Whistling in the Dark

by Tamara Allen

  When the nurse went to find a doctor, Sutton got out of bed. It was a slow and miserable process just to get to his feet, but once he was standing, he thought he might be all right. As he moved past the row of beds, none of the other patients seemed to notice. Most slept, but one sat staring into the distance. Soldiers, men his age still recuperating from their injuries. It was a stark reminder of where he'd been thirteen months ago. He had been one of them, then--an honorable man who'd done the best he could. Since then, he had proved he was not so honorable or decent. What word had the judge used? Degenerate. It was as ugly as anything else he'd been called, and as true.

  He found his clothes and a linen closet where he could dress. It was a wonder Kent and the others hadn't stolen his suit and overcoat. Perhaps they'd meant to and someone had come upon them and prevented it. As Sutton worked to button his coat with hands that wouldn't stop shaking, he tried to think what he would tell Ida and Esther. Ida would be furious and quite within her rights to fire him. What made him feel worse was that Esther wouldn't be furious, just disappointed. She'd been so kind and he had repaid that by vanishing on her. Though he'd surely lost his job, he had to apologize to Esther. He didn't know what he could say, but he owed her that.

  When visitors occupied the elderly nun at the lobby desk, he slipped out into the cold evening. He hadn't a dime in his pocket and his head throbbed, but he was fortunate Kent had done no worse to him. He wondered if the three of them had been apprehended or were still on the loose, luring others like him into their trap.

  Other degenerates.

  No wonder everyone regarded him with doubt and disapproval--maybe even revulsion. His brother, his father, the boys at school, the police--he could imagine what they thought when they looked at him. It had been easier once to pretend he was respectable. With David, there had been friendship first, then something more--something tender and sweet. And it had been much the same with Paul for the two weeks they'd fought side by side, until they'd both been hurt and sent home. While he had never been able to explain those feelings to anyone, he hadn't believed they were something to be ashamed of. At least, he hadn't wanted to believe it.

  He knew what he'd hoped to find at the party. He couldn't deny he longed for more than just a new friendship to fill his spare time and ease his loneliness. He'd wanted someone to catch his eye, make his blood race, steal his heart. Someone who would come to want him around all the time and miss him when he was away. Someone who would curl up with him so he wouldn't wake in the small hours and wonder if he were the only soul left in the world.

  But wandering off with Kent--and the consequences of that decision--took the bloom off those romantic notions and left him feeling base and contemptible.

  He stumbled into a doorway sheltered from the wind and leaned against the wall, needing its support. If he was going to pass out, better to do it someplace besides the middle of the sidewalk. He could still hardly grasp that in one stupid moment, he'd wrecked everything. He could have gone somewhere besides a hotel bar and he might have never tangled with Kent. If Ida wouldn't take him back, where could he go? Not home--not now. They'd see his bruises and they'd know how he came by them. He'd put his family through enough shame.

  Where did one go when even New York wasn't far enough away? He could hop a tramp steamer bound for some remote spot. That life sounded lonely, too. He supposed he could get used to anything, even a hard life aboard a ship thousands of miles from the familiar. But it disheartened him to even consider it.

  The clouds had gone black and he could feel the occasional stinging cold droplet on his face. Not wanting to be caught in a deluge, he pushed himself to put one foot in front of the other, staying near the buildings so he could hang on to something each time he had to stop to catch his breath. He didn't know the time, but with just a couple of blocks to go, he thought he could make it to the restaurant before closing. Then it occurred to him that Ida could have closed early. She sometimes did when a storm threatened.

  Dreading the thought of being stuck outdoors all night in bad weather, Sutton forced himself to get moving again. The wind numbed his face as he trudged along a nearly deserted sidewalk.

  Despite the rain, he stayed on the corner as he tried to put together an explanation for his absence. He'd gotten a glimpse of his battered face in a mirror in the window of Rosen's furniture shop. Ida and Esther would know he'd been in some sort of fight. He could tell them he'd been robbed and hoped they discerned no more than that. If his face was red with shame, maybe they would attribute it to the bruises.

