Chapter
12
I
t was a little after ten when I closed up the store and headed out to the cab. Amy hadn't called me back. Not that I'd really expected her to. The girl definitely took after her father. Murphy had done this kind of stuffâappearing then disappearingâall the time, when he was alive. It had made me nuts then and it was making me nuts now. As I turned the key in the lock, I couldn't help wondering, for what must have been the hundredth time, what Amy had wanted to talk to me about.
But at least I'd found out where Toon Town lived. Thank God for small favors. Around nine o'clock I'd hung the closed sign on the door, unearthed the phone book, and taken up where Manuel had left off. From the yellow highlighter on the page, I ascertained he'd spoken to twelve Gleasons. Not very many for the time he'd put in. He'd probably spent most of the hour and a half talking to his friends on the phone. That left me with forty-seven more to go. I was not happy. Fortunately I got lucky with number nineteen.
“Wally isn't home,” a woman informed me. She sounded as if she were nursing a bad head cold.
“Do you know when he'll be back?” I asked, almost not believing my good luck.
“He's gone out to the clubs. Why?” Her voice was sharp with concern. I had the feeling I was talking to his mother.
“I just need to ask him something.”
She sneezed. “You're not one of his customers, are you?”
It was too good an opportunity to pass up. I lied and told her I was.
“Because he told me he wasn't covering. He said he had the night off.”
“That's not what I was told.”
“Well, that's what Mr. Marco told him.”
“Don Marco?” I guessed. Marco was a fairly uncommon last name in Syracuse.
“That's right.”
Interesting. The Don Marco I knew ran a security outfit called Locked Up Tight. In fact, I'd had him give me a price on my store, but he'd come in way too high. I found myself drumming my fingers on the counter. I wondered if that's why I thought I'd seen Toon Town before. Maybe he'd been out to the store with Marco. Marco had brought a helper along. I tried to visualize him and couldn't.
The woman coughed and I went back to thinking about her. “So this isn't about work?” she asked.
“It is, but it isn't urgent,” I reassured her. “I just need to ask him something.” I gave her my name and phone number and asked her to have Wallace call me in the morning.
“Good.” She sounded relieved. “I'll give him the message when I see him, but lots of times he doesn't come home for a couple of days at a time. He stays over with his friends.” She sneezed again. “I don't like it, but he's over eighteen, so what can I do? You'd probably have better luck trying at the store.” She hung up.
I was humming as I went out the door. It looked as if my luck was beginning to change. The wind was gusting, as I drove down the block. Awnings snapped, tree branches danced, and wires hummed. As I turned onto Oswego Street, I almost ran into a downed tree limb. The thing was huge. Its leaves brushed the side of the cab, as I inched my way around it. I turned on the radio. The weatherman was announcing a gale alert. “Winds will be out of the north at up to fifty miles an hour, bringing rain in their stead. Snow has been reported in Watertown.”
That was just what I wanted to hear. I spent the rest of the ride home avoiding rolling trash cans, plastic garbage bags, and fallen tree branches. I parked my car in the driveway and got out. The wind was whipping the piles of leaves beside the curb this way and that. The air was heavy with their scrabblings. Zsa Zsa barked at them, then tucked her tail between her legs and ran for the house. She doesn't like this kind of weather. Maybe the wind brings in too many strange smells. My other dog, Elise, loved it. She would stand at the door, head raised, sniffing the air, whining until I let her out. But Zsa Zsa prefers to curl up on the sofa, lap a little beer, and watch television on a night like this. Like her owner. Except for the beer of course. I like mine in a bottle instead of a saucer.
“You're a little late, aren't you?” Manuel asked, as I came through the door. He was leaning against the hallway wall. “I expected you home an hour ago.” He righted himself, unfolded his arms, and put his hands on his hips.
At another time I would have laughed. Usually I give points for outrageousness, but the day had put me in a bad mood, and I didn't want to talk to anyone, let alone deal with Manuel. “What are you doing here?” I demanded.
