Whistling in the Dark (11 page)

He held out a hand and Jack took it, all the while watching him with something inexplicably like regret. "So long. Guess I'll see you around."

"Yes, well, probably not." He cleared his throat, but said nothing else. He didn't know how he could feel so poorly and still be on his feet. Even his thoughts seemed to shift and fade before he could make sense of them. Once he stepped away from the shelter of his room under the stairs, away from the familiar street corner--his corner of a vast, cold city--he would keep walking, into the dark, until it swallowed him up. He would find a place where he could curl up and drift to sleep as easily as taking a breath and letting it out.

He started to turn away and a hand settled in the crook of his arm.

"You going back to Topeka?"

"No, I don't think so." He tried to keep moving, but Jack held on.

"You have any money?"

"I'll be fine--"

"It's nine-thirty, Sutton. And pouring down rain, and I'm guessing you don't have a nickel for a cup of coffee. Where the hell are you going?"

The question confused him, as did Jack's concern. "I'll find something. I'll be all right."

"Something?" Jack shook his head. "The water's cold as hell this time of year."

"It won't bother me long." The words dropped from his mouth without emotion. He wondered if he had the strength left to walk away. Jack's hand on his arm felt like the only thing holding him upright.

"Better wait until morning." Though Jack teased, his grip was resolute. "More likely to be someone around who's willing to fish you out. Harry's always telling me to wait till I'm well rested before I do anything especially stupid. It takes more energy than you'd think."

"Sometimes you can think too much. Just let me go. You don't owe me anything."

"I owe everyone," Jack said with a laugh. "Anyway, what about that ten cents?"

That damned ten cents. From somewhere deep down, where Sutton had thought no feeling was left, a laugh welled, bone-weary and rough. It crumbled what remained of his composure, and his eyes burned. As he sucked in a breath and tried to hold himself together, Jack rambled on.

"I always square my debts. One way or another." He dug a crumpled kerchief from one pocket and tucked it into Sutton's hand like a spy passing documents. "Hey, you know what, I've got a place you can bunk a while--"

"No. I can't pay you for rent or food--"

"You'll find another job. Anyway, you'd be doing me as good a turn. My place is too big for one. It's like wandering around a damned tomb. I've been thinking about finding a roommate. And just by coincidence, here you are, looking for a room."

Jack was willing to help him--Jack, who barely seemed capable of looking out for himself. Sutton didn't know what to make of it. He couldn't guess Jack's reasons and Jack didn't give him the chance to mull it over. "The tough job now is getting you out before Ida finds you and goes hunting up her frying pan. You know, if we'd sent her after old Fritz, the war would've been over in a week."

Chattering on, Jack led him downstairs to the side door and stopped there to instruct him to pull up his collar. With a hand around Sutton's wrist, Jack plunged first into the cold and dark, guiding the way across the alley to a door that opened into a grimy flight of stairs going into pitch blackness. "One floor up," Jack said, studying him in the light of the bare bulb directly overhead. "You all right?"

"Give me a minute." Sutton leaned against the wall. Just drawing a breath made his head throb anew. "One flight, you said?"

Jack's brows knit. "Aw, hell. You were in the hospital, weren't you? You walked back here? From St. Elizabeth's?" Jack took his suitcase and put an arm around him, starting him up the stairs. Every few steps they stopped to rest and by the time they were near the top, Sutton leaned on him out of sheer necessity. Jack didn't seem to mind. "Saturday, right? When we went out. You were upstairs. I would've asked you along but I didn't think you'd want to go. You play pool?"

"No. Well, billiards." Sutton let out a breath of relief as they came into a hallway and stopped in front of the first door.

"Yeah, I figured." Jack unlocked the door and switched on a standing lamp. The room, with its older furnishings, would have been as respectable as any Sutton had seen if it were anything close to tidy.

"I take it you don't care for housekeeping," he said, breathing a tired laugh.

Jack set down the suitcase. "I said it was big. Never said it was clean." He waved a hand toward a claw-footed sofa half-buried under magazines and a couple of old quilts. "Make yourself at home. Want something to drink?"

