“What about the Palace?” I asked. “Digger mentioned that he wanted to go and shoot the breeze with Ray.”
“It’s almost four in the morning,” James said.
“Well, maybe Ray or someone is still there closing up or cleaning. Maybe they might know where Digger went. And apparently where we find Digger is where we find the other two,” Margo said.
James and I headed out. We drove through the dark streets slowly, both of us keeping an eye on the sidewalks as we passed. I’d never had to look for anyone on the street at night and it amazed me how different it looked when you really pushed to see it. There was a depth of shadow there that was spectral. There were holes. Impossible holes that streetlights couldn’t penetrate, and if someone were in there they couldn’t be seen. I’d always wondered how the homeless became so invisible to the rest of us, and I realized that night that we never really know the geography of our city. We
know buildings, streets, intersections, and neighbourhoods but we never know the holes. Not until we’re forced to look. Not until someone close to us is out there in the night. Then we discover them. Then we learn to see them. The holes. They’re everywhere: behind a stairway, in a doorway halfway down an alley, beneath the lower branches of a pine tree, behind a wall. Holes in the city. The holes where the lonely go, the lost, the displaced, the forgotten. The holes that lives disappear into. The holes that daylight’s legerdemain makes vanish so that we come to think of the geography of the city as seamless, predictable, equal. It’s not. The holes in the streets told me that as we drove.
“There it is,” James said, pulling me back from my thoughts.
We pulled up in front of the Palace and could hear music. A man stumbled out the door with a bottle in his hand, lurching down the sidewalk and disappearing down an alley. A couple followed right after and wobbled crazily to a car parked a few yards from the door.
“Wild freakin’ bash,” the man said. “Wild.”
James and I walked quickly to the door and pulled on it. It was locked. James rapped loudly with a gloved hand and we waited. He rapped again. Finally, the door opened a crack and Ray’s face was there.
“We’re closed,” he said. “Private party.”
“Ray? I’m a friend of Digger’s. Granite. Remember?”
“Granite? Oh, yeah, the Square John from the movies. They ain’t here. They
were
here but they left.”
“Where did they go?” James asked.
“Fucked if I know. Nobody bails on a bash like this, man. Especially if you paid for it. We got strippers, man, some good smoke, tunes, and an open friggin’ bar. But they walked.”
“They paid for this?” I asked.
“Well, Digger did. Did you know the son of a bitch won the lottery?”
“Yes. We did. That’s why we’re here,” James said.
“You a cop?” Ray asked. “We got a permit for this. Private party, not sellin’ booze, we’re good, officer.”
“I’m Digger’s lawyer,” James said.
“Oh,” Ray slurred. “The money guy.”
“Yeah. The money guy. Now where did Digger say he was going?”
“He didn’t. They didn’t. Just kinda got up an’ walked out about an hour ago. Hey, listen, man. You’re gonna have to slip me a few more bucks here ’cause it costs more the longer it goes, ya know what I’m sayin’?” Ray grinned drunkenly.
“Yes. Well. Send me an invoice and I’ll see what I can do. Here’s my card.”
“No, no, no,” Ray said. “See, I need cash now, man. Gotta have it. Gotta pay the band, piece off the peelers, pay for the booze.”
“I thought Digger did that?” James said.
“Yeah, well, he did, man. But I need more.”
“More?”
“Yeah. Come on, man. He’s got it. I figure a couple grand would pretty much cover it.”
“Send me an invoice. Make it itemized. I’ll run it by my friends at the liquor board, make sure it checks out, and we’ll see what we can do,” James said.
“Itemized? Fuck. Come on, man. Granite? Hey, man. How about a little for old Ray? Digger would.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, Ray.”
“I’ll throw in a peeler,” he said. “You ever had a peeler, Granite? Good friggin’ toss. Best rattle you’ll ever have, I guarantee it.”
“I don’t think so, Ray. I’ll see you later.”
We walked back toward the car. Ray stepped out onto the sidewalk and yelled after us.
“You can’t change ’em, ya know. You can’t. Rounder’s a rounder. Always will be. That fucking money’ll be gone, Granite. Gone. You’ll see.”
