John Hee said, “You two save his life with the whistle and shouting. If Mrs. Stannert give you heck, I explain, if that help.” Hee pulled a strap over his head and handed Antonia the sack at the other end.
The erhu. For the theater. Of course.
“I carry him to store, then go.”
De Bruijn wanted to say Stop! John Hee, of no large stature, could not pick him up and carry him. They should find an officer instead.
Hee turned to Mick. “Belt, please?”
Mick unfastened and handed over his belt, holding his pants up with one hand. “I shoulda worn braces.”
“No. This good.” Hee wrapped and buckled the belt around de Bruijn’s waist, over his trousers but under his jacket. De Bruijn, who realized he had somehow come up to sitting during all this, only wanted to close his eyes. Every jolt caused another wave of dizziness and pain.
“Now, stand,” said Hee.
Mick got to one side of de Bruijn, John Hee on the other. “On knees, Mr. Brown?”
De Bruijn slowly got to his knees, the steady pull of the belt steadying him.
Mick and Hee increased the tension on the belt and brought him to his feet. Through the fog that slowed his thinking, de Bruijn realized Antonia, hovering, was dressed in men’s clothes. They were ridiculously oversized, cuffs dragging in the filth of the alley.
“Now,” said John Hee. “Walk. One foot, other foot, Mr. Brown. We help.”
They headed to the main streets of Chinatown. When they were stopped once and questioned by an officer, