me."
I examined the contents of Eddie Chapman's file, which was not very thick. There was a decent picture of Chapman, who was a white man, thirty-eight years old. He had short brown hair behind a receding hairline, brown eyes, and dark skin with old acne pits. He was five feet ten inches tall and weighed two hundred ten pounds. The photo was just a head and shoulders shot, but it left me with the impression that Chapman's weight was not all muscle.
My Name Is River Blue Page 37
