Unhooking the Moon (15 page)

We continued all the way to the end of the park, and came to a place where there were horses and carriages, and hundreds of people coming and going. ‘This is Central Park South and that's the Plaza,' said
the Rat pointing at a big square hotel. ‘Uncle Jerome might put us up there if he's as big a drug dealer as we've been told.'

Then I started to worry about where we would spend the night. A roach motel probably. The sort of place that only cared about the money.

‘Let's continue our search, Bob.'

We headed back up Fifth Avenue. But about halfway the Rat cycled through a gap in the park wall. ‘Follow me, Bob.' I'd just got out of the damn park and I didn't want to go back in. But I followed her down a dark path and around the side of a road. Then she got off her bike and, crossing a short lawn, she headed toward some bushes.

‘What are you up to?'

She switched on her flashlight and fought her way through the bushes, bike and all, and, like a fool, I followed her. ‘He's not going to be in here.'

‘Very funny, Bob.'

‘If you have to pee you can go by yourself,' I told her. ‘And I'm getting soaked in these bushes!'

We came out in a small clearing that was lit up a little by the lights coming from Fifth Avenue. There was a flat concrete base and, standing on it, the Rat held out her hands.

‘Are you kidding?' I said. ‘I'm not sleeping in the park.'

‘Are you a man or a mouse?'

‘What difference does it make? You're a rat and I'm not sleeping in the park.'

‘Why not? It won't cost us anything and we'll be close to where Uncle Jerome lives. And remember, Sexy Sandra won't be back until tomorrow. Besides, sleeping outdoors makes it more of an adventure.'

I looked around at the dark trees and dismal bushes.

‘Come on, Bob. It'll be like our old den.'

When we were very little kids we had a den. It was just a large wooden box with hay poured over it. It looked like a miniature haystack. And if the Rat got upset – she got upset quite a bit when she was a very little kid – she'd crawl into it and fall asleep. I can still remember Dad carrying her out and putting her to bed. But how she can remember I don't know. ‘How did you know there was a den here?'

‘I didn't. But it's just what we need.'

I felt the concrete base. It was dry and there was warm air coming from a vent in its centre. I didn't want to stay there, but it looked like we had no choice. ‘OK. But just for tonight.'

‘Great!'

She emptied her rucksack on to the base and tied a small dream-catcher to the branch of a tree. I untied my sleeping bag, took off my sneakers, and got in. It wasn't as hard as I expected.

‘What are you doing?' asked the Rat. ‘I can't sleep yet. It's too early. And look it's a full moon. I can never get a good night's sleep in a full moon!'

She bewildered me at times. ‘Well, maybe you should try and rest.'

‘Rest! It's our first night in New York, Bob! I wanna see the lights!'

‘Well, I'm tired!'

She folded her arms. ‘How can you be tired at twelve? It's impossible. Oh I forgot. You're nearly thirteen, almost a teenager. What trouble-causing teenager would want to sleep his first night in New York City?'

I got up. When the Rat got it in her head to do something, she had to do it. Besides, the thought of lying there in the dark gave me the creeps.

‘We'll leave the rucksacks here and head to Times Square,' she said. ‘That's where the lights are. I've already found it on my map. It's not far. Just follow me.'

I could see the words on my gravestone,
Here lies Bob DeBillier who made the mistake of following his crazy little sister
. But I followed her anyway.

As soon as we turned on to 42nd Street we could see the lights, even though we were still a good few blocks away. But when we locked up the bikes and walked on to Broadway we were absolutely bewildered! There were lights rolling around rooftops, beaming from spotlights, and blooming on billboards. And when I turned to the Rat the lights were reflected in her large eyes.

‘I'm broader than Broadway, brother!' she said in her Jamaican accent.

We walked along the sidewalk, packed with people, and then scurried to an island which seemed to be surrounded by a sea of yellow taxis. And there we looked around us in absolute awe.

‘I need a drink, Bob.'

We ran across Broadway and, buying a Coke in McDonald's, we drank it outside, while soaking up the Times Square street life.

