A Stone for Danny Fisher (1952) (30 page)

His eyes reflected his anger. “Yuh couldn’t even call in five days either, I suppose?” he asked sarcastically.

I met his gaze. “I’m sorry about that, Jack,” I said apologetically. “I know I should have called, but I was so upset I forgot all about it.”

“For two nights I broke my back here waitin’ for you to show up an’ you don’t even have time to phone me!”

I looked down at the counter. “I couldn’t help it, Jack,” I said. “Something happened an’ I couldn’t call.”

“Not even once in five days?” he said unbelievingly. “The world would have to come to an end before I’d pull a stunt like that.”

I still didn’t look at him. “I had trouble, Jack,” I said quietly. “My daughter died.”

There was a moment’s silence before he spoke again. “You’re not kiddin’ me, Danny?” he asked.

I looked up at his face. “You don’t kid with things like that,” I answered.

His eyes fell. “I’m sorry, Danny. Honestly sorry.”

I looked down the counter. The new man was watching out of the corner of his eyes, trying to give the impression that he wasn’t
interested
in what we were saying, but I knew the look. He was worrying about his job. I’d had it too many times myself not to recognize it.

I looked back at Jack. “I see you got a new man.”

He nodded uncomfortably. He didn’t speak.

I tried to make my voice sound casual, but it’s hard when what you’re saying is the difference between eating and not eating. “Yuh got any room for me?”

He was silent for a moment before he answered. I could see his eyes shift down the counter to the new man, then back. The new man immediately was busy cleaning the grill. “Not right now, Danny,” he said gently. “I’m sorry.”

There was a deep note of sympathy in his voice that I was grateful for. “Maybe something’ll turn up soon,” he said quickly. “I’ll phone yuh.” A moment passed. “If only you’d called, Danny——”

“If a lot of things, Jack,” I interrupted him, “but I didn’t. Thanks, anyway.” I walked out of the store.

In the street outside the store I looked at my watch. It was after six o’clock. I wondered how I could tell Nellie, especially after what had happened this afternoon.

I decided to walk home. It was a long walk, but a nickel is a lot of dough when you haven’t got a job. From Dyckman Street to East
Fourth took me almost three hours. I didn’t mind it. It was that much more time I wouldn’t have to tell Nellie.

It was nine o’clock by the time I reached home. The night had turned cool, but my shirt was damp with perspiration as I began to climb the stairs. I stood in the hallway hesitantly before opening the door. What could I tell her? I let it swing wide before I stepped in. There was a light in the parlour, but the apartment was quiet. “Nellie,” I called, turning to hang my jacket in the small closet.

There was a sound of footsteps and I heard a man’s voice: “That’s him!”

I spun around. Nellie and two men were standing in the parlour entrance. Her face was pale and drawn. I took a quick step toward her before I recognized the man standing next to her. It was the Welfare investigator I had chased this afternoon.

There was a white bandage across the bridge of his nose and one eye was purple and swollen. “That’s him!” he repeated.

The other man stepped toward me. He held a badge in his hand—a police badge. “Daniel Fisher?”

I nodded.

“Mr. Morgan has preferred charges against you of assault and battery,” he said quietly. “I’ll have to take you in.”

I could feel my muscles tense. This was all I needed to make a perfect day: the cops. Then I looked at Nellie and all the tension seeped out of me.

“May I talk with my wife for a moment?” I asked the detective.

His eyes appraised me for a moment, then he nodded. “Sure,” he said gently. “We’ll wait outside in the hall for you.” He took Morgan’s arm and pushed him out into the hall before him, looking back at me before closing the door. “Don’t be long, son.” I nodded gratefully and the door swung closed.

Nellie hadn’t said a word, her eyes were searching my face. At last she drew a deep breath. “No job?”

I didn’t answer.

She stared at me for a moment more and then she was in my arms, sobbing violently against my shoulder. “Danny, Danny,” she cried in a helpless voice, “what’ll we do?”

I stroked her hair gently. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what we could do. The walls were closing in on us.

She looked up into my face. “What do you think they’ll do to you?” she asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know,” I answered. I was so tired I didn’t really care. If it weren’t for her I wouldn’t give a damn for
anything any more. “They’ll probably book me and let me go until a hearing is arranged.”

