Payback, p.5
Payback, page 5
The shelter was housed in an old hotel on Amsterdam. Like its occupants, the once distinguished property had fallen on hard times. The exterior had suffered sad neglect. The brick facade had crumbled, and the stone foundation was defaced with graffiti that no one took the trouble to remove. Even the name of the establishment had undergone a change. In recent times, the Bohemian Hotel was commonly referred to by a nickname: the BoHo.
As I approached the BoHo, I saw a couple of men lingering out front, sharing a cigarette. When I neared the entrance, they gave me a curious glance.
I paused and said, “I’m here to see Steven Salinas. He works here.”
Without comment, they turned away, passed off the cigarette again. I felt a little ridiculous as I walked on. What had I been thinking? They didn’t care what I was doing there, didn’t need me to justify my presence.
I pulled the front door open and stepped inside. A huge counter of carved walnut sat in the back of the lobby, the old registration desk from the hotel’s glory days. Rueben, Steven’s coworker, stood behind it. He gave me a speculative glance as I walked up. Steven had introduced us before, but maybe he didn’t remember me.
Or maybe he did. I don’t always make a great first impression.
I tried to remedy that. Pasted on a wide smile. “Hi, Rueben. I’m Steven’s friend, Kate Stone. Is he around?”
He leaned on the counter. The surface was marred by ancient water rings and cigarette burns. After he studied me for a moment, he said, “He’s working. City Clinic is here. They should be done, but they’re running late. Probably wrap up at one.”
I figured I’d stick around. I had no pressing appointments. There was a clock behind the reception desk. I checked the time. It read eight thirty.
Not a reliable timepiece, apparently.
“I’ll wait,” I said. “Can you let him know I’m here?”
He didn’t comment, just turned his attention to a laptop that sat on the battered countertop.
Okay, I thought. The reception guy didn’t need to deliver my message, I’d do it myself. I’d shoot Steven a text, and then I could stick around for him to finish his medical duties. I found an unoccupied chair in the lobby. The seat was rickety, listing to the side when I sat, but it would suffice while I waited.
When I pulled out my phone, I had a message waiting for me—from Millie. I was happy to hear from her. We had grown really close that year. She and her boyfriend Rod were the people in the support circle I could actually trust. Aside from Steven, of course.
Her text was brief. Just three words, in all caps.
CALL ME
URGENT
That shook me. I hit the call button. She picked up on the fourth ring. Her voice was a bare whisper as she said, “Kate?”
“Hey, Millie, it’s me. What’s up? How are you doing?”
“Oh my God.” She was still whispering; I had to cover my other ear, to hear her over the buzz of conversation in the shelter lobby. “Where are you?”
“I’m back in town. Hey, can you speak up? I’m having trouble hearing you.”
I’d never spoken these words to Millie before. It was sometimes necessary to ask her to tone down, never to speak up. Theater people don’t tend to be soft-spoken.
“You’re back? Thank God. Kate, I’m going crazy.”
She sounded distraught. “What can I do for you, Millie?”
“We need to talk. When can we meet?”
Her whispery voice had quickly grown shrill. I wanted to help, because I was genuinely concerned. “Hey, I’m free right now. Tell me what’s going on.”
“No, I don’t want to talk on the phone. We need to meet in person.”
“Okay.” I made the mistake of checking the wall clock again. Still eight thirty. Duh—the time was right there, on my phone. “Want to get lunch? Or we can meet for a drink. Is there a bar near the conservatory?”
Millie studied classical voice in the city. She was an anomaly, a country kid trying to sing opera in New York, not Opry in Nashville. “I’m not at school. They’ll look for me there.” Her voice hushed again. “Can you come out to Brooklyn? I’ve been staying over here, hiding out at Rod’s apartment in Gravesend.”
Hiding out? That was a troubling word choice. Whatever the problem was, I hoped I could help. “Sure. What’s a good meeting spot for you?”
“It should be a public place, lots of people. Coney Island. It’s not too far from Rod’s place. The Boardwalk. Tomorrow at two o’clock.”