But then I noticed this guy. He was about Dad's age, but he looked strange. His mouth was curved into an unhappy face and he walked funny. He never limped but he never walked straight either. And his shoulders sloped to one side, or maybe one arm was longer than the other. Even his eyes looked a little crossed. Everything about him was crooked.

What's more, his clothes didn't seem right. He was wearing this shabby black suit that was shiny with use, and his shoes were old and worn. But his shirt and tie looked new and his greying brown hair was neatly cut and combed.

He stalked the crowd like a predator. Then suddenly his eyes widened and he pounced on a passing couple. ‘Sir, madam, how are you this evening? I hate to trouble you but I'm in need of help. We all need help at some stage in our lives and now is the time for me.'

The couple walked faster.

‘I was just hoping … Excuse me. Hey I'm talking to you!'

Then he saw another couple coming towards him. ‘Oh God, I hope you can help me! I need to get to Chicago! It's my wife! The priest has already read her the last rites! I just hope I can make it in time! What do you say? Can you help me out?'

‘Beat it, hustler,' said the man without looking at him.

‘Hustler! Did you hear that? I tell him my wife's dying and he calls me a hustler. How insensitive can you get?' Then he took a wallet from his pocket and pounced on another couple. ‘Excuse me, miss. This is a picture of my wife and she's about to give birth. All I need is twenty dollars to get me to Washington.'

‘Sorry,' said the woman pushing past him.

‘You're not that sorry though, are you! Not sorry enough to spare a few bucks!' Then he noticed me and the Rat watching him. ‘Look at all these goddamn tourists. They must be forking out two hundred dollars a night for a hotel. Two hundred dollars a night for a lousy bed. And what difference does it make when you're asleep? Suckers every one of them. Then there're the shows, the expensive drinks and the “I love you present” he has to buy her to reassure her that their marriage is still good. And you'd think after all they've spent they wouldn't mind helping a guy out, but oh no.'

‘He's great!' said the Rat. ‘You think he'll let us hang out with him?'

‘Why would we want to—'

‘Hey, buddy. Can we hang out with you?'

The hustler looked us up and down. ‘Depends,' he said. ‘You ever scammed anyone?'

‘No we—'

‘All the time,' said the Rat.

The hustler gave us another look. ‘Forget about it, you're too young.'

Then, spotting a well-dressed couple, he switched character. ‘I hate to bother you folks, but it's my wife!'

‘Sorry, buddy. No handouts today,' said the man, who was tall and broad.

The hustler concentrated on the woman, she had diamonds on her fingers. ‘Miss, my wife means so much to me!'

The woman, who was a little overweight, slowed down. ‘Well, what seems to be the trouble?'

‘Come on, Mildred. He's a hustler,' said the man.

‘No, honestly,' said the hustler. ‘I've never done anything like this before.'

The man took Mildred by the arm and went to walk away. Then, who decides to step forward?

‘She's dying! Mommy is dying!'

Like our day hadn't been hectic enough! Or maybe she thought it lacked excitement! Maybe that demon guy threatening to cut her throat wasn't exciting enough.

‘Oh, you poor thing!' said Mildred.

‘Mildred!' shouted the man.

The hustler got on to the Rat's part straight away. ‘Don't worry, dear! Daddy will get the money somehow!'

I was absolutely bewildered. They'd turned into a double act and they'd only just met!

‘I know a scam when I see one!' said the man.

‘George, how can you be so insensitive? Is this the sort of man I'm going to marry?' The woman opened her handbag and gave the Rat a twenty. ‘Here you go. I hope this helps.'

‘Thank you, miss,' said the Rat. And then she curtsied. Do you believe that? She curtsied. I don't know what movie she thought she was acting from.

‘Mildred! Can't you see what they are?'

The woman shot him a bad look and walked away. George chased after her and took her by the arm. They argued.

‘If she can't see what
he
is, she definitely can't see what
we
are,' said the hustler.

Then George came back. ‘Here you go, buddy!' He said loud enough so Mildred could hear him. But when he handed the hustler a twenty he spoke softly. ‘You're scum! You know that?'

‘I know,' said the hustler. ‘But you're not marrying her for her good looks, are you, George? And isn't she a lot older than you?'

