Carly (four years earlier)
Carly walked quickly, her head down. Not that she had anywhere in particular to go, but you were much more likely to be stopped if you looked like you were loitering. Uncle Mike didn't like loitering.
It got dark early these days, and most of the street lights were broken, so every doorway and alley was in deep shadow. It was getting cold, too. She put her hands in the pockets of her pea jacket.
Dinner had been most unsatisfying. She had almost no money left, and she'd allowed Danny to take her to dinner. Having her stomach full was a big improvement, but several times during the meal she'd asked herself if it was really worth it.
And now here she was, in an alley illuminated by a single
yellow bulb, looking down at Danny's body. She thought back a few
hours.
Carly's Dinner with Danny
Danny was on his best behavior. It was almost painful to watch.
Carly couldn't tell if she was supposed to notice and appreciate his self-control, or if she was just supposed to think that somehow he'd suddenly become more mature, but in either case she resented the way everything he said (and didn't say) seemed to imply some horrible evil in herself.
Why would he be so tense and cautious, clearly checking everything that came out of his mouth, unless she was truly terrifying? She wished he'd get angry, explode, accuse her of something, so she could at least defend herself. But no accusations were going to be made here tonight, she knew, at least not verbally.
"So," he asked, "where have you been staying?" which was the question she'd been expecting every time he'd opened his mouth.
"Oh, around," she replied. As she said it, she realized how it sounded, as though she was hiding from him, afraid he was going to start stalking her or something. She cursed herself silently, angry that she'd anticipated the question so many times but hadn't bothered to prepare a decent answer.
He nodded, and another long silence ensued.
The only enjoyable part of the evening was when Danny pulled a
piece of paper from his pocket and said, "Uncle Mike just added
a new rule."
Rules for An Orderly Neighborhood
Working people have the right to quiet streets after 8PM so they can get a good night's sleep.
People have the right to walk down the street without being bothered with pleas for money.
People have the right to drive down the street without having to worry that somebody will step out from the curb and cause them to have an accident.
People have the right to an education that doesn't include any concepts which might disturb them or their parents.
Sidewalks are for walking, not for selling food, artwork, personal possessions, or anything else.
Only licensed vendors are allowed to sell on the street, and then only at their assigned locations.
Taxicabs can pick up and discharge passengers only at designated taxi stands.
Only the guilty have any reason to be afraid to give such things as
and therefore the innocent should be willing to give any or all of these at any time, at the request of a police officer or any other representative of the government.
Smoking is illegal within the city limits.
When people are in public places they shouldn't be doing things they wouldn't want Uncle Mike to see.
Carly looked up with an expression of disbelief. "This is
a joke, isn't it?"
Danny shrugged, then he grinned. "Of course it is. It really does look like a real Uncle Mike list, though, doesn't it?"
Other than that, there were awkward periods of silence occasionally interrupted by awkward conversation. And eventually even the fake Uncle Mike list was spoiled for Carly because she started to wonder how carefully and for how long Danny had saved it for just the right moment during this dinner.
After dinner, they had said goodbyes which seemed to Carly to go on
for hours. As she turned to go, he said, "Oh, by the way, did
you hear about the radio station?"
She turned back. "What? What radio station?"
"The pirate station. Uncle Mike busted it."
She wanted to yell at him for taking so long to think of mentioning this, but all she said was, "Is Prentice–"
"In jail. They beat him up pretty bad, I hear. And smashed all his equipment. There's supposed to be a protest Friday, but I don't know how much good that's going to do. Is Uncle Mike going to care if a few people march around with signs for an hour or two?"
Carly was annoyed at this, but it was now apparent that she was prepared to be annoyed at anything Danny might choose to say, so she just shrugged and said, "Futile or not, I'm going to be there. Good night."
And then she had wandered around for an hour or two – she couldn't remember how long. She was thinking, trying to come up with some sort of plan of where she was going to spend the night, as though if she thought about it hard enough she'd remember some friend or relative she'd never considered before.
She walked quickly, her head down. Not that she had any idea where she was going to go, but you were much more likely to be stopped if you looked like you were loitering.
And now here she was, in an alley illuminated by a single
yellow bulb, looking down at Danny's body. She was only in this alley because
she'd been standing on a corner, uncertain of which way to go
next, when she'd heard a police siren approaching.
She'd started to run back the way she'd come, turning into the first alley she saw, and she'd nearly tripped over Danny's body. How had she ended up here? Had she been drawn here for some reason, or was it just stupid coincidence? She didn't know which possibility was more disturbing.
Would it be worse to live in a universe where there was an all-powerful force with nothing better to do with its time than to nudge her around like a chess piece until she was face to face with the dead body of her lover? Or would it be worse to live in a universe where something as jolting as this could happen by blind accident?
Ex-lover, she reminded herself.
She heard a car approaching. She took a final look at Danny's body, trying to file away as many details as she could with one glance, then she turned and ducked behind a sagging dumpster as the car approached. She was afraid they would see Danny's body and come to investigate, but the car kept driving by.
She turned and looked at Danny again. He was not very tall, probably only two or three inches taller than she was, and slender. His brown hair was shaved close around the sides, with a shock of longer hair in front which he always brushed out of his eyes.
Boyish, that was the total effect, and always had been, even before his mod haircut. Somehow unformed, not quite completed, and now he wasn't going to get that chance. She had a fleeting thought that it would have been better if she'd been killed and he had survived. At least she'd made it all the way to adulthood.
There was no way to tell what had killed him, and she thought that maybe she should turn him over to see what she could learn. She didn't make any move to do this, though.
She made a face. After all, she hadn't wanted to touch him when he was alive, and death wasn't making him any more attractive.
She turned and walked slowly to the street. The sky was dark now, and she knew that thinking of a place to sleep was no longer a topic for idle speculation. It was an immediate necessity.
For once, Carly thought about shelter without feeling that it was only her own stubbornness which was making this a problem. When she'd first arrived in town, a month before, she'd met Danny in a bar on the first night and had gone home with him. He'd fallen hard, and she could have stayed in his apartment until that had worn off, but it was the intensity of his feelings which had forced her to move out, even though it had meant living on the streets. But there had been times, usually several each day, when she'd thought how easy it would have been to give in, to move back into his apartment.
She hesitated in the entrance to the alley, suddenly thinking that she should go back to Danny's body and take his keys. Then she could stay in his apartment. The idea made her queasy, so she thought about it until she realized what was wrong with it.
The body would be found. The lack of keys would be noted. The apartment would be checked out. And the girl staying there would be arrested. Oh, well.
She thought of her friend Joan. Joan had an apartment, and she usually made it clear that it was too small for two (unless the second person was one of her lovers, of course), but Carly had an awful thought. Joan was, for all her sleeping around, quite a romantic, and Carly thought that she could manipulate grief over Danny's death into a place to sleep for at least one night. Not a pleasant idea, but it was better than any of the alternatives.
Plus, she thought happily, Joan had the duffel bag which held the few items of clothing that Carly wasn't wearing, the few things she'd taken when she'd moved out of Danny's apartment. She flexed her toes. Clean socks would be nice. She started out, again trying to look like she had someplace definite to go.
