Alien Upstairs (11 page)

"I did. Mr. Groves's granddaughter is getting my job. Lita told me. Lacey knew, but I asked her not to tell you there."

"It's a good thing she didn't. I would have gone upstairs and pasted Groves."

"No, you wouldn't. Or you would have been fired, too.” She leaned back. “Gerry, I don't know what to do. Maybe we should take those coins and buy some train tickets, we could go to California. My parents could help us, we could get by somehow. We might not get another chance. We'd still have some money left over, and we might be able to do something with it."

"You know we couldn't. Out there, we'd get drafted for sure. I don't want to sit around guarding some dam or picking lettuce, do you?"

"What choice do we have? Do you think I'm going to find a job here? That money won't last forever."

He slumped against the sofa, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You said you saw Raf. I thought we were going to follow that up if it happened.” He sat up again. “You saw him."

"What good does that do? I think it's Raf, but I can't be sure. He doesn't look the same. What can we do, go up and ask him what he's doing. We don't even know how he'd react."

"We can take a chance. Why not?"

"Why bother?"

He put his hands on her shoulders and gazed into her face. “Maybe because it's time to take a chance. If we do what you want, we'll just keep sliding, you know that. I have this feeling."

She sighed. She had that feeling, too, irrational as it was, the feeling that finding Raf might mean something important. But she could, in her desperation, be fooling herself. “I'm sorry, Gerry. Maybe my mother got to me. I wanted to run out there and have her say she'd take care of me. That's all. What do we do, then?"

"I don't have a day off until Wednesday.” He drew his brows together. “God, what if he moves again? You're going to have to go over there and watch him. You can take the car."

"You're crazy. He might recognize it. What am I supposed to do, sit there like a cop staking him out?"

"You can park farther down the street, can't you? Besides, he won't expect it, and he probably won't be looking for you. And even if he did see you, what can he do out on the street?"

She considered that if Raf could vaporize an engine, he could probably make her and her car disappear.

"All right,” she said at last. “I'll watch him. But I don't know what good it's going to do."

 

 

 

 

Ten

 

 

Sarah drove Gerard to work, then proceeded to Seneca Street. She tapped lightly on the wheel with her fingers as Jehan sang; the singer's vibrato, accompanied by tambourines, and her song were becoming all too familiar. Sarah turned off the radio as she drove over the bridge, then went past the Salvation Army and parked. A large oak tree partially obscured the view from what she assumed was Raf's apartment, thus affording her some protection.

She had brought hot tea in a thermos and a copy of
Rain Over the Pacific.
She fluttered the pages of the paperbound novel as she glanced at the brown house. The heroine was trying to evade the draft and had still not escaped to Mexico, where, Sarah judged from the blurb, most of her adventures would take place. She sighed, thinking of that warm and more prosperous sanctuary, and opened the book. The yellowing, poorly proofread pages were light brown at the edges; tiny bits of paper broke off, sticking to her fingers.

 

Janice cast her glance upon the green hills, sucking in their fertile promise with her eyes as her weary heart throbbed with hope. There was food there and the pxymzse of a @ew life. Fervently she prayed that the fearsome border guards would not espy her as she crept through the fence trying not to alert the sensors for she knew that

 

Sarah lowered the book to her lap. Not long before, she had thought that her most difficult decision would be choosing between the study of history or literature; she had fed her mind, and forgotten the world outside. She tried to recall how it had felt to forget herself while writing an
explication de texte
or reading old documents on microfiche. She had thrown all that aside when she left school, telling herself that she had to be practical, but that had only been self-deception. She could not punish the world for neglecting her wishes, so she had punished herself. I'll be bitter and stupid, I'll show you. Now she sat in a car reading a bad book and staking out a house in a slum. A weight seemed to press against her chest; her vision blurred.

She wallowed, trapped by subjectivity; at least she could still afford self-pity, her last remaining luxury. She would not have it long if she found no new job before her money ran out. She tried to think about Raf, hoping her curiosity would lift her out of her mental morass.