"Please." Sutton took off his coat and draped it over his suitcase. Jack had gone into the kitchen so he moved to the sofa and sank against a cushion to wait for his drink.

The room was chilly but he didn't mind it. He was glad to be sitting, surrounded by a quiet broken only by distant street sounds and the occasional footfall on the floor above. It seemed unreal that he was safe again, and sheltered, instead of walking the dark streets to God knew where. If Jack suspected the true reason behind his disappearance, he showed no sign of it. He was being so generous, Sutton felt guilty for not divulging the whole truth. Jack might not be bothered by it--but Sutton couldn't face taking the risk just yet.

That worry yielded to a more immediate concern brought on by crushing weariness. He didn't suppose Jack would mind if he went to bed early--or even closed his eyes for a few minutes just now. The miserable combination of an aching head and sick stomach had eased. He didn't know whether Jack meant him to sleep on the sofa, but he could sleep right where he was and be content for the longest imaginable time. Not forever, just yet, but long enough to find the world if not tender and consoling, at least grudgingly sympathetic when he woke.

- Twelve -

Jack had his share of overnight guests, but none who'd slept on the sofa before. Even Harry bunked with him, at a wary distance of course, or slept in one of the other two bedrooms. But Sutton was lost to the world and Jack saw no point in waking him just to move him to a bed.

Sunday night, Esther had mentioned not seeing Sutton all afternoon, but Jack hadn't thought anything of it. When Sutton didn't show up for work Monday morning, Jack figured he'd done what Jack had expected him to do eventually. Tuesday morning came and Esther had reported worriedly that Sutton had left his suitcase and some clothes behind. And though Jack had reassured her, he found it a little worrisome, too.

He had considered telegraphing the railroad offices in Topeka, himself, to make sure Sutton had gotten home. But in the middle of supper, who should walk in but the wayward errand boy, looking as though he had taken a pretty sound thrashing. Finding him in even sorrier shape than he'd seemed, Jack had realized that someone needed to throw a net under him fast or he wouldn't make it to morning.

Emerging from the kitchen with drinks in hand, Jack noted that his new roommate didn't have much of a knack for making himself at home. He loosened Sutton's tie, eased off his shoes, and maneuvered him into a more comfortable position, with the quilts to keep him warm. Satisfied he had done all a good host could do to provide for his guest, he poured Sutton's gin into his and settled in a chair, magazines on his lap. He'd only just gotten comfortable, himself, when a rap at the door startled him--then made him laugh. He would've bet every penny he owed Chase that he knew just who stood on the other side.

He opened the door and immediately noted the paper bag in Harry's hand. "You moving in, too?"

Harry's gaze darkened. "Too? Okay, what's going on?"

"Shhh," Jack whispered as Harry peered past him. "Don't wake him up. He's had a rotten day."

"I know the feeling." Harry handed him the bag. "Esther packed up the rest of your supper. What's with Albright sleeping on your sofa?"

Jack stepped into the hall and shut the door. "Look, I had to. What was I going to do? He got between me and a crocodile, Harry."

Harry's brows slid together, mouth twisting downward. "What?"

"He needed help. If you'd seen him--" Jack blew out a breath. "I knew what was in his head. Hell, I've had the same thoughts."

That frown softened. "I hate to be the practical one, kid, but you ain't got the funds to look after every stray in New York."

"Don't worry. I'll help him find work."

"Where--at a nightclub?"

"Why not?"

Harry groaned. "Eat your supper--" He poked a finger in the bag. "If you ain't already drunk it. And get some sleep."

Sutton hadn't stirred since Jack's sojourn to the hall. After waving a hand in front of his face to make sure he was still breathing, Jack took the leftovers and the gin to bed with him and dozed off around five. What seemed only a couple of hours later, a gentle voice prodded him back to wakefulness. Jack resisted, hoping the voice would give up and go away.

"Jack?" Light fingers patted his shoulder. With a long-suffering sigh, Jack rolled onto his back and reluctantly opened his eyes. On the verge of an inappropriately-worded reproach, he noticed he did not have Sutton's full attention. Not where he expected it, anyway. Irritation gave way to amusement and he wrapped his fingers around the necktie dangling inches from his face.

