The Ragtime Fool (16 page)

***

From behind stacks of soda-bottle cases, two colored men, one small, one large, watched Barton and Alan get into a red Chevy pickup, drive off down Osage, then turn left on Second. Green nodded to Slim, then motioned: come on.

***

Barton walked to a tan vinyl armchair next to a fan, opposite the desk in the Milner Hotel lobby. “Go on up, get your things,” he said to Alan. “I’ll wait here for you.”

The boy nodded. “I might be a few minutes. I’m going to call my parents and tell them I’m all right, and I’ll be staying with you. Maybe that’ll get them to take Slim off my back.”

Barton broke into laughter. “Slim, huh? That’s what you call him?”

Alan turned away quickly, before the panic on his face could give him away. Lucky that Barton thought Alan had just made up the nickname as a joke. He’d have to watch his step.

Barton watched the boy climb the stairs. This was one nervy kid, pretty damn good at playing fast and loose with truth. But if he thought for one minute that Barton believed he was going to call his parents, he was mistaken, sorely so. Clever little move to put Barton on notice that someone would know where he was staying, but the last people in the world a runaway kid would call were the mother and father who’d put a detective on his tail.

***

Up in Room 214, Alan locked the door, sat on the bed, closed his eyes, thought hard. Then he picked up the phone receiver, and asked the desk clerk for the long distance operator. When he heard “Long distance, number, please,” he said, “Hobart, New Jersey. Lambert 8-4144.”

The phone rang once, twice, three times. “Be there, the boy murmured. Please be—”

“Broaca residence. This is Mir—”

“Miriam, oh boy. Am I glad you’re home.”

“Alan? Are you in Sedalia? Did you get the journal okay? What’s going on? Listen, I’ve got to tell you something.”

“Miriam, Miriam, hold on. Let me talk, okay?”

“I’m so glad to hear your voice, Alan. I wish I could see you.”

“Could anyone there be listening in?”

“On Sunday afternoon? You’ve got to be kidding. My parents are off playing golf. But my father found out the money was gone. He had a little string tied so if anyone opened the suitcase, it’d break. He accused Slim of stealing the money, and fired him, and then Slim went off with Sally, I don’t know where.”

“Well,
I
know where Slim is. He’s here.”

“In Sedalia? How did he know to go to Sedalia?”

“Beats me. But he found me, told me he wanted the five thousand dollars back that I stole from your father, and if I didn’t have it, then he wanted Scott Joplin’s journal. And he had a gun.”

“Oh, God. What happened? Did you give him the journal?”

“No. We were out on the street, and a man came along, saw what was happening, and got the drop on Slim. The man took away Slim’s gun, and told him to get lost.”

“Oh, no. Slim will be furious. I’ve got to talk to him.”

“Slim
is
furious, and there’s no way you can talk to him. But the man who got me away is on the committee for the ceremony. He’s offered to let me stay at his house. I just wanted to tell you what’s happening, and see if you know how Slim managed to find me.”

“I don’t have any idea. But he’s not somebody you want to fool around with.”

“No kidding. But I should be okay as long as I’m with Mr. Barton. He’s the man who helped me, Jerry Barton. He’s got a farm out of town, near some place called Smithton, so I won’t even be in the city. Slim won’t know where to look for me.”

“Alan, you don’t know Slim.”

“Listen, this is going to cost a fortune. I better go. I’ll try to call you again when I get the chance.”

“Alan—”

“I’ll call you again. ‘Bye.”

As Miriam heard the line click dead, she slammed down the receiver, jumped out of the chair, pounded a fist on the wall. “Oh, Slim will kill him.” She launched a shriek, no one in the house to hear it other than the shrieker, which inflamed her all the more. She wiped a sleeve savagely across her eyes. The minute her parents got home, she’d talk to her father, and then, when Alan called again, she’d tell him to tell Slim she’d confessed. That would take care of the immediate problem. As for what might come later, she’d figure it out then.

***

Behind the registration counter of the Milner Hotel, the desk clerk pulled the headphones from his ears, set them onto the counter, and leaned across. “Hey, Jerry,” he called in a stage whisper. “Better come over here a minute.”

Barton trotted over, listened to the clerk’s throaty narrative, then muttered, “God damn that little bastard,” and reached for the telephone at the end of the counter.”

