He stared at me, curiously kind.
‘This is the Reverend Bradley,’ said Kelly. ‘Laurence’s father.’
‘This is a terrible thing for you – your father being taken. But I have to tell you that this whole situation is exceptionally dangerous. Laurence unearthed something very big, very important to us, and your father risked his life trying to see that the material fell into the right hands. If it did it would completely expose a very powerful, very influential, very evil man. I’m only sorry that he is your uncle.’
I nodded, not knowing what to say.
The Reverend Bradley turned back to Kelly. ‘You can’t be naive enough to think that they’re going to hand him over to you, even if you do give them the microfilm? They’ll kill you.’
‘Mr Bradley,’ I burst out. ‘We have to do something.’ All my confidence vanished in the fact of his negativity.
‘They may hold off until they get the film; they may not,’ said Kelly. ‘They may try to double-cross us if we do bring it to them. But I reckon I’ve got a chance, especially if the vigilante will help me.’
‘That scum.’
‘He could help,’ she insisted.
‘He could hinder. He’ll go to the highest bidder, and so will all his buddies.’
‘We don’t have any money at all,’ said Kelly. ‘But if we pay him there’s a chance we could get Tim back and keep the film.’
‘A chance that you’ll all be killed. What kind of fool do you take me for?’
‘I need money,’ she insisted. ‘Money to pay the vigilante. And his buddies. It’s the only way.’
‘That could be a lot of money – for a great deal of risk. Are you asking me to finance an attempt which will probably lose the film Laurence died to make and fail to help your father too?’ But I could see that he was gradually being convinced that this, in fact, was the only way.
‘Wouldn’t you have done the same for Laurence?’ I asked.
He looked at me. ‘Do you have any money?’
I shook my head.
He stood and thought for a moment, staring down at his desk. Then he said: ‘There’s nothing I can do about money. I’m sorry.’
Kelly looked at me properly for the first time. Obviously she expected me to do something. Fast. But what could I do? I burst into halting speech but gathered confidence as Tim’s face swam into my mind.
‘You’ve got to help us. Somehow. If you don’t – they’ll kill him.’
‘I know where the film is,’ said Kelly. ‘We can get it – and hand it over.’
‘They’ll still kill him.’ The Reverend Bradley’s voice was impatient.
‘Maybe not if we can get the vigilantes’ help.’
‘Why do you place any reliance on them?’ he snapped. Then he looked away and muttered: ‘We have some money in the church. But I would have to ask permission to use it.’
Relief flooded through me. ‘Would they allow that?’
‘It could be a loan. There is a group here that has been publicly fighting your uncle for some time.’ He glanced across at me briefly and then turned back to Kelly. ‘Do you really feel those damned vigilantes are any use?’
‘They’re our alternative police force, aren’t they?’ said Kelly.
He shrugged.
‘This vigilante,’ I asked. ‘Who is he?’
‘His name’s Joe Deliso,’ said Kelly abruptly, as if she didn’t really want to tell me.
‘Do you know him well?’ I realised that I sounded frightfully English, as if expecting her to reply she’d met him at a tennis club.
‘Not very,’ she said drily. ‘He’s just someone who helped me once.’
I stared at her, still feeling stupid.
She grinned suddenly. It was the first time I had seen her smile and it lit up her pale, smudged face and gave it warmth. ‘Some guys weren’t acting friendly. Actually they were trying to rape me at the time.’
I gazed at her in horror. ‘What? Where was this?’
‘It was on the subway; before Laurence died, but I was alone. Joe saw them off.’
‘Were you hurt?’
‘I’m a survivor.’ It suddenly dawned on me how much, much older she was than me.
I was saved from having to say anything else by the Reverend Bradley who had been leafing through an account book.
‘I can raise three thousand dollars.’
‘That could be OK.’
‘Will you need to give him something in advance?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are we going around with that kind of money on us?’ I asked.
‘I’ll strap it somewhere private,’ said Kelly.