I calculated the distance to Coney Island from Manhattan.
“You sure? It’s going to take an hour to get there. I’m okay with that if you’re set on it, but maybe we could meet somewhere midway. Want to get lunch in Brooklyn Heights?”
No answer. I checked my phone. The call had ended.
Slipping the phone into my pocket, I decided that the Coney Island destination wasn’t such a bad plan after all. With my mother still in Florida, I was on vacation. Her office was closed, no cases were set.
Steven called out to me. “Kate! What are you doing here?”
He was walking down a curved stairway, headed to the lobby floor. And he was smiling. That was a good sign. I hadn’t let him know I was coming.
I jumped up, headed his way and met him at the bottom of the stairs. “I had an idea,” I said. “I’m thinking about having a staycation.”
He tilted his head, like he hadn’t heard me right. Maybe it sounded stupid. I rushed to explain.
“I came back early because I wanted to chase Bill down. I was worried about him when I was in Florida, I thought he was in trouble.”
“I know. That was really considerate of you.” He reached for my shoulder and rubbed the back of my neck. It felt good, making me relax. “Very thoughtful. How’d it go? Did you talk to him?”
“Yeah, I saw him on his break. When we had the chance to talk, he wouldn’t listen to me. Thought I was nuts for worrying. Says everything is great. Apparently, he doesn’t think he’s being manipulated. Obviously, he doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into. But I’m not going to convince him. I’ll have to find a way to help without him knowing.”
Rueben called out from his spot behind the counter. “Steven! They’re serving lunch in ten minutes.”
He looked down at me, giving me a rueful smile. “Duty calls. I’m working the cafeteria line.”
He leaned in and kissed me on the forehead.
When he started to walk away, I grabbed his hand. “I left my suitcase at the hotel. In baggage claim.”
He gave me a quizzical look. “You didn’t go back to your apartment?”
“No! I can’t face it, not yet. Besides, I’m officially supposed to be on vacation, right? So I’m continuing my vacation here. In town.”
He laughed and said, “That sounds like a great plan. Enjoy.” He walked off, heading back to work.
I called after him, “You’re welcome to join me. You’re officially invited.”
When he didn’t respond immediately, I added, “We can watch some porn on the in-room movies.”
The BoHo lobby had great acoustics. My voice carried. All the conversation stopped. Someone shouted, “I’ll come over!”
Steven wheeled around and gave me a look. I didn’t wait for his answer, though. A woman’s got to have her pride. I turned on my heel and left.
Figured I’d let him think it over.
Chapter 9
Gray skies stretched over the beach. The churning water of the Atlantic was black and foamy as it crashed on the shore in South Brooklyn. No swimmers braved the surf that day, and the brown sand was dotted with a bare handful of hardy souls huddled on beach towels. Even the seagulls sounded disgruntled, screaming overhead as if they meant to voice complaints about the weather.
But the boardwalk at Coney Island was hopping. The usual suspects were putting on a show, either in a bid to collect spare change, or simply for their own entertainment. A shirtless man with a grizzled beard roared as he attempted a hand flip, landing hard on his back. Recovering with incredible speed, he jumped to his feet and shouted, “Bing, bong! Who wants to see me do that again?”
Steven and I kept walking. Under my breath, I said, “Jesus, that guy is high as a kite. He needs help, and he’s not going to find it on Coney Island.”
Steven shook his head but didn’t comment.
I tugged his arm. “Come on, what do you think? You work with people like that all day. Is that guy a hopeless case?”
“I don’t think anyone’s hopeless.” He pointed at a food stand down the boardwalk. “Is that the place? Didn’t you say we’re meeting her at Paul’s Daughter?”
I picked up my pace when I saw the famous figure on top of the roof at our destination: a man holding up a huge hamburger. We dodged under the blue-and-white striped awnings and stepped up to the counter.
As we waited to order, Steven nudged me. “What are you in the mood for?”