She looked up, then started. Raf had come out to the porch. He came down the steps and began to walk toward the soup line forming at the Salvation Army. She threw her book down, wondering if she should get out and follow him. He stopped and nodded at a knot of men; they spoke for a few moments. Raf turned, leading the small group back to his house.

Sarah shrank behind the wheel, afraid that they would look in her direction. The group went up the steps and into the house. She drummed her fingers on the wheel; what had Raf told them?

A motor growled behind her. She peeked at her rear view mirror and saw that a military jeep had pulled up. A Guard was climbing out of the vehicle. She picked up her book.

Knuckles rapped on her window. She looked up at the bearded man and smiled nervously as she rolled down her window.

"What's up?"

"What do you mean?” she asked.

"What're you doing?"

"I'm waiting for a friend."

"Here? Kind of a funny place, you know?"

"He's supposed to meet me."

"Oh, he's supposed to meet you. You couldn't maybe find someplace else?” The Guard leaned against the door.

She licked her lips and lowered her lids. “Well, I couldn't meet him at home, you know what I mean."

"No, I don't."

"His wife."

He cocked his head to one side. “This car yours?"

"Yes. Well, no, it belongs to a friend. I can show you the registration."

He walked around to the back and looked at the license plate, then returned. “When's your friend due?"

"Some time this morning, if he can get away.” She tried to sound believable.

"You wouldn't be making a pickup, would you?"

"I don't understand."

"A pickup. Dope, miss, or maybe stolen goods. You wouldn't be making a pickup, would you?"

"Of course not."

"What's your name?"

She gave her name and spelled it, hoping that this Guard did not know the one at St. Anne's. He wrote it down.

"Okay, miss, I'll be back down here later, so just watch it, okay? If I see you around, I might have more questions.” He walked back to his jeep and she closed her window. The jeep rolled away.

She clutched the wheel. She could not wait here much longer. If her name was circulated around National Guard headquarters much more, they would soon be paying calls. They might ask too many questions she could not answer. She started the car and drove away.

 

Sarah had talked Gerard out of staking out Raf's place after curfew. He spent the night tossing restlessly in bed, awakening her with his movements. By dawn, she was exhausted.

"You shouldn't have left,” he told her when they were at last driving toward Seneca Street.

"What was I going to do, wait for that guy to haul me in for questioning?"

"He wouldn't have hauled you in. He probably questioned you because he was bored, it was just a break in his routine. The worst he would have done was come back and ask more questions."

"How do you know? If we keep looking suspicious, and they find out about what we've been doing, we'd never be able to explain it.” They went over the bridge. “I'm sure he's still there."

"He'd better be."

They turned the corner and drove down the street. Gerard made a U-turn and parked not far from where she had been the day before.

"All right,” she said, resting her head on the seat. “What now? What do you expect to do? Are we going to sit here all day, or go up there?"

"We could wait for him to come out. We could catch him outside."

"And do what?"

Gerard scowled. “I could take him, you know. He might be taller, but I have at least fifteen pounds on him."

"How do you know he doesn't have weapons?"

He glanced at her. “I guess I don't."

She stiffened. Raf had come out on the porch. “Look."

"Who's that?"

"That's Raf."

"You're crazy, Sarah. He doesn't look anything like Raf."

"He's Raf, Gerry. It's his walk, that's how I knew. You have to believe me. You lost your memory, you probably forgot things about him."

"I remember what he looks like."

"It's him."

Raf left the house and strode toward Seneca Street.

"Okay, listen.” Gerard had his hand on the door. “I'm going to follow him. As soon as we're gone, lock up the car and go up to his apartment. Hide yourself. As soon as I see he's going back home, I'll double back and meet you there. We can catch him when he comes up the stairs."

"But what'll I do?"

"Just wait. You've got your purse, haven't you? You can swing it at him if you have to, and besides, I'll get there before he does."

"But—"

Gerard was out of the car. He slammed his door and followed the tall man. Sarah locked the door and adjusted the security system on the dashboard. Gerard passed the Salvation Army and disappeared around the corner. She could no longer see Raf.

