13 Hangmen (19 page)

In the weak glow of the sputtering gas lamps, Tony squinted at the knocker on the front door. He had never really noticed the heart-and-hands design, probably because the whole thing had been painted over a half dozen times. He glanced up to the right doorpost. He could just make out four tiny paint-filled holes where the mezuzah must have been before Solly pried it off. Next he crouched to examine where the building met the stoop. He spied the brown brick from Solly's story. Sure enough, the mortar around it had all but crumbled away. He tugged until it
slid out. He reached into the hollow behind and grabbed a small rectangular metal case, imprinted with a Hebrew character. He pocketed it, slid the brick back into the hollow, and stood up.

Blinding white light.

“
Now
what are you doing?” Angey asked, beaming a flashlight into his eyes.

“Sleepwalking?” Tony said.

“You've been acting totally weird since we moved here,” Angey said.

“That's what you always say about me,” Tony said, trying to brush past him.

“I'm serious—why are you out on the front stoop? It's getting late.”

“I thought I heard a noise,” Tony said.

“Me too,” Angey said, extinguishing the flashlight. “Wouldn't surprise me one bit if it
was
a ghost. This house totally creeps me out.”

Tony didn't know how to answer. If Angey only knew! He just said good night and headed up the stairs. He didn't look back until he got to his room, though he could feel Angey's eyes on him the entire way. God, he wished he could lock his door!

Both Angelo and Solly could see the mezuzah in Tony's hand as soon as he walked into the room. Unlike his cell phone, it was
obviously part of the house for all of them. Solly took the case and shook out its contents: an hour-glass trickle of sugar followed by a gold ring. Tony and Angelo examined the ring while Solly poured the sugar back inside. Next, Solly grabbed the prayer scroll off the spiral and—disappearing for a moment—tucked it back inside the mezuzah. He reappeared as soon as he set the case on the spiral. Meanwhile, Tony showed Angelo an inscription engraved on the ring's inner surface:
P McG 9/9/89
. Plenty of nine-ishness. He handed the ring to Solly, who set it on the spiral next to the restored mezuzah and cap. Tony then hovered his hand over everything. A faint static hum, but no voices yet.

“Say something to conjure Finn,” Tony advised Solly.

Solly thought for a second and then said, “Put the ring on the ring.”

They waited. Still no voices.

“It took a little time to conjure Solly,” Tony reminded them.

They all sat on the bed. Tony turned to Angelo. “So it actually works,” he said. “This whole not-eating-unless-you're-really-hungry thing. I had, like, half as much at dinner as usual and I skipped dessert.” He turned to Solly to explain. “I'm trying to lose some weight. Angelo was actually teaching me a few Red Sox calisthenics before you turned up.”

“I'm a water boy at Fenway,” Angelo said.

“I tried out for that job,” Solly said. “They told me no Jews allowed, even though I had the best throwing arm of anybody.”

“Mine's only so-so,” Angelo admitted. “I'm a better catcher.”

“Well, mine's nonexistent.” Tony laughed.

“It's all in the wrist,” Solly said. “I'll show you. You got a ball?”

“Nope,” Tony said. Actually, he did. It was on his memorabilia shelf—signed by every Red Sox player of the 2004 World Series–winning team. But there was no point in saying so, since he knew neither Solly nor Angelo could see it.

“Sure we do,” Angelo said. He unscrewed the brass knob of the right bedpost. He tossed it over to Solly. Solly gave Tony a few pointers, then handed him the knob. Tony crossed the room and threw the knob back. Not bad for a first try.

Solly froze. He shouted something in Yiddish at the door, then switched to English so the others would understand. “What is it, Mameh?” He cocked his head to listen. “No, I don't want any supper. That burned-cookie smell in the air is making me a little queasy. I think I'll just crawl into bed.” He relaxed. “Coast clear,” he said. “Try again.” He tossed the knob back to Tony.

The three boys practiced for most of the night. It was amazing how much Tony's aim improved as the hours passed. He even got the hang of a curveball, sort of. He had just needed
somebody to show him the
right
way, instead of making fun of him for doing it the wrong way.