She walked with great determination, not noticing the tall figure which appeared out of a doorway and followed her.
Carly was only a block from the alley when she heard the
helicopter. She looked up and suddenly a strong arm grabbed her
around her stomach from behind and swung her into an alley.
"Get out of the street, you fool!" the man hissed. "They're using–"
That was a far as he got before the heel of her army boot connected with his knee. He cursed and she squirmed out of his arms. But his hand managed to keep hold of a piece of her pea jacket and swung her around in a circle as she tried to get away.
She gave one final yank on her jacket, broke free and ran through the open doorway of a tenement building. The man ran after her and grabbed her coat again. She fell to the floor in the dusty hallway and the man fell on top of her.
"Get off me!" she yelled, squirming around helplessly. Between the tangle of coats and the size of the man, who seemed to cover her like a mattress, she was pinned.
The man started to say something, but then a soft voice from another part of the dark hallway said, "Do you think you two could try to make a little more noise? Uncle Mike might not have heard you yet, clear over there in City Hall." There was a rustling and then a shuffling sound. "You'd better come with me," the voice said. "If they find you, they'll find me. Come on."
The Streets
I first heard about the Streets in the middle of a long drunken evening, and the next afternoon I put it down to the sort of thing that seems to make sense the night before, but not the morning after, if you know what I mean.
By the following evening however, I knew different. However, it was Barry who'd told us the story first, so none of us took it very seriously. Barry was a man of tremendous passions, but he didn't always think things through. And, even as he reported it, I remember noting to myself that it wasn't from his own experience.
The whole thing started at Duffy's, of course. Everything did in those days. We had quite a varied group assembled around a large table, drink was flowing freely, and we were engaged in solving all the various problems which plague the modern world, when Barry rushed in and sat down. "I just met a guy from Seattle!" he announced.
Matthew said, "who was fond of a bit of a prattle."
Barry looked up, startled. "What?" he demanded.
Matthew smiled. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said blandly. "I thought you were starting a limerick."
Barry shook his head. "No, this is important. From Seattle," he repeated. There was a moment's silence as each of us waited for someone else to jump into this.
"You never met anybody from there before?" I finally asked.
Barry sighed as he always did when he had to explain things to those of us who were just a bit dense. "Haven't you heard about the streets? Something weird has been happening. Some streets are moving around, so you can walk down a block near the docks and suddenly you turn a corner and you're near the bridge, or in the middle of the park."
There was another, longer, silence after that, as you can probably imagine, and then we went back to our other topics of conversation. Barry eventually went over to the bar and ended up passing out on the pool table in the middle of someone else's game.
And so, that's when I first heard about the streets. I dismissed the whole idea. But then, a couple of nights later, I heard a very similar story, from somebody quite a bit more reliable.
I had always considered Fifteen to be a very level-headed young lad.
He spent a lot of time in Duffy's, though I'm sure he wasn't old
enough to satisfy Uncle Mike. Hizzonner will probably decide next
that only people between the ages of 35 and 50 are allowed to drink,
and then only on weekends.
In any case, the day after Barry told us the story about the streets moving around, Fifteen came into Duffy's and sat at our table, looking vexed. It was mostly the same crew as the previous night, and he sat down and nodded absently to all of us. We continued with our conversation for a few moments, but then it became obvious that something was bothering our young comrade.
Matthew pulled out a penny and flipped it into the air. He caught it and examined it. He looked up, smiling, and said to me, "Heads. You get to talk to him."
I turned to young Fifteen, who was slumping further and further down in his chair. "You look like you're deep in thought," I commented helpfully. "Pondering the rotten state of the world economy?"
He shook his head. "Something weird just happened." He looked around. "Come on," he said to me, jerking his head toward the bar. As I got up to follow him, I heard Matthew say, "Maybe he just found out about girls," but I'm pretty sure Fifteen didn't hear him.
At the bar, he waited until Archie brought him a beer, then he said, "Something very weird just happened." I was tempted to point out that he had already said that, but I kept quiet. "I was just walking along Prescott, down by the docks, and a couple of guys saw me and yelled something."
"Were you on your bike?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No, so I took off as soon as the guy yelled. I ran down that big street by the brewery, and then I turned a corner and then suddenly I was just a block from here, by the old theater." He shrugged. "I may be crazy, but I didn't imagine those guys, and I'm here."
Ordinarily I would have just laughed, but I could tell he was waiting for that, so I stood up. "Come on," I said, "show me."
As we walked toward the door, Archie called, "You want a refill?"
I realized I was still carrying my mug. I held it out. "Sure. I'll bring it back later." He took it and filled it up. I offered Fifteen a sip, and then we went forth into the night.
Well, I don't have to tell you that I didn't expect anything to happen, and I guess I don't have to tell you that something did happen, or there wouldn't be any point in my telling you this story.
Carly was getting bored, and a little sleepy. At first, this pitch
black cubbyhole had seemed like a safe place to spend the night,
better than some she'd been in since moving out of Danny's apartment,
and the idea of telling stories had sounded like a fun way to pass
the time.
The tall man, as she thought of him, had originally been as eager to get out as she, maybe more so, but then he had suddenly decided that this was all okay with him. She could tell that this whole situation amused him for some reason.
After all, it must have been after ten, so the curfew was on. She'd had a dinner which was filling if nothing else, and their mysterious shuffling host had provided each of them with a heavy mug of strong tea before he'd started telling his story about the streets.
But the room was completely dark, she was comfortably warm in her jacket with her hands around the steaming mug. She hadn't had coffee after her dinner with Danny because she'd been getting tired of suppressing her urge to scream, and she was pretty sure this strong, smoky tea didn't have caffeine in it either. Either she'd better get some coffee pretty soon, or their host's story had better get a lot more convincing.
As soon as young Fifteen and I got outside, I started to have second
thoughts. For one thing, the night was cold, with quite a brisk wind.
Also, several of the group back in Duffy's had been concocting a
scabrous limerick about Uncle Mike, and I knew none of them would
think to write it down, or be able to remember it the next day. In
addition, I didn't see what would be accomplished by traipsing around
the cold streets, except to make young Fifteen feel foolish when
nothing happened.
However, I had agreed to go along, and my mug was full of beer, so I followed him down the street toward the docks. And, of course, however cold it was near Duffy's, it was sure to be colder down by the water.
Suddenly there was a siren, screeching tires, and a loudspeaker blared, "Put that bottle down carefully and step away from it!"
"Oh, shit," said Fifteen. I couldn't see very well in the glare of the strobing spotlights on the roof of the police car, but I put the mug down on the sidewalk and stepped back from it. Then, as the car doors opened, I stepped back further, turned and pulled Fifteen quickly down an alley between two buildings.
My idea had been that the alley went through to the next block, but I must have got confused about how far we'd walked, because it ended in a wooden fence about six feet tall. I quickly kneeled and cupped my hands. "Up and over," I said. "Come on."
"But–"
"Go!" I said. He glanced at the street, where two flashlights were approaching, and he stepped into my hands. I helped him get over, then I turned to face the music.
