Part 11 (1/2)

The tiny room was crowded with the men standing behind me and behind him. Only now did I see, off to the side, Dixie Davis, the mouthpiece, slumped in a wooden chair with his knees pressed together and holding his hands locked between them to keep them from shaking. The underarms of Mr. Davis's expensive pinstripe suit had big dark sweat stains and his face was covered by a film of sweat. I knew these as signs of the extreme unction. I acknowledged him with the briefest of glances because I understood now who had identified me, which meant all I was giving away was the truth they already knew and I thought it might suggest I wasn't smart or devious enough to try to hide anything.

Then I turned back to my interrogator. It seemed important to me to sit straight and look at him clear-eyed. He would learn as much from my att.i.tude as from anything I said.

”You were coming along nicely in their eyes is my understanding.”

”Yes sir.”

”We might have a job for a bright kid. Did you get out of it at least with something to show?” he said as casually as if my life wasn't in the balance.

”Well,” I said, ”I was just catching on. I was put on salary the week before and he gave me a month's advance because my mother's been sick. Two hundred dollars. I don't have it with me, but I can get it from the savings bank first thing in the morning.”

He smiled, the corners of his mouth turned up for an instant, and he raised his hand. ”We don't want your wages, kid. I'm talking about business affairs. They managed their business not always in a business way. I was asking if you could help us figure out about a.s.sets.”

”Gee whiz,” I said, scratching my head, ”that is more in Mr. Davis's department. All I did was run out for coffee or if someone needed a pack of cigarettes. They never let me in meetings or where anything was going on.”

He sat there nodding. I could feel Dixie Davis's eyes on me, I could feel the intensity of his stare.

”You never saw any money?”

I thought a moment. ”Yes, once, on a Hundred Forty-ninth Street,” I said. ”I saw them counting the day's collection while I was sweeping. I was impressed.”

”You were impressed?”

”Yes. It was something to dream about.”

”Have you dreamed?”

”Every night,” I said looking him in the drooped eye. ”Mr. Berman told me the business is changing. That they will need smart quiet people with good manners who have been to school. I am going back into school and then I'm going to go to City College. And then we'll see.”

He nodded, and grew very still and gazed into my eyes for a moment as he made up his mind. ”School is a good idea,” he said. ”We may look in on you from time to time, see how you're doing.” He lifted his hand, palm up, and I rose with it. Dixie Davis had put his hand over his face.