“It's almost breakfast time,” Angelo said, winging the knob over to Solly. “And still no Finn. Should we try a more nine-ish object?”

Tony yawned. He told Solly to check for static on the claddagh ring. Solly threw Tony a wicked knuckleball and hovered his hand over the spiral. “Wait, I hear a kid's voice!” he said. “It's saying something about the luck of the Irish.”

The twins burst into the room. Again.

“Wake up,” Mikey said.

Startled, Tony dropped the brass knob on the floor.

“Why are you already up and dressed?” Angey said.

“Who cares?” Mikey said. “We need to take the tarp down before that contractor gets here, so it's all hands on deck.”

“But those are the same clothes he was wearing yesterday,” Angey said.

“I thought I told you guys to quit barging in here!” Tony said, signaling to Angelo and Solly he was no longer alone in the room.

“Not your brothers again!” Angelo sighed, rolling his eyes.

“What in the name of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph?”

Everyone but the twins looked over at the pawcorance. A redheaded kid now stood there with his hands on his hips.

“I take it you're Finn McGinley?” Solly said.

The kid didn't reply. His eyes rolled back in his head, his arms and legs went rigid. He toppled to the floor.

“That's him, all right,” Solly said.

“Now what do we do?” Angelo said.

Tony and his family all stood around while Eddie Wong, a hip young guy in his twenties, scratched at the crumbling mortar between rows of bricks with his penknife. Over the side fence, Old Man Hagmann whistled softly and swept the pristine patio of his own backyard. It couldn't be more obvious he was snooping. Meanwhile, Eddie pulled a loose brick away. He sniffed the space behind it. He shook his head and checked a few more boxes on his estimate sheet.

“Not good?” Michael said.

“There's nothing to bolt a new deck
to,
” Eddie said. “Most of this back wall needs to be repointed.”

“What does that mean?” Julia asked, biting her thumbnail.

“All the mortar needs to be chiseled out—it's crumbling away—then a fair number of bricks need to be replaced before I can remortar, and
then
I can rebuild the deck.” Eddie made a few last notes on his sheet, totaled it up, and handed it to Michael.

Michael literally gasped like he was an extra in a cheesy horror
film. He handed the sheet to Julia. She just went very, very pale.

“I totally understand if you want to get a couple more bids,” Eddie said. “But whatever you do, don't cheap out on that repointing. Every time it rains, you're getting more and more water damage behind those bricks. You can smell the mold.”

Michael nodded. He told Eddie he appreciated the honesty. Eddie was no doubt right about the repointing. But they would have to get back to him. It was a heck of a lot of money.

“What are we going to do?” Julia asked, as soon as Eddie had shown himself out.

“Maybe we can take out a home improvement loan,” Michael said. “Based on the value of the house.”

“I doubt it,” said Old Man Hagmann. He was now hanging over the fence. “I was president of the Charter Street Bank before I retired. I know a bank's lending policies. The house is too far gone. You'll have to apply for a loan based on your family income.”

“Well,
that
wouldn't go very far,” Michael said.

“If ever there was a time to invoke the emergency clause of Angelo's will, it would seem to be now,” Hagmann said.

“What? Put the place up for sale?” Michael said. “Who would buy it?”

“I might,” Hagmann said.

“Sold!” Mikey said.

“We grown-ups would have to talk about the price, of course,” Hagmann said, smiling with all his long yellow teeth. “But I'm sure we could agree to something mutually advantageous.”

“It's not actually my decision,” Michael said. “The house belongs to Tony.”

All eyes turned to him.

Tony tried to get his tired brain around the situation. On the one hand, why not? He was already trying to convince Finn McGinley—as soon as he woke up—to sell the house to a Hagmann. Why shouldn't he invoke the emergency clause now and make Benedict pay for something he would anyway inherit from Cyril once all the thirteen-year-olds upstairs had tweaked history? Talk about the ultimate double cross! On the other hand, what if Finn
didn't
agree to dissolve his anti-Hagmann pact? History would play out exactly the same way, the Hagmanns would ruin countless lives, ol' Benedict would literally get away with murder,
and
he'd own Zio Angelo's house, just like he wanted, in the bargain. It all depended on whatever Finn decided when he woke up.