She got out and locked her door. As she walked down the street, it occurred to her that Gerard might lose Raf. She might have to face him alone inside the building. She cursed herself for her cowardice, stomped up the steps to the porch, and went inside.

The hall was dark, and smelled of dirt and urine. She climbed the stairs, almost tripping on a loose board. The wood squeaked and groaned. She passed the second floor and heard the sounds of crying children.

The third floor's ceiling was low, not far above her head. Raf would have to stoop up here. His apartment was probably little more than an attic. There were two apartments on the third floor, but the door to one was wide open. She looked inside. Except for several empty bottles, the room was bare. The other apartment had to be Raf's.

She sighed. She could conceal herself in the empty apartment behind the door; she would be safe. She went inside and looked around the room, supposing that derelicts camped out in it after curfew; they were probably on the soup line at present and might not return until later. She hoped she was right.

She closed the door, leaving only a crack. As she leaned against the wall, she was surprised to find that she was no longer frightened. She rubbed her hands, trying to warm them. The house was poorly insulated, and there was a long crack in one of the windows.

She paced the room, halting when she heard the floor creak, afraid she would alert someone below. She tiptoed back to the door. Raf's entrance was visible through the crack, though she would be alerted by the creaking stairs before Raf got that far, and Gerard would be with her before then.

She took several deep breaths, composing herself. Her heart raced as she pressed her forehead against the peeling wall. She might be waiting for a while.

A door below slammed; she straightened. Someone was coming up the stairs; the footsteps were slow and measured, unlike Gerard's. She waited, taking a cautious breath, and moved closer to the door. Now she could not see through the crack. The footsteps passed the second floor, and continued up the stairs toward her.

A derelict, she thought, readying her purse. Then she panicked and thought: Raf. Gerard might have lost him. She told herself that he would not look in here. The footsteps halted on the other side of the short hallway. The unseen intruder knocked on the other door, then rattled the doorknob. Then the footsteps moved toward her door.

She froze. She would have to get past him and flee down the stairs. Holding out her purse, she prepared to swing it and then run. She sidled away from the door on her toes.

The door swung open. She held her purse by the strap and began to swing it, then pulled it back.

"Mr. Epstein."

 

The old man came in and drew the door shut. “I saw your car when I pulled up,” he said softly. “I suspected that someone might be lurking here. Are you alone?"

"Gerry's following Raf.” She leaned against the wall. “What are you doing here?"

"You knew I was going to look for him. I went to several places before I heard about this one. I found men who fit the right physical description, but who weren't my absent tenant. Then I spoke to my acquaintance Mr. Arkadian, a slumlord, I'm afraid.” He adjusted his beret. Strands and tufts of white hair still stuck out from under the hat. “He is not very observant, but he told me enough. He'd rented a place here, on the third floor, to a tall man who was weird. That's how he put it. The man had paid for the place in gold. Others in this building began to complain to Arkadian that he was entertaining all sorts of low life and was a foreigner of some kind besides. That intrigued me, and I thought I should take a look. When I saw your car, I knew I'd struck pay dirt."

"I saw him by accident on Monday,” Sarah said quickly. “I followed him here."

"You should have told me. You could have saved me trouble."

"I was afraid you wouldn't believe me. He doesn't look the same. But I recognized his walk."

"Are you sure he's the same man?"

"I'm sure. I don't know how, but I'm sure. It's Raf, Mr. Epstein.” She searched his wrinkled face. “Why are you so curious about him?"

"I told you. I want to verify your strange story."

"There has to be more to it than that."

The old man nodded. “Perhaps there is. I'm curious, too, you know. I may look old to you, but in my mind, I'm still young. I live as I do because I must, but I too have my dreams.” He paused. “We are in danger, you know. If this Raf Courn is simply a trickster of some kind, he might be a wealthy man with some influence and the money for bribes. If we get on his bad side, even my few friendships among the police might not be able to help us. And if he is what he claims, we can't predict his behavior. I thought about all this, but I went ahead. I don't have many years left. Maybe it's time to gamble."