a clattering on the warehouse door, and cops with sticks lumbered in and started knocking shins. Large men in blue slickers walked down the line hitting the boys with sticks as if they were hoeing a bean field. Boys yelled and swore but none of the would-be murderers put up a fight.
Slip turned and swung under the ropes, crawling on his belly toward the corner. He got a better look and saw that these weren’t cops but private security men, probably American Legion or local volunteers. They were yelling and standing guys up to get a look at their faces. One scuffle broke out when the little hobo with thebroken hand smashed a bottle over someone’s head. Slip stood up and dove for a hole in the floor, while blows rained down on the little hobo like wet snow sliding off a roof.
Slip caught his shoulder on a ragged nail on the way down, but he made it cleanly into the water beneath the warehouse wharf. He felt the weightlessness of falling and then the slap of the water. For a brief numbing moment he thought he was unconscious: no sound, no sensation of being either held up or held down. Then the coldness of the water began splitting his skin and he struggled to the surface. He gasped, choking and spitting as he came to the surface, then he started swimming back toward the shadows under the wharf.
Rats crawled over the rocks and over his clothes as he lay there bleeding and shivering. He listened to the footfall of the dicks dragging the tramps across the floor above him. There were some more shouts and scuffles but eventually the clamor subsided and the voices took on their usual tone of muttering complaints directed at no one within hearing.
Slip clambered up the rocks, then up onto the boardwalk that served as the sidewalk next to the warehouse. He slicked back his hair and tried to shake himself off as best he could. He reached in his inside pocket and took out the tobacco tin, opened it and checked his cash, which was still pretty dry. Slip straightened out his sore shoulder, put the tin back in his pocket, then tucked in his shirt to hide the bloodstain.
The avenue was clattering awake as he lumbered over to the steam baths. He paid a kid a nickel to run up to the barbershop and get a message to Andy to meet him at the Alaska Steamship Company dock as quick as he could.
Long hours passed as Slip waited for Andy. He went back to the ropes and took some dry clothes off a drunk, using the undershirt to bind up his hip and shoulder. He walked back out on the street. He kept his old mackinaw but was wearing a felt hat that was too big with a hole worn in the front brim. He wanted to go back up to the meetinghouse to get his tools buthe didn’t dare. Avery had found him there, so other Floodwater operatives were bound to be watching the place.
The rain kept falling between the buildings and the clogged gutters sprayed out like broken showerheads. He had no idea what time it was, but it felt like early evening by the time Andy came up the sidewalk to the spot where Slip was sitting back under the eaves of the steamship building.
“This looks like some kind of mess,” Andy said as he ducked under the eaves.
“Yeah?”
“They are all over you. Couple of flatfoots came by my shop. Wanted to know where you are.”
“What did you tell ’em?” Slip turned his head but didn’t look Andy in the eyes.
“I told them I had seen you yesterday. Don’t want to get caught in a lie right off. They probably been following you all along.”
“I suppose.”
“Well … did you kill him? Avery, I mean.”
“It’s a long story, Andy. All that matters is I’m in a hell of a fix.”
“Yeah. You and that girl you were talking about. Just after the cops were by my shop she came in. Guess she’s in the same fix, huh?”
“Ellie?”
“Hell, yes, though I got to say it looks like you got the worst of it.”
“What did she say?”
“She wanted to know where you were.”
“Was there a kid with her?”
“I
Slip turned and swung under the ropes, crawling on his belly toward the corner. He got a better look and saw that these weren’t cops but private security men, probably American Legion or local volunteers. They were yelling and standing guys up to get a look at their faces. One scuffle broke out when the little hobo with thebroken hand smashed a bottle over someone’s head. Slip stood up and dove for a hole in the floor, while blows rained down on the little hobo like wet snow sliding off a roof.
Slip caught his shoulder on a ragged nail on the way down, but he made it cleanly into the water beneath the warehouse wharf. He felt the weightlessness of falling and then the slap of the water. For a brief numbing moment he thought he was unconscious: no sound, no sensation of being either held up or held down. Then the coldness of the water began splitting his skin and he struggled to the surface. He gasped, choking and spitting as he came to the surface, then he started swimming back toward the shadows under the wharf.
Rats crawled over the rocks and over his clothes as he lay there bleeding and shivering. He listened to the footfall of the dicks dragging the tramps across the floor above him. There were some more shouts and scuffles but eventually the clamor subsided and the voices took on their usual tone of muttering complaints directed at no one within hearing.
Slip clambered up the rocks, then up onto the boardwalk that served as the sidewalk next to the warehouse. He slicked back his hair and tried to shake himself off as best he could. He reached in his inside pocket and took out the tobacco tin, opened it and checked his cash, which was still pretty dry. Slip straightened out his sore shoulder, put the tin back in his pocket, then tucked in his shirt to hide the bloodstain.
The avenue was clattering awake as he lumbered over to the steam baths. He paid a kid a nickel to run up to the barbershop and get a message to Andy to meet him at the Alaska Steamship Company dock as quick as he could.
Long hours passed as Slip waited for Andy. He went back to the ropes and took some dry clothes off a drunk, using the undershirt to bind up his hip and shoulder. He walked back out on the street. He kept his old mackinaw but was wearing a felt hat that was too big with a hole worn in the front brim. He wanted to go back up to the meetinghouse to get his tools buthe didn’t dare. Avery had found him there, so other Floodwater operatives were bound to be watching the place.
The rain kept falling between the buildings and the clogged gutters sprayed out like broken showerheads. He had no idea what time it was, but it felt like early evening by the time Andy came up the sidewalk to the spot where Slip was sitting back under the eaves of the steamship building.
“This looks like some kind of mess,” Andy said as he ducked under the eaves.
“Yeah?”
“They are all over you. Couple of flatfoots came by my shop. Wanted to know where you are.”
“What did you tell ’em?” Slip turned his head but didn’t look Andy in the eyes.
“I told them I had seen you yesterday. Don’t want to get caught in a lie right off. They probably been following you all along.”
“I suppose.”
“Well … did you kill him? Avery, I mean.”
“It’s a long story, Andy. All that matters is I’m in a hell of a fix.”
“Yeah. You and that girl you were talking about. Just after the cops were by my shop she came in. Guess she’s in the same fix, huh?”
“Ellie?”
“Hell, yes, though I got to say it looks like you got the worst of it.”
“What did she say?”
“She wanted to know where you were.”
“Was there a kid with her?”
“I
Similar Books
