Whistling in the Dark (6 page)

"Dan, for heaven's sake. Get along to school." She smiled an apology at Jack. "Where's Esther?"

Jack told her and she looked Sutton over with shy curiosity. "You were quick. Ida will like that." She took the bag. "I'll just see if it needs heating."

Jack moved to the table where Dan tinkered with his radio. "Picked up anything?"

Dan looked forlorn. "Just once. I had it fixed so's Gran could listen in. Now it won't work."

Jack nodded. "Want me to take a look?" he said, already doing so. The young woman returned and invited them to stay for breakfast. Aware of the time, Sutton wasn't confident he could pull Jack away. He and Dan were both too absorbed to be roused. Thinking it might be in Ida's interest for him to befriend her regular customers, he gave up his coat and sat down to a cup of tea. It was nearly seven-thirty by the time he rose to go--and discovered just why Jack had been so eager to help with his delivery.

"Five minutes. That's all. We'll be back at Ida's before eight." Jack bounced the bicycle down the last step to the sidewalk.

Still feeling obliged to Jack for his help, Sutton reluctantly agreed. "If you're certain you won't be more than five minutes--"

"I swear it." Jack patted the bar. Sutton grimaced and got on, closing his eyes as they started off at an all too familiar speed. When he was able to look again, residences had given way to rundown shops and factories and in their midst, a rough crowd went about its business. Jack skidded to a halt before a two-story tumbledown building with a sidewalk blocked by everything from bed frames to bicycles, none of it in a condition worth stealing, let alone purchasing. A fat black cat--well-fed on rats, no doubt--yawned at them from the interior of a doorless icebox as they passed into the shop. The bright gleam of metal and warmer gleam of enamel crowded shelves to the ceiling. Sutton leaned toward Jack to whisper, "What is this place?"

"No junk shops in Nebraska?"

"Kansas," Sutton said, then realized Jack had done that on purpose. His wicked smirk confirmed it. "Do you ever inquire about anything the regular way?"

"Would you've told me?"

"Probably."

"You wouldn't. You already think I'm a shady character," Jack said, apparently unoffended. "You're kin to that Albright in the newspaper, then? The fellow in Topeka?"

That damned newspaper story. "Distantly."

Jack laughed. "Fifteen hundred miles, that's a pretty good distance."

Sutton let the comment pass and trailed Jack to the counter at the far end of the shop, where a reed-thin man in a plaid vest and collarless striped shirt hovered over various pieces of what looked like a disassembled toaster. Though he neither lifted his head nor removed grease-blackened fingers from his work, he offered up a greeting. "Damn, it ain't even been a week. You using those tubes to read by?"

Jack snorted. "Sutton, this asshole is Keeler. Keeler, Sutton. He gave me a ride down here."

"Oh yeah? Where's your bike?"

"Sold it."

"Well, they say walking's good for you." Keeler's grin showed off crooked teeth. "Oh, you know what? Something came in you'll want a look at." He wiped his hands on a towel filthier than he was, and skittered up a ladder to a top shelf. "Some genius bought himself a beauty of a set and never figured out how to work it, so he sells it to me cheap." He came down with a cardboard box in hand. "Sold off most of the parts the first day, but take a look at what's left, see if there's anything you need."

Jack peeked into the box. "Don't suppose you could tuck it under the counter for a couple weeks? I'm a little short--"

"Perhaps he could put it on your tab."

Sutton's arch suggestion won him a wary look from Keeler and the flicker of rueful good humor from Jack.

"I don't run tabs, I run a business," Keeler said. "I'll trade, maybe, if you got anything."

"No--" Jack hesitated. "Yeah, wait a minute." He offered his pocketknife. "Any good?"

Keeler ran a fingertip over the blade. "Army issue," he muttered, then looked apologetic. "Forget I said that."

"Said what?" Jack hooked a finger over the rim of the box and drew it across the counter, Sutton leaning with him to get a better look. The contents seemed a pile of junk, but Jack's face lit up like he'd stumble on a pot of gold. "How much you want for all of it?"

"More than this knife's worth. I'll give you a quarter."

"Guess I'll take it. I need some parts for a Victor. Got anything?"

"A few Vics over in the corner there. Help yourself."

Sutton perched on the dusty edge of the shelf as Jack began to search through the row of old phonographs. "So--you were in France?"

