Allegiance by Kermit Roosevelt

the sidewalk, green lettuce lies on beds of ice. “There was a guy there.”
    â€œSeveral, I’d expect.”
    â€œNot in the market, in the back. I went out the wrong door, ended up by the loading docks. And he came in after me. Guy in a gray suit.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œHe looked at me funny.”
    â€œWell, you weren’t supposed to be there.”
    â€œIt wasn’t that kind of a look.” I try to bring the scene back in my mind. “It was more like he was scared. And he didn’t tell me I shouldn’t be there. He just turned right around and walked away. Ran, almost.”
    Haynes lifts a beet to his mouth. The fork clicks on his teeth. “I gotta say, pal, you’re not making a whole lot of sense here.”
    â€œWell, I remembered him because it seemed so odd. That he’d be scared of me. And then last night I saw him again.”
    â€œReally?”
    I nod. After dinner at Black’s house, I went back to the Court and spent an hour doing certs. When I left, my head filled with legal argument, I walked four blocks toward the trolley before I realized I’d forgotten my hat. I turned around to go back, and there was a man half a block or so behind me. He turned too, ducking away. I only caught a glimpse of his face, but something seemed familiar. And then, as he moved out of the streetlights and vanished into the shadow, I realized what it was. The gray suit receding, passing from one pool of light to another. That was the man from Eastern Market.
    â€œYou might have noticed,” Haynes says, “that there’s more than one guy with a gray suit in this town.”
    â€œI really think it was him.”
    â€œSo you think he was following you? Why would anyone do that?”
    â€œI don’t know. But we just had the saboteurs’ case here. What if there are more of them?”
    â€œOh,” says Haynes. He nods his head. “I get it now. You feel like you missed out. You want some connection to the war. So you imagine the Nazis are after you.”
    â€œSomeone is.”
    â€œOr maybe you’re worried you don’t deserve to be here. Black made a mistake in choosing you. You think everyone’s staring at you, like they know you don’t belong.”
    I frown. “I don’t think that about everyone.” On the other side of the lunchroom, Gene Gressman’s newspaper rustles. Suddenly I am sure he is listening to us. I lower my voice. “But right now, for instance—”
    Haynes doesn’t let me finish. “Something like that. You’re inventing things to make yourself feel special.” He flutters his fingers in the air. “People following you. You must be important if they’re doing that, right? It helps you feel like you deserve the job.” I must look skeptical, for he leans closer and puts a hand on my arm. “You’re here for a reason, Cash. Don’t ever doubt that.”
    â€œI’m not doubting it,” I say. “But the way that guy looked at me, there was—”
    Haynes interrupts again. “No, there wasn’t.” His smile is back, easy and confident, and he pats my shoulder encouragingly. “Trust me. No one’s trying to get you.” He picks up his own newspaper, scans the headlines, and grunts.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œTwo Japs shot trying to escape from a camp in New Mexico. Look, you need a little break. Drive back home for the afternoon.”
    â€œI have too much work.”
    â€œJustice Black will understand. Say you need to see your girl. It’ll do you a world of good. Just do me a favor, pal. Don’t go around telling too many people you’ve got Nazis on your trail.”

CHAPTER 8
    HAYNES IS RIGHT about one thing, I decide. It is time to get away from the Court, to get back to something I understand. Three hours’ drive to Haverford, another three for the return—I won’t have much time there,