‘Mumma-Daddy havin a fight,’ Dianne said. ‘She says he got a girlfriend.’ She laughed and her sister joined in, but their eyes were frightened. They reminded Bobby of the littluns in Lord of the Flies.
‘Go home before it gets all the way dark,’ he said.
‘Mumma said stay out,’ Dina told him.
‘Then she’s stupid and so is your father. Go on!’
They exchanged a glance and Bobby understood that he had scared them even more. He didn’t care. He watched them grab their jump-ropes and go running up the hill. Five minutes later the cab he’d called pulled into the parking area beside the store, its headlights fanning the gravel.
‘Huh,’ the cabbie said. ‘I dunno about taking any little kid to Bridgeport after dark, even if you do got the fare.’
‘It’s okay,’ Bobby said, getting in back. If the cabbie meant to throw him out now, he better have a crowbar in the trunk to do it with. ‘My grandfather will meet me.’ But not at The Corner Pocket, Bobby had already decided; he wasn’t going to pull up to the place in a Checker. Someone might be watching for him. ‘At the Wo Fat Noodle Company. That’s on
Narragansett Avenue.’ The Corner Pocket was also on Narragansett. He hadn’t remembered the street-name but had found it easily enough in the Yellow Pages after calling the cab.
The driver had started to back out into the street. Now he paused again. ‘Nasty Gansett Street? Christ, that’s no part of town for a kid. Not even in broad daylight.’
‘My grandfather’s meeting me,’ Bobby repeated. ‘He said to tip you half a rock. You know, fifty cents.’
For a moment the cabbie teetered. Bobby tried to think of some other way to persuade him and couldn’t think of a thing. Then the cabbie sighed, dropped his flag, and got rolling. As they passed his building, Bobby looked to see if there were any lights on in their apartment.
There weren’t, not yet. He sat back and waited for Harwich to drop behind them.
The cabbie’s name was Roy DeLois, it was on his taxi-meter. He didn’t say a word on the ride to Bridgeport. He was sad because he’d had to take Pete to the vet and have him put down.
Pete had been fourteen. That was old for a Collie. He had been Roy DeLois’s only real friend.
Go on, big boy, eat up, it’s on me, Roy DeLois would say when he fed Pete. He said the same thing every night. Roy DeLois was divorced. Sometimes he went to a stripper club in Hartford. Bobby could see ghost-images of the dancers, most of whom wore feathers and long white gloves. The image of Pete was sharper. Roy DeLois had been okay coming back from the vet’s, but when he saw Pete’s empty dish in the pantry at home, he had broken down crying.
They passed The William Penn Grille. Bright light streamed from every window and the street was lined with cars on both sides for three blocks, but Bobby saw no crazy DeSotos or other cars that felt like thinly disguised living creatures. The backs of his eyes didn’t itch; there were no black threads.
The cab crossed the canal bridge and then they were down there. Loud Spanish-sounding music played from apartment houses with fire escapes zig-zagging up the sides like iron lightning. Clusters of young men with gleaming combed-back hair stood on some
streetcorners; clusters of laughing girls stood on others. When the Checker stopped at a red light, a brown-skinned man sauntered over, hips seeming to roll like oil in gabardine slacks that hung below the waistband of his bright white underwear shorts, and offered to wash the cabbie’s windshield with a filthy rag he held. Roy DeLois shook his head curdy and squirted away the instant the light changed.
‘Goddam spies,’ he said. ‘They should be barred from the country. Ain’t we got enough niggers of our own?’
Narragansett Street looked different at night — slightly scarier, slightly more fabulous as well. Locksmiths . . . check-cashing services . . . a couple of bars spilling out laughter and jukebox music and guys with beer bottles in their hands . . . ROD’S GUNS . . . and yes, just beyond Rod’s and next to the shop selling SPECIAL SOUVENIRS, the WO FAT NOODLE co. From here it couldn’t be more than four blocks to The Corner Pocket. It was only eight o’clock.