The Reverend Bradley walked down to the subway with us. It was getting late, but the streets of Harlem were still crowded. Most of the shops were shuttered, and on the rippled steel surfaces were painted garish murals showing scenes from street life. There seemed to be a church on every corner and people were still out strolling or talking in groups or just sitting and staring. Abandoned rusting cars littered the sides of the roads but there was an air of vibrant living.
The Reverend Bradley left us at the subway entrance but not before taking Kelly’s hand and then mine. He whispered: ‘Keep safe. For Laurence’s sake.’ Then he walked quickly away. I saw him stop and talk to a group of men. They stood round him, as if they were drawing comfort from his presence.
‘Where are we going to find this guy?’ I yelled at Kelly as we sat on the racketing subway car.
‘He’ll be on this line. Watch out on the platforms. Either for him or his buddies.’
‘How do they look?’
‘Different.’
‘What do they do?’
‘They look after people on the subway – stop them getting mugged.’
‘What about the police?’
‘There aren’t enough of them, so they’re never around at the right time.’
The subway was menacing. The graffiti-daubed cars, the grimy, furtive-looking stations and the atmosphere of mutual suspicion appalled me. A vagrant joined us, probably just to keep warm, and a couple of young kids huddled together in apathetic exhaustion. A huge man with a pot belly and a shaved head wrote letters, a young woman wearing a scarf round her head chattered to herself and a man came up and down the cars distributing evangelical tracts. Somewhere down the train someone played a guitar.
I began to nod off but Kelly nudged me awake.
‘What’s happening?’
‘We’re getting out.’ She pulled at me and I staggered to my feet. ‘Move,’ she said.
We just made it before the doors closed and I stared blearily down the length of the platform.
‘Vigilantes,’ said Kelly and raised a hand in hopeful greeting. They did not return her salute and at first I was afraid. They seemed creatures of the night; their pale faces contrasted by their red berets and pullovers. But directly I got near them their cool, dry stares made me feel safe.
‘Is Joe Deliso with you?’ asked Kelly.
‘Who wants him?’ There was no hostility in the voice, only calmness.
‘Kelly. I need his help.’
‘And who’s this? Batman?’
‘Colin. He’s my brother.’
‘Brit?’
‘Yes.’ Kelly looked at me very briefly and then I realised that for the first time she had dropped the term half-brother. A spurt of renewed confidence filled me. There was a short silence and a stagnant breeze blew newspaper along the platform.
‘Joe isn’t here,’ said a small, dark girl.
‘Where is he?’
‘Times Square,’ said the girl. ‘In Nathan’s.’
I stared at her, wondering how someone so slight could be protecting the travelling public. Another train roared in.
‘Come on,’ said Kelly. ‘He won’t wait all night.’
We jumped on the train, leaving the vigilantes behind us. They stood watching us go, staring at us inscrutably. But once the doors had closed, I missed their aloo
f presence.
We had to change a few stops further on and walk down a tunnel that was empty except for an old man and the echo of menacing footsteps. Finally we took a train for Times Square. Kelly had gone completely silent.
‘What’s he like?’ I asked as we walked up to the ticket gate.
‘Strong,’ she replied.
Chapter Eight
Times Square was as busy as ever when we emerged from the subway. Traffic was flowing fast and the pavements were still crowded. Nathan’s had neon which spelt out ‘The First and Best’ and a cavernous interior in which there was a fast food counter, acres of floor space and a scattering of tables with incongruous coloured umbrellas above them. There was an atmosphere of seedy comfort and a welcoming smell of chilli.
‘There he is.’
Joe Deliso was sitting alone at one of the umbrellaed tables. He was a slight figure, with jet black hair that ran sleekly down his shoulders. He had no vigilante identification but wore a leather jerkin, jeans, an open-necked button-down shirt and dark glasses. He looked like a college student and his face was swarthy, Italian, perhaps Sicilian. He hadn’t shaved for a couple of days and had a growth of dark stubble. He was reading a novel.
‘Joe.’
He didn’t even look up when Kelly spoke.
‘Joe Deliso.’
‘Who wants me?’ he asked wearily.
‘Remember me?’
‘No.’ Still he didn’t look up.
‘I’m Kelly.’