I was at the absolute back of the alley, almost leaning against the wooden fence, but suddenly there was gunfire from behind me, as though a door had opened and someone had fired through it. I lost no time getting down on the ground, I can tell you.
The shooting went on for a while. Once things had quieted down, I got up and brushed myself off. The two cops were dead, shot several times each, and there was nobody else in the alley. I examined the wooden fence, as well as I could in the darkness, and if there was any sort of door it was very well-concealed indeed.
I picked up my mug from the sidewalk and made my way back to Duffy's. Once I was safely inside, I took my seat at the table again and began to tell the story of what had happened. I didn't make it very far, though, before the bar phone rang and Archie answered it. He called my name and held it out.
"Someone named Fifteen is calling, sir," the operator said. "Will you accept the charges?"
"Accept the charges?" I asked. "Where is he calling from?"
"Pasadena, sir."
I must confess that by this time I was not really at my best. "Pasadena?" I asked. "Pasadena, California?"
I could tell the operator was getting impatient. "Yes, sir," she said slowly. "Pasadena, California. Will you accept the charges?"
"Sure," I said, realizing that it was going on the bar's phone bill, not mine.
"Hey," came Fifteen's voice. "You okay?"
"Yes," I said, "though I'm not sure why. Are you really in Pasadena?"
"Yup. You think you could take up a collection there to get me a bus ticket home?"
"Should a girl sleep with a man before getting married?"
"Oh, no, she should stay awake at all times. You can't tell what might happen when you're asleep."
Carly's head jerked up. Had somebody actually said that?
Had she dozed off for a moment? She felt a shifting in the large
shape next to her and wondered if it was suppressed laughter. She
smiled. Maybe he was snoring. Maybe it was the tall man who had dozed
off, not she. She shifted slightly on the worn wooden bench they both
sat on.
Then she realized that the room was silent. The story must have ended. She wondered what happened now.
"So, Ms. Stein," the tall man rumbled, "do you have a story to tell us, or don't you?"
Carly's mind started racing in all directions. She had dozed off. She had already been asked to produce a story. People don't invite you into their caves and give you tea and entertainment without expecting anything in return. She couldn't think of a story right now to save her life. And she was damn sure she hadn't mentioned her last name. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
After a moment,
their host said, "Oh, don't alarm the poor girl, just because
she started to snore in that outrageous fashion. I'm sure she'll come
up with a story in good time. Meanwhile, with your kind indulgence, I'll continue my little
tale.
"So, neither of you have heard anything about the streets? Well, you will soon enough. The story will be all over the area in the next day or two, but I'm sure most of what you hear will be hooey. So, let me finish telling you the real story now, so you can weed out what's true and what isn't when you start hearing the rumors. You know, there are times when you simply have to alter your very ideas of how the universe is put together. I–"
"Stop trying to flimflam us and just tell the story, you old fraud," the tall man snapped cheerfully.
Their host made a grumbling, huffing sound. "I'm trying to make it sound more impressive. You, of course, are tone deaf to such nuances, but it's a common trick in a story-teller's bag." He harumphed again.
"To resume: The third night, I was sitting in Duffy's (which is a fine local drinking establishment, by the way). There was quite a diverse and eclectic group there assembled, and we were engaged in some fairly abstruse metaphysical speculations. It shows, by the way, what kinds of insight can be achieved when fine minds tuned to diverse areas of thought–" There was a strange, non-verbal comment from the tall man, and their host chuckled. "Wandering off the topic, I realize. Well, there are many hours until dawn."
"How long a story is this?" Carly asked. "And what did happen when you and Fifteen went out? I think that's where I dozed off."
Their host sighed,
and then suddenly a voice hissed, "Quiet!" and they all
fell silent. There was no sound that they could hear from the street
outside, but they were all well-trained in the rules of the curfew,
so it didn't take much to make them pay attention.
After a few minutes, their host sighed. "Okay, for now," he said.
"What was it?" Carly whispered, not sure if it had been their host who had said "Quiet!" or if there was a fourth person in the room with them.
"A patrol," their host replied wheezily. "They didn't stop. We shouldn't be making so much noise, though."
"You're the one who was talking," the tall man rumbled, chuckling.
"And I'll resume, if there aren't any more interruptions. A man can't hear himself think around here." He let out a long sigh. "Where was I?"
"The streets," the tall man said. "You were telling us about the streets."
Something in his tone made Carly pay attention, though she tried not to tense up or make any noise. The tall man had tried to sound casual, but she suddenly got the idea that he was actually interested in the subject. It was almost as though he took the whole thing seriously.
"I'll back up a little," their host said, "and I hope everybody can manage to stay awake this time."
Suddenly they heard a siren, screeching tires, and a scuffling from the street outside. Carly and the two men fell silent as a loudspeaker blared, "Drop your weapon and lie down on the sidewalk! Arms extended and hands open!"
"Oh, shit," came a man's voice. "It's just a radio!" he pleaded. "Look, I–"
There was a single gunshot and a second later someone in the darkened room started moving quickly. They heard two doors open and slam closed in quick succession.
"Damn young fool," their host muttered. "Guns don't solve anything. The entire history of–"
"Guns solve everything," the tall man rumbled in a loud whisper, and the rest of his comment was drowned out by a sudden burst of gunfire from outside. The tall man tried to complete his thought a couple of more times, but each time he was drowned out by more shooting. He finally gave up and Carly thought she felt him chuckle. She was still trying to absorb the fact that there had been a fourth person in the room with them. She wondered if there were any more.
The tall man went totally still as the din outside finally died down. She felt him lean forward. "Who was that, old man?" he demanded in a low voice. "The person who ran out of here."
Their host sighed. "That's a long story," he said wearily. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, whoever he was, he's dead now, or arrested. So, will those cops come back here? To see if he was alone or not?"
"An interesting question," their host said. "Why, you have some pressing reason you want to live a bit longer?"
"Hell, yes."
"Then be quiet and listen."
They all fell
silent, and to Carly it seemed about as pointless to try to hear what
was going on out on the street as it would have been for her to try
to to see the two men who shared this room with her. But they all
stayed quiet, straining to hear something. Carly started wondering if
all the nights she had spent in clubs listening to bands had
had an effect on her hearing. She thought she heard a ringing in her
right ear. Was it real, or just in her imagination? Had she suddenly
gone deaf? Then she clearly heard a car drive away out on the street.
"Well, that's that," the tall man said, relaxing. "We lucked out." He leaned back on the narrow bench. "I have three questions, old man. Is there any more tea? And, since this room is sealed so well that we can't see any light from outside, why can't we risk a light? It's as black as the inside of a cow in here. And, finally, am I correct in assuming that the answer to the second question is that the darkness was so that we wouldn't see your other guest?"
"You know what your problem is?" their host demanded. "You're a smart guy, at least in your mind. In your rather restricted universe, all of the rest of us exist only to prop up your exaggerated idea of your own intelligence. Young man, reality doesn't exist only in order to–"
"Answers?" the tall man interjected with a chuckle.
