Whistling in the Dark (28 page)

The wind snapped a sheet loose and it billowed upward. Jack swore and started after it as it sailed to the far edge of the roof. For one eternal instant, Sutton could only watch, until dread set him racing after Jack. He flung himself desperately as they reached the roof's edge and landed hard, with Jack underneath him. As he caught his breath, Jack rolled under him, dragging the sheet over the ledge and across his chest like a military sash. "Saved it."

"You did," Sutton said with relief, dropping his head on Jack's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Jack sighed. "Much better. You're warm as toast."

At the touch of a cold cheek against his neck, Sutton gasped. "You're like ice. For God's sake, Jack. You'll catch the--you'll catch a cold."

"So warm me up," Jack murmured, burrowing closer.

"It's about to rain--and I'm not sure you're in a condition to do anything but sleep."

"You'd be amazed what I can accomplish in this condition," Jack said as Sutton hauled him to his feet.

"I will be amazed if you can get downstairs without falling on your head."

"On less than half a bottle?"

"Put on your coat." Trading it for the sheet, Sutton tied two corners of the sheet to Jack's suspenders and bid him hold the remaining corners. Jack blinked in confusion.

"What for?"

"Our good deed of the day. Stay with me now."

Jack followed obediently as Sutton took down the clothes piece by piece, folded, then tucked them into the sheet. When the line was bare, Sutton took it down and put it into Jack's makeshift basket. "There we are. Mr. Valmeer is spared Mrs. Valmeer's wrath and I am spared chasing you around the roof all night."

"The tools," Jack said as Sutton started for the door. "Can't leave them in the rain." Sutton picked up the box and lantern, and Jack nodded at the bottle on the ledge. "Better take that, too. Cost me six dollars."

"You paid six dollars for a bottle of gin?"

"Was the cheapest they had." Jack leaned against the door. "Harry's going to kill me."

Sutton tucked the bottle in the box and went ahead of Jack on the stairs. "I will tell him--"

"You're not taking the blame for me."

"This was partly my fault."

"It was all mine. If Chase shows up for his money tomorrow, I'll just have to borrow six bucks from Harry and take my medicine. Won't be the first time and won't be the last."

Mr. Valmeer's gratitude was effusive, and punctuated with bear hugs and the occasional pat on the head. He invited them in for a hot rum and rambled with some indignation about peace terms, Bolsheviks, and the cost of a quart of milk. They stayed until one, when Sutton, feeling as sleepy as Jack looked, suggested it was time to go. He anticipated a warm bed as they shuffled down the drafty flights, but knew, when Jack paused with a key in the lock and a bright gleam in his eyes, that bed might be waiting a while longer.

"I know how we can make up that six without worrying Harry."

"Jack, it's one in the morning--"

"All the better. Come on."

- Thirty-One -

Sutton scrambled after him as he took off down the stairs. The sharp wind welcomed them back outdoors, along with a steady drizzle of cold rain. "Where are we going?"

"Just around the corner."

"Jack--"

"To the club. Come on. Quick march."

Just around the corner stretched another four blocks to a neighborhood Sutton vaguely recognized. The club occupied the bottom floor of a building that looked to have formerly housed some sort of factory, and was now one failed business away from being condemned. Through grimy windows, he heard a lively band and following Jack inside, found the place coming to life in the early hours of the morning. In the smoky room, Sutton discerned couples crowding the floor, races mixed, genders less so. He realized he was staring and he tried to stop. Jack seemed amused by his reaction. "You wouldn't believe how often this place is shut down. Or maybe you would. Hello, Graham. Theo in?"

"Not just yet, old man." A mellow resonance warmed the voice and Sutton turned, curious for a look at the man who went with it. At a height to challenge Ox's and with shoulders far broader, Graham made the most of it in an indigo brocade vest, white ascot with diamond pin, and Gladstone collar that accentuated his solid jawline. He enveloped Jack in muscular arms and over Jack's shoulder, offered Sutton a meaty hand to shake. "Say, Jack, is this boy yours or did he follow you in?"

"He's mine," Jack said. "Anything doing tonight?"

The wide-set deep blue eyes stayed on Sutton. "Maybe. Tell me what you're looking for."

