Whispers in the Wind (3 page)

At the Twenty-Third Street Café, Craig and Fay Weston lingered over steaming cups of coffee. Fay ran her soft gaze over the faces of her two younger children and sighed contentedly. “This has been such a treat. I can’t even remember the last time we ate out.” She looked at her husband and smiled. “Not that I’m complaining, honey. I’m always grateful that we have food for me to cook, but it’s nice for a change to eat someone else’s cooking.”

Craig smiled back at her. “I’m sure it is, sweetheart, but I’m very partial to your cooking. It’s the best in the world.”

“Thank you, honey. You always know how to make me feel special.”

Diane and Ronnie were busy scraping up the last crumbs of chocolate cake and frosting from their plates. Fay and Craig noted it and exchanged satisfied looks, glad that they could give them this special evening.

When the children had gleaned the last crumb from their plates, Craig looked out the steamed-up window. “Well, family, I think it’s time we head for home. It’s been great fun, but tomorrow’s another day, and morning comes all too soon at best.”

A bit reluctantly, Diane and Ronnie nodded their agreement. All four rose from the table, put on their coats, and the parents picked up their umbrellas. Craig went to the counter with the others following and paid the bill. They opened the umbrellas, and as the foursome stepped out onto the rain-drenched, ill-lighted street, Craig said, “The rain is letting up some. Well, let’s head for 218 Thirty-third Street.”

Craig shared his umbrella with Diane and Fay shared hers with Ronnie as the Westons headed back up the street. They
passed Chadwick’s Bookstore, and when they reached the corner, they turned northward on Third Avenue and headed for Thirty-third Street. The book they had purchased for Dane’s birthday was in the paper bag, tucked under Craig’s arm.

As they approached the dark mouth of an alley with the rain splattering on the street and sidewalk all around them, they saw several shadowed figures emerge from the alley in the dim light, and block the path in front of them.

Fay gasped, stopped, and took a deep, shuddering breath.

Craig steeled himself, his own heart pounding.

A
t the Baxter flat, which was located down the block from the Weston apartment building at 284 Thirty-third Street, supper was almost over.

Dane Weston finished his bowl of vanilla pudding, placed the spoon in the bowl, and smiled as he looked at the Baxter family. “Thank you so much for the delicious supper. I always enjoy coming to this home. It’s so much like my own home, and I feel so comfortable here. One reason, of course, is because Todd is my best friend. Another reason is because I always enjoy talking to all of you about the things that are happening here in our city. Another reason is because all of you support my wanting to become a doctor.”

Dolph wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Dane, we are glad that our son is best friends with you, and we most certainly are proud of you in your desire to become a doctor.”

“We sure are,” said Mona.

Letha, Angie, and Tippy all nodded, smiling at him.

Todd grinned and clipped Dane’s chin playfully. “Hey, who knows? Maybe someday you’ll be the family doctor for all us kids when we grow up and get married.”

Dane chuckled. “That would be all right with me.” He paused, then said, “Well, I’d better be going. Papa and Mama and my little sister and brother are probably finishing supper right
now and will be expecting me to be home real soon. Thank you again for the good supper.”

As he spoke, Dane pushed his chair back and stood up.

Todd rose from his chair. “I’ll walk you downstairs to the front door, Dane.”

“All right.” Dane bid the others good-night, and the two boys went to the door, where Dane’s coat hung on a clothes tree. He slipped into the coat, and they moved out into the hall.

While they were descending the stairs, Dane said, “It’s your turn to eat at our place next, ol’ pal. How about next Friday? We can just come to our flat straight from school together.”

“Sounds good to me,” responded Todd. “If it’s all right with your parents.”

Dane laughed. “What are you talking about? Mama and Papa have both told you that you’re welcome anytime. I’ll tell them you’re coming next Friday.”

“Okay. I’ll ask my parents. I’m sure they’ll let me.”

They reached the first floor and both saw that the rain was still coming down, though it was less heavy than when they started supper.

Dane picked up a newspaper from a small table by the vestibule door, unfolded it, and held it over his head. “Good night, Todd. See you tomorrow.”

“Sure enough,” replied Todd, and pulled the door open for his friend.