“But supposing they hold you?” she cried.

I tried a smile. “They won’t,” I answered, more surely than I felt. “It’s not important enough. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“But that Mr. Morgan, he was terrible. He said they were going to put you in jail.”

“That louse!” I said quickly. “There’s a lot of things he don’t know. When they hear what has happened they’ll let me out. Don’t worry.”

She hid her face against my shoulder. “Nothing’s turning out right, Danny,” she despaired. “All I’ve brought you is bad luck. You should never have come back.”

I turned up her face and kissed her. “If I hadn’t come back, baby,” I whispered, “I would have missed the only thing in the world that was important to me. It’s not your fault; it’s nobody’s fault. We just didn’t get the breaks.”

There was a knock at the door. “I’ll be out in a minute,” I called. I looked down at Nellie again. “Lie down for a while,” I said. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

She looked at me doubtfully. “Sure?”

“Sure,” I answered, taking my jacket from the closet. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Morgan’s face glared at me triumphantly as we walked through the streets. “I told you I’d be back,” he sneered.

I didn’t answer him.

The detective between us growled at him: “Shut up, Morgan. The lad’s got enough trouble without you opening up your yap.”

I glanced at the cop out of the corner of my eye. I could see he didn’t like Morgan. He was one of those Irishmen with tender eyes. I
wondered
how a guy like that could ever become a cop.

We had walked almost two blocks before I spoke. “What do they usually do in a thing like this?” I asked the detective.

His face turned toward me, its ruddy glow shining in the light of the street lamps. “They book yuh on charges against a hearing.”

“Then they let you go until the hearing, is that right?” I asked.

The cop’s eyes were sympathetic. “If yuh got the bail they do.”

The surprise showed in my voice. “Bail?” I exclaimed. “How much bail?”

The cop’s eyes were still gentle. “Five hundred dollars usually.”

“But what if you haven’t got the dough?” I asked. “What do they do then?”

Morgan answered before the cop could. “They put you in jail until the hearing,” he said viciously.

I broke stride and looked at the cop. “But they can’t do that!” I exclaimed. “My wife is sick. She’s gone through a lot today. I can’t leave her alone tonight.”

The detective took my arm. “I’m sorry, son,” he said gently, “but I can’t help that. All I’m supposed to do is bring you in.”

“But Nellie—my wife”—I could hardly speak—“I can’t leave her alone. She’s not well.”

The cop’s voice was still soft. “Don’t get excited, son. You’d better just come along.”

I could feel his grip tightening on my arm. I began to walk again. I had read in the papers that sometimes hearings took weeks to be arranged. I looked at Morgan.

He was walking on the other side of the cop, a smug, satisfied look on his face. The bastard. If it weren’t for him everything might have been better. Things had been bad enough, but he made them worse.

I had to do something, I didn’t know what. I just couldn’t let them lock me up until they were ready to give me a hearing. I couldn’t leave Nellie alone that long. There was no telling what she might do.

We stepped out into the gutter just as the light changed.
Automobiles
whizzed by us as we paused in the centre of the street. I felt the cop’s hand fall from my arm and instinctively I jumped forward. I heard a muttered curse behind me, then a scream as a driver threw on his brakes. I didn’t turn back to see what had happened. I kept running.

There was a shout: “Stop! Stop!” Then another voice took up the cry. I recognized the shrill-pitched tones of Morgan. He was screaming too.

A shrill blast of a police whistle reached my ears. But by that time I had reached the far corner and I looked back over my shoulder as I sped around it.

Morgan was lying stretched out in the gutter, and the policeman was standing over him, looking at me. The cop was waving his hand at me. I could see the glint of metal shining in his hand. He was still shouting for me to stop, but his hand was telling me to go.

I
WEN
T
the long way around and back to my house. I had to see Nellie and explain to her. I had to tell her what I’d done. I had to tell her not to worry. But by the time I reached the corner I could see the white top of a police patrol car parked in front of my door.

I crossed the street and went up the block slowly. There was, deep in my stomach, a heavy, sunken feeling of despair. I looked at my watch. It was a few minutes after ten. I had been a fool. There was nothing to do now but go back and give myself up. If I kept on running, there would be no end to it. I would never be able to go back.

