Alongside Night(14)

He stopped short, realizing that shivering in an alley was 54

Alongside Night

not the best condition in which to think things through. He had to go some place warm and quiet where he could take stock of what had happened.

Elliot decided that, for the moment at least, he could risk the streets. The chance of being recognized at night in midManhattan was rather slim. Nonetheless, by morning the situation might be changed drastically. Who might be questioned on his whereabouts: Mrs. Allen? Dr. Fischer? Phillip Gross?

He moved out into the street. He was on Seventy-third, just off Lexington Avenue. Almost instinctively, he turned downtown, not having any specific destination in mind, but moving just to keep warm.

A question started gnawing at his mind: To whom could he turn? He was not foolish enough to believe for a moment that he could single-handedly bring about his family’s release. He was going to need potent help—and quickly. All right, who?

Neighbors were out, for obvious reasons. Family? The only relative within half a continent was an uncle in Chicago, but Elliot doubted this uncle had either the resources or the inclination to be of any use. Martin Vreeland had given his brother the same investment advice he himself was following; Georg Vreeland had ignored his brother’s insight, and by some unfathomable logic now blamed Martin for his own resulting financial collapse. Friends or university associates of his parents? Elliot had never paid them any attention, thus he knew nothing useful about them. Ansonia? Elliot did not have anything in particular against Dr. Fischer or Mr. Harper—or any of his still employed teachers, for that matter—but he did not have anything favoring them, either. They might very easily help him, but they might turn him over to the police. Classmates or friends?

Aside from Marilyn Danforth, whom he had occasionally slept with, Elliot’s only real friend was Phillip. Marilyn was apt to be unreliable, and while he trusted Phillip completely, Elliot Alongside Night

55

did not see how his friend could be of any real help in a rescue attempt.

The bookstore proprietor he knew as Al? His father had obviously trusted him, but Elliot was by no means certain that it had not been Al who had tipped off the police. That business with the rings made him uneasy. Could it have been some kind of signal? Had his own movements been monitored all that day?

Was the tzigane a police agent?

Elliot decided to contemplate a possible link between Al and the tzigane on the theory that it might illuminate any obvious treachery.

First, each man had been wearing a plain gold ring on his right hand. Well, nothing unusual here. Jewelry, being the only legal form in which the public could own gold since it had been renationalized, was presently quite popular as an inflation hedge. Elliot himself was wearing a plain gold band Denise had given him that past Christmas. Two particular men wearing undistinguished rings was no more of a coincidence than if they had been wearing the same style of shoes. Second, both men had been twirling their rings back and forth, repeatedly. How many ways were there to play with a ring, anyway? Elliot managed to generate four categories: twirling, up and down the finger, a screwing action combining the first two motions, and a final category involving removal of the ring entirely from the finger. As an afterthought, he added two more categories: a null set of ring wearers who did not play with their rings, and a set comprising combinations within and permutations among the four primary categories—a likely possibility for any code requiring more than a minimal vocabulary. Elliot turned west onto Fifty-ninth Street.

Then he thought of behavioral aspects. What percentage of ring players fell into each category? Come to think of it, how 56

Alongside Night

many ring wearers regularly played with their rings in the first place—and how frequently?

In despair, Elliot decided he had insufficient data even to start considering any other probability than that of Al and the tzigane’s coincidence of ring twirling being just that. So, logically, there was no reason to assume any conspiracy involving Al and the tzigane. For the moment—on the basis of his father’s trust in the man—he could assume that Al was a free agent who might be useful in aiding his family. Elliot was on Fifty-ninth Street nearing Fifth Avenue when a boy who looked about eleven, raggedly dressed and scarcely protected against the cold, approached him. “Mister, can I have a couple hundred blues to buy somethin’ t’eat?” The boy said it mechanically. Elliot wondered how long he might have been surviving this way. He took out his wallet, removing a wad of blue money much more impressive than its purchasing power, and peeled off five $100 bills. The boy took it, then—instead of thanking Elliot—he backed off, making a rapid arm gesture. Suddenly—out from behind parked cars, garbage cans, and alleyway—came five more boys ranging in age from fifteen to one about twenty whom Elliot tagged as the leader. They did not have the polish of the more professional gangs of Harlem or the Bronx: no club jackets, no racial identity, no firearms. But they had Elliot surrounded and were armed with knives, broken bottles, a chain, and a hooked tire wrench. The leader—his hair dyed in blond and black stripes—stood back just a bit, looking Elliot up and down. Elliot suddenly felt extremely self-conscious about the quality of his clothing. “Hot shit,” said the leader. “A brownie.” He brandished a knife. This was his first mistake. An experienced knife fighter would have held his weapon low—at his hip—blade forward, ready to strike; instead, the leader stood in a semi-crouch with his arms extended, the knife in his right hand. He grinned. Even so, Elliot was not in a good position to defend himself if Alongside Night