"Oh, very well. My other guest, now perhaps deceased or incarcerated, is none of your concern. I can produce a light now, if you'd really like to see this weathered, and yet kindly, old face. As for the tea–"
"Screw the tea," the tall man said cheerfully, "do you have any coffee?"
Carly felt a sudden fondness for the tall man, and she moved as far away from him as she could on the narrow bench.
"For a guest, you're mighty demanding," their host said. "But, since you are my guests, I have the quaint idea that it's my responsibility to make every reasonable effort toward your comfort. I have no coffee, but I have some special tea which should serve. I'll put on a light, if you insist."
They heard a metallic clanking and then saw a match flare. Their host's bearded face pinched in concentration as he carefully lit the wick of a battered old oil lantern. When it was burning steadily, he slid the glass top down and then hung it from a hook in the low ceiling.
Carly looked around the tiny room. It was smaller than she'd imagined, with three walls of concrete and one of brick, an uneven concrete floor and a low ceiling of exposed beams and rusted pipes. But it had been made quite home-like, with books piled around, a small camping stove, two well-worn throw rugs, two broken old armchairs, and an ancient army cot which looked like it wouldn't even hold her weight, let alone the portly body of their host.
He had his back to them, working over the camping stove. He was probably not much taller than she was, but quite a bit wider, draped in various worn items of clothing and bedding. Finally, trying to be as casual as possible, she looked up at the tall man. He was watching their host, pretending (she thought) to be unaware of her gaze.
He was tall and broad, with dark hair and heavy eyebrows. He looked very fit and tan, wearing a dark suit and a trench coat. She was wondering how in the world he got his hair so perfectly trimmed and combed when he looked down at winked at her. She almost punched him, but it seemed it would be about as productive as punching one of the walls.
He stood up and stretched, as well as he could in the constricted space with the ceilings barely higher than his head. "No offense to Ms. Stein," he rumbled, "but that little bench was griping my butt."
He turned and grinned down at her. "So, Ms. Stein, do you have a story for us or don't you?"
She nodded. "Yeah, I've got a story."
Danny's Dinner with Carly
Danny had never believed Carly.
Despite everything she had said to him, he was sure that he'd Done Something Wrong. And so, if she would only tell him what it was, or if he could figure it out for himself, he might be able to Make Everything Right again. He didn't understand why she wouldn't tell him what the Something was, unless for some perverse reason she didn't want it to be Made Right.
This was, he knew, why she refused to have any contact with him. And, when he came upon her in the park, he knew he had only one lever to keep her from brushing him off. He hated to use it, but he did, figuring that if he could make everything right again it would be the best for both of them.
So, he offered to buy her dinner. And she accepted.
Danny watched Carly as they walked along the narrow street
between the dingy tenements. She had her hands in the pockets of her
pea coat, her head tilted as she trudged so her hair fell forward and
hid her face.
Her coat was the same one she'd been wearing when he'd met her a month before. The black jeans and worn work boots were the same, too. The hair was a little longer and the clothes were a little dirtier, but that was all. He'd managed to prevail upon her to borrow a pair of gloves and a hat when the weather had started to get colder, but she'd left them behind when she'd moved out. She hadn't taken anything that she hadn't brought with her, which was very little indeed.
He'd never mentioned it, but he'd always thought her haircut was wrong for her. Her hair was thick and dark, cut in bangs which nearly hid her rather fierce eyebrows, and fell straight to her shoulders on either side of her face. It looked like a heavy plush theater curtain which had opened only halfway and then got stuck. She apparently knew he felt this way, because her compromise was to tie her hair back when they had sex.
Of course, the real mystery was why she bothered to hide her face at all, since it never revealed anything anyway.
Danny knew it would
be wrong to try to take Carly anyplace fancy. Trying to turn this
simple dinner into a big event would only drive her away, or freeze
her up. (And, in any case, he didn't have that much money.) So,
they went to the small, grimy diner where they had eaten many of
their meals when they'd been together.
He didn't bother to tell her to order whatever she wanted; he knew what she'd get. The Burger Special was the best deal: a big burger, fries, lettuce, a slice of tomato, and a couple of onion rings for under three dollars. So, she ordered that, without even looking at the menu, and he ordered the same thing. He also ordered a soda, but she didn't, apparently thinking to fill her stomach while having the least impact on his finances. He could certainly have afforded to buy her a soda, but he didn't say anything.
Danny was sure that Carly still cared about him, but something had convinced her that she should stay away from him. Maybe something in her past. She had stopped speaking about her past fairly early in the relationship, when she'd realized that she couldn't lie about it well enough to fool him. He'd never mentioned this, sure that at some point they would pass some boundary of trust and it would all come pouring out, the revelations all the more meaningful for having been given freely.
Danny was sure that Carly felt nothing but contempt for him. There was obviously no trust, no affection, no friendship. She needed food now, as she had needed shelter when they'd first met. That was all it was, and he'd better get used to the idea and stop making himself miserable.
Danny remembered hearing something about the ability to believe in two mutually exclusive ideas at the same time. It was either the sign of a sophisticated intelligence, or it was a symptom of psychosis. He was trying to remember which it was when the food arrived.
Making conversation
was arduous. When Carly and Danny had first met each other, it hadn't
been unusual for them to spend four or five hours talking without a
break. The night they'd met, in a local bar called The Quarter,
they'd started talking about movies and then, two hours later, when
the band had started to play, they'd stopped talking and listened.
Then, as soon as the encore was over, Danny had leaned forward
eagerly and finished the point he'd been making.
Then, as the band started its second set and the place was suddenly raided, they ran for the rear exit together, suddenly holding hands.
She stayed with him for several days before anything physical happened between them. Danny was later to think that sex was the beginning of the end. As they sat now, attempting to find anything to talk about, Danny decided that sex was the whole problem between men and women. This idea could easily have warped his whole future, if he'd had a future.
Had she decided to sleep with him out of a genuine emotion? Or was it that she'd figured there was a limit to how long he'd let her stay in his apartment otherwise? In fact, could consent be given freely in a situation where one person depends on the other for something as basic as food or shelter?
Topics discussed during dinner included:
The weather
How good a deal the Burger Special was
Whether the defeat of the term limits bill meant that Uncle Mike was now mayor for life
Was the burger in the Burger Special a bit smaller than it had been a month before?
The relative merits of two different Chinese restaurants in the area
How quickly Danny's cat had reclaimed Carly's side of Danny's bed for his own (which was perhaps a coded way of telling her that he didn't have a new girlfriend, though he was sure every word that came out of his mouth conveyed this information just fine)
Dinner was so tense
that Carly declined to have any coffee or dessert, though he was sure
she was desperate for caffeine. So then, when they parted in front of
the restaurant, after she defiantly told him that she was going to
the protest about the pirate radio station, Danny suddenly really
wanted to know where she was staying. He told himself that he
wouldn't have been so curious if she hadn't made such a mystery of
it. So, he waited until she got to the corner and then he started to
follow her.
For a while, she just walked up one block and down the next, with no apparent destination. Was she trying to lose him? Did she know he was following her?
After some thought, he decided not. For one thing, she never sped up or slowed down, and she never looked around. No, she was just killing time. Maybe she was staying somewhere but she didn't have a key, and had to wait for the person she was staying with to get home.