A dizzying array of choices confronted me. Signs depicting fried clam strips, lobster rolls, hot Italian sausage with peppers and onions.
When it was my turn, a kid wearing a white T-shirt with a blue ballcap pushed back on his head asked, “What you want?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Clam strips and fries. I need tartar sauce with that. And a Blue Moon.”
“Draft?”
“Yeah.” I looked up at Steven. “Do you see anything on the menu, or do you need to go someplace else? There aren’t a lot of vegan choices, you probably noticed.”
Steven looked thoughtful. To the kid behind the counter, he said, “Do you have any menu items that don’t contain meat?”
Pulling down the bill of his ballcap, the kid smirked. “Sure. We got cotton candy.”
Steven laughed. “I’ll take it.”
We sat at a white picnic table under an awning. While I ate, I kept an eye out for Millie. I had just checked the time on my phone, wondering whether she had changed her mind. That’s when she appeared, moving through the crowd at a quick pace. I almost had to do a double take when I spotted her, to be certain it was Millie.
Millie was a transplant, a kid from the rural Midwest who’d come to New York with a dream of making a career on the stage. She customarily wore a full face of makeup, displayed high spirits, and spoke at an earsplitting volume.
She dropped on to the bench beside me, breathing hard. “I’m so glad to see you, Kate. Really, really glad.”
She had undergone a change in the past two weeks. Her face was pale, her mane of long blond hair looked limp and straggly. The shirt she wore was wrinkled and soiled, like she’d picked up dirty clothes off the floor and pulled them on. If I didn’t know her so well, I might not have recognized her.
Steven said, “Millie? Are you okay?”
She checked over both shoulders, scrutinizing the people sitting nearby, before she replied, “Oh, please. Good God. I haven’t been okay in ages.” She stared down at the plastic bag of pink and blue cotton candy resting on the table. “Can I have some of that?”
“Sure.” Steven handed it to her.
Millie pulled a thick blue wad of the candy from the bag. Before she poked it into her mouth, she said, “I haven’t eaten anything today. Maybe not yesterday, either. It’s hard to remember. Everything’s so crazy.”
“Millie! Sorry to hear that.” I stood, determined to feed her. I was afraid she’d get sick if she didn’t start taking care of herself. “I’ll get you something. What sounds good? You want a burger?”
She halted me, grasping my arm with a sticky hand. Her lips were turning blue from the dyed sugar. “We don’t have time. I need to talk to you, it can’t wait.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s urgent. I’m desperate.”
Alarmed, I exchanged a look with Steven. Millie tended to be dramatic, but this was over the top, even for her. “Okay,” I said, sitting back down on the bench. “You didn’t give me any details on the phone, but I could tell you were upset. We’ve been worried about you. What’s got you so scared?”
“We can’t talk here. Someone could be listening.” She picked up my plastic cup of beer. “God, I’m thirsty.” After she drained it, she slammed the empty cup on the table and said, “We need privacy.”
Steven gave her a bemused look. Nodding his head toward the crowd on the boardwalk, he said, “Millie, you chose this place. You wanted to meet on the Coney Island Boardwalk. It’s pretty much impossible to find a private spot around here.”
She looked haunted. “I feel safer in crowds. But I don’t want anyone listening to us.”
I wadded up my paper napkins and stuffed them with my trash. “No problem. I know where we can go.”
Millie clutched the bag of cotton candy. In a hushed voice, she said, “Where?”
Before I replied, I scooted around in my seat and looked up at it, towering fifteen stories overhead. It was a comfort to know that some things didn’t change. This vision was one of them.
“The Wonder Wheel.”
Chapter 10
As we approached the Wonder Wheel, Millie looked up, staring at it with apprehension. “I’ve got a thing about heights,” she said.
The old Ferris wheel is tall, one hundred and fifty feet high. But it’s not a wild, adrenaline-spiking carnival experience. Passengers ride in old-fashioned enclosed cabins, rather than a conventional open seat. Even with Millie’s tendency for the dramatic, there was nothing very scary about it.
