EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE

Memphis walked the leaf-strewn streets of the Upper West Side, pulling his coat closed against the brisk breeze. It was truly fall now. Chimney smoke burned the edges of the air, scenting the wind. The nights had weight. Everything will be fine, Memphis. Stop your worrying. Memphis walked faster, eager to get to the Museum of American Folklore, Superstition, and the Occult. Sister Walker had told him to keep the incident with Gabe’s ghost to himself, that he was probably seeing things out of grief and weariness. But between Isaiah’s trances, Gabe’s visitation, and the dream he shared with Theta, it was too much to ignore, and Memphis wanted someone to explain to him what was going on.

In the distance, Memphis saw the gothic towers of the Bennington peeking through the thinning leaves. That was where Theta lived, and for a moment he wished he could just run up and see her, forget this whole crazy world. But her world was just as mysterious as everything else he was worried about. He couldn’t do anything about that, and besides, he had answers to get, and so he moved on.

It was around Central Park West and Eighty-eighth Street that Memphis became aware that he was being followed. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw them: two men shadowing him at a respectful but consistent distance. Memphis knew at a glance that they were plainclothes cops. His heart raced, and he told himself to keep calm. He had no slips on him. He was fine. Memphis picked up his pace. So did the men. They were definitely following him, then. Memphis scanned the street, looking for an escape. Along Central Park West, diggers were hollowing out the street for the new subway line. Could he hide down there? No, he’d be trapped for sure, and probably break a leg in the process. But he might be able to outrun them. Memphis waited until he saw a car coming up the street, then darted out in front of it, making the driver swerve and take up the boulevard, momentarily blocking traffic. He sprinted full-out for Central Park. His lungs burned and his shoes clip-clopped loudly on the circuitous path ambling down through trees and sharp black rocks, the sun dappling the path with little fool’s-gold promises of light. Over his ragged breathing, Memphis could hear the cops running behind him, shouting. They were faster than they looked, but Memphis aimed to be even faster. He chanced another look behind; he was losing them, he saw, and a sudden joy took flight in his chest. He turned back around just in time to see the nurse and baby carriage directly in his path, and the nurse’s expression of horror as she stood, transfixed, unable to get out of his way. He had too much momentum on the downhill. He tried to stop and skidded, rolling to a stop in the grass, banged and bruised and dazed. His trousers were torn and bloodied at the knee. Still, he staggered to his feet, ready to run. But it was too late; the men were on him, lifting him violently to his feet and twisting his arms behind his back.

“What do we have here?” one cop gasped out, and Memphis was glad he’d at least winded them. “Looks like we got ourselves a numbers runner.”

“Not me,” Memphis said. “No slips on me.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s this in your pockets, then?” the other cop said. He pulled a wad of slips from his own pocket and shoved them into Memphis’s.

“I’d say there’s at least twenty-five slips there—enough for a judge to lock you up, boy.”

“But those aren’t mine!” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Memphis realized how stupid they were, how futile his protestations. The word of two white cops against a Negro numbers runner? It was a fixed fight.

“Call Papa Charles,” Memphis said. “He’ll give you whatever you need.”

“We don’t work for Papa Charles,” one cop sneered, and Memphis knew the cop was dirty for Dutch Schultz. “You’re going downtown, friend.”

The policemen tugged him roughly toward a waiting car that had pulled up alongside the curb. Behind him, Memphis could see the tall points of the Bennington floating behind a scrim of passing clouds, like a mirage.

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 754