He thought about this and rejected it as well. There was no pattern to this, she was just wandering.
Finally, as he began to be sure that she didn't have anyplace to stay, that she preferred living on the streets to living with him, a huge hand landed on his shoulder. He stopped and turned, looking up at a tall, handsome man wearing a dark suit and a trench coat.
"Carly Stein must be quite a dog," the man murmured, "because it looks to me like she's wagging two tails. Now, why don't we step into this convenient alley and talk this over–"
"Very entertaining, Ms. Stein," the tall man said,
getting to his feet. "But this has gone on long enough. Why
don't we..." His eyes rolled up and the tiny room seemed to
shake as he thudded to the floor.
"Well, that's a relief," their host said, poking him with his toe. "I was starting to think I hadn't given him the right mug after all."
Uncle Mike
It had started to snow.
"Jesus, Mike, put on a hat at least."
Mike Sheldon didn't even react to this. He just stood on the roof of City Hall, his arms folded and his scarf moving slightly in the chill breeze as he smelled the clean, cold air.
It was after ten, so the curfew was in effect, and there was nothing moving that he could see except for the flakes of snow falling slowly to the ground. In two hours it would be midnight and the blackout would start. Sometimes, when he was up that late, he came up here to watch that as well. It was pretty impressive to see the whole city go dark in the space of a few minutes.
The Mansion House, where the mayors usually lived, had been bombed about six months before, and he had moved into a basement room here in City Hall while it was being repaired. But, during that time his wife, Gloria, had finally died of the cancer which had been taking her with agonizing slowness for over two years. After that, he couldn't see any reason to move out of his basement room and back to Mansion House even when the repairs were completed. He was comfortable in his room; he had his jazz records, and his radio for baseball games in the summer. His daughter Micki was away at college. He supposed he'd move back when she came home that summer, but summer was a long time away.
"Chief, I brought your hat."
He turned around, suddenly aware that things had been happening. His assistant had called down to his secretary, Susan, and she had brought up his hat.
It was a lot of foolishness, of course, but people started acting strange when you were the boss. He'd long ago resigned himself to it. He took his hat and put it on, but his mood was ruined and he turned and climbed down the stairs to his office. Susan came down after him, blowing on her hands, and he watched her as she pulled off her wool hat and shook out her long, dark hair.
"Why are you still here?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Dennis thought you might want something."
Mike Sheldon shook his head. Dennis Moran, his assistant, was becoming almost too much. "Don't even take off your coat," he said wearily. "I'll get a cruiser to take you home. And from now on, don't stay late unless I ask you to."
She nodded, smiling, and unzipped her long coat so she could sit down. He pressed the intercom on his desk as she slipped off her shoes, wiping the snow from them. "Dennis?" he called, and then continued without giving the man a chance to speak. "Get a cruiser to take you and Susan home." He released the button as the other man tried to reply.
Susan glanced up and smiled from under her tousled hair. Nothing got by her, no subtlety or nuance, and he knew she saw Dennis Moran almost as clearly as he did. He leaned back against his desk and watched her put on her boots. He smiled as she pulled on white gym socks over her stockings. She'd worn slacks to the job interview, and she'd never worn pants around him again.
He wouldn't have said anything. He'd hired her for her abilities not her legs, but she'd obviously taken one look at him and figured out he was not a man who liked masculine women. She'd let her hair grow out since then, too.
In fact, the only other time he'd seen her in pants was when she'd gone to a baseball game with him the week after Gloria had died. He'd caught hell in the papers, of course. How could Hizzoner take his buxom young secretary to a baseball game less than a week after his wife's death? But it had been Susan's idea, and she'd been right. He was still mad at the press about the whole thing, though. The photographs of Susan yelling for their team, and of her buying him a hot dog, and so on. And all the articles and captions making veiled reference to her figure and how she looked in her tight jeans.
The intercom buzzed and Dennis said, "Cruiser's outside, chief."
"Coming!" Susan called, standing up and stamping her feet to make sure they were all the way into her insulated boots. She looked up and grinned, miming a kick. "The boots aren't for the snow, they're for you-know-who, when he gets frisky. Serves me right for staying this late. See you tomorrow, chief."
"See you," he said.
Susan knew that her boss would tell Dennis to leave her alone if she asked, but Mike Sheldon knew she wanted to handle this herself. With her looks, fighting off wolves must be second nature by now. He waved as she left, carrying her shoes to leave in her desk drawer.
Mike Sheldon knew as
soon as he opened the door to his bedroom that there would be a piece
of paper on his bed. At the top it would say, "Suggested Action
Items for Tuesday."
He grinned. In his desk was a piece of paper titled, "Suggested Action Items for Retirement," and #1 on the list was something unspeakable he was going to do to his assistant. He'd given it to Susan to type up while Dennis Moran was in the office, so she'd had to try to keep a straight face while typing it.
He already knew what was going to be #1 on this list, though. It had been the same thing for the last three days. Find Ben Stein's daughter.
He shook his head. He had an entire city to run and he was supposed to worry about one AWOL college student. Carly Stein had decided to quit college in the middle of the fall semester, move to the big city, and have some fun. What the hell was wrong with that?
He shrugged, sitting down and kicking off his shoes. He would do something about it first thing in the morning, at least make a visible effort. Benjamin Stein was one Mike Sheldon's biggest supporters (one of the "Dirty Dozen," as they were called in the newspapers). Ben Stein had delivered big bucks and big votes in both campaigns. When the more liberal of the city's two tabloids had seemed to be favoring his opponent the first time around, Ben Stein had quietly reminded them how much advertising his clothing stores bought in a year, both in the newspaper and on their affiliated local television and radio stations. And his arm-twisting had helped to defeat the term limits bill.
No, Mike Sheldon didn't mind doing a favor for Ben Stein. He just minded how stupid it was. So, the girl was having a fling. There was no indication she was in any kind of trouble. It wasn't like she'd been kidnapped or something.
He barked a laugh as he emptied his pockets on the little table next to his easy chair. He knew what Ben was really worried about. He was scared silly his daughter was getting some uncircumcised dick. That would be bad enough, but the word might get out and then he wouldn't be able to marry her off to that pimply kid from the family with all the discount electronics stores.
Old World morals and New World business both demanded that this girl stay at least reasonably pure. Sheldon shrugged, taking off his pants and draping them over the chair. He'd have a talk with the girl when they found her, and they wouldn't tell her father any more than he needed to know. That would be the best for everybody.
It was a basic misunderstanding of how you raise children, of course. If you put them in too small a box, they break out. It's part of growing up. You have to give them some space, or at least let them have the feeling of space. There wasn't much that Micki Sheldon did at college that her father didn't find out about, even though she was on the other side of the continent. But he didn't interfere, and he wouldn't, unless she was in real danger. He'd almost acted when she'd dated that drug dealer, but she'd broken it off herself.
She was a level-headed girl. She was just letting off steam, and she still had plenty of time to change her mind about law school.
Then, as he got into bed, he realized he hadn't read the rest of the "Action Items." He put his reading glasses back on and picked up the piece of paper.