‘So – ’
‘You rescued me one night. Stopped some guys raping me. ‘Bout a couple of months ago.’
‘You brought me a medal?’
‘I want some more help.’
‘You had your ration.’
‘I have three thousand dollars.’
‘Spend it wisely.’
‘It’s for you, if you help me.’
For the first time he looked up and I could see that his hair only partially hid a large strawberry-shaped birthmark.
‘What do you want?’ he said sharply.
‘Our father’s been kidnapped,’ she said. ‘I want you to get him back.’
‘That’s not my line.’ But he was staring at her now. ‘Why don’t you go to the cops?’
‘Alexander Wallace took him,’ said Kelly. ‘The guy they call the Reaper.’
‘What is Wallace to you?’ There was a faint note of curiosity in his voice.
‘My uncle.’
‘God help you.’ He looked steadily at her and then at me. ‘The Bagman came, did he?’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked but he ignored me.
‘I hear Wallace has his back to the wall. Too many Sandmen. Too often. Too obvious.’
‘My father is the Bagman,’ said Kelly.
‘I thought Laurence Bradley had that honour. At least until he was killed.’ Deliso paused. ‘Your father the journalist guy – Tim Wallace?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought he was dead.’
‘That’s what he wanted everyone to think.’ Kelly spoke quickly. ‘But he’s wrapping up what Laurence started.’ She told him about the microfilm and Tim being snatched from the taxi.
Deliso was silent for a long while afterwards. Then he said: ‘Wallace is no bigger a bastard than other guys who play his politics. He’s just better at it. He got where he is on mob money and everything he does has their approval. If Wallace goes, they stand to lose a hell of a lot.’
‘How much?’ I asked, determined to assert myself, to establish my identity. But he didn’t even glance in my direction.
‘Through Wallace they have access to city property, to City Hall, to city estates. Whatever he does, wherever he goes, they come in on his back. Everywhere. They own him. He has the mob round him like a bullet-proof screen.’
‘Can you help find Tim?’ asked Kelly.
‘He could be dead already.’ Deliso shrugged. ‘But finding him may not be so difficult. If you have some money, that is.’
‘I have a thousand dollars on me now,’ said Kelly. ‘Wait a moment.’ She left us.
While she was gone I stood beside him silently, not daring to say anything. Then, for the first time, he turned to me and said: ‘How well do you know Wallace?’
‘Quite well,’ I stuttered. ‘We spend our holiday together in Spain every year.’ Then I thought again. ‘Sorry, I don’t know him at all. Not now.’
When Kelly returned she passed Deliso an envelope and Joe shoved it in his jacket pocket. Then he straightened up.
‘Collect your film – if you can. Then meet me here. Say at about one.’ He walked out without even glancing back at us.
‘Now he’s got the money,’ I said, ‘do you think he’ll come back?’
‘That’s our risk,’ Kelly said. ‘Let’s go and see a movie.’ She sounded finished.
I slept through most of the film but Kelly gave it her avid attention and I knew that she had switched off completely, escaped into the screen for a couple of hours. I just wished I had that ability, but as I fitfully dozed all I could think of was Tim, and of Joe Deliso, striding through the darkened city like an avenging shadow.
The film was about a party of campers who arrived at a lake and were systematically murdered by a mad nun with a machete. At least that’s what I thought it was about, for I only woke up to see flashes. It was three-thirty in the morning when I woke up again and the movie was nearly over. The cinema was almost empty but there was a noisy group near the screen who seemed to be drunk or stoned or both and a big fat woman with severe horn-rimmed glasses had come in and was sitting behind us. She had a huge handbag in which she continuously dipped her fingers, pulling out candy, popcorn and even a salt-beef sandwich – all of which she consumed voraciously.
It was the rustling and rasping of paper that really woke me to her presence, and I slipped a couple of covert glances at her over my shoulder. She seemed more absorbed in her guzzling than in the film. I was just about to drift off to sleep again when I smelt chocolate-tainted breath and a voice whispered: ‘Don’t turn around.’
I froze and could feel Kelly seizing up beside me.