***

Alan replaced the receiver, flopped back onto the pillow, stared at the ceiling. How the hell did Slim know he was going to Sedalia? The boy shook his head. Things were getting complicated. But he was where he wanted to be, he still had the journal, and now he had someone to help him until he could find Brun Campbell. He’d even wangled a shot at getting himself onto the program. He jumped to the floor, ran into the bathroom, picked up his toothbrush and toothpaste, threw them into the book bag along with his extra shirt and underwear, and ran out of the room and back down the stairs.

***

Out on the sidewalk in front of the hotel, Barton suddenly stopped walking and slapped the side of his head. “Doggone, I just remembered. I ain’t gonna have room for you, darn it. My aunt and her husband and three kids are coming in for a visit later today.” He turned a sheepish grin on Alan, then gave the boy a conspiratorial nudge to the arm. “Guess that’s something I didn’t really want to remember, huh?”

Alan shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ll just go back to the hotel. I can keep my eyes open for Slim.”

Barton reached for the boy’s arm. “I’ve got a better idea. I’ll take you to Otto Klein’s. His wife and him’ll be glad to put you up.”

Alan shook his head. “I don’t want to trouble them. I mean, I don’t even know them.”

“It won’t be any trouble. Otto Klein’s on the ceremony committee too, and I know he’ll want to hear about that journal of yours.” Barton gave Alan a gentle push toward the truck at the curb.” Come on. I’ll drive you over to Kleins’.”

***

Green and Slim watched the man and the boy drive off down Lamine. “They’s turnin’ left on Fifth,” Green said. “That ain’t the way to Barton’s place. God knows where he’s taking the kid.”

Slim made a face, muttered something Green couldn’t make out. He tugged at the big man’s arm. “Let’s see if we can’t catch up to them.”

As they turned off Lamine onto East Fifth, Green tapped Slim’s arm. “Look there.”

Slim shaded his eyes. “Truck’s parked just a few blocks down, an’ they’s gettin’ out…goin’ up to a house.” The men quickened their pace.

Green motioned Slim to stop at the corner of Fifth and Washington, a half-block up from the red Chevy truck. “Don’t want to take a chance either of them might see you,” Green said. “You wait here. Be right back.”

***

As Barton rang the doorbell of the little white frame house on East Fifth Street, he said to Alan, “You’ll like staying here. Otto and Rowena are the best sort of people. And they got a daughter, nice girl, just about your age.”

The door opened. Alan looked at a fireplug of a man with a bullet head, short-cropped hair in full retreat over a sloping forehead. He wore a blue denim shirt and a pair of old dungarees, torn at one knee. “Hi, there, Otto,” Barton said. “This boy here’s come all the way from New Jersey for that ceremony Tuesday night, and he needs a place to stay. Alan…dang, I’m sorry. What’d you say your last name is?”

“Chandler.” Alan hitched the blue carrying bag up onto his left shoulder.

“Right. Alan Chandler, this’s Otto Klein. Like I said, he’s also on the committee. Otto, I’ll bet my farm you’re gonna be interested in hearing what this young man has to say.”

Klein showed yellowed teeth. “Well, now, if you say so, Jerry, I’m sure I will. And no trouble puttin’ him up while he’s here.” He clapped a ham of a hand onto Alan’s shoulder. “Come on in, boy, and let’s hear it.”

***

Slim watched Green saunter along Fifth, pause briefly between the truck and the house it was parked in front of, then disappear around the next corner. A few minutes later, he reappeared on Washington, and walked quickly up to Slim. The big man hunched his shoulders. “So?”

“So the name on the mailbox there is Klein. That’d be Otto Klein. Him an’ Barton, they’s ham an’ eggs, if you figure there’s worms in the ham and the eggs is spoilt. Wonder what the hell they’re up to.”

“What do we do now?”

Green pulled a package of cigarettes from his pocket, tapped out two smokes, gave one to Slim, struck a match on his shoe. “Guess we gonna wait an’ see what develops.”

***

In Otto Klein’s living room, Barton sat next to Alan on a sofa with a spectacularly-garish cover of green, yellow, and white swirls. Alan could almost hear his mother sniff. “Peasants!” Klein sat on a matching armchair opposite his visitors. The boy took care to tell his host the same story he’d told Barton earlier, but all the while he talked, he had trouble keeping his eyes off the framed color print of Christ on the wall behind Klein, the Savior’s eyes turned toward heaven, his hands clasped in apparent fervent prayer.

When Alan finished, Klein said “My, my, my,” then shifted his attention to Barton. “So, Jerry, what do you think about that diary?”