He put the paper down on his bedside table and put his glasses
on top of it. He shut off the light.
He would allow the protest about the pirate radio station. Stop it, and that Prentice guy becomes a martyr because it looks like he's been telling the truth all along. Besides, it was going to snow all night and then the temperature was going to drop. He couldn't imagine that there'd be much of a turn-out.
He'd keep them away from the actual storefront where the station had been, though. The door was all busted open and the window smashed. If they looked at that, it would only get them more worked up. He'd move them around the corner or something.
Young Fifteen
In the instant when the tall man hit the floor of the tiny room, Carly experienced a strange feeling, as though time was suspended. She described it later as the sudden end of background music that you hadn't been aware of until it was interrupted. Then, slowly, she began to absorb what the old man had said.
"You drugged him?" she demanded. "In the tea?"
"Nah, I figure he dozed off from boredom," came an unexpected voice as a low cabinet swung out from the wall and a teenaged boy climbed out of a very small concealed door. "That story you were telling would have put anybody out." He straightened up and pushed the cabinet back into place. He was wearing big, baggy shorts and a hooded sweatshirt, and his head was shaved.
"Now, young Fifteen," the old man admonished the new arrival, "she is our guest–"
"Oh, I just love it when you call me that," Fifteen said, grinning. "So, Ancient One," he continued, gesturing at the tall man lying on the rug, "what do we do with the big guy here? And when do I get to tell a story?"
"The first thing to do is remove this fellow," their host said judiciously. "He was rather tedious company even when he was awake, and I doubt he will improve much in his present condition. He'll come around in two or three hours, and when he does–"
"So, you did drug him?" Carly demanded. They both turned toward her as though they were surprised to find that she was still there. She shrugged. "I know I'm repeating myself, but–"
Their host smiled blandly. "I was assuming that your question was rhetorical," he explained.
"Not requiring a reply," Fifteen amplified.
"I know what–"
"Of course he drugged him," Fifteen said patiently. He winked. "You, too, maybe."
"What?" Carly demanded, trying to feel whether she was about to pass out.
"Oh, don't mind him," their host said placatingly, rubbing his hands together. "We can talk everything over once we've cleaned up a bit in here." He nudged the tall man with his toe and Fifteen turned to Carly.
"Come on, I want to get him out of here so I can tell a story." He squatted by one of the man's feet and looked up at Carly. "So? You think I'm going to haul him out of here by myself?
Carly was about to protest that dragging the tall man out of there by his heels would probably hurt him, but then she remembered the point of her story, and she lifted his other foot.
Their host slipped past them to open the door and they dragged the man out into the hall. He was limp and difficult to maneuver, but they managed to pull him down the hall to the front door, which was still open. The pulled him down the two steps to the street, his head bouncing on each one. He didn't show any sign of waking up.
A cold wind blew
down the deserted street and chilled Carly's face and hands, and she
felt snow on her face. Suddenly aware that they were on the
street and it was well into curfew, she motioned at the alley where
she'd found Danny's body. "Let's dump him in there," she
said. They dragged him down the block, and Carly suddenly wondered if
he was ever going to wake up. He didn't seem to be showing any signs
of life.
She was also aware that they were leaving a big trail behind them in the snow, but it was too late to do anything about that.
As they reached the alley, Carly was relieved to see that snow had completely covered Danny's body, but she still avoided looking in that direction. They dropped the tall man's body at the rear of the alley and she asked, "Is he dead?" She was surprised at how calm her voice sounded.
Fifteen shook his head. "Oh, no. He'll be out for a while, though. And I guess he's going to have a few bruises when he wakes up. We banged him around quite a bit."
Carly smiled. "Let's take him back and see if we can bang him around some more."
Fifteen pointed at the mound of snow Carly was trying not to look at. "That's your boyfriend, huh?" he asked quietly.
Carly was about to say "ex-boyfriend", but that seemed a pretty silly distinction at this point. She just nodded, looking at the hidden body for the first time. "That's him."
"And you figure this guy killed him?"
Now that she had allowed herself to look at Danny, Carly found it difficult to look away. "It seemed like a possibility. And the way he interrupted me right when he did makes it look like I'm right." She squatted by the tall man and went through his pockets, coming out with his wallet. "I figure he was sent by my father–"
"Hands up, fingers outstretched, and turn slowly toward us! No sudden moves!"
Susan
Susan always listened to the radio in the morning. She always got up early so she could watch at least some of the morning news shows on television, and she always read the newspaper on the subway ride into the city. She lived near the end of the subway line, so she usually got a seat, and her morning commute passed with a large container of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other.
Mike Sheldon always liked her to be up on the news of the day. He often used her as a sounding board, and she took it very seriously that her opinions might have an effect of public policy. Privately, she also enjoyed the fact that Mike Sheldon listened to her a lot more seriously than he did Dennis Moran.
Some people always made it a point to complain about how long it took to get through security and into City Hall. Susan never complained; there didn't seem to be any point to it. She just knew that if she was walking up the broad front steps at 8:30am, she could be at her desk by five minutes to nine.
That morning she got to her desk a few minutes early, and Dennis Moran was already waiting there, so excited he couldn't sit still. She deliberately avoided asking him what was the matter, acting as though everything was perfectly normal. The door to Mike Sheldon's office was closed.
When Dennis stepped out into the hall, Susan looked at Nora, whose desk was opposite hers, and raised her eyebrows, tilting her head after Mike Sheldon's assistant. Nora grinned and jerked a thumb at the closed door of the inner office. Then, turning in profile, she made the exaggerated gesture she used to indicate a big nose and a bigger belly.
Susan frowned by reflex at Nora's crude joke, but her mind was already occupied with the news that Ben Stein was in Mike Sheldon's office. No wonder Dennis was in a dither. The mere mention of the mayor's most important supporter was enough to get him nervous. Once, during a particularly long meeting, Nora had cracked Susan up with a pantomime of Dennis fetching coffee for the great man, laughing at his jokes, adjusting his tie, cleaning his glasses, polishing his shoes and kissing his ring.
By the time this was over, both women had been convulsed in silent, red-faced laughter, desperately trying to keep from making a sound which could have been heard inside, their glee all the more difficult to control because of the possibility that the conference might end at any moment and the men could come out and catch them.
Dennis came back in, sat on the edge of Susan's desk, and turned her phone around to face him. He lifted the receiver and dialed an extension in the building. "Moran here," he barked. "You got her? Good, bring her up."
He hung up and grinned, leaning toward Susan. "This is going to be great," he said quietly. "Ben Stein is in there, with the Chief, giving him a hard time about finding his daughter. And in about a minute I'm going to open those doors and bring Carly Stein in. That ought to go over big, don't you think?"
It pleased Susan to think how much this was going to annoy Mike Sheldon. The idea that he would appreciate being upstaged like this was hilarious, and it gave her a certain pleasure to imagine how Dennis was going to be made to suffer for his great triumph. She turned her phone around to face her again.
