No Place (17 page)

“Hello?”

He looks back, a blank expression on his face. This isn’t like him.

“You
sure
you’re okay?” I ask.

He nods. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in a little while.”

I head over to the dining tent. Mom’s sitting with Mona, Stella, Fred, and Diane. It’s like even here in Dignityville we’ve
got our own little clique. I get in the food line, not really paying attention, my thoughts still on what happened back at Starbucks.

As I get close to the servers, I check what’s for dinner. Looks like lasagna, which is good because it’s one of those meals that’s hard to mess up. I slide my tray and look up . . . into Tory’s eyes.

She’s a volunteer server tonight.

I feel my face go hot and red. It’s like standing here naked. But then, surprisingly, the embarrassment passes.
What difference does it make? She already knows, right?
She smiles sympathetically and starts to dig into the lasagna with a serving spoon.

“Whoa!” I raise a hand to stop her. “Did Noah and Zach have anything to do with making this?”

Her face scrunches with curiosity. “No.”

“You positive?”

“It was donated by Alfredo’s in town. Why?”

“Just making sure.” I lower my hand. “Those two guys are not to be trusted in a kitchen.”

“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.” Tory smiles, then lowers her voice while she dumps a square on my plate. “It’s really good. I snuck a little when no one was watching.”

“Tsk, tsk. Stealing from the homeless?” I tease.

She holds up her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. “It only was this much.”

“I’ll let you get away with it this time,” I jokingly warn. “But do it again and you won’t be allowed back, understand?”

Tory pretends to shake with fear, and salutes. “Yes, sir!”

We share a grin and a wink, and I head off. Truth is, that wasn’t nearly as bad as I might have imagined. When I return to our table, Fred has to greet me with his latest joke: “What’s a frog’s favorite soft drink?”

“I don’t know, Fred, what?” I ask.

“Croaka-Cola.”

I groan. Stella giggles with delight, which makes Mona, Diane, and Mom smile.

We’re just one little happy homeless family
, I think.

Dad never shows up for dinner.

 32 

“Make it your community issues project,” Ms. Mitchell says the next day in the library when we run into each other. I’ve just brought up what Detective French told me about wanted criminals going free because the police don’t have the time or manpower to track them down.

Oh, man, why did I have to open my big mouth?

“Don’t roll your eyes, Mr. Halprin,” my government and politics teacher scolds good-naturedly. “Everyone has to do a project this semester. At least you’ll have one you’re interested in.”

Guess she’s got a point.

Later I run into Meg in the hall. According to Mom, I’m supposed to tell
her
I need some time off. But I know I won’t, just like I couldn’t tell Talia. Not for the same reason, though. I won’t tell Meg because I can’t stand the idea of hurting her.

“Hey.” She smiles warmly, and we start to walk together.
I’m equal parts glad to be with her and nervous about which of Talia’s friends is going to see us.

“I just wanted to say thanks,” she says.

“For?”

“Caring about Aubrey.”

“How is he?”

Her shoulders hunch. “No change. The test scores aren’t getting worse, but he still hasn’t woken up.”

Once again I want to put my arms around her to comfort her, but I hesitate, thinking of Talia and her spies.

You can’t live like this, Dan.

So I put my arm around her anyway.

 33 

A MEETING

“You’re going to start a rumor and organize a protest at Town Hall. The idea is to get everyone out of Dignityville for a short period of time.”

“No.”

“Listen carefully. It’s going to happen whether you like it or not. If you truly don’t want anyone to get hurt, you’ll get them out of there.”

“If you do anything to Dignityville, I’ll tell the police.”

“And they’ll find out that you conspired to have Aubrey Fine beaten.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Prove it.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“I don’t think you recognize the magnitude of all this, Mr. Halprin. There are people in this town who have millions and millions invested in real estate. There are banks holding
tens
of
millions of dollars in real estate and construction loans. It all comes down to one very simple thing: the value of property. If real estate values fall, investors can’t sell or rent their properties for enough money to pay back their loans. Do you know what happens then?”