“Jesus,” James said when we got into the car. “With friends like that, who needs enemas?”
I smirked. “Right. Now what?”
“Back to the ladies, I suppose. You have any ideas?”
“None. It’s a big town. That’s a lot of money. If they can do this, they’re starting to get an idea of what they have in their hands now. That scares me.”
“Yes,” James said. “There’re an awful lot of Rays out there.”
“And a hell of a lot of holes.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said, and drove hard across the city.
M
Y LITTLE BROTHER
Harley. While I sat there in that strange hotel room waiting to hear from Granite and James, it was my little brother Harley who came to me. Oh, I didn’t see him. At least, not really. He came as a shadow person, hovering behind me when I looked in the mirror. Just a wave, a motion, a wrinkle in the light, but I knew it was him. I felt him. And I knew where the boys were. Just like that.
“They walked home,” I said to Margo.
“Pardon me?” she replied.
“The boys,” I said with a small smile. “They walked home. They walked back to what they knew.”
“And that would be where, exactly?”
“Dick’s digs,” I said. “They’ll be at the warehouse where Dick sleeps.”
“Slept,” she said.
“Yes. Slept. But they’re there.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. They’ll want a fire. They’ll want that shelter.”
When Granite and James returned, Margo told them what I knew. They actually didn’t seem surprised, and since I was so convinced they settled into chairs to rest and have a coffee before we went to pick the boys up.
“So if Dick stayed in a deserted warehouse prior to this, where did you stay?” James asked.
“Oh, never in one place. Not like the boys. They found one
place where they felt comfortable at night and went there for years. I moved around a lot.”
“Like where, Amelia?” Margo asked.
“Well, you have to be safe and you have to be warm. Especially if you’re a woman. There’s air grates all over downtown behind office buildings and such and there’s back doorways in alleys away from the wind. But I always tried to stay near the people. One winter, a big bunch of us slept together under a bridge. Kept each other safe. Made runs for food for each other, runs for booze if someone was real sick. Another time we found a boarded-up house and stayed there for a year and a half until the city finally got around to tearing it down. There’s always places.”
“Always holes,” Granite said.
“Yes,” I said, and patted his arm.
“You never wanted to come inside? Have a room somewhere? A place of your own?” James asked.
He was a good man. Gentle but strong. My people would have called him a warrior. “No,” I said. “I tried that. But I never ever found a place that wasn’t filled with stories, with history, with voices from the past.”
Granite stared at me intently as I spoke.
“I could hear them. The stories of the people that used to live there. The stories of the lives that were created there, and they always kinda conjured up the voices from my own life and I couldn’t bear to hear them anymore. At least, then I couldn’t.”
“Ghosts?” James asked.
“Not really. Just shadowed voices, shadowed memory, shadowed people.”
“Do you still hear them?” Granite asked.
“Sometimes. When I’m someplace strong. Someplace where someone’s life changed too quickly, where something was lost. I can hear them then, but most times I just get a sense of them being around us.”
“Psychic,” James said.
“No. Just aware,” Margo said.
“Yes,” I said. “
Aware
is a good word.”
Granite nodded solemnly. “I believe you,” he said. “I used to have the same sort of experience.”
“Used to?” I asked.
“Yes.” He looked at me with a weary, looking-back-too-long-and-too-far kind of look. “Used to.”
“And this is how you know where the boys are?” James asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Margo said. “We should go, then.”
Margo and I drove with Granite while James followed in his car. I watched as the city changed block by block. We moved from the neat, wide avenues, through the glass and gloss of the office district, and on into the darkness of the warehouse area. It took me a while to get my bearings because I’d only ever walked to Dick’s digs, but I sorted it out eventually. We turned the corner onto the road we were looking for and I immediately felt panic. It got even more severe when we pulled in behind the warehouse. There were three other cars parked back there. Three cars at a deserted building wasn’t a good sign, and as we walked toward the boarded-up door we could hear laughter and see the flicker of fire high against the roof.
I pushed the door open and began to lead the others through the rabbit warren of things that Dick had piled up to make the place secure, to keep the light hidden. As we got closer to the centre where he had his fire, I could hear rowdy, drunken laughter, the clink of glass, and women’s voices.