“Waiting for you. Obviously.”
“How the hell did you get in?”
He held up a key. “You gave this to me, remember.”
I grabbed it out of his hand. “I feel like I'm living in Grand fucking Central.”
He put his hands up. “Hey, Tim told me you got broken into last night. Listen, I'm sorry and all, but don't take it out on me.”
I took my jacket off and threw it on the hall table. James came out of the kitchen and wound himself around my ankles. Zsa Zsa ran over and licked his face. He stiffened in outrage and hissed. I bent down and picked the cat up before he could swat Zsa Zsa in the face.
“All right. What do you want?”
Manuel looked at the floor. “I figured maybe I could crash here for the night.”
“I thought you were staying at Rabbit's. What happened?”
“Oh, he got himself in ...”
“In what? ...”
“A situation.”
I thought back to what Manuel had said this morning. “Does this situation have anything to do with the stuff you were helping him with?”
Manuel shrugged. “Yeah. Kinda.”
“So where is Rabbit?”
“In Watertown.”
“Watertown?”
“Just for a couple of days. Then he's coming back.”
“Who's looking for him?”
“Wayne.”
“Great.” I knew Wayne. He was not known for his good temper. A burn-out, he operated out of the west side. His forte was stealing and reselling VCRs, boxes, and car stereos, although he wasn't above selling a gun or two, or a couple of nickel bags when he could get them. “Tell me, are you in trouble too?”
“Not really.”
“Not really?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
He shrugged again. “Mom says Walter is still mad at me, so I can't go there. It's warm here. I figured maybe I could help you out. Make some more phone calls or something.”
“I'll see.”
Manuel smiled. He knew me well enough by now to know that that meant yes. He followed me into the kitchen. I poured myself a Scotch and filled up James's bowl with dried cat food.
“How do you think cat food tastes?” he asked, as James started to eat.
“Lousy.” I looked at Manuel. He seemed thinner than usual. “Are you hungry?”
He shook his head, but the expression in his eyes betrayed him. I got out the milk, a box of Frosted Flakes, a bowl, and spoon and set everything down on the table.
“I told you I'm not hungry,” he protested.
“I know.” I pointed. “Eat anyway.”
“Only if you do.”
“Fine.” Normally I would have been annoyed, but the truth was I needed to put something healthy in my stomach anyway. Well maybe Frosted Flakes weren't All Bran, but they were definitely higher on the nutrition scale than anything else I'd eaten today. As we ate, I told Manuel about my conversation with Toon Town's mother.
“I bet he went to Club 666,” Manuel said, pouring more milk and cereal into his bowl. “This is Thursday night. On Thursday everyone goes to 666.”
“Everyone?” I pushed my bowl away. I'd had enough.
“Everyone who likes to dance. On Friday it's the Iguana.”
“I see.” As I watched Manuel gulp down his third helping and go for his fourth, I wondered how long it had been since he'd eaten.
“You're thinking of seeing if Toon Town's there, aren't you?” Manuel asked. His eating pace had slowed.
“Yes, I am.” I held out my bowl and James and Zsa Zsa both came over and started lapping up the last of the milk. Maybe Toon Town knew where Amy was, maybe he didn't. But until I talked to him, I wouldn't know. And I didn't want to wait to find out if I didn't have to. I wanted Amy off the street as soon as possible. The longer she stayed out, the greater the chance that she would get herself into some serious trouble, not that she wasn't in enough as it was.
Manuel sat back and rubbed his stomach. He'd finally had enough. “You should let me go with you. I go to the clubs all the time. I know everyone there.”
Unlike me, I couldn't help reflecting. When was the last time I'd gone dancing, anyway? I think it was when I was down in the Yucatan with Murphy.
“I thought you had to be eighteen and over to get into these places.”
Manuel looked at me as if I were a moron. “I got a fake ID. And anyway, I know the bouncers.”
“All right,” I agreed, thinking that if I left him home, he'd probably just drink all my Scotch.
