LITMIR.BIZ

      “Hey, you!”

      At the bark he wheeled around and saw the face of the same cop who had helped him the day before.

      “Yeah, you! What the hell do you think you’re doing there?” the lean cop, Ed, said, opening the door and climbing out of the car. “Tyler, right?”

      “Yes, right, that’s right. I’m sorry, officer, but I…I--”

      “You’re sorry, all right. Damaging property. That’s cause enough to lock you up.”

      Gary forced himself to think. “I didn’t mean to, I swear it. It’s just that… that they gave me the wrong package yesterday and I wanted to return it.” He held out the bag from the sundries shop. “Nobody answered the door and I guess I just lost it.”

      “Lost what?”

      “My temper. I guess I lost it. Walking all the way here, and to find the door locked like this--”

      “Well of course it’s locked, you dummy. Something wrong with your head? It’s Saturday. Any damn fool knows most businesses close on weekends.”

      Gary fumbled with the bag. “I guess I thought they might be open half a day.”

      “Maybe, but not this one, not in these times you won’t find many. They’re lucky to be open at all.”

      “I thought we told you to stay out of this neighborhood,” the cop behind the wheel said, bending sideways and his head ducked low so he could look out the open passenger door. His face, full and ruddy and hard, was all cop.

      Gary saw that the warm and sentimental eyes of yesterday had taken a vacation.

      “Maybe we should lock him up, Ed. If getting beat up didn’t teach him a lesson, maybe a couple of days in the hoosegow will.”

      “I think you got something there, John. We’ll have to contact the business on Monday, see what it’ll cost to repaint the door where he scuffed it all up here.”

      “If you just give me a chance--”

      “Give you a chance! To what, kick a hole in the door? To let some gang splatter your brains all over the sidewalk? C’mon, you had your chance,” he said, reaching over and taking him by the arm. When he tugged, Gary winced. Ed let go. “What’s the matter?”

      “My ribs.” He fingered open a shirt button to reveal the tape. “They’re cracked.”

      Ed looked back toward his partner. “What do you think, John?”

      John’s anger-flushed face reconfigured to disgust. “Get him in the car.”

      Gingerly, Gary slid into the back seat and the car moved away. “Thanks,” he said. “I really appreciate this.”

      “Don’t thank us yet,” John said, glancing over his shoulder, “‘cause we’re still thinking what we oughtta do with you. So tell us, what’s so goddamned important with the package that makes you go kicking in doors?”

      “Uh…it was supposed to be a…a statue of the Blessed Virgin… for my mother. She’s sick and it’s her birthday tomorrow.”

      Ed and John looked at each other. “Sick bad?” John asked, his voice thawing.

      “Pneumonia, but we’re praying she’ll come out of it all right.”

      John nodded his sympathy. “How ‘bout you, you feeling okay after that shellacking you took yesterday?”

      “Well, my body is sore all over, with these cracked ribs, but that’s about it.”

      “Surprisin’, your face looks pretty good compared to what it did. Did you tell the Doc about the bump on the noggin?”

      “He said a little mental confusion is normal, but that I had nothing to worry about.”

      “Yeah, well, still….Where should we let you off,” he said, looking over to Ed, who stared straight ahead, his lean jaw taut.

      “If you’re going past Huron Street, you can let me off at the corner. I have to run an errand.”

      “Tell me…” John said a few moments later as he pulled over to the curb to let Gary out, “…about the mistake they made, what did they give you instead of the Virgin Mother statue?”

      Gary eased himself out of the seat. “A box of Mickey Mouse wristwatches.”

      “Mick--ga-damn!” he yelled, jamming the gear shift into first and tromping on the accelerator. “I’m telling you, Ed, this country is going to the ga-damn dogs.”

      * * * * *

      Heading back to the boarding house, Gary paced himself to keep from breathing too hard. He purposely avoided letting the police know where he was staying, and let them believe that the address they copied off the package the first time they picked him up was legitimate. Not that he had any particular reason for it, but his instincts told him to reveal as little information about himself as possible. What they didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. He walked the last short blocks home and could see from a distance the white picket fence sticking out in front of it. As he approached he saw Sarah sitting in a chair on the porch, swaddled in a shawl that came up around her chin. Sitting in a chair next to her was someone he hadn’t seen before, someone around his own age, give or take a couple of years.

      “Hello, Sarah,” he said, using the railing to help climb the porch stairs.

      Tucking the shawl around her sides, she pushed herself to a straighter position. “Hello, Gary,” she said, a smile lighting her eyes. “Gary, this is Dexter Ried.”

      Gary leaned forward to shake hands. “Glad to meet you, Dexter,” he said, noting the steel grip.

      “Same here,” Dexter said, his tight lips belying the sentiment and making it immediately clear to Gary that Dexter was not at all happy with his presence.

      “Gary just took a room downstairs,” Sarah said, trying to loosen Dexter up, but he held to his hard-nosed aloofness.

      Dexter had a pug nose and a few freckles scattered over his face. His blond facial hair was almost indistinguishable against his fair skin, and his bony jaw suggested the tenacity of a bulldog. Despite the ‘Get lost!’ vibes singing loud and clear, Gary couldn’t help but feel pity for him. Somehow he seemed a sad soul, the kind of guy who needed to be needed and would devote his life to a woman who loved him back.

      “Nice day for a walk,” Gary said, opening the front door to go in. “Nice meeting you, Dexter.” Dexter, looking the other way, mumbled something in return.

      Back in his room, Gary tossed the bag on the table, stripped off his jacket, threw it over the chair and stretched out on the bed with a drawn out, weary moan. He’d overdone it today. That much walking could kill him. If he had his car--but that was impossible. One way or another, he had to find some kind of work. That wouldn’t be easy, not with the Depression still on and at least two years to go before it ended. God only knew how long he’d be caught in this time trap. His mind turned sluggish and his eyes closed against the dreary light in the room. He needed a nap, a good nap to clear his head and restore his strength.

      * * * * *

      A

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