by
Mary E. Overstreet
Barnabas waited until the day of Willie's next trip into New York City to tell him he wanted to go. He knew that if he gave him too much notice Willie would find a way to get out of it.
"Willie, would you do me a favor?" he said, stopping Willie's progress across the drawing room on his way to the kitchen for breakfast.
It didn't surprise him to see Barnabas up so early, but he was not expecting him to be down in the drawing room fully dressed at six in the morning. Willie's own clothing was a still haphazardly donned white shirt and the pants of his dark blue suit. "What is it?" He glanced across the room at him, hoping he didn't look as worn out as he felt. What sleep he'd had been uneasy and full of disturbing dreams.
"Please make arrangements for me to come with you today. I was thinking that I've put far too much off on you. I'm not doing my fair share. . .and. . ." His words trailed off as he noted the change in Willie's already haggard expression.
Willie's thoughts raced randomly as he tried to think of a reasonable way out of this. "I-I can't—I-I mean, it's too late. The flight might be booked up."
"I doubt that. Please try. Or let me do it myself."
"W-well, instead of doin' that, you could jus' go in my place. Save some money." He knew he was really reaching for excuses.
"Nonsense, Willie. I've no idea what your plans are. I need you to be there."
Willie affected indignation to conceal the panic underneath. "You don' trust me. That's why you wanna go."
Barnabas found he could still read the other man quite clearly. There was that old guilt in Willie's eyes before he turned them down. He did not want to believe that Willie had done something for which he felt guilty. "Don't be ridiculous, Willie. Of course I trust you. Now we are both going along on this little venture, so please don't give me any further arguments." Barnabas didn't like having to put it to him that way.
Willie could almost see his doom. This was the last leg, he thought. It would be over soon. How could he hide the discrepancies that would show up between their broker's figures and their own? There was a small chance, but it was very small. He turned away and went to the kitchen, his stomach knotted into a hard lump. He would not be able to eat, but Barnabas would want something. Shaking, he opened the refrigerator.
Barnabas would kill him or worse, he was certain. While he did not seem to be in one of those bad moods, and he hadn't been since the night Mace and Jack had come to Collinsport, Barnabas had just come closer to a real reprimand than he had since that awful night. Willie wondered if he tried to find another excuse to keep him from going, what Barnabas would do—if it would provoke him into violence or something less harsh. But there were no other feasible excuses, unless maybe he claimed to be sick. He knew he could not drag that out forever, and he didn't dare try the lack of trust avenue again. He knew he'd given something away then. Barnabas would be suspicious from now on. The only thing left was to go with him and pray they didn't look too closely at the figures. And if they did. . . He quaked inside.
"Willie?" Barnabas found him standing by the counter, leaning forward against it with his head down, one hand on the counter, the other in his hair.
He whirled around. "Huh?" His heart pounded.
Barnabas frowned with concern. Willie looked terrified for a brief second, then his expression hardened into that unreadable mask he seemed to wear so often now. "I'm sorry, Willie. I didn't mean to startle you. I thought perhaps over breakfast we could discuss what you've lined up."
Willie shrugged, his eyes averted from Barnabas'. "You want your usual?"
"Yes, thank you. I'll set the table." He went to the cabinet, feeling the silence strain between them, and took out a couple of plates.
The younger man started to tell him not to set a place for him, but realized quickly that would start an argument. Willie would just have to fake it. Like everything else, he thought.
*
Both men were relieved to at last reach their destination; Barnabas because the awkward conversations he had started to try to get Willie to "open up" had been more unbearable than the tense silences, and Willie because he would no longer have to put up with Barnabas' poorly veiled attempts to probe into his personal life or the heavy weight he felt when neither spoke. Willie, however, was suffering from greatly magnifying dread as each mile brought them closer to the test. He kept something in his hands all the time—at first on the way to Bangor it was the car steering wheel, and later on the plane he sat with his briefcase in his lap or his hands gripping the arm rests. His anxiety was obvious to Barnabas who was unsure as to the cause—depression or guilt or something completely unknown.
Willie made certain that he walked into the hotel lobby first. A quick glance around found Mace and Jack waiting for him. He met their eyes and shook his head furtively, signaling trouble. They recognized Barnabas as soon as he came out of the revolving door, and disappeared.
Much to Willie's annoyance, Barnabas asked for adjoining rooms before he could take care of it. He took his hotel key without a word and led Barnabas to the elevators.
The older man sighed, wondering what to say to get Willie to relax at least a little. While he didn't seem angry, he was obviously not happy, saying nothing unless he was spoken to or had to.
Willie knew the hotel better than Barnabas did, so he again led the way to find their rooms.
"I really would like you to choose a nice restaurant tonight, Willie," Barnabas said in the friendliest tone he could manage.
Willie didn't think that he would still want to have dinner with him by the time night came. They had two appointments today and either one could give his thievery away. "Okay." He unlocked the door to his room and went in without looking at Barnabas.
"You do know this city quite well, don't you?" he asked, speaking from his doorway.
"Not really any more." Willie shut his door and heard Barnabas trying to open the door between their rooms. He ignored it; he had no intention of opening his side.
Barnabas knocked on the door. "Willie?"
He hung his flight bag in the closet. "What is it?"
"Could you open your side? It seems to be jammed or something."
Willie jiggled the door knob. "It's one of these you gotta have a special key for," he lied. "Costs extra. I wouldn't bother with it."
Barnabas had only wanted to open the door so that he might talk to Willie to try to repair whatever damage he had done on the trip down. He guessed he should have known Willie wouldn't want the door open. He decided to give up on it.