I started back for the house. Might as well get it over with. Then I remembered that the whole thing had started when I found I would need bail in order to get out.

I stopped again and thought. I would have to get the dough some place. Nellie’s folks didn’t have that kind of money even if they were willing to help me out. The only person I knew that could put his hands on that much dough was Sam.

I remembered the last time I spoke to him. Funny how things worked out. It had been the day after Vickie was born. He had thought I had come looking for a hand-out then, and I had sworn to myself that I would never go to him for anything after that. But I was in real trouble now. There was nothing else for me to do. It was either go to him or to jail. And now I had done enough for them to lock me up and throw away the key. I had to ask him.

I went into the candy store on the corner and thumbed quickly through the telephone directory. I tried his home number.

A woman’s voice answered: “Hello.”

“Is Mr. or Mrs. Gordon there?”

“Miz Gordon is away in the country,” the voice replied. “Mistuh Gordon is still down at his office.”

“May I have the number please?” I asked. “I must get in touch with him right away.”

“Sure,” the voice replied. “Just a minute, I’ll get it for you.”

I copied the number down and put up the receiver while I searched my pockets for another coin. I might as well have been looking for a gold mine for all the good it did me. I had just spent my last nickel.

Sam’s office was uptown in the Empire State Building. I began to
walk quickly. With a break I could get there in little more than half an hour. I hoped he would still be there.

His name was in the directory on the Thirty-fourth Street side: “Sam Gordon Enterprises Inc., Concessions.” Twenty-second floor. I went over to the white sign that read: “Night Elevators.” A
watchman
was standing there with a registry book on a small stand. He stopped me. “Where you going, mister?” he asked suspiciously.

“Twenty-second floor,” I asked quickly. “I got an appointment with Mr. Gordon there.”

He looked at the register. “Okay,” he said. “Mr. Gordon is still up there. He hasn’t signed out since he returned from dinner. Sign here.” He held a pencil toward me.

I took it and scrawled my name where he indicated. I looked up the page. About four lines above mine I saw Sam’s familiar scribble. Next to his name was a circle with the numeral 2 in it.

I looked at the night watchman. “Is there anyone with Mr. Gordon?”

A faint flicker of a smile appeared on the man’s face. “His secretary came back with him.”

I nodded without replying. His smile had told me enough. If I knew anything, Sam’s secretary would be a good-looker, and Sam wouldn’t have changed.

I stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hall toward Sam’s office. His name was spelled out in impressive gold lettering across two large glass doors. I could see clear through into the reception room. A single light glowed there. The doors were unlocked.

There was a door near the receptionist’s desk in the lavishly furnished waiting-room. I opened it and found myself in a large general office. There were about twenty desks scattered through the room. On the far side of the room there was another door. I walked toward it.

Again the gold letters spelling out his name gleamed faintly at me in the dim light. I put my hand lightly on the knob and turned it. The door swung gently open. The office was dark. I put my hand out and found the light-switch on the right-hand wall. I pressed it and light poured into the room. There was a muttered curse as I blinked my eyes in the light, and I heard a faint, frightened woman’s cry. Then my eyes adjusted and I was staring down at her. I turned to Sam with a knowing smile. His face was flushed, almost purple. I didn’t speak, just backed out of the door, pulling it closed after me. I sat down in a chair just outside his office, lit a cigarette, and waited for him to come out. I had been right. Sam hadn’t changed a bit.

I had been waiting for almost fifteen minutes before the door opened again. I looked up expectantly.

I was disappointed. It wasn’t Sam who came out; it was the girl. From the way she looked, it was hard to believe that just a few minutes ago I had caught her rocking the cradle. She looked down at me. “Mr. Gordon will see you now,” she said formally.

I got to my feet. “Thank you.” I went into his office. I could hear the clatter of a typewriter begin as I closed the door behind me.

Sam was sitting behind his desk. “Yuh find yuh get better work from ’em if yuh relax ’em first?” I smiled.

He ignored my attempt at humour while he held a match to a cigar clamped in his teeth. The light flickered coldly in his eyes. At last he put the match down and stared at me. “What d’yuh want?” he barked.

I could feel a respect for him growing in me. He was tough. Not one word about my walking in on him. There was no use playing games with him. I walked up to his desk and looked down at him. “I need help,” I said simply. “I’m in trouble.”