"I just need to make a few bucks. Not enough to scare anyone away," Jack told him.

A flirtatious smile flashed. "I'll give you ten, just for an hour with this handsome chap," he said and winked at Sutton.

Sutton ducked behind Jack and whispered, "Can't I just lend you the six?"

Jack groaned. "Graham, leave him alone, will you? He's from Kansas, for God's sake."

"Is he? Well, don't they grow 'em sweet." Graham chuckled. "You boys go on back. If Theo comes in, I'll let him know you're here."

The back was nothing more than a long room occupied on one side by beer barrels, the other by end-to-end pool tables. Only the last table was in use, by a foursome too intent on the game to do more than glance at the newcomers. Bare bulbs overhead flickered and the air hung sour with the odor of beer and cigarettes. As unwelcoming as the atmosphere was, Sutton preferred it to Graham's amorous attention. "There's no one to play," he whispered to Jack.

"Might as well warm up. Someone'll come in."

A far door which was used, Sutton assumed, by those who did not want to come in through the bar, opened to admit two familiar figures. Sutton's sudden lungful of stale air wasn't enough to quell the uneasy stirring in his gut. "We should go."

"Are you serious? This is perfect. I'll get a little of my own back." Jack turned as Vance and Ned came within earshot. "Evening, boys. Interested in a game?"

Ned shook his head. "Don't do it," he muttered to Vance.

Vance yanked a stick from the rack.

Jack may have downed too much gin, but his dexterity extended to pool. It didn't take Vance long to figure out he was up against no average player and his annoyance led to more missed shots. Though Jack had his six dollars in short order, Sutton could see he wanted to keep playing just for the satisfaction.

Ned, finishing his beer, got up with a grunt. "Let's go. We got collections in the morning."

"That we do," Vance said with a grim smile at Jack. "Since it's after midnight, we can start with you."

"I think I'd rather hand it over to Mr. Chase, myself," Jack said. "First thing in the morning will be fine."

"We take care of collections for Mr. Chase," Vance said. "You give it to us, we give it to him. That's how it works. Right, Ned?"

"That's how," Ned agreed, warily watching Jack.

"All right. I'll give it to you boys. Tomorrow, when Mr. Chase is around, too." Jack turned to Sutton. "Ready to go?"

Vance muscled past Sutton and shoved Jack onto the pool table, to pin him with a stick pressed against his throat. "Sounds to me like you're thinking we'd cheat Mr. Chase out of his money."

Jack's knuckles went white around the pool cue. "I think you'd hold off telling him I paid, for the chance to break some bones out of spite."

"I'll do a lot more than break your bones." Vance leaned harder. Sutton grabbed him, only to be wrenched away by Ned. Before Ned could swing at him, rescue came.

"Not in here, boys." Graham's voice became deep and cold as a well. Theo, beside him, leveled a gun at Vance.

Spitting threats under his breath, Vance backed off. Graham's attention shifted to Ned, who let go of Sutton. "That's better. Now get the hell out of my place."

Vance snapped the pool cue in half and tossed it to the floor. "Going to call the cops?"

Graham merely smiled. "Why? So they can identify your body after they pull it from the river?"

"Think anyone would miss them?" Jack asked, rubbing his neck as he sat up.

Theo steadied the aim he trained on Vance. "Shall we find out?"

His cheery tone clearly unsettled Ned. "Come on," he muttered.

A venomous promise in his stare, Vance let Ned push him out the door. The gun vanished under Theo's coat. "You just make friends wherever you go, don't you, dear?" he asked, hugging Jack. "Get your money?"

"Yeah, but it's just going to Chase tomorrow," Jack said.

"Never mind," Graham said. "I'll buy you boys a drink."

He settled them at a table near the band and a waiter brought them roast beef sandwiches and coffee. Still a little shaken by the confrontation with Ned and Vance, Sutton wasn't hungry, but found the band agreeably distracting. He had not noticed at first glance that the banjo player, in a dark suit and tie, was female, her short hair curled against her rouged cheeks. She and the clarinetist, a boy not more than eighteen, were the only white members of the band. He perched on a stool beside the piano, his clarinet bell occasionally bouncing against his propped right leg while the left, with nothing below the knee but a neatly pinned trouser cuff, dangled as if for the moment forgotten.