Dane moved out into the falling rain and headed down the block toward his own apartment building. As he hurried along, he saw a group of teenage boys standing under a street lamp across the street. They were watching him, but made no move to cross the street. He thought of the discussion at the Baxter table about the teenage gangs, and a chill slithered down his spine. He wondered if those boys were one of the gangs, and if they were to start after him could he outrun them to his apartment building?

He picked up his pace, keeping the newspaper above his head, but the rain was still putting its spray on his face and in his hair. Twice, he glanced over his shoulder to see if the teenage boys were following him, but they were still grouped beneath the street lamp.

Soon he drew up to 218 Thirty-third Street and bounded up the wet steps to the vestibule door. He used his key to unlock it, and plunged inside.

A few blocks away on Third Avenue, near an alley, four policemen bent over the crumpled bodies of a man, woman, girl, and small boy.

One of the officers picked up a wallet that lay on the wet pavement and opened it. “Man’s name is Craig Weston, Captain. No money in the wallet. Lived over on Thirty-third Street. These are no doubt his wife and children. Dirty gang beat every one of them to death.”

“Wait a minute, Captain!” said an officer who was bending over the girl. “This little gal is still alive! She’s breathing!”

The captain stood up and moved over beside him. “Sure enough. No time to wait for an ambulance. Sergeant Bickford and I will take her to the hospital. You men use the paddy wagon and take the bodies of the others to the morgue. Pick up the woman’s purse and that paper bag. Take them to the station after you’ve been to the morgue. We’ll get back to you later.”

At the apartment building, Dane Weston placed the wet newspaper in a wastebasket by the vestibule door and hurried up the stairs. He was unaware that a man moved into the vestibule from outside, glanced up at him, then shook the rain off his umbrella and entered the combination office and landlord’s apartment.

When Dane reached the second floor, he quickly moved down
the hall and drew up to apartment number 42. He grasped the knob and turned it, but was surprised when the door did not budge. Frowning, he knocked on the door. When there was no sound of footsteps inside the apartment, he knocked again, wondering why somebody hadn’t come to let him in.

When there was still no sign of life inside the apartment, Dane took out his skeleton key, unlocked the door, and moved inside. Except for the light coming through the windows from the windows of the next apartment building, the flat was dark. An uneasy feeling came over him, akin to the one he had experienced a few minutes earlier when he saw the group of teenage boys watching him from across the street.

He closed the door and looked toward the bedrooms. “Mama! Papa! You back there?”

Silence.

Dane shook his head, wondering why his family was not home yet.

He removed his coat, hung it on a wall peg near the closet door, and made his way into the small parlor. While lighting two lanterns, he told himself his family would be arriving at any minute.

His next move was down the narrow hall, through the kitchen to the washroom. In the dim light that was coming from the windows of the adjacent apartment building, he dried his face and hair with a towel, then returned to the parlor.

His family was still not home.

He sat down on the sofa and watched the raindrops running down the window. He was only able to do that for ten minutes. Unable to sit still, he left the sofa and began pacing the floor. Every few seconds for the next hour and a half, he went to the rain-spattered window and looked toward the street for some sign of his family. Since the window was on the side of the building, his view of the street was limited.

He went back to the sofa and plopped down on it with a heavy sigh. He thought of the discussion at the Baxter table that evening about the teenage gangs and their attacks on people who were on the streets. He shook his head, telling himself nothing like that had happened to his family.

He glanced at the clock on the parlor wall.

Nine-twenty.

Worry gripped him. They told him they were going to do a little shopping before supper, but certainly it wouldn’t take this long. Where could his family be?

Again, he went to the window and looked out. He could tell that the rain had almost stopped. Only a few windows in the adjacent apartment building were still showing lantern light.

The strange feeling from earlier washed over him again. He took a deep breath and hurried into the hall. He took his coat off the hook, put it on, and went out the door.

Dane made his way down the stairs and out on to the street. He looked both ways for some sign of his family, but there was only a buggy on the street, moving away from him with the clatter of the horse’s hooves echoing among the buildings. There was no one on the sidewalks. Clenching his teeth, he let out a moan and returned to the flat.