  With the lies and half-truths on his tongue, it took everything in him to go inside. The restaurant was toasty warm, as always at the end of the day, and humming with the chatter of diners. He wanted to just stand by the door and absorb the warmth and the host of smells awakening hunger despite the nausea that came and went. A chair at an unoccupied table nearby looked inviting, but as he considered it, Dan came through the cellar door, lugging a pail of apples. It should have occurred to him that Ida might quickly replace him. Of course she needed someone and Dan was a smart boy, big for his age, and probably reliable. Certainly more so than her former errand boy.

  "Sutton?" Esther moved past him with a tray in hand and placed it on a table before turning back. "Sutton, where in the world--" Her eyes widened at the sight of his face. "What happened? Were you robbed?"

  He just nodded. The lies wouldn't come and the truth couldn't. "I'm all right. Only bruised--"

  "Heavens. Why didn't you let us know? It's been days and Ida figured you'd gone for good."

  "She's hired Danny?"

  Guilt shadowed the sympathy in her face. "I told her we ought to find out where you'd gone, because I didn't think you'd leave your things. You might not have wanted to take the work clothes, but your suitcase--" She shook her head. "I had a mind to send a message to your folks, but I didn't have the money." She reached out to touch his cheek. "I'm so sorry. God, Sutton, what they did to you."

  He forced his voice to stay steady. "I hope you will forgive me for disappearing. I would hate to lose your friendship, Esther. You've been so kind."

  Her face lit with affection. "You poor thing. Sit and I'll bring you a cup of coffee. We can talk later, okay?" She patted his arm and pushed him toward the table before she went.

  But he couldn't sit. If Ida saw him, he didn't suppose she would be as generous as Esther. And there was no use in making Dan feel bad about winning his job. It would be better to go.

  Remembering his suitcase, he knew Esther might feel obliged to contact his parents about it and that wasn't a good idea. He would have to take it with him. One leaden step at a time he made it upstairs, to find the suitcase outside his door. The sinking regret in his stomach was worse than the nausea. He couldn't go home. He didn't want to think about the shame and public embarrassment his parents had dealt with since his expulsion. They would have been spared that if he had just died in the war, instead of returning with his arm entombed in plaster from collarbone to fingertip, his future forever changed. His father would have employed him, but he'd chosen to go back to school--and that hadn't lasted long.

  Now there was no going back. There was no going anywhere because there was no place that would welcome him, no haven where the eventual questions wouldn't leave him exposed and outcast.

  He was so tired--too tired to even curse his own stupidity.

  Someone was coming up the stairs--Ida, to take her opportunity to rail at him. She might as well have the satisfaction of turning him out. He picked up his suitcase and, briefly closing his eyes when the effort made his head spin, he turned, to find himself face to face with the last person in the world he cared to see.

  "Where have you been?" Jack was cheerful as ever. "We thought you'd caught the train for--oh, Jesus." Sutton ducked his head too late to hide his face. Jack touched his chin gently, then let loose a low whistle. "I hope the other guy looks worse."

  "Other guys." Sutton coughed, trying to rid his voice of th
e hoarse edge. "I believe they came through all right. A few dollars ahead, in fact."

  Jack grimaced in sympathy. "Welcome to New York. Guess we should've warned you--"

  "It's no one's fault but mine." Which only made him feel worse. "Anyway, I'm glad Dan's got the job. He'll be able to buy his own radio parts."

  A corner of Jack's mouth lifted. "A good thing, since I've got nothing left to trade."

  "I'd give you my suitcase but it's all I have left, myself."

  "Yeah, hang on to it. Always good to have something to hock. So--" A note of concern superseded the humor in Jack's voice. "You're leaving?"

  "Yes--" Sutton laid a steadying hand on the bannister. "Tell Esther good-bye for me, would you? She's busy and I didn't get to say a proper farewell. So if you would."

  "Sure. You don't want to wait around? Have some supper? You look like you could use a bite to eat."

  "I'm all right. Thank you, Jack. I'm sorry..." He wasn't sure what he was sorry about, in Jack's case. He hadn't really thought they might be friends. "Well, I'm sorry to have to go so suddenly."

  He held out a hand and Jack took it, all the while watching him with something inexplicably like regret. "So long. Guess I'll see you around."