He had a cigarette in one hand, as did the gentleman playing the trombone, and Sutton half-expected to see smoke curling out of the horns. Smoke nearly enveloped the bandstand but didn't hinder anyone's playing--though Sutton imagined it would have been a challenge to read sheet music, if they were so inclined.

Each member soloed a while before the band finished together. The pianist called for a round of drinks and, while the other members took a break, dove into another piece with such unusual style, Sutton crept closer to watch him play. Beneath an agile left hand, chords bloomed from the middle register as well as the lower, trading off with lone bass notes, octaves, and fully formed tenths that left Sutton breathless. The right hand embellished with fat chords of its own, lending the melody new brilliance as it swooped up, under, and in between wonderfully indulgent runs.

The resulting rhythm would not be resisted. More of the crowd flew to their feet to dance. When low laughter rumbled under the music, Sutton looked from the keyboard, to find the pianist's coal-black gaze fixed with great amusement on him. Taken aback, he nodded a greeting. "How do you do?"

"Well, how d'y'do," the pianist said, laughing. He brought the piece to an abrupt, off-handed but twinkling finish and turned his full attention on Sutton. "You play, son?"

"Yes, but--"

"Well, that's all right," he said delightedly, easing to his feet with a protesting creak of the bench. "We got us another ivory tickler in the house. Keep my seat warm while I powder my nose."

"What?" Sutton looked at him in dismay. "Oh, no, I don't..." But the man was ambling into the darkness on the other side of the bar. Realizing he had been left to take over, Sutton looked around for help.

The banjo player smirked. "Go ahead, honey. We'll try to keep up."

The others chuckled and Sutton caught on that the entertainment they expected was more along the lines of watching him fall flat on his face. Though Theo and Graham nodded encouragement, it took the confidence in Jack's eyes to get him breathing again. He made his way to the piano and sat down before tobacco-stained keys, with no idea what to play. He thought of the melody he had loved at Reisenweber's and his fingers found it, the bass painfully spare compared to what he'd just heard. He looked more than once for sheet music that wasn't there and just closed his eyes and tried to trust his ears.

If anyone noticed the missteps, they didn't let on. The rest of the band ran riot with the melody and he settled into marking the tempo until they brought in progressions that propelled him to play with the chords. Maybe he hadn't fallen on his face by the finish, but he'd stumbled badly enough to give them some fun picking apart his performance. The pianist, who had returned halfway through, looked him over with a critical eye. "Haven't played with a band before?"

"Not in this fashion, no."

The pianist's rumble of a laugh rivaled the lowest notes on the keyboard. "Well, you ain't the worst I've heard."

"He listens," the girl said and winked at Sutton.

The young clarinetist bobbed his head in agreement. "Rhythm's all right. For a classical pianist," he added with a grin.

"He needs work." The drummer, bone-thin with close-shorn gray hair, lit a cigarette. "A whole lot of goddamned work." His gaze through the smoke was dour. "We'll just see."

Strangely, that too felt like a vote of approval. The pianist's attention moved past Sutton and his round face lit with easy good humor. "Well, shit. 2JB in NYC. Haven't gone uptown on us yet, have you?"

Jack grinned. "Bullsy," he greeted. "Been listening in?"

"Hell, yes. This your kid on the keys?" His broad hand rested on Sutton's shoulder, then patted him on the back. "Move on, son. Let an old man sit down." Sutton gave up the bench and Bullsy sat, hauling out a cigarette. With it crooked in the corner of his mouth, he ran big hands over the keys. "Vera's right. You can listen. Them tenths won't be scaring you long." He swept through arpeggios with breathtaking clarity, all the while eyeing Sutton with interest. "Come on back sometime."

Sutton realized the gift being offered. Piano belonged to Bullsy--had been invented for him, Sutton had to think. And jazz--it didn't sing sweetly, like the music he'd been raised on. It shouted out, fierce to lift the weariest spirit. It could own a fellow's soul if he let it--and even if he didn't.

He might never understand the music as intimately as Bullsy did. Coming from a different world, perhaps he couldn't--but what joy it would be to try.

"Thank you." He held out a hand and Bullsy shook it with a crushing grip.