Willie knew he had to go down and talk to Mace and Jack, but getting away from Barnabas might be a problem if he told him he was leaving his room. He decided to let him wonder where he went. It would all be over soon anyway.
He went down the elevator and outside to the street. It was sunny and almost warm out. Glancing left, then right, he decided to go left. The hotel was on a street corner and the intersecting street was to the left. He knew enough to know they would be around the nearest corner waiting for him.
The cross street was narrower and darker with somewhat less traffic. He did not see either of the two young men but walked down it anyway. An alley behind the hotel was the first break in the block. Willie had just stepped in to investigate, when Mace and Jack appeared from behind a dumpster, casually walking halfway to him.
"Come on, Willie," Jack told him, jerking his head to one side.
To keep them from coming to get him, he went in further. Mace immediately grabbed him by the lapels of his suit, jerked him around, and slammed him into the wall beside the dumpster out of sight of the passing traffic.
Jack leaned in beside Mace, close to Willie. "Ahright, Willie, what's the deal?"
"I couldn't help it. I tried to stop him, but he insisted," Willie told them, a bit shaken. "I-I warned ya, didn't I?"
"Yeah," Mace conceded, relaxing a little.
"What I wanna know—is it all over?" Jack said.
Willie looked afraid, and he knew it. But it wasn't they of whom he was afraid. "I don' know yet. But it probably is." He took hold of Mace's wrists. "I don' stand a chance if ya mess me up. He'll know somethin's wrong."
Mace let Willie pull his hands away. "You think there's a chance ya won't get caught?"
The extreme anxiety he was feeling, and had since the trip started, showed through his defenses. "No."
Jack abruptly pushed in front of Willie, giving Mace little time to step aside. "Goddamnit!" he said furiously, palming Willie against the wall and kneeing him in the crotch.
Mace saved Willie from a more severe blow by pulling Jack back before his knee could make solid contact. He had to grab Jack's arm, the fist cocked to strike Willie in the stomach. "Hey, Jack, that's enough. We gotta lot outta this deal. Willie's got enough problems."
Willie's face had gone white and he was bent over, leaning against the wall, holding his groin with both hands. He waited for the worst of the pain to slacken before straightening back up. It wasn't as bad as it could've been, he told himself. Color flushed his cheeks, and he breathed hard and unsteadily. "I won't tell him aboutcha," he promised hoarsely, his eyes cast down and his shoulder still touching the wall. Jack had always been a mean bastard. He couldn't fight well so he struck the most vulnerable places.
"Yeah?" Jack said, still disappointed and frustrated that his easy income was being cut off. "You know what'll happen if ya do."
Willie nodded. "He's gonna kill me anyway."
"Why don'tcha just split? He'd never find ya here," Mace said.
"I can't."
"Why not? Has he got somethin' on ya?"
He shook his head. How could he explain something he did not understand himself? It wasn't that he had not considered running out. It was something else—many reasons, one of which, he realized, was that there was still a chance he could get away with it. He couldn't give up when he might not have to lose everything.
"I can't."
"You're crazy," Jack said nastily.
"No, I'm not." He turned his head to look at Jack. "I'm not crazy."
Jack's cold ice-blue eyes stared down at him as he tilted his head and stood straight. He was barely an inch taller than Willie but his attitude added a few additional inches. "I don' know what happened to ya, Willie, but you're not only a fuckin' coward, you're rank stupid too. You jus' said that guy is gonna kill ya, but you won't cut out while ya can."
Willie trembled with anger and shame and indignation. "Maybe that's what I want."
"C'mon, Jack. Leave him alone. We don't need him any more. We'll get somethin' else goin'."
They looked at Willie standing by the wall in his three piece suit, his hands clenched at his sides, his brow knitted with pain and anger. "Jus' don' tell anybody, Willie. If someone comes for us we can still put the word out," Jack warned him.
"I know. I toldja I wouldn't."
"See ya, Willie," Mace said, his expression revealing he thought it would be the last time.
Willie hoped it was as he watched them walk out. He glanced around and discovered a door leading into the hotel. No one stopped him from entering, though he received curious stares from the hotel staff as he passed through the laundry and housekeeping areas. He walked fast, even when it hurt, until he entered a guest hallway.
On the way up to his room, he stopped and bought a soft drink from a vending machine on the floor below. It would give him an excuse for being away from his room.
He was unprepared to see Barnabas' door open as he passed it and felt the dread tighten the knot in his stomach.
"Oh, there you are," Barnabas said from his doorway. "I was just going to look for you."
"I, uh, was gettin' a Coke," he said nervously and held the can up. He didn't look in the other's eyes, just nodded and went to his door. His hand shook so badly he could barely get the key in the lock. But he blocked Barnabas' view of this with his body.
"Willie, are you all right?" He stepped up behind him. "What happened to your clothes?"
Willie rushed forward into the room away from Barnabas' touch to his back. He had not thought to check his appearance before going to his room. "I-I dunno, I-I can't think of anything." He went into the bathroom, turning to see what Barnabas was talking about. His coat was smudged on one shoulder and across the back with grey dust.
Barnabas started brushing it off, noticing Willie was tensed like iron. "You must've leaned against something. But it's coming right out."
"Thanks." Willie waited for him to finish, his mind creating an unpleasant scenario of Barnabas hitting him out of anger instead of just brushing off dust. It faded when he saw Barnabas looking at him in the mirror. "Guess we'd better be goin'," he said, abruptly turning away. He didn't want to go but could not stand the way he felt under the other's intense gaze.
Barnabas was convinced he was hiding something. His edginess went beyond a bad case of nerves. But he didn't want to press Willie about it. He would have to take things one step at a time.
*