“The investors forfeit the properties and the banks get stuck with them.”

“Correct. And in the process, not only do the investors lose a great deal of money, but the people who work for them lose their jobs. Architects, construction workers, cement suppliers, carpenters, plumbers, electricians, bricklayers, real estate brokers, title companies, building superintendents, doormen, janitors . . . hundreds and hundreds of people become unemployed. And it doesn’t stop there, Mr. Halprin, because eventually the banks with bad loans either go out of business or have to consolidate with other banks, and that means the layoffs of tellers and loan officers and appraisers. And do you know what that means?”

“The unemployed have less money to spend on food and clothes, so restaurants and stores go out of business.”

“Precisely. And when the people who worked in those restaurants and stores become unemployed,
they
have no money to spend, and that leads to more businesses closing, and it becomes one gigantic downward spiral. That’s why your wife lost her job as a stockbroker. It wasn’t that she performed poorly, it was just that people no longer had the money to invest in stocks. And even
that’s
not the end of it, because
when businesses close and people become unemployed, they stop paying taxes. Do you know what the cities of Vallejo, California; Central Falls, Rhode Island; Birmingham, Alabama; and Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, all have in common?”

“They’ve gone bankrupt.”

“Correct again, Mr. Halprin. And when a city goes bankrupt, it has to lay off police and firemen and teachers. That makes the city less attractive to people who want a safe place to live and good schools for their children. And that sends property values even lower. If you bought a house in Vallejo, California, in 2006 for a hundred thousand dollars, do you know what that house was worth four years later?”

“Seventy thousand dollars?”

“Try thirty-three thousand dollars. You lost sixty-seven thousand dollars on your investment. And the whole giant spiral of dropping property values leading to more unemployment leading to bankruptcy leading to ever lower property values continues.”

“Why should I care? I’ve already lost everything.”

“Not quite, Mr. Halprin. You have a son who needs a scholarship to go to college next year. There are several wealthy investors in this town who also went to Rice, and who make a habit of giving substantial monetary gifts to their alma mater each year. Needless to say, Daniel’s scholarship is by no means a certainty.”

“You . . . you . . . ruthless bastard.”

“Not if you look at it in terms of the greatest good for
the largest number of people, Mr. Halprin. In the short run, perhaps a hundred already homeless people will be displaced. But in the long run, many hundreds, possibly even thousands, of jobs and families and homes will be preserved. Median will continue to be an active, thriving community of residents who are happy to live here, instead of a decaying, bankrupt dumping ground of abandoned houses and boarded-up stores.”

Silence.

“I need an answer, Mr. Halprin. Are you going to organize that protest or not?”

Silence.

“Mr. Halprin?”

“I can probably get most of them out, but what about the ones who can’t be moved?”

“I’ll need to know exactly which tents they’re in.”

 34 

In the library, Googling open arrest warrants, I discover a dark secret. A lot of states don’t bother to keep records of how many criminals they’ve failed to track down and arrest. Probably because they don’t want anyone to know how easy it is to get away with crime. But according to the state attorney general of California, the number in that state alone is—ready for this?—
2.5 million
outstanding warrants.

That includes 252,000 outstanding
felony
warrants for serious “Your butt is going to jail” crimes, including 2,800 for homicide, 640 for kidnapping, and 1,800 for sexual assault.

Warrants mean the police know
who
those criminals are, so I have to assume they just don’t know
where
they are. And they don’t have the money or time or manpower to find them.

If they can’t track down criminals whose identities are
known
, what are the chances of them tracking down the three
unknown
assailants who beat up Aubrey?

Welcome to the United States of Part-Time Law Enforcement.

“Dan?”

I look up from the computer into Talia’s distraught, watery eyes. She pulls a chair up and sits hugging herself as if she has a stomachache. “What’s going on? You were walking down the hall with your arm around Meg?”

Her network of spies rivals the CIA’s.

I explain that Meg needed comforting.