The outer door opened and two police officers came in, hauling between them a limp, sullen girl in a dirty pea jacket. Dennis barely looked at the new arrivals except to summon them forward with a gesture. He winked at Susan, went to the door to the inner office, knocked and opened it. "Excuse me, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Stein," she heard him say, "but–"
She didn't hear the rest because she was looking at the sullen girl with the long, thick hair and the low bangs. The girl's head was tilted forward, but Susan glimpsed her face and stood up.
Her stomach suddenly ached. She was paralyzed for an instant, wanting to act, to interfere, but unable to figure out how.
"Mr. Stein, sir, here is your daughter," Dennis said and the girl was brought into the office. Susan moved to the doorway, feeling like she was in a dream, floating, unable to do anything but watch.
Benjamin Stein stood up, his face expressing relief and tolerant
forgiveness, but then he froze. Mike Sheldon's eyes widened and he
half stood behind his desk. Ben Stein turned, his face growing red
and then purple. "That's not my girl, you stupid shit!! That's
your daughter, the slut!"
Mike Sheldon sat down in his chair again, his face blank. He spread his hands and placed all ten fingertips lightly on his desk blotter. Meanwhile, Ben Stein was pulling on his coat.
"I knew you'd blow this," he snapped. "Well, I've already started to deal with it myself–"
"Gregory Hobbs," Micki Sheldon said quietly. She straightened up slowly as he paused. The two police officers released her, unsure what they were supposed to be doing, but certain that it probably didn't involve holding the mayor's daughter.
"He works for you," she said, pulling a laminated card from her jacket pocket. "I have his company ID here, as a matter of fact. He murdered a young man last night, in an alley down on Mendoza between Sixth and Seventh. The body is still there–"
Ben Stein finished putting on his coat and left without a word, nearly knocking down Dennis Moran, who seemed to be having some trouble absorbing what was going on.
Micki Sheldon turned slowly to face her father. She began to speak, but he cut her off. He looked at Dennis. "What was she picked up for?" he asked in a soft voice.
"Who?" Dennis asked.
Mike Sheldon just looked at him, not saying a word. "Oh, uh," he said, gesturing at Micki. "Curfew violation."
"That's three days in holding, I believe. Take her away."
"But, chief–Carly Stein–don't you want to ask her–" Dennis began.
"There's a dead man, named Danny–" Micki began urgently, but her father just looked at his desk blotter, his fingers tensing.
"Now," he said quietly.
Dennis motioned the two dazed officers to remove Micki Sheldon from
her father's office. Susan got out of the way and returned to her
desk as the door to the inner office closed. Dennis went out with the
two officers and Micki, and Susan and Nora sat in stunned silence for
several minutes.
Then, as they were starting to get back to work, the intercom buzzed.
"It's Dennis," he said. "Get me the chief."
Knowing that Mike Sheldon probably wouldn't respond, she buzzed his office. After a few moment's silence, she said automatically, "He's stepped away. What is it?"
"Listen, Susan, get him. Bang on the door. This–"
Feeling like just hanging up, she said, "He's not answering, he won't answer, and I'm sure he doesn't want to talk to you. What is it?"
"It's Micki. They had her in the van, and it crashed."
"Oh, my God," she breathed, aware of Nora's fixed expression as she listened. "I'll get Mike. Is she–"
"Wait," said Dennis. "She's not dead, she wasn't even hurt, as far as they could tell. Before anybody knew what happened, she got out and ran into the subway. They didn't have the cuffs on her because she's the old man's daughter."
Micki
The next day was Saturday, and Susan decided she wasn't going to listen to the news, or watch television, or look at a newspaper. When Mike Sheldon had learned that his daughter had escaped from the van because the men hadn't restrained her, he'd ordered the men be fired. This led, in turn, to loud complaints and threats of a lawsuit from the police union. Mike had threatened to go public with the fact that the two officers had been outwitted by a teenage girl. Then the union had threatened to go public with the identity of that teenage girl.
Susan really didn't want to find out what had happened while she was asleep. She had intended to sleep late, but she'd awakened at her usual time and had not been able to get back to sleep.
At ten minutes before seven, she was sitting at her kitchen table, watching the water boil, trying to get up the energy to make coffee. The lobby buzzer went off, and she got to her feet and pressed the button. "Yes?" she asked.
"Miss Tumolo, there's a Miss Stein down here to see you."
Susan's immediate urge was to yell, "NO!" and go back to bed, but she dutifully said, "Send her up, please." So, for the next few minutes, she wondered who was coming up in the elevator. Was it the real Carly Stein, or was it Micki Sheldon?
By the time the doorbell rang, she'd decided it had to be Micki Sheldon, and she was right.
Micki looked around
the kitchen and peeked into the living room. She turned,
smiling a smile which involved only her mouth, an expression Susan
knew very well from Micki's father. Susan meanwhile tried not to
stare at Micki's hair. It looked like somebody had gone after Carly Stein's
bangs and long, severe hair with a lawn mower, or perhaps a knife and
fork. And in the dark. Some patches were very short, almost down to
the scalp, others were a couple of inches long, sticking up in
various directions.
"Pretty ritzy place," Micki said. Susan shrugged. "You seen the papers?"
Susan shook her head. "I've been avoiding–"
"As my father always says, you can break the glass, but you can't hold back the weather. Look." She threw a newspaper down on the table. Susan looked at the headline, sank into a chair and started to read.
Benjamin Stein Dead in Apparent Sexcapade Suicide
Benjamin Stein, the well-known owner of Stein's Suits and a prominent supporter of the Mayor since his earliest campaigns, was found dead in his office last night in an apparent murder-suicide. The other victim was Gregory Hobbs, an employee of Mr. Stein's company.
The Mayor issued a statement, saying he "would always cherish the memory of the campaigns Ben and I fought together. As for the rest, we must learn to be more tolerant of alternative lifestyles." He also said he hoped the more sensational aspects of the story would be kept in proper perspective, out of respect to Mr. Stein's widow and children. In answer to a reporter's question, he said he didn't think he had ever met Gregory Hobbs.
The door to Mr. Stein's private office was locked from the inside, and his secretary, Ms. Irene Randall, became alarmed when she could get no response on the office intercom. Fearing that Mr. Stein, who was 68, might have suffered a heart attack, she called building security and they broke down the thick oak door.
When she saw the scene inside the office, Ms. Randall fainted and couldn't be revived until the EMS workers had arrived. Police officers wouldn't comment in the scene in Mr. Stein's office, but witnesses reported that both men were naked, except for certain leather devices, and
(continued on page B-7)
"I'll make the coffee," Micki said after a minute.
Micki put a mug of
coffee in front of Susan and sat down across the table from her.
Susan looked up and they were both silent for a while. Finally, Susan
asked, "Why are you here? Why did you come to see me?"
"I need some money."
Susan nodded. "Okay, I see, and your idea is that I'm going to give you the money because I've just figured out 'what he's really like,' and I'm going to feel guilty about working for him all this time." She leaned forward and picked up her coffee. She sipped it and then placed the mug on the folded newspaper.
"I am a bad person," she went on, "but not for the reason you think. I'm a bad person because even though the man I work for–"
"The man you love," Micki muttered into her mug.