  "Yes, well, probably not." He cleared his throat, but said nothing else. He didn't know how he could feel so poorly and still be on his feet. Even his thoughts seemed to shift and fade before he could make sense of them. Once he stepped away from the shelter of his room under the stairs, away from the familiar street corner--his corner of a vast, cold city--he would keep walking, into the dark, until it swallowed him up. He would find a place where he could curl up and drift to sleep as easily as taking a breath and letting it out.

  He started to turn away and a hand settled in the crook of his arm.

  "You going back to Topeka?"

  "No, I don't think so." He tried to keep moving, but Jack held on.

  "You have any money?"

  "I'll be fine--"

  "It's nine-thirty, Sutton. And pouring down rain, and I'm guessing you don't have a nickel for a cup of coffee. Where the hell are you going?"

  The question confused him, as did Jack's concern. "I'll find something. I'll be all right."

  "Something?" Jack shook his head. "The water's cold as hell this time of year."

  "It won't bother me long." The words dropped from his mouth without emotion. He wondered if he had the strength left to walk away. Jack's hand on his arm felt like the only thing holding him upright.

  "Better wait until morning." Though Jack teased, his grip was resolute. "More likely to be someone around who's willing to fish you out. Harry's always telling me to wait till I'm well rested before I do anything especially stupid. It takes more energy than you'd think."

  "Sometimes you can think too much. Just let me go. You don't owe me anything."

  "I owe everyone," Jack said with a laugh. "Anyway, what about that ten cents?"

  That damned ten cents. From somewhere deep down, where Sutton had thought no feeling was left, a laugh welled, bone-weary and rough. It crumbled what remained of his composure, and his eyes burned. As he sucked in a breath and tried to hold himself together, Jack rambled on.

  "I always square my debts. One way or another." He dug a crumpled kerchief from one pocket and tucked it into Sutton's hand like a spy passing documents. "Hey, you know what, I've got a place you can bunk a while--"

  "No. I can't pay you for rent or food--"

  "You'll find another job. Anyway, you'd be doing me as good a turn. My place is too big for one. It's like wandering around a damned tomb. I've been thinking about finding a roommate. And just by coincidence, here you are, looking for a room."

  Jack was willing to help him--Jack, who barely seemed capable of looking out for himself. Sutton didn't know what to make of it. He couldn't guess Jack's reasons and Jack didn't give him the chance to mull it over. "The tough job now is getting you out before Ida finds you and goes hunting up her frying pan. You know, if we'd sent her after old Fritz, the war would've been over in a week."

  Chattering on, Jack led him downstairs to the side door and stopped there to instruct him to pull up his collar. With a hand around Sutton's wrist, Jack plunged first into the cold and dark, guiding the way across the alley to a door that opened into a grimy flight of stairs going into pitch blackness. "One floor up," Jack said, studying him in the light of the bare bulb directly overhead. "You all right?"

  "Give me a minute." Sutton leaned against the wall. Just drawing a breath made his head throb anew. "One flight, you said?"

  Jack's brows knit. "Aw, hell. You were in the hospital, weren't you? You walked back here? From St. Elizabeth's?" Jack took his suitcase and put an arm around him, starting him up the stairs. Every few steps they stopped to rest and by the time they were near the top, Sutton leaned on him out of sheer necessity. Jack didn't seem to mind. "Saturday, right? When we went out. You were upstairs. I would've asked you along but I didn't think you'd want to go. You play pool?"

  "No. Well, billiards." Sutton let out a breath of relief as they came into a hallway and stopped in front of the first door.

  "Yeah, I figured." Jack unlocked the door and switched on a standing lamp. The room, with its older furnishings, would have been as respectable as any Sutton had seen if it were anything close to tidy.

  "I take it you don't care for housekeeping," he said, breathing a tired laugh.

  Jack set down the suitcase. "I said it was big. Never said it was clean." He waved a hand toward a claw-footed sofa half-buried under magazines and a couple of old quilts. "Make yourself at home. Want something to drink?"

  "Please." Sutton took off his coat and draped it over his suitcase. Jack had gone into the kitchen so he moved to the sofa and sank against a cushion to wait for his drink.

  The room was chilly but he didn't mind it. He was glad to be sitting, surrounded by a quiet broken only by distant street sounds and the occasional footfall on the floor above. It seemed unreal that he was safe again, and sheltered, instead of walking the dark streets to God knew where. If Jack suspected the true reason behind his disappearance, he showed no sign of it. He was being so generous, Sutton felt guilty for not divulging the whole truth. Jack might not be bothered by it--but Sutton couldn't face taking the risk just yet.

  That worry yielded to a more immediate concern brought on by crushing weariness. He didn't suppose Jack would mind if he went to bed early--or even closed his eyes for a few minutes just now. The miserable combination of an aching head and sick stomach had eased. He didn't know whether Jack meant him to sleep on the sofa, but he could sleep right where he was and be content for the longest imaginable time. Not forever, just yet, but long enough to find the world if not tender and consoling, at least grudgingly sympathetic when he woke.

  - Twelve -

  Jack had his share of overnight guests, but none who'd slept on the sofa before. Even Harry bunked with him, at a wary distance of course, or slept in one of the other two bedrooms. But Sutton was lost to the world and Jack saw no point in waking him just to move him to a bed.

  Sunday night, Esther had mentioned not seeing Sutton all afternoon, but Jack hadn't thought anything of it. When Sutton didn't show up for work Monday morning, Jack figured he'd done what Jack had expected him to do eventually. Tuesday morning came and Esther had reported worriedly that Sutton had left his suitcase and some clothes behind. And though Jack had reassured her, he found it a little worrisome, too.

  He had considered telegraphing the railroad offices in Topeka, himself, to make sure Sutton had gotten home. But in the middle of supper, who should walk in but the wayward errand boy, looking as though he had taken a pretty sound thrashing. Finding him in even sorrier shape than he'd seemed, Jack had realized that someone needed to throw a net under him fast or he wouldn't make it to morning.

  Emerging from the kitchen with drinks in hand, Jack noted that his new roommate didn't have much of a knack for making himself at home. He loosened S
utton's tie, eased off his shoes, and maneuvered him into a more comfortable position, with the quilts to keep him warm. Satisfied he had done all a good host could do to provide for his guest, he poured Sutton's gin into his and settled in a chair, magazines on his lap. He'd only just gotten comfortable, himself, when a rap at the door startled him--then made him laugh. He would've bet every penny he owed Chase that he knew just who stood on the other side.

  He opened the door and immediately noted the paper bag in Harry's hand. "You moving in, too?"

  Harry's gaze darkened. "Too? Okay, what's going on?"

  "Shhh," Jack whispered as Harry peered past him. "Don't wake him up. He's had a rotten day."

  "I know the feeling." Harry handed him the bag. "Esther packed up the rest of your supper. What's with Albright sleeping on your sofa?"

  Jack stepped into the hall and shut the door. "Look, I had to. What was I going to do? He got between me and a crocodile, Harry."

  Harry's brows slid together, mouth twisting downward. "What?"

  "He needed help. If you'd seen him--" Jack blew out a breath. "I knew what was in his head. Hell, I've had the same thoughts."

  That frown softened. "I hate to be the practical one, kid, but you ain't got the funds to look after every stray in New York."

  "Don't worry. I'll help him find work."

  "Where--at a nightclub?"

  "Why not?"

  Harry groaned. "Eat your supper--" He poked a finger in the bag. "If you ain't already drunk it. And get some sleep."

  Sutton hadn't stirred since Jack's sojourn to the hall. After waving a hand in front of his face to make sure he was still breathing, Jack took the leftovers and the gin to bed with him and dozed off around five. What seemed only a couple of hours later, a gentle voice prodded him back to wakefulness. Jack resisted, hoping the voice would give up and go away.

  "Jack?" Light fingers patted his shoulder. With a long-suffering sigh, Jack rolled onto his back and reluctantly opened his eyes. On the verge of an inappropriately-worded reproach, he noticed he did not have Sutton's full attention. Not where he expected it, anyway. Irritation gave way to amusement and he wrapped his fingers around the necktie dangling inches from his face.