“Great.” Manuel bounced out of the chair. “I just got to change. I'll be down in ten minutes,” he announced. He was down in thirty.
I spent the time studying an old photograph of Murphy and trying to figure out why I felt responsible for his daughter. When we left, Zsa Zsa and James were asleep on the sofa. They obviously had more sense than I did.
Club 666 was located in a no man's land between Armory Square and the West side. Maybe there had been something there once, but now the only thing the area had was vacant lots. To get to it, you had to take a narrow, unmarked side road that formed a detour around 690, but judging by the number of cars parked around the club, the location wasn't a hindrance. We had to park two blocks away and walk up. It was colder down here, and Manuel and I both put up our collars and jammed our hands in our jacket pockets. By the time we got there, my eyes were teary from the wind. As we went inside, I thought I saw a couple of snow flakes trickling down under the streetlight.
A skinny, androgynous-looking guy with a platinum buzz and two nose rings was guarding the door. I gave him ten dollars for the two of us. He stamped our hands and we went inside. My mouth dropped opened when I saw what was going on.
Y.M.C.A.
was playing on the sound system. Strobe lights were flickering on the dance floor. I watched a boy in bell-bottoms and a girl in a miniskirt and see-thru blouse walk over to the bar and order rum and cokes. I felt as if I'd just gone back about twenty years.
“What is this?” I asked Manuel. I had to shout to make myself heard over the music.
“Disco night. Come on, let's get something to drink.” He started to elbow his way toward the bar.
Nothing like having your youth enshrined to make you feel incredibly old, I thought, as I followed him over.
“You're lucky,” Manuel said, after I'd ordered a Sam Adams for myself and a soda for him.
“How's that?”
He gestured towards the dance floor. “It must have been fun to have been around then.”
“It was.” Up to a point. If you left out the war and the fights and the cops and the friends that fried their brains on too much meth. But the sex was great. So was the grass and the music and the feeling that the whole world was yours. But all that was too complicated to get across in thirty seconds and, frankly, I didn't even want to try. I took a sip of beer and listened to “Sunday, Sunday” instead.
God, I remembered that song. It reminded me of summer Sundays in New York. I'd loved the city then. Everyone was gone, escaped to the beach or the country. The streets were empty, canyons of white light, punctuated by bands of shade. Murphy and I would get up late and walk over to the park and watch the old men sailing the boats they'd made on the pond, while we gobbled down melting ice cream pops, licking the thick, sweet, white, half-frozen fluid off our fingers. I sighed and took another drink. We were going to go on forever.
“Do you see Toon Town?” Manuel asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“I can't see anyone from here.” The dance floor was crowded and dark, and the flickering of the strobe lights gave everything a hellish cast. I picked up my beer. “I'm going to walk around and see if I can spot him.”
Manuel nodded and turned away. I had the feeling he was relieved I was going.
By the time I was halfway around the circuit, my eyes had gotten used to the dark and the movement. I saw lots of people gyrating back and forth, but Wallace Gleason wasn't among them. I guessed he'd gone somewhere else. As I headed back to the bar, I noticed that Manuel was dancing with a girl wearing a midriff baring sweater, a black leather micro miniskirt, and black tights. She was way out of his league, and he looked as if he'd died and gone to heaven. Then he glanced up and saw me. His eyes pleaded with me to go away.
“Half an hour,” I mouthed. Then I walked over to the bar and ordered myself another beer, consoling myself with the thought that Toon Town might still show up.
He didn't.
Twenty minutes later, the crowd started to thin out. I was slightly drunk and definitely depressed. I should have stayed home and saved my money. It was time to go. If Manuel didn't want toâtough. He could walk. But when I looked around, I couldn't find him.
He wasn't on the dance floor.
He wasn't at the bar.
I walked over and yelled into the men's room. He wasn't there.
I asked the bartender if he'd seen him. He hadn't.
I would have asked the ticket taker if he'd seen Manuel leave, only he wasn't there.