“I need to think about it,” Tony said.

“Are you
crazy
?” Mikey said. “What's there to think about? Sell it!”

“Tony's right,” Michael said. “And Mr. Hagmann would also need to weigh the decision very carefully. Restoring this house
to its former glory won't be cheap.” Michael crossed the patio to show Eddie's estimate to Old Man Hagmann.

Hagmann waved it off. “I don't want to restore it,” he said. “I just want to tear it down so I can expand my rose garden.”

Stunned silence.

“Oh,” Michael said. “Well then, in that case we'd have to say no.”

“Why?” Mikey cried. “Who cares what he does with it?”

“Zio Angelo,” Michael said. “He loved this house. I know he wouldn't have wanted it to be torn down. With all due respect to Mr. Hagmann, that's probably why he decided, in the end, to leave it to Tony.”

Hagmann's face darkened into a scowl. “I wouldn't be so hasty to refuse my offer,” he said. “You might be very sorry in the end.”

“I am sorry,” Michael said. “I know I just said it was Tony's decision. But as legal custodian of Zio Angelo's estate until Tony reaches the age of majority, I have to step in and refuse your offer.”

A rumbling noise. No. 13 shuddered and groaned. At garden level, a section of the wall around the door teetered forward and crashed to the patio in a cascade of bricks and broken glass.

Hagmann laughed—a weird, high-pitched hyena cackle. “Oh, you'll be sorry,” he said. “Very sorry indeed.” He collected
his broom, opened his own back door, and disappeared inside, still cackling.

Mikey poked his finger in Tony's chest. “You idiot!” he said. “Why did you hesitate? Now he'll never buy this dump. Or anybody else. And we'll get stuck here until you're twenty-one. And more and more chunks of it will just keep falling off until it collapses around our ears, anyway. And we'll never be able to afford HBO, or new laptops for school, or baseball clinics, or vacations, or
anything
.”

Angey pulled him off. Mikey wrenched free of Angey's grip. He huffed out the back gate to the service alley, slamming the iron fence. Angey hesitated, then followed after him. Michael laid his arm across Tony's shoulders. “Something will work out,” he said. But it was pretty clear he didn't believe that any more than Mikey.

Finn was still asleep when Tony got back to the attic. Angelo was still crouched over him, scrutinizing his face. “He sort of looks like a sleeping fox,” Angelo said.

Maybe that's his animal totem,
Tony thought. Angelo's was obviously an owl. Solly's was a ram. He suddenly wondered what his own totem was. Should he ask Angelo? What if it was something embarrassing, like a hamster? Or worse. “Did you try waking him up?” he asked instead.

Angelo nodded. “He wouldn't budge.”

“Where's Solly?” Tony said.

“He went down to the backyard to use the outhouse,” Angelo said. “He's never actually seen a flush toilet. He says they're the latest gadgets for rich people.”

Tony took a seat next to Angelo. “We really,
really
need to convince this kid to make up with his Hagmann and sell the place. Otherwise, my parents are headed straight to the poorhouse.” He filled Angelo in on everything that had just happened down on the back patio: Eddie Wong's estimate to fix up the house; Hagmann's offer to buy it just so he could put in a rose garden; Michael's refusal to sell; the collapse of the back wall before their very eyes.

“Wait—Benny Hagmann just wants to tear the place down?” Angelo said. “That doesn't make any sense.”

“Less and less all the time,” Tony said, sighing.

A moment of silence.

“Sorry I end up leaving you such a death trap,” Angelo said. “Guess I'll never turn out to be very handy.”

There wasn't much else to say. They needed to wait for Finn to wake up before they could actually
do
something about it.

“What do you keep looking at?” Tony said.

“He's so handsome, it's sort of scary,” Angelo said. “Don't you think?”

“The twins are pretty handsome.” Tony shrugged. “But they're total jerks.”

“Life is so unfair,” Angelo said. “Some people get all the breaks.”

“He's a
narcoleptic
,” Tony said.

“You got a girlfriend yet?” Angelo said, totally out of the blue.

Tony shook his head, though his mind flashed to Sarah Pickles. “You?”

“I'm not really on that page yet,” Angelo said.