“Why does she have to get it from you?” Talia asks with dismay.

“Uh, maybe because we have something in common?”

Using her pinky, she carefully draws a tear out of her eye without smearing her makeup. She’s waiting for me to reach out, tell her she’s the one I truly care for. But something stops me. Maybe it’s knowing deep down that it’ll only prolong this crazy situation.

When I don’t react, Talia’s face goes stony. Without a word she gets up and leaves.

I feel a forlorn regret that weighs down on my shoulders and compresses my heart. This time she won’t be back. We’re through.

*  *  *

In the locker room after school I borrow Noah’s phone, then go into a stall. His brother’s studio is on speed dial.

“Hello?” a female voice answers.

“Olivia?”

“Who’s this?”

“Dan Halprin, Noah’s friend?”

“Oh my God, Dan, how are you? What’s up? When are you coming down to the studio again?”

After taking a few moments to catch up, I get to the point: “Is all that talk about Buzzuka Joe once being a gangbanger true, or just hype?”

“As far as I know it’s true. Why?”

“What about Oscar?”

“Tell me what you need, Dan.”

I tell her about Aubrey’s beating and the gang beads and the police being unable to find out who did it. “I know there’s no reason why Buzzuka Joe should know anything about it, but I don’t know anyone else who’s even remotely connected to that world. . . .”

The connection goes quiet, as if Olivia’s thinking. “He’ll be in the studio to do some mixes today. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll ask.”

*  *  *

Later, back at Dignityville, there’s a buzz in the air. Hunched over a bike in front of his tent, Joel sees me and says, “Aubrey woke up.”

Outside the Fines’ tent, an old gray-haired guy in a chair raises his hand cautiously, then speaks in a low voice as if he doesn’t want Meg’s dad inside to hear. “They’re both at the hospital. We’re keeping an eye on Sam until they get back.”

As I head back up the path, I notice Dad in the dining tent with a group of people, and wonder if he’s heard the
good news. But getting closer, I can tell that they’re discussing something serious. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” I join them.

Wade, the guy with the long gray ponytail, turns to Dad and says, “Shouldn’t you tell him? I mean, it’s already been on the news.”

Dad bites his lip indecisively, but Wade decides for him. “There was another attack this morning,” he says gravely. “Well, at least, an
attempted
attack. She managed to get away, but they grabbed her and said some pretty nasty things.”

“Who?” I ask.

Wade glances at Dad.

“A woman from here,” Dad says. “She’s really shaken up. Doesn’t want anyone to know who she is.”

“Where’d it happen?” I ask.

“The Stop and Shop,” Wade says.

“We’re taking it to Town Hall,” says a woman named Sarah with short white hair, piercings, and sleeves of tattoos on both arms. “The homeless need more protection.”

“It’s going to be an entirely peaceful, nonviolent demonstration,” Dad quickly adds.

*  *  *

Leaving the dining tent, I’m blindsided by a pair of arms that wrap around my neck. For one alarmed instant I think I’m being taken down by attackers, but it’s Meg, and her embrace is one of joy.

“He’s awake!” she cries happily. “Oh, Dan!” She squeezes
so hard she practically chokes me, then plants a big kiss on my cheek. “He’s talking and moving and everything!” Tears of happiness drip down her face. “Will you come see him? Tomorrow after school?”

Her elation is contagious. It’s hard to imagine anyone being happier.

“Definitely,” I answer.

With a mile-wide smile she kisses me again, then breaks away. “Mom’s still at the hospital. I’ve got to go check on Dad. See you tomorrow!” She dashes off toward her tent, half running, half skipping.

 35 

The next morning when I tell Noah I can’t make our workout that afternoon, he’s understandably annoyed.

“Today’s the exception. Aubrey woke up. I have to go to the hospital to see him.”

Noah sighs as if to say,
I knew it wouldn’t last. All talk and no follow-through.

The tension may begin with Noah, but it doesn’t end there. I’m surprised to find Talia waiting at my locker with a somber expression.