George looked enraged, but he turned and walked away.

‘You see that, kids? The man's wearing a Rolex that she probably bought him, and he's crying like a baby over a few bucks.' Then the hustler snapped his fingers at the Rat. ‘OK, kid. Hand it over.'

The Rat handed the hustler the twenty and he gave her back a ten. The Rat looked at the money and then at the hustler.

‘Look, kid, I have expenses. And I have experience. I have expenses and experience. What have you got?'

‘Are you kidding? Have you seen this face?' said the Rat pointing at her face. ‘This face could make more money than you've earned all month! Now you give me back that twenty or I'm walking!'

‘There's no need for attitude. Tommy Mattolla always looks after his partners.'

‘Well, look after me now, Tommy, and give me back that twenty!'

‘What's your name, kid?'

‘Marie Claire.'

‘Forget about that twenty, Marie Claire. There's
a lotta suckers out tonight. You wanna make some real money?'

‘Shewer, Tommy! But don't try to hustle me! I have friends downtown!'

‘What's this? Threats? I'm being threatened here?'

‘I'm just making it clear, that's all!'

‘You've made it crystal. Now, let's go to work.'

The Rat went to follow him, but I grabbed her by the arm. ‘You're not hanging out with him. You don't even know the guy.'

‘It's OK, Bob. I'm pretty sure he has good spirit.'

‘I don't care what sort of spirit he's got! You're not hanging out with him!'

The Rat pushed my arm away. ‘I wanna have some fun! If you don't like it go back to the den and I'll catch you later!' And with that, she followed the hustler.

She knew I wouldn't leave her. She was just being a selfish little bitch! I felt like slapping her face. But I didn't. I followed on behind like a dope.

And then it began. The Rat and the hustler hit Broadway with Oscar-winning performances that involved everything from train wrecks to robberies, from stock market collapses to stolen tickets. There were dying mothers, muggers and sickness in Seattle. There were enough deaths to fill a morgue and enough
births to fill a maternity ward.

Yet the hustler really did seem like he had a good spirit. I mean, I wouldn't trust him with a dime, but he was tough and streetwise and somehow I felt we were safe with him. It was even fun to watch him perform with Rat as his little poisonous protégée. But it didn't last. A rivalry developed between them and they started to give each other the needle.

‘Stop overacting,' said the hustler. I knew that wouldn't go down well but I could see his point. She looked like she was acting the part of the Little Match Girl standing barefoot in the snow. She was even shivering. Who shivers in this heat? She looked like a ten-year-old junkie. Maybe that's why the suckers were giving her so much money. But criticizing the Rat's performance in front of the suckers was not good business. But I said nothing.

‘I happen to be part of the Luxton drama class, Tommy! Appointed by Ms Mountshaft herself. Don't tell me how to act.'

‘I did a summer at Juilliard,' said Tommy. ‘I don't even know where Luxton is. And who the hell is Ms Mountshaft?'

The Rat came over to me. ‘I'm making more than him and he's jealous.'

Then Tommy came over. ‘She's a good earner, your sister, but she's got a lot to learn. Tell her to calm down, Bob.'

I was hoping they'd call it a night after that, but they didn't. They angled their way down Broadway like a vicious version of Fagin and the Artful Dodger. This can't be good, I thought. And it wasn't. It all came to a head on the corner of 47th and Broadway when the moon was at its highest.

‘I just need to get back to Miami,' said Tommy, talking to a group of tourists, ‘to see her for the last time!'

‘Is she dying?' asked one of them.

‘She's already dead,' said the Rat. ‘But he'll make her rise again if you give him enough money.'

Tommy's scowl darkened. ‘She wouldn't need to die if you were any good!'

‘If
I
was any good!' shouted the Rat. ‘If
you
were any good, she wouldn't have dumped you for the clown! And he wasn't even that funny!'

‘That was you! You ruined a perfectly good marriage!' Then he turned to the tourists. ‘She has mental problems.'

‘Of course I have mental problems!' shouted the Rat. ‘Who wouldn't with a father like you?'