Once again in the parlor, he found himself pacing the floor. The worry inside Dane Weston was growing stronger as he ran shaky fingers through his black, curly hair.

Suddenly he heard male voices in the hall, along with heavy footsteps. He stopped and looked toward the door. He jumped when there was a sudden knock. His mouth went dry as he opened the door to find two uniformed policemen. The one who had captains bars on his shirt collar said, “Are you Dane Weston, son?”

“Y-yes, sir.” Dane’s mouth went even drier.

“I’m Captain J. D. Slater and this is Officer Calvin Bickford. We just talked to the landlord downstairs, and he told us he had
seen you come home a while ago, so he figured you would still be here in the apartment.”

Fear gripped Dane’s heart.

“May we come in and talk to you, son?” asked Slater.

Dane ran his tongue over equally dry lips. He backed up a step. “Yes, sir.”

When the policemen had entered, Dane closed the door and led them into the parlor. There was an ever-tightening knot in the pit of his stomach as he told them to sit on the sofa, then sat down on the chair that faced them and waited for them to speak.

“Dane,” said the captain, “we hate to have to tell you this, but your parents and sister and brother were assaulted by a teenage gang on Third Avenue near Twenty-third Street at about seven-thirty.”

A frown creased the boy’s brow. “Are—are they all right, sir?”

Slater looked at Bickford, ran a palm over his mouth, then looked back at Dane. “No, they’re not. All—all but your sister, Diane, are dead.”

Dane felt as if the blood was running from his heart. He began to shake like a man in a palsy. His strength seemed to drain away. He sat, mouth gaping and breathless, with wide-open horror-struck eyes. “P-Papa and Mama and Ronnie are—are dead?”

The captain rose to his feet and laid a steady hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Yes, son.”

“And—and Diane is s-still alive?”

“Yes. Officer Bickford and I took her to Good Samaritan Hospital. She was unconscious when we picked her up off the ground. She regained consciousness shortly after we got her to the hospital and talked to us. Though she was battered and somewhat in shock, she spoke slowly and told us what happened. She’s in bad shape, son, but we’re hoping she’ll make it.”

Officer Bickford rose and laid a hand on the other shoulder. “Would you like us to take you to her?”

“Oh, y-yes, sir.”

“We have a paddy wagon. Let’s go.”

Dane put on his coat and the officers took him to the paddy wagon, which was parked in front of the building. The landlord and his wife were watching through their front window as Dane climbed up onto the seat. He was sitting between the officers as the paddy wagon pulled away and moved down the street.

On the seat, Dane felt like he was in a nightmare. He was numb with grief, and overcome with the enormity of it all. His tortured mind kept telling him it wasn’t really happening. But it was all too real. It wasn’t raining any longer.

Only a few hours ago, they were a happy, loving family, and now these men in uniform had told him that all but Diane were dead.

As the paddy wagon made its way along the dark streets, Captain J.D. Slater said, “Dane, when we talked to your sister at the hospital, she told us there were eight gang members who approached them from the alley there on Third Avenue when they were headed for home. They dragged all four of them into the alley and demanded her father’s wallet and her mother’s purse. When her father told them he had only a few dollars in the wallet, and her mother only had two dollars, he asked them to have mercy and not take their money. She said one of them slapped her father across the face and demanded his wallet.”

Dane winced and his head bobbed.

Slater went on. “At that moment, Diane said her mother begged the gang members not to take her husband’s wallet, and one of them slapped her face while another one snatched her purse from her hand. This stirred your father’s anger. He punched the one who had hit your mother, and suddenly the whole gang was beating all four of them.”

Dane drew in a shuddering breath and shook his head. Tears were in his eyes.

Officer Calvin Bickford put an arm around his shoulder and squeezed him tight.

The captain proceeded. “Diane said that after the gang members had emptied what little money was in her father’s wallet, they threw it and her mother’s purse on the ground and ran away, cursing because they hadn’t gotten more money. Diane told us that she felt herself passing out as she lay on the ground with her parents and her little brother lying around her. Some people on the street had seen the family dragged into the alley, and one of them ran to find a policeman. By the time the nearest policeman was located, the gang members were nowhere to be found. I’m so sorry, son.”