Barton shrugged. “Can’t really think anything about something I ain’t seen.”

Klein raised an eyebrow, then grinned and extended a hand in Alan’s direction. “Well, come on, then, boy. Let’s have us a look-see.”

Alan glanced toward the door.

“Mr. Klein’s right.” Barton’s words flowed like melted butter. “Sounds like that book could be the biggest thing at the ceremony, but how are we supposed to get it in the program without us ever seein’ it? We ain’t got a whole lot of time. Got a meeting tonight, and then tomorrow we do the final preparations.”

Alan tightened his grip on the book bag. The day before, he’d felt certain he could get the journal back from two ancient colored men, but here, in Klein’s living room, with a couple of very able-bodied Joes, the boy’s confidence was far from complete. “I don’t know…just seems like I should show it to Mr. Campbell first.”

“Do that, and it’ll be too late,” said Klein. “Programs’re set to be printed up tomorrow morning, and Mr. Campbell ain’t comin’ in till late tomorrow.”

“Did he tell you that?” Alan asked.

Klein nodded. “He called me up a couple weeks ago. Said he’d be in the night before the ceremony.”

Mr. Campbell doesn’t have a phone, at least not a listed one, Alan thought. But I guess he could’ve called from a phone booth.

Barton leaned toward the boy. “Think a little bit about what Mr. Campbell’s gonna say when he finds out he coulda had that book mentioned in the program.” Barton motioned toward the bag. “You need to give Mr. Klein and me a look.”

Alan hesitated, then opened the bag and pulled out the journal as if careless handling might cause it to explode. Klein reached to take it, but Alan shifted to the right, toward Barton, and motioned Klein to sit at his left.

Klein looked like an urchin in a candy store who’d just been told to keep his hands behind his back. “You don’t trust us or something?”

“It’s not that,” Alan said. “I’m sorry, but I promised Mr. Campbell I wouldn’t let this journal out of my sight or my hands, not for anything. I’ll turn the pages for you.” He opened the diary to the first page.

He’d turned five pages when Barton said, “I guess that’s enough. Gives us something to talk about at the meeting tonight.”

Klein grinned. “How about we take Alan along, and he tells them about the book?”

Barton seemed to be chewing a cud. “He wants to play piana at the ceremony, too. Ain’t that right, Alan?”

“If I could, sure.”

“So maybe it’d be better if just you and me talk to the committee tonight, Otto. Couple of those guys can be pretty touchy if they think somebody’s tryin’ to squeeze them. If they’re interested, there’ll still be time in the morning to get him on the program.”

Klein looked dubious. “Well, okay, if you think.” He hauled himself off the sofa. “Let me go get my wife and daughter. They can show you your room.”

“You sure it’s not a problem, Mr. Klein? I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

Klein waved off the concern. “No trouble at all.”

He walked through a swinging door on the far side of the living room, then came back with two women in tow. The older one was thin, pale-faced, with mousy hair drawn severely back, and lips drawn as tight as the hair. The daughter, on the other hand…well, Alan had seen her before, hadn’t he, and she was just as pretty now as then. Big brown eyes, creamy skin, dark curls down over her shoulders. “Alan,” Klein said. “I’d like to have you meet my wife and my daughter, Eileen. This here’s Mr. Alan Chandler, darlings. He’s in from New Jersey for that big ceremony, you know, and he’s gonna stay with us for a few days. Maybe you could show him the guest room.”

Alan thought Mrs. Klein’s wan smile took every ounce of effort she could muster. Eileen gave the boy’s hand a polite squeeze. “Sure, Daddy, I’ll be glad to.” She motioned Alan along. “Mama, you don’t need to come. I can show him the room.”

“All right, dear, thank you. Don’t forget to give him towels.”

“I won’t, Mama.”

She led Alan up a straight staircase, and down a hall into a room with a bed, a plain pine desk and chair, and a couple of bookcases. The bed was covered with an orange, blue, and yellow spread, different from the color scheme that ruled the living room, but no less awful. On the headboard lay a Bible, and directly above where the head of a sleeper would be, another polychrome Jesus offered up prayer.

The girl watched him, smirking for all she was worth. “Guess you didn’t want to take me to the Wheel-Inn last night.”

“No, no. It wasn’t that.” Alan shifted his book bag. “I’d have been glad to, but I’d been on the train for more than a day and a night. I got some dinner, found a hotel room, and just lay down on the bed for a few minutes. But then I didn’t wake up till this morning.”