"I beg your pardon." Sutton went red. "I just wanted to--" He cleared his throat. "I've made breakfast, if you're hungry."

"Really?" Jack let him go and managed not to laugh as Sutton immediately put a couple of feet between them. "You made something with what's in the kitchen?"

"God, no. I went to the market on the corner. Your tab is overrun there as well, but Mrs. Reilly kindly let me have a few things on account, since you repaired her toaster."

"Oh. Yeah, she's a peach. What time is it?"

"After nine." Sutton looked even more embarrassed. "Don't you open at eight?"

"Well, Harry does." Jack yawned and sat up to pull on his dressing gown. "By the way, I forgot to mention the house rule. Look, but don't touch." Standing, he grinned. "Unless you mean it."

He wouldn't have guessed Sutton could go any redder. "I'll try to keep that in mind."

"Good boy. So what's for breakfast?"

Sitting down to scrambled eggs, bacon, rolls, and coffee, Jack mused that having a roommate might not be so bad for a while. Recalling his conversation with Harry, he decided it was as good a time as any to help Sutton hunt for work. "If you can stand the idea, I might be able to get you a job in a nightclub." He paused as Sutton looked up from his own plate without the wariness Jack expected. "I figured we'd go around to one or two and you can see for yourself what they're like. Maybe it won't suit your idea of respectable."

Sutton poked the eggs with his fork. "I don't think I can tell what's respectable anymore."

"Guess this is a hell of a step down for you."

"What?" Sutton looked at him. "I didn't mean--"

"Don't worry about it." Jack offered a nonchalant grin. "The pay might be better, but it'd still be the same boring fetch and carry. So if you want to look around a while, go ahead. I'd wait a day or two, though. Dockhand's the only job you'll get with those bruises."

Jack didn't mind the attitude all that much. Whatever had led Sutton to leave home and strike out on his own in the first place, Jack admired his pluck. But Sutton had taken it a little far last night. It had to be one hell of a falling-out when a fellow was ready to chuck it all rather than ask his folks for help.

After Jack had bathed and dressed, he found Sutton looking around the small third bedroom, though there wasn't much to look at. The old receiver occupied a fair corner, leaving just enough room for the spare bed against the opposite wall. Sutton had in hand one of the red silk poppies scattered around the sewing machine. "I'm sorry. I should have asked before nosing among your things."

He started to put it back and Jack stopped him. "You're entitled. And you can take this room if you want. It's sunnier, especially in the winter. The other room..." He shrugged. "Not so sunny."

Sutton put the poppy in his suit coat pocket. "Thank you. I'm grateful for all your kindness. And I will repay you."

Jack brushed a sleeve over the receiver's vacuum tubes and it struck him there was one thing Sutton could do for him right off the bat. "Want to come downstairs with me? I'll show you around, if you're up for it."

The shop was deserted. Ox sat at the keyboard, playing softly. Jack led Sutton into the office, where Harry was sorting the mail. "Harry, where's that announcement I wrote up? Sutton's reading it today."

"He is?" Harry glanced at Sutton and grimaced. "Sit down, kid. Take it easy."

Jack waved Sutton to the sofa and straddled a chair, himself. "He's perfect for it, honest to God. He's got that sort of polite--what's the word? You know. What's he sound like?"

"Like someone who never played hooky from school?"

Sutton choked back a laugh and Jack smiled at Harry with a saint's forbearance. "Enunciate. That's the word and no thanks to you. He enunciates like a son of a bitch."

Sutton shifted, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. "You want to put me on the radio?"

"It's easy as pie," Jack said. "You only have to read from a piece of paper--if I can find the damned thing." He dug through the snow drifts on the desk until Harry protested.

"You mind? I just got this stuff organized. Your announcement's out there by the microphone."

"Why didn't you say so?" Jack hopped up, Harry following, Sutton anxiously trailing.

"I don't know anything about speaking on the radio--"

"If I can do it," Harry told him, "so can you. Say, I forgot to mention I was talking to Mr. Rosen and he's looking to hire a steady, responsible sort to help him around the store."

"Well, thanks for thinking of me." Jack threw him a wry glance over one shoulder as he scooped up the sheet music from the workbench.