Susan laughed. "The next vacation I get, I want to spend it where you live, the country where things are so simple. Anyway, the man I work for just had two men killed, and he had it set up so that their bodies would be found in the most ridiculous and humiliating situation he could imagine."
"I wonder if this comes as any big surprise to you," Micki said quietly. Susan ignored her.
"One of those man was going to withdraw his support," she continued, "and maybe make some public statements. Plus he called you a slut. The other man, this Hobbs, didn't do anything, at least nothing that Mike Sheldon cares about. And now they're both dead.
"You know why I'm a bad person? I'm a bad person because the thing that upsets me the most is how Mike treated you. More than two murders." She picked up her coffee. "You might as well take off that horrible, smelly jacket, because I'll give you money, and some clothes besides, but there's a price. I want to know what's going on, all the questions Mike was too angry to ask." She held up her hand, "Not for him. If he wants to know, he can stop being so stubborn and ask you himself. This is just between you and me. But if you don't want to tell me, you can leave now."
Micki nodded and stood up. "Okay," she said, taking off her jacket and hanging it over the back of her chair. Susan went to the stove and got the coffee pot. She topped off both their mugs and then sat down.
"When I got to college," Micki began, "I might just as well have been named Micki Hitler. I had wanted to go to school far away because I wanted to be more anonymous, but I found out that my father's name is known all across the country. So, kids would say things about him, and I'd defend him. Not even because I thought he was right about every little thing, but because you defend your blood. You remember all those stories about how he stood up for Paul when they were kids, even when Paul was wrong and my father would beat the shit out of him later at home.
"So, anyway, I got in trouble a few times, for fighting and stuff, but nothing too bad. But then I started trying to figure out why the entire student body of this big, fancy school all seemed to think my father was a monster. So, I started doing some reading, newspapers and magazines, and then I started to wonder if maybe they were right. It didn't seem reasonable that they could all be malcontents and crybabies."
She sighed and leaned back in her chair, then she brought her legs up and folded them under her. "You know my record in high school. I didn't get into a college like that on my own merits. And, between the fights and everything else (plus a lot of partying, I admit), I wasn't in good shape grades-wise. I decided to hell with it, I was going to leave school and come back here. I wanted to know the truth, a lot more than I wanted to know about calculus or anthropology or whatever."
Susan nodded. "So, you came back. I can understand that. But why did you come back as Carly Stein?"
Micki looked around. "Do you have anything to eat? Just anything? A piece of bread would be fine. I'm really hungry."
Susan got up and took some bagels from the breadbox. She brought them over on a cutting board, along with butter, jam and a big knife. Micki sliced a bagel in half and buttered it. She started chewing a piece, then said, "Thanks. Anyway, Carly was a year ahead of me at school. I guess maybe her father helped me get in." Susan nodded. "We'd never been close, she's a real religious type, very strict, but we got more friendly after I got there because she sort of understood what I was going through, the whole thing about my father."
She swallowed and
took another bite of the bagel. "I had a problem. If I tried to
buy a plane ticket, it would show up on my credit card, and whoever
goes over those things–you, I assume–would tell my father. I
tried to buy a ticket with cash, but you can't do that, at least not
if you're a teenager. So, I was talking to Carly about this, and she
said she'd buy me a ticket. She said nobody ever looked at her credit
card, they just paid it.
"But they check ID on planes these days, so I had to travel as Carly Stein. I had my hair cut like hers, and I figured they wouldn't look that closely if I had the right ID and the right attitude and the platinum card. And I was right.
"When I got here, I just kept on being her because I didn't want my father to find out I'd come home."
Susan nodded slowly, then she bit thoughtfully into a bagel. "And you didn't wonder why Carly Stein would go to all this bother for you? And maybe get in trouble herself if her father ever found out?"
"No," Micki said, smiling. "I had a pretty good idea. I figured she wanted to run away herself, and this way I'd leave a great big trail pointing here, and meanwhile she's gone somewhere else."
"Why was she running away?"
"She never mentioned it, but let's just say that Little Miss Virtue was starting to show."
Susan failed to smother a giggle, then she shook her head. "I was about to imagine her father's reaction to that, but..." She waved a hand at the folded newspaper between them.
Micki nodded. "Maybe he'll spin in his grave."
"So, how long have you been here?"
"About a month."
"And nobody noticed you were gone? At school?"
"A lot of students cut classes, it's not like high school. Nobody really cares. And I have a couple of people covering for me. I've mailed a couple of letters out there for them to mail back to my father. Finals are starting, though, so I guess my college career is about to end for real." She smiled at Susan's expression. "It's okay, I know about my father's spy. Let's just say I won him over." She peered into her coffee mug, trying to see if there was another drop to be found in there.
"You've been here a month? Where have you been staying?"
Micki slumped in her chair and hugged her knees against her chest. "This is the lousy part. If you're thinking that maybe Ben Stein was right about me... Anyway, I needed a place to stay. My first night here I picked up this guy in a bar and went home with him. I stayed with him for about three weeks, but then I had to get out. He... I knew I was in trouble the first morning when he started looking at me and murmuring my name over and over. And of course it wasn't even my name." She looked up. "His name was Danny. He was the one Hobbs killed. Hobbs was following me for Ben Stein, thinking I was Carly, and he saw us together. Danny and I had dinner the night before last." She shrugged. "I was hungry and broke. He was desperate to get me to come back, so I let him buy a dinner."
Susan thought it was rather endearing that Micki obviously thought this was an almost unforgivably evil thing for her to have done to poor Danny. All she said, though, was, "I don't get why Hobbs killed him."
So Micki told Susan an abbreviated version of what had happened that night. She told her about walking aimlessly after dinner until she stumbled on Danny's body, about bumping into the tall man and about hiding out with him after curfew, about her telling the story of Danny's side of the evening, and about exactly when he'd interrupted her. She left out the story of the streets, and the rest. She concluded with, "I was blocks and blocks from the restaurant when I found his body. Why was he right there? He must have been following me. And Hobbs must have been following me, too, that's the only way it figures. Danny..." She fought back sudden, unexpected tears. "He probably thought he was protecting me or something. Shit." She picked up a napkin and wiped her eyes.
Susan waited a moment, finishing her coffee, then she asked quietly, "So, what are you going to do now?"
Micki hesitated, then shook her head. "I don't trust you that much. And anyway, I'm really not sure. I suddenly feel like I don't have a home anymore."
"Don't jump to any conclusions. Listen, for the first eighteen years of your life, you thought your father was always right. Now you probably think he's always wrong."
Micki made a face. "I didn't say that."
"But you think it. I'll tell you what I think, which is that he's more complex than that. Now, you're all pissed off at him, but even so you quoted one of his sayings a few minutes ago. I'll bet you have a lot more of them floating around up there under that terrible haircut. We all do. So, maybe you'd better find out if you want to keep them or throw them out."
Micki smiled. "Maybe. Remember, I don't trust you that much."
"Fair enough." She smiled. "Fair enough. Come on, let's get you some clothes."
Susan locked the door behind Micki Sheldon. She looked at the
closed door for a moment, then she smiled and went into her bedroom
to get dressed.
The End