“Yeah, baby,” Digger was saying. “That’s right, that’s right.”
When we stepped into the lighted area I couldn’t believe my eyes. Digger sat on a pile of pallets with a crock of whisky in one hand while three women danced and moved around him, reaching out to touch and grab and rub him. They were naked or close to it. He was flipping money in the air while they bumped and grinded around him. He wore headphones that were connected to some kind of music player that sat on the pallet beside him. The box it came in had been tossed on the ground at his feet.
On the other side of the fire, Timber was laid out on another pile of pallets where another barely dressed young woman massaged his temples and rubbed his chest. An empty whisky bottle lolled on the ground beside him.
Dick sat a few feet away with a stunned look on his face while two more women danced around him. He was on the ground and his head was rolling from side to side, spit showing at the corners of his mouth. As we watched, he leaned slowly to one side and passed out on the women’s feet. They just laughed, picked up a handful of money off the ground, and moved toward the fire.
Three men sat there drinking and smoking cigars. There was a case of whisky and empty pizza boxes on the ground with loose bills everywhere.
Digger leaned his head back to take a swallow from his bottle and saw us at the edge of the light. His eyes popped open in surprise and he tugged the headphones from his head and scrambled to stand up. But he lost his balance and sprawled in the dirt. The women laughed.
“Shit,” he grumbled and stood up. The whisky had spilled and drenched his new pants and he stood there muddy and confused. “How’d joo know we’s here?” he asked, swaying.
“Digger,” I said softly and moved toward him.
Margo crossed over to where Dick lay and tucked his coat under his head.
“Fuckin’ party’s goan good,” he said to me with a lopsided grin. “More the merrier, ya know?”
Granite had moved to Timber. “He’s out,” he said, looking over at the two of us.
“Friggin’ wusses,” Digger said. “Fin’lly can party like we mean it and they pass the fuck out. Hey, Rock! Lookit all the tits!”
The women had gathered around the men at the fire, who stood to face us. They were big and mean-looking.
“Friends of yours, Digger?” one asked.
“Huh?” Digger said and reeled around to look at him.
“Thought we were partyin’ in private here? Reason we left the bar so we could come here and have our own gig. What’s
this?
”
“Friends,” Digger said. “Friends. Little friggin’ straight, maybe, but they’re okay.”
“We have to go, Digger,” I said.
“Hey, hey, he’s not goin’ nowhere,” one of the other men said, and the three of them separated to stand a few feet apart facing us. “This is our party. We say what goes. We say who comes and we say who goes.”
“And we’re sayin’ that you’re goin’,” the third man said, putting a hand inside his jacket as a warning.
The women moved behind the men and stood there nervously, looking like they’d want to be anywhere in the world right now other than where they were. Dick groaned and Margo tucked the coat under his head a little snugger.
“No,” Granite said, stepping away from Timber and closer to the men by the fire. “I think we’ll be leaving. All of us.”
“I think not, pal,” the first man said. “We’re owed a little scratch here and I don’t figure anyone’s making a move until we get it.”
“How much are you owed?” James asked, taking a step closer too. “Margo, Dick’s fine for now. Come over here behind me.”
Margo moved to stand with me behind James.
“My name’s James Merton. I’m a lawyer. These people you’re partying with are my clients and I think it’s time we left.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck who you are, pal,” number two said. “There’s a bill here needs payin’. You make one move at takin’ these guys out of here, well, it ain’t gonna be the prettiest sight those ladies have seen.”
Digger shook his head to clear it and moved to stand beside James.
“Fuck you sayin’?” he asked the men.
“We’re sayin’ you owe us for the girls, for the dancing. You owe us for our time too,” the first man said.
“Owe?” Digger asked. “Owe? Who friggin’ owes? We’re partyin’ here.” He shook his head again and cricked his neck a few times.
“You’re the one doin’ all the fucking partyin’,” number three said. “We’re sitting around waiting for you to get your stones off
so we can get the fuck out. Party? With you? Here? You’re just a buncha fucking stumblebums who got a lucky break. Sure, you’re dressed up and cleaned up but you’re still a buncha fucking losers. Losers who owe us. Owe us big.”