The Game of Love and Death(63)

“Heads up, Bishop!”

Henry jumped out of the way of his supervisor, Carl Watters, who was pulling a barrel of ink on a dolly past the chugging press. “No wonder you got those black eyes. You’re a klutz.”

Henry, embarrassed, pushed a sweaty chunk of hair off his forehead and returned to the machine he was supposed to be oiling. He put the rag back in his pocket and tightened a pair of bolts that had come loose.

Shouts came from behind. Henry turned. A sparrow had flown into the pressroom from one of the waxy windows that had been left open to siphon some heat out of the room. The bird wasn’t enough to stop the presses, but if it got pulled into the webbing, there’d be blood and feathers on the afternoon edition, the sort of thing that would get taken out of the crew’s paychecks.

He found the hook-ended wooden pole they used to open and close the windows and did his best to shoo the creature out, but it flitted away and dropped out of sight where the day’s editions were being folded and bound. Henry followed, ducking behind a column. The way things had been going, the stupid creature would crap on top of the afternoon extra.

There. Sitting on the ledge above the day’s paper. And then, just as if Henry had asked politely, the bird flew up and out a nearby open window. Feeling lucky for the first time in ages, Henry leaned the pole against the column and wiped his forehead with a dirty handkerchief. A headline caught his eye.

NEGRO NIGHTCLUB BURNS.

He recognized the Domino straightaway from the picture, which had been shot during daylight hours. It was a total loss. He scanned the text, the paper shaking in his hands. No mention had been made of Flora. He stood in a stupor until Mr. Watters bellowed more insults in his ear. Henry dropped the paper and looked at the clock. Ninety-seven minutes until the end of his shift. Well, hang that. They could fire him if they wanted. He pulled off his canvas apron and dropped it on the floor.

“I’m going to report you for this,” Mr. Watters yelled after him. “I don’t care who recommended you.”

Outside, he turned toward Flora’s neighborhood and had taken three steps when he heard a voice call his name. It was Helen. From across the street, she leaned her head out of Mr. Thorne’s car, smiling as though nothing had changed. “Need a ride?”

Henry looked at his rumpled pants and his ink-stained hands. He was aware of his bruised face and the dried sweat on his back and in his armpits, and he would have known he reeked even if his nose had been snipped off. He crossed the street to avoid having to shout, but stood away from her automobile so that she couldn’t get too close a look — or smell.

“This is a surprise.” He didn’t want to give her the idea he was happy about it.

“I was in the neighborhood,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Ouch. Stupid hatpin.” She pulled her glove off and held her finger out to Henry. A bead of blood had welled up. “Come closer so you can kiss it and make it better.”

“Er,” Henry stammered.

“Don’t care for the sight of blood?” She stuck her finger in her mouth and sucked it clean. Then she slipped her hand back inside her glove and set her fingers on the steering wheel. “Where to?”

Henry hesitated. He hadn’t any money for a cable car, and he was almost too tired to walk. But he didn’t want Flora to see him anywhere near Helen — or for Helen to know where he was going. It was none of her business.

“How about something to eat? I’m awfully hungry.”

Henry grimaced. Even if he’d wanted to, he wouldn’t have enough money to take her anyplace. He could barely feed himself.

“My treat,” she said, patting her pocketbook. “I have more money than I know what to do with.”

A hot meal. There was almost nothing in the world that he wanted more. Almost. “That’s all right. Thank you anyway.”

“Just get in the car, Henry,” Helen said. She looked angry, almost dangerous. “We haven’t all day to waste.”

From behind him, another familiar voice called out, “Henry!”

Henry turned. James Booth stood a few feet away, holding a sign that read A HAND UP, NOT A HANDOUT.

“This is quite the reunion,” James said.

“What a coincidence,” Helen said. “My goodness.”

“Yes,” James said. “The world and its mysterious ways and all.” He looked every bit as hostile as Helen.

Henry wished he could disappear. “On second thought, I can walk. It’s not far.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Henry,” Helen said. “Let me feed you. You look halfway dead already.”

“As long as you’re being generous,” James said, “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Helen said. “I’m just an innocent girl, after all.”

“Then we’ll miss you,” James said, stepping between the car and Henry. Helen looked at James, as if she was calculating the best reply. Then, without another word, she reached over, slammed her door, and drove off.

“Where are we going?” James said, giving him a grin that suggested he hadn’t been affected at all by the strange interlude.

Henry wasn’t in the mood for company, and he didn’t like the way James and Helen made him feel, as if he was some sort of plaything for the two of them to fight over. “I’m afraid I’ve got personal business to attend to.”