“You wanted privacy,” I said, heading into the ticket queue. “We’ll have a car to ourselves.”
Steven tapped my shoulder. I paused. “What?”
“You’re in line for the moving cars, the ones that slide around,” he said. “I’d prefer the other experience.”
“Good God,” I said. “Really?”
They were seriously interfering with my fun. The old Wonder Wheel is what they call an “eccentric” Ferris wheel. There are two different ways to ride it.
Millie pointed up as the wheel rotated high over our heads. “Why are some of the cars rolling around?”
“They’re not fixed to the rim,” Steven said. “They slide back and forth along the rails while the wheel turns.”
Millie turned to him, her eyes frantic. “Is that why I hear people screaming?”
“Yeah.” When Steven reiterated his preference, his voice wasn’t remotely apologetic, to my consternation. “Millie and I vote to ride in the stationary cars. If you’re okay with that.”
Actually, I wasn’t down with that. Nobody except old people and infants would choose the stationary cars. I was chagrined as I followed them to the queue for the senior citizen–style cabins, embarrassed to be associated with the tame customer option. Making sure they could hear me, I grumbled. “This is a first for me, and I’ve been coming here for years. My dad wouldn’t be caught dead in one of these white cars.”
The sixteen moving cabins were brightly painted in red, blue, and yellow. They carried the passengers who were squealing with fun. We would be assigned one of the white cars, inexorably fixed directly to the rim of the wheel. The ride Steven chose was not where the action was.
As we boarded the white cabin, the carny who shut the door said, “Enjoy the ride!” I thought I detected a note of sarcasm, and avoided making eye contact with him, out of shame.
The wheel began to turn. Millie rubbed her nose and said, “I can’t believe I’m even saying this. They picked Rod up at work. He’s at Rikers.”
My discontent forgotten, I said, “Millie, no! Oh my God, that’s terrible.”
Steven said, “What did they arrest him for?”
“Something about his bond on an assault charge. A bondsman changed his mind, withdrew it?” Her face crumpled. “Remember when he got busted at that yacht party? We thought Gatsby fixed it, liked he always used to do.”
“Gatsby” was the name Millie had always used to refer to our anonymous benefactor, the leader of the pack who had supported and funded our various schemes to balance the scales of justice.
She said, “He got Rod bailed out right after his arrest that night, and we assumed that the problem just went away. Gatsby had done it for us before, just hired a lawyer who took care of it, and we didn’t have to worry. Rod didn’t figure anyone was pursuing the charges. But the cops came to the nightclub with a warrant. They put him in cuffs and took him away. I didn’t even know about it until he never made it home from work. I called the manager at the club, and she told me. And now, I don’t know what to do.”
She ducked her head as she started to cry. I slid off the bench I shared with Steven and sat beside her. Pulling her into a hug, I watched the red and blue cars slide inward on their tracks while Millie sobbed.
When we were high in the air, the wheel paused to admit passengers down below. Millie wiped her eyes and looked up at me. With blue sugar still clinging to her face, she looked so young, it stirred a protective impulse. Her voice broke when she said, “You’re a lawyer, Kate. Tell me what to do.”
Though I was seriously rattled by the news of Rod’s incarceration, I made an effort to sound chill. Millie needed a rock, not a sob sister to cry with. “Have you talked to him?”
“Yeah, he used his one phone call to get in touch with me. But I wanted to talk to him in person. So the very next day, I went to Rikers. But when I got there, they wouldn’t let me see him. They said that there are rules about visiting, and I didn’t follow them. But I don’t know what the rules are, I’ve never been in this situation before. I needed help, but I didn’t know who to ask. I’m afraid to talk to anyone else in the group. And I don’t know how to contact Gatsby.”
“Don’t do that.” I could see my mother shaking her head, with that look of warning she often wore.
“I don’t have his number, couldn’t do it if I wanted to. I figured I needed legal advice. But you’re the only lawyer I know, and when it happened, you were in Florida.”
“I’m back. And I’m on it, Millie. I’ll go to Rikers tomorrow.”