Jack pushed one machine out of the way to reach another. "What'd you do to these things, Keeler? Leave them out in the rain?"

"Any rust you may find you'll have to take up with the previous owners." Keeler disappeared behind the counter.

Sutton tried again. "I was in France, myself."

"Good for you. Hand me a pair of pliers? The kit's behind you."

Sutton pulled the wooden box from the shelf and dug around. "This?"

"Are you kidding?" Jack exhumed something that was a fair approximation. "Didn't dig any trenches while you were in France?"

"I'm well acquainted with the shovel."

Jack's lips twitched. "That's a start." He opened the top of another phonograph machine and peered inside. "Ah. First class."

Sutton didn't see anything first class about scraps, but he held up the lid while Jack plundered parts. Keeler looked them over and gave Jack ten cents for the knife. The two of them argued over the radio parts while Sutton waited in increasing concern at the hour. When he couldn't bear to wait any longer, he plucked at Jack's sleeve. "It's after eight."

"Ah, hell. Let's go." Pockets clinking, Jack bid good-bye to Keeler and pushed Sutton ahead, out the door. "Sorry," he said as they took the bike down to the curb. "I lose track of time in Keeler's. You should've warned me."

"Yes, my fault entirely."

The easy grin came back. "Don't take all the blame. How about half?"

"Half in theory, if you like, since I should have known better after all the time you took on Dan's radio. But as far as Mrs. Carlisle's concerned, the burden of fault lies entirely with you."

"All of it?"

Sutton noted the mock horror and nodded. "She can't fire you."

"Buy me a cup of coffee when we get back?"

Sutton planted himself on the handlebars and Jack pedaled like a man possessed, until they had gotten as far as the house where they'd made the delivery an hour before. There, Jack braked so abruptly, Sutton lunged off the bar and staggered for a minute to stay on his feet. "Jack? What--" Jack was already up the steps to the door. "Jack!"

"I'll be right back," he said before vanishing inside.

- Seven -

Sutton stared after him. They had been making such good time and now another unscheduled stop was surely going to have him fired and back looking for work--a dreadful possibility that clearly didn't matter at all to Jack.

Done with being a good sport, Sutton pushed the bike into the road and climbed on. It was a struggle to keep the wheels aligned, but he pedaled a few feet before he and the bike toppled over, much to the amusement of a group of boys on the stoop across the street. Ignoring them, he yanked the bike off the ground and climbed back on. The disrepair of the road made a wobbly ride even wobblier. He pedaled faster straightaway and though with each revolution of the pedals the bike veered from one side to the other, he stayed upright for several feet before toppling again.

"My old granny rides better!" one boy yelled and the others whooped with laughter.

Sutton brushed dirt off his trousers, wincing at his bruised palm. If he could just pick up enough speed to stay balanced, he knew he'd be all right. But when he tried, he started again to veer. Suddenly a hand was at his back and a firm grip forced the handlebars straight. He glanced wildly around to see Jack beside him, running to keep up. "You're doing it. Get your balance and keep pedaling. Come on, faster. Go, go!"

Sutton pedaled for all he was worth and Jack let him loose. The boys on the stoop cheered him onward, but as he neared the corner, cheers turned to shouts, with Jack joining in. Sutton caught his breath in alarm at the sight of a grocer's truck lumbering through the intersection ahead. He tried to circle back, but went into a slide toward the curb. The front wheel slammed into a lamp post and he landed on the pavement, entangled with the bike.

A breathless Jack stumbled to a stop beside him. "Jesus, I thought I'd killed you. Everything in one piece?"

"I am, but I'm not as sure of the bicycle."

Jack looked it over. "Damn tire's punctured. We'll have to hoof it back."

Sutton stared in dismay at the damage. "How can I explain this to Mrs. Carlisle?" Or pay for the repair if she decided to fire him.

"She won't ever know about it--"

"I have to tell her."

"Not if I patch it up."

"Can you?" He could forgive Jack everything else in exchange for such a rescue.

"Let's get it home. You'll have to tell Ida a story to put her off till I've finished."

They wheeled the bike into the emporium sometime later, to find Harry in the midst of an inventory. His gaze went to Jack's grease-stained hands and he grunted. "Didn't come home with any magic beans, did you?" He patted Jack's pockets, then pulled out a part from the machine Jack had plundered.

