Scarface, the movie?”
“I don’t go to the movies.”
“Well, you ought to name him something. ‘Cat’ is kinda dumb.”
“We’re leaving,” Geiger said. He stood up and went inside.
Ezra followed him in. Geiger was filling a glass with water from the tap.
“Are we gonna try and call my mom?”
“Yes. But we have to call from a pay phone.” He chugged the water down. “And then we won’t come back here.”
The sentence grabbed at Ezra with an icy, unexpected undertow.
“Why not?”
“Because the men who are looking for you are close by. I saw them driving around when I was outside.”
The cold tug of fear grew stronger, and then Ezra remembered his IM episode with Harry.
“Oh shit-I forgot! Your friend…”
“My friend?”
“Harry. He’s your friend, right?”
“What about Harry?”
“I IM’d with him when you were in the closet. He wanted to come over.”
“He doesn’t know where I live.”
“I know, but I sent him the address on the drugstore receipt. I don’t know if he got it or not, because he signed off.”
Geiger bent to the washer-dryer, took Ezra’s clean clothes out, and brought them to him.
“Get dressed.”
“What about Harry?”
Geiger pushed the clothes into Ezra’s hands. “Get dressed.”
As Ezra headed to the bathroom, Geiger went to his desk. Harry’s IM was still on the screen. He scrolled it back and started reading.
When he’d finished, Geiger clicked it off, revealing Ezra’s attempted IM session with his father still beneath it on the screen.
GUEST: Its EZBoy. Where are you?
But now there was a reply to Ezra’s question. It had come at 1:06 P.M., fourteen minutes ago.
BIGBOSSMAN: you’re not on your own laptop? where are you?
Geiger’s fingers started tapping at the sides of the keyboard. Then he began to type.
GUEST: matheson, answer now
He could feel pieces of the world, fluid and energized, sliding toward each other as if driven by nature. Harry and Hall on the same path, searching for him; his father’s visitations; Matheson finally showing himself. Geiger felt like some sort of black hole, drawing everything toward him, past and present, the outside and the inside.
The IM came to life.
BIGBOSSMAN: who is this?
GUEST: we have your son
BIGBOSSMAN: please don’t hurt ezra
GUEST: for ezra’s sake we hope you still have what we want and are still in the vicinity
BIGBOSSMAN: I have it and im still in the city
Geiger tried to keep a firm grip on his mind, but it kept slithering away. He felt as if he were both car and driver, trying to steer as he read the road signs that gave him directions to the unknown place he must be bound for.
His fingers began typing again.
GUEST: type your cell number. we will call you in a short time to tell you where to meet us. we will only call once and if you don’t answer we will kill the boy
BIGBOSSMAN: 917 555 0617. i’ll do whatever you say. please don’t hurt my son
Geiger grabbed a pen, scribbled the phone number on his palm, and signed off. He heard Ezra come out of the bathroom and walk up behind him.
“So what’re we going to do?”
“I’m going to change my clothes and then we’re leaving.”
“What about Harry?”
“We can’t wait for Harry.”
“What about the cat?”
“The cat goes where he wants to go. Say good-bye.”
Outside, Geiger walked up to Mr. Memz and handed him his pack of Luckies.
“Who’s the kid?” Mr. Memz threw a look toward Ezra, who stood in the shadows of the entrance to the check-cashing store ten feet away, violin case in hand.
“I’m keeping an eye on him,” said Geiger. He had changed into a black pullover and khaki pants. “I need you to do something for me. I’ll pay you.”
Mr. Memz shook out a cigarette, lit it, and sat back in his chair. “Your buddies keep coming by. Every half hour or so-they’re on a route. This about the kid?”
“Yes,” Geiger said. He took a folded piece of paper out of a pocket. “Somebody else may come looking for me. His name is Harry. Skinny, brown hair, scar on his forehead. He might have a woman with him. He’ll probably look lost, like he doesn’t know where he’s going.”
“You sure got popular in a hurry, BT. Who woulda thunk?”
Geiger handed the paper to Mr. Memz, who unfolded it and looked at the information. It was an address, written in neat block letters.
“If you see him,” said Geiger, “would you tell him to meet me there?”
“Uh-huh.”
Mr. Memz flicked his lighter to life, lit an edge of the paper, and watched the flame consume it.
“You’ll remember it?” Geiger asked.
Mr. Memz glanced up at Geiger, then pointed a big-knuckled finger at his own face. “Who am I-and what do I fucking do?”
Geiger glanced down the street. “I have a question.”
“Shouldn’t you be getting out of here?”
“One question.”
“Yeah?”
“Are you in pain all the time?”
Mr. Memz cocked an eyebrow. This was a subject dear to his battered heart and brain.
“There’s all kinds of pain, man.”
“I meant your leg.”
“Shit, man-my leg?” He grabbed his shirt and yanked it up. The right side of his torso was a thicket of scars. “Shattered. Every bone on this side. When I roll over in bed, I sound like a bowl of Rice fucking Krispies.” His foot started to thump the pavement. “Pain’s not the thing, man. It’s just the messenger — the thing that makes you remember why you hurt. Understand what I’m saying?” He stared at Geiger, head atilt. “Yeah, I think maybe you do. Now get your ass going before your pals come back.”
Geiger turned and waved at Ezra. The boy stepped forward, and the two of them headed up the block to look for a cab.
“ Semper fi, kid,” said Mr. Memz.
Ezra looked back at the one-legged man.
“Who’s that?” he asked Geiger.
“Mr. Memz.”
“Memz?”
“Like in ‘memorize.’ He knows entire books by heart.”
“For real?”
