No answer.
There seemed to be no method for repairing the situation. Raymond had no choice but to move on to the next address.
He crossed Luis Velez on Third Avenue off his list.
Raymond tried one more place, in a rough section of Brooklyn. He thought it might take away the bad taste left by the last encounter. But all he got for his trouble was another no answer.
He walked back down the stairs of the five-floor walk-up. Of course this Luis Velez had been on the fifth floor. It was clear that life had no intention of making this easy for Raymond.
As he descended to the lobby, he thought of his first two Luis Velez visits ever. The doors had opened and someone had been there, ready to talk to him. Actually willing to make some kind of connection, even after it was clear that they had no business with Raymond and could not help him.
Beginner’s luck, he now figured.
He had knocked on four doors just that morning. And only one Luis Velez had even been home.
He crossed the lobby and stepped out into the street.
There was at least one basement apartment to the building, Raymond saw as he walked by. A short flight of concrete stairs led down to a sort of recessed patio. On that patio was a sea of . . . well, everything. Mattresses. A kid’s big-wheeled plastic trike. Stacks of linoleum tiles. Old floor lamps. And a man, sifting through all of it. As though he’d lost something there. Or as though a careful sweep of the area could turn up something of value.
The man looked up and saw Raymond. “Hey!” he shouted.
Raymond stopped, his heart pounding. The man sounded . . . combative? Angry? Why is everyone angry this morning? he wondered. The whole world felt angry. The very air he breathed seemed to tremble with it.
“Yeah?” Raymond asked.
The man was small. Compact and lean. Fairly young. He wore his hair buzzed short. Nearly buzzed off entirely. He wore a soul patch—a little square of almost-beard—under his lower lip. He was heavily tattooed.
“Wha’chou doin’ in my neighborhood, boy? I know everybody who lives here, and I don’ know you.”
Raymond felt his blood go cold. He could actually feel the coolness of it as it circulated. He wanted to run. But first, he knew, he would ask. He didn’t think it was the best idea to ask. But he could feel that he was going to do it anyway.
“I was looking for Luis Velez,” he said.
“I’m Luis Velez,” the man said. His eyes narrowed. He moved closer. Came up the stairs to the street.
Raymond backed away.
“I was just . . . I’m looking for the Luis Velez who used to help an old blind lady over on the west side. Just to make sure he’s okay. I didn’t mean any trouble for anybody.”
Clearly that was not you, he thought. He wisely did not say it out loud.
The man stepped even closer, his energy heavy with threat. His goal seemed to be to intimidate Raymond. And it was working well. Raymond fell into full-on panic mode, the fear exploding in his chest like fireworks. Like electrical charges. He did not run because he thought it might be dangerous to move.
“Do I look like a guy who helps little old ladies cross the street?” Luis asked, his voice quiet and steady.
Raymond wasn’t sure how a quiet voice could be so scary. But this Luis’s voice was. Everything about him was. Fear surrounded Raymond like a cloud that sinks down to the ground to envelop everything underneath it.
Raymond said nothing. There was no safe answer to that question. He just froze there, statue-still. In his head he spoke to a God he wasn’t even sure he believed existed. Tried to make a last-minute deal. Then he concentrated on something like beaming himself away. Not that he thought he could. But he wanted—needed—so badly to be gone from here. It was hard not to imagine it happening.
Meanwhile Luis was regarding his face with something like amusement.
Luis leaned in even closer to Raymond, leaving only a few inches between their noses. Raymond could smell onions on the man’s breath. He was almost outside his body now with the panic. He vaguely, distantly, wondered if this was what it felt like to go into shock.
“Boo!” Luis Velez said.
Raymond jumped backward. Stumbled. Landed on the filthy concrete on his back, smacking his head on the curb.
Luis laughed.
Raymond scrambled to his feet and ran away.
They sat on the hard plastic bench of a subway car together, Raymond and Mrs. G. Close together, because he was still a little bit afraid. He still felt trembly inside from his experiences earlier that morning. He felt as though he were still running in some way. No fight or flight to choose from. Only flight.