The pupils of his eyes were hard and black. “Why come to me?” he asked.

“I got nobody else,” I said quietly.

He put the cigar down gently on an ashtray and stood up behind his desk. His voice was low, but it filled the office. “Blow, bum,” he said flatly. “You ain’t gettin’ no handouts from me.”

“I ain’t lookin’ for a handout,” I said desperately. “I’m in trouble an’ I need help.” I stood there stubbornly, staring at him. He wasn’t going to chase me this time.

He walked menacingly around the desk toward me. “Get out!” he snarled.

“For God’s sake, Sam, listen to me,” I pleaded. “Everything’s gone wrong! The cops are after me an’——”

His voice cut me off as if I hadn’t spoken. “Yuh’re no good!” he snapped, his flushed and angry face close to mine. “Yuh never been any good, yuh’ll never be any good! I done enough fer you. Get out before I throw you out!” He raised his fist.

I went cold and hard inside. There was only one language this guy understood. “I wouldn’t try that if I were you, Sam,” I said coldly, watching his hands. “You ain’t in condition.”

“I’ll show yuh who’s in condition!” he growled, swinging at me.

I picked off his blow with my forearm. “Remember your own lesson, Sam?” I taunted. “Snap—don’t swing like a ballet dancer!” I moved away from him without trying to return his blow.

He came after me, both arms swinging. But he was heavy on his
feet and I kept away from him easily. One thing I could say in favour of my diet: I never got a chance to roll up the fat like he did. For a few minutes he kept up the chase. There was only the puffing sound of his breath breaking the silence of the office. At last he sank exhaustedly into his chair, breathing heavily.

I stood on the other side of his desk and looked at him. His face was flushed with the exertion, and perspiration was running down his heavy jowls. “Now will yuh listen to me, Sam?” I asked.

He picked up his cigar and stuck it in his mouth. He didn’t look at me. “Go away,” he said in a low, disgusted voice.

“I ain’t goin’ no place,” I said. “Yuh’re gonna help me.”

“I had enough of you,” he said, looking up at me wearily. “Ever since you were a kid you been puttin’ it over on me. Up in the country with Ceil, then in the Gloves that time you made a deal with Maxie Fields. How many times you think I’m gonna bite?”

He had a memory like an elephant. He didn’t forget anything. “This ain’t gonna cost you no dough,” I said. “All I need is a little help an’ a job till I can straighten things out.”

He shook his head. “I got no job for you. You ain’t trained for nothin’.”

“I can still fight,” I said.

“Uh-uh,” he answered. “Yuh’re too old to start in that. You been away too long. Yuh’ll never make a nickel as a pro.”

There was no arguing about that. Twenty-three was too old, especially after a six-year lay-off. “Then how about a job here?” I asked. “You got a big place.”

“No,” he answered flatly.

“Not even if I promise never to tell Mimi what I seen here tonight?” I asked.

I knew from the expression on his face I had scored. “She wouldn’t like that,” I followed up.

He sat there silently chewing on his cigar. I watched him patiently. This was the kind of language he could understand. I was through begging, through grovelling, through asking for anything. There was only one way to get along in this world: that was to take what you wanted. That was the way he operated in everything, and if it was good enough for him, it was good enough for me.

His eyes were veiled and blank as he looked at me. “Still the same snot-nosed punk who thinks the world owes him a living, eh, Danny?” he asked coldly.

I shook my head. “Not the same, Sam,” I answered bitterly. “This is a new Danny Fisher yuh’re lookin’ at. I been through too much to
ever be the same. I put in a year an’ a half on relief, crawlin’ on my belly in order to have enough to eat. This afternoon I socked a Welfare agent because he wanted to know where I got the dough to bury my child an’ he came after me with the cops. My wife is home sick an’ wonderin’ where I am. I’m not the same any more, Sam, I’ll never be the——”

There was a shocked sound in his voice. “What happened, Danny?”

“You heard me,” I answered, staring at him coldly. “I’ll never be the same. Now do you help me or do I tell Mimi what I saw?”

His gaze dropped to his desk and he stared at it for a moment. Then he spoke without looking up. “Okay, kid,” he said in a peculiarly gentle voice. “Yuh got me.”