"For the phonograph," Jack said, taking it back.

"Yeah. No radio parts?"

"Not a one. Really, Harry, you ought to trust a fellow--"

"Whose bike?"

"Ida's."

Harry backed away, hands upraised. "I didn't hear that. I know nothing about it. And I won't ask for details, even if you pay me. I'm going back to work, Jack. It's been swell knowing you."

"Would you quit it? I just got Sutton all bucked up and here you go scaring him again." Jack started for the back, hauling the bike. "I'll have it good as new in a few minutes and no trouble from Ida, I promise."

Harry looked soberly at Sutton. "Sorry, kid. I should've warned you about him. Didn't cross my mind at the time."

"Is he always so--energetic?"

Harry's sudden cough sounded more like laughter he couldn't hold back. "Jack'll keep you on the jump, if you let him. Say, Esther was over here about twenty minutes ago looking for you. I had the idea you might've gotten a little lost. She figured the same. I guess you can take it from there."

Lost. That was apt. "Thank you. If you'll pardon me, I must keep tabs on that bicycle if I want to keep my job."

The back of the store seemed deserted. Sutton peeked into the office to find it empty. The piano stood silent, expectant, as he walked past. He wondered where Ox had gotten to and if the lessons were going any better. Below one of the hanging carpets, a short hallway ended at the back door. A few battered pieces of discarded furniture crowded the porch and beyond that, weeds and wildflowers obscured the path to the gate. A young maple in autumn red provided shade for most of the yard, the remainder awash in sunlight. Basking in that light before Sutton's disbelieving gaze lay the motionless shape of a fat brown crocodile. It rested in a puddle of water under the arch of a cracked clay pot lying partially buried in the mud.

When the crocodile didn't move, Sutton let out a breath of relief. It was one of the emporium's stuffed creatures. He took a curious step closer and the crocodile's narrow snout slithered a quarter turn in the thick grass to point inquisitively in his direction. Sutton stumbled backward, to collide with Jack in the doorway, and grabbed him to keep him from going any further. "There's a crocodile--a very much alive crocodile--in your yard--"

"Oh, that's Woodrow." Jack pulled him inside and shut the door. "Woody's all right. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Come on, this way." He pushed aside a carpet and opened the door behind it, leading Sutton into what appeared to be a combination of workroom and storage, the windows barely bringing in enough light to dispel the musty atmosphere. Jack had already set the bike on a workbench. "Make yourself at home. This won't take long."

"But--the--in your yard--"

"Woody hasn't bitten anyone since he got here. Not even Ned."

"You keep it as a pet?" Sutton sputtered.

"Well..." Jack appeared to consider the question as he prodded the tire. "We get deliveries from all over the place. Sometimes not exactly what we ordered." He couldn't seem to contain a smile. "Harry won't even come in the yard while we're uncrating, anymore."

A decision with which Sutton sympathized wholeheartedly. He wondered if there was anything Jack didn't take in stride. "What other creatures do you have lurking?" He peered under the bench.

"Nothing with a bite any worse than Ida's."

"That doesn't reassure me. All those pieces for the radio Keeler sold you, you gave them to Dan?"

Jack stayed quiet a long minute, his face shadowed with a seriousness Sutton hadn't seen before. "Keep it to yourself, all right? Harry's been worrying about money." A corner of his mouth lifted, a hint of embarrassment in the twist of it. "Keeler had the parts Danny needed. I couldn't pass that up, could I?"

A properly shady character would have. "About before, when I nearly deserted you--I'm sorry. You see, this is my first job and a miracle I found it because I'd been planning to go home--"

"And going home with your tail between your legs was about the last thing you wanted to do then or now." Jack gave the wheel a spin. "Forget about it. I've walked to Keeler's and back plenty of times and in all weathers." He suddenly grinned. "You ain't got it so tough, Dorothy. Wait till you've lived through a New York winter. Why do you think Ida's so mean? She's lived through seventy-five of them."

To Sutton's amazement, the irrepressible man who'd spent the morning tormenting him became the soul of patience and attention, as the hands that did half his talking patched the tire with sure fingers. When he finished, Jack set the bike on the floor and Sutton looked it over, to find it in fine shape. "Remarkable."