—It’s good to see you.
—It’s good to see you too.
—I gather they let you out a few months early.
—Because of my father.
Townhouse nodded in an expression of sympathy.
The fair-skinned one was watching the interaction with a sour expression.
—Who’s this then? he asked.
—A friend, Townhouse replied without looking back.
—That Salina must have been one friendly place.
This time Townhouse did look back.
—Shut up, Maurice.
For a moment, Maurice returned Townhouse’s stare, then he looked up the street in his sour way while the jovial one shook his head.
—Come on, Townhouse said to Emmett. Let’s take a walk.
As the two went down the street together, Townhouse didn’t say anything. Emmett could tell that he was waiting to gain some distance from the others. So Emmett didn’t say anything either until they had turned the corner.
—You don’t seem that surprised to see me.
—I’m not. Duchess was here yesterday.
Emmett nodded.
—When I heard he’d gone to Harlem, I figured he was coming to see you. What did he want?
—He wanted me to hit him.
Emmett stopped and turned to Townhouse, so Townhouse stopped and turned too. For a moment, they stood eye to eye without speaking—two young men of different race and upbringing, but of similar casts of mind.
—He wanted you to hit him?
Townhouse responded in a lowered voice, as if he were speaking in confidence, though no one was within earshot.
—That’s what he wanted, Emmett. He’d gotten some idea in his head that he owed me something—because of the switching I took from Ackerly—and if I gave him a few pops we’d be even.
—What’d you do?
—I hit him.
Emmett looked at his friend with a touch of surprise.
—He didn’t give me much of a choice. He said he’d come all the way uptown to settle the score, and he made it clear he wasn’t leaving until it was settled. Then when I hit him, he insisted I hit him again. Twice. He took all three in the face without even raising his fists, at the foot of the stoop where we were standing a minute ago, right in front of the boys.
Emmett looked away from Townhouse, considering. It wasn’t lost on him that five days before he had taken a similar beating to settle a score of his own. Emmett wasn’t prone to superstitions. He didn’t favor four-leaf clovers or fear black cats. But the notion of Duchess taking three punches in front of a gathering of witnesses gave him a strange sense of foreboding. But that didn’t alter what needed to be done.
Emmett looked back at Townhouse.
—Did he say where he was staying?
—No.
—Did he say where he was going?
Townhouse paused for a moment, then shook his head.
—He didn’t. But listen, Emmett, if you’re set on finding Duchess, you should know that you’re not the only one looking for him.
—What do you mean?
—Two cops were here last night.
—Because he and Woolly skipped?
—Maybe. They didn’t say. But they were definitely more interested in Duchess than Woolly. And I got the sense there might be more to it than hunting down a couple of kids who’ve gone over the fence.
—Thanks for letting me know.
—Sure. But before you go, I’ve got something you’re going to want to see.
* * *
? ? ?
Townhouse led Emmett eight blocks away to a street that seemed more Hispanic than black—with a bodega and three men playing dominoes out on the sidewalk as a Latin dance number played on a radio. At the end of the block, Townhouse came to a stop across the street from a body shop.
Emmett turned to him.
—Is that the body shop?
—That’s it.
The shop in question was owned by a man named Gonzalez, who had moved to New York from southern California after the war, with his wife and two sons—twins who were known in the neighborhood as Paco and Pico. From the time the boys were fourteen, Gonzalez had them working in the shop after school—cleaning tools, sweeping floors, and taking out the trash—so they would gain some understanding of what it took to earn an honest dollar. Paco and Pico got the understanding all right. And when at the age of seventeen they were given the responsibility of closing up on weekends, they got into a little business of their own.
Most of the cars in the shop were there because of a loose fender or a dent in a door, but otherwise in good working order. So on Saturday nights, the brothers began renting out the cars in the shop to the boys in the neighborhood for a few bucks an hour. When Townhouse was sixteen, he asked out a girl by the name of Clarise, who happened to be the best-looking girl in the eleventh grade. When she said yes, Townhouse borrowed five bucks from his brother and rented a car from the twins.