The Night Watchman(39)

“I said, let’s go!” Jack grabbed Patrice’s arm, pinching her. She pushed him so hard he staggered.

“Was that the Hilda? What’s going on?”

“She’s ticked at me,” said Jack.

“Why?”

“Professional standards.”

Patrice fought him away and banged on the door.

“She won’t answer you now,” said Jack. “We don’t get along.”

“Then take me to visit Bernadette.”

“What a life,” said Jack.



A sneak of flame, a slash of blue, a white tooth, a knife-edge glance at Jack. And then, when Bernadette recognized Patrice, a storm of sorrow and intensity. The outburst chilled her.

“Oh, honey! Oh, oh, oh!”

“What,” said Patrice. “What? What? Where’s my sister?”

“She ran off!”

Bernadette drew Patrice up the steps of a town house made of orange-pink brick. A curved stone entryway, a door of dark shiny wood with an oval frosted-glass window. Bernadette was not the shy, awkward tomboy she’d been in high school, hunching around in men’s clothes. She was a stunner. Wearing a red silk kimono with pink blossoms. Hair hennaed to a glow and rolled in a certain movie-star way, lips carmine, eyebrows sharp black wings, eyes of an unsettling empty brightness.

“She stuck me with the baby,” she said to Patrice. “You’re here for the baby!”

“I’m here for Vera,” said Patrice.

Bernadette shut her mouth, gave Jack a warning look.

“What’s she doing here? She working for you?”

Jack ignored her questions.

“She just wants her sister.”

“So sad how she left her baby,” Bernadette sighed, in a different voice. “Wait down here. I’ll get the baby for you.”

“I’m not taking the baby until you give me Vera.”

“You think I know where she is? I don’t know. Never have. They don’t tell me. She went off somewhere and got mixed up with some bad people, I suppose. Here, sit down. I’ll get that baby.”

The house was silent.

“Get Vera,” said Patrice.

“Get her out of here,” said Bernadette to Jack.

“Patrice, let’s go,” said Jack. “Bernie doesn’t know.”

“I think she does know.”

“She’s trying to help!” said Jack. He grabbed Patrice’s arm and tried to pull her back through the door. She struck his hand off, tossed his arm down.

“I really don’t know,” said Bernadette, putting her face so close that Patrice could see the bruises through her makeup. “If you shut up and take the baby, I’ll try to find out where she is. That baby is wearing me out.”

“So find out. I’ll come back for the baby,” said Patrice. “And Vera better be here. I think you know where she is.”

This time Jack gripped her arm so desperately that although Patrice could have shaken him off, she didn’t. She let him pull her through the door.





Woodland Beauty




Wood Mountain got off the train and walked the mile to his sister’s town house on 17th Avenue. Bernadette let him in. Threw out her arms and hugged him. The plush flowery steam of a recent bath rolled off her shoulders. From down the hall, a delicious thread of scent—roasting meat. She must be cooking for Cal. In the parlor, a carved wooden pushcart bearing cut-glass decanters filled with amber firewater. A couch to sink down in while his sister, or half sister, paced back and forth in a floaty red gown.

“She was here,” said Bernadette. “I can’t tell her much about Vera. She said she’s coming back. Cal better not be here. But Jack was with her. Jack, of all people. Wouldn’t tell me a thing.”

“Jack. She sure took my advice,” said Wood Mountain.

“Which was what?”

“Find the scum.”

“Oh, she did that all right. Jack!”

Bernadette threw herself down beside him on the couch.

“He’s still at the new concern. Log Jam 26.”

“Is it a real place?”

“Real as any of his other concerns.”

“What’s he look like now?”

“Skinnier. Sicker. Junkier. Yellower.”

“Junkie.”

“They say he’s been one for years. A controlled habit.”

“Well, he will slip up.”

“They always do. But as scum goes, he’s not the worst, you know.”

“Can you put me up?”

“I’ve already got that baby. Vera’s. Cal’s not happy about it. Suze is keeping care of the little sweetie. The dad’s in Chicago.”

“Where’s Vera?”

Bernadette studied her nails.

“She got a job somewhere.”

“Where?”

“Why you asking me for? How’d I know?”

Wood Mountain dropped it.

“The baby. Boy or girl?”

“Boy. Small. Worries me. Don’t cry. But yeah, you can stay.”

“Thanks.”

“There’s a little room, off the kitchen. Back-door key. Be real quiet.”