Things got less scary as they reached Fifty-Eighth Street and moved south toward Times Square. There was more car traffic, so more ambient light and more people on the street. Many looked cheerful, sweaty, and a little drunk. Broadway had narrowed to one lane, and bars and restaurants on either side had open doors and candles burning inside. People were dressed better than the shadowy figures they had seen earlier. Many men were in loosened ties and damp dress shirts. Women had their hair tied up and patted their necks with handkerchiefs.
The activity increased as Joe spied the sign for Fiftieth Street and declared they had advanced another ten blocks. Now they were dodging people on the sidewalk, including an increasing number of shady guys making “psst” sounds and flashing things for sale. Across the street at Forty-Eighth was a massive video store—the word “video” and silhouetted graphics of men and women in sex positions were unmistakable even in the dark—with a crowd milling around in front.
At Forty-Seventh Street, Robbie looked to the right and decided to walk west to Eighth Avenue. People were plentiful, including a raucous crowd singing and carousing below a cluster of garish theater and marquee signs. The only one Joe could read in the gloom was tall and rectangular with Oh! Calcutta! in cursive, which meant nothing to him. Along the street were other theaters, including some that looked like they probably showed dirty movies, and several cramped-looking bars. Westbound vehicles lit their path; there was a general flow of foot traffic going the same way.
“Eighth Avenue,” Robbie said when they reached the corner. “This way.” Joe hesitated as Robbie turned south. The strip they were leaving, even in the dark, was gay and lively compared to this darker, wider thoroughfare. Then a creepy guy was talking to him about where there was a girl he could see, and Joe hoofed it to catch up to his brother.
He took to counting dirty movie theaters. They had seen them along their route since Fiftieth Street, but on Eighth Avenue they were on every block. Under each deadened marquee were at least two or three restless-looking men and boys watching the traffic pass. Hollywood, Capri, Eros, Peepworld. It should have been more entertaining, but Joe felt strangely exposed and nervous walking by these places. The marquees, when he could read them, said things that made him feel mushy inside. SEXATIONAL. THE SWEDISH WAY. THE DEVIL IN MRS. JONES. ALL MALE ACTION.
“There are buses, you know,” Joe said as they passed Forty-Sixth Street. The darkness around him seemed to thicken. “I kind of wish we had taken one.”
“We don’t have the money for that.”
“Geneviève gave you money. I saw it!” That was true. Joe had seen Geneviève reach into a cash drawer while he was coming out of the bathroom and hand Robbie some coins and a couple of crumpled bills. Robbie’s face looked forlorn upon accepting it, which seemed strange to Joe. Wasn’t that what grown-ups did for kids when they were left on their own?
“That’s for emergencies,” Robbie said. “I wouldn’t have taken it otherwise.”
“Why can’t I have some?”
“What did I just tell you? It’s for emergencies.”
“That’s not fair; you’re not the boss! That was for both of us.”
“Yes, I am the boss,” Robbie said. “Without Mom here, that’s exactly what I am. I almost told Uncle Mike he could piss off too. He didn’t want us to walk down here by ourselves. You know what? We’re fine.”
“I don’t like this street,” Joe said. Robbie continued on like he hadn’t heard him.
“And you know what else? If Uncle Mike tries to put a bunch of rules on us, I’m not following ’em. Why should I? I’ve gotten us this far. He’s not even here.”
“I wish there were more cars,” Joe said. There were vehicles from time to time, but the boys were walking toward oncoming traffic, so headlights would blind them momentarily, making figures and faces harder to see afterward.
“It’s like three more blocks, just—”
“Three blocks to where?” a voice asked. It was raspy, and the word “where” was drawn out.
Joe looked back. The man was short and skinny, in cutoff jeans and a dirty T-shirt with the car from Smokey and the Bandit on the front. He had a mustache, and his jaw moved in a circular motion like he was chewing gum. His eyes were wide circles in the dark.
“Nowhere,” Robbie said to the side. “Joe, come on.”
“Joe, is that your name? You don’t gotta listen to him. Come on, hang back.”