‘Sandman’s here,’ said the voice. I knew it was the fat woman behind me. My heart felt as if it had stopped. There was a short silence, while Kelly and I just hunched there, rigid with fear.
‘The Sandman is everywhere,’ said the voice eventually. ‘He is the eyes of the city.’
‘What do you want?’ whispered Kelly. She turned and half stood up. ‘Get down!’ she yelled at me and instinctively I threw myself forward, feeling something flash past my ear. Kelly pressed me down even further until I was lying on the evil-smelling floor.
‘Not him,’ she pleaded. ‘Not him.’ But there was no reply. ‘They don’t want him,’ she insisted.
Then the fat woman said: ‘That’s why you brought him here. That’s why you were told to bring him here.’
‘No one ever told me that.’
‘Joe wants it this way.’
‘No – ’
‘Joe’s in charge.’ The fat woman laughed a wheezy laugh.
I froze. How did she know about Joe. Why did she know about him?
‘They don’t want it this way,’ Kelly repeated emphatically. ‘You’ve got it all wrong.’
Suddenly Kelly cried out and as I jumped up I saw there was a blade in her shoulder and the fat woman, panting and gasping, was trying to pull it out.
Amazingly, no one else in the cinema seemed to have noticed what was going on. I grabbed the fat woman’s wrist. For a second I held her, and as I did so I looked into her face. There was foam on her lips and her mouth was drawn back into a snarl.
‘You bastard,’ she yelled at me and drew out the knife, jabbing it at me. But she wasn’t very strong and I was able to clamp my hand on her wrist again. I could smell her chocolate breath and see the anger in her fleshy pouched eyes.
Kelly lurched out into the aisle and fell on to the floor while I struggled silently with the
fat woman. Then suddenly the film stopped and I could see people standing up in their seats and an usherette running towards us. Without hesitation, she grabbed the fat woman from behind as my grip began to weaken, but the woman shook us both off and ran towards the emergency exit. For someone of her size she ran with considerable speed, but the usherette could easily have caught her if she hadn’t seen Kelly. She was leaning over one of the seats, with the blood coming down her sleeve and falling in a steady stream to the floor. Appalled, I gazed at her while the usherette took her in her arms and gently eased her on to the floor.
‘Don’t move, honey,’ she whispered. ‘It’s going to be fine.’ She began to take off Kelly’s jacket gently as the blood kept pumping. I kept thinking numbly, over and over again: Why is this happening? And how does that monstrosity of a woman know about Joe?
Meanwhile, members of the audience were beginning to crowd round us. She shouted at them and they drew back a little.
‘Get help.’
I stared at the usherette uncomprehendingly for a moment and then realised she was talking to me.
‘Get an ambulance for your friend. Now.’
I ran out to the foyer, tearing up to the box office and discovering to my total frustration that its occupant was asleep. I screamed at her until she woke, but even then it took some minutes to convince her that I was serious.
‘Someone’s been stabbed in there.’
‘Huh?’
‘Stabbed. Stabbed with a knife.’ I was practically gibbering. ‘You have to get an ambulance. Now.’
At last she nodded and began to dial, so I dashed back into the cinema and found Kelly semi-conscious on the floor, surrounded by a babbling group of people. She kept mumbling, ‘Tell them I can’t go on with it. They can’t expect any more.’
‘Is she going to be all right?’ I asked desperately. I kept wondering why this had happened. There seemed no logic in the fat woman’s attack on Kelly at all. And why had she said, ‘They can’t expect any more’? But then I supposed she was in shock. She had every reason to be.
The usherette looked up. ‘She’s losing a lot of blood. I’m calling the cops.’
Between us, the usherette and I managed to help Kelly stagger to a tatty-looking sofa that was just opposite the box office. She sat there, looking even more drawn and pale than before, and in the jaundiced half-light her skin was grey and waxy. I held her hand as we waited for the medics and she gripped mine fiercely. She had saved my life. But what had the fat woman meant about Joe Deliso? ‘Joe wants it this way. Joe’s in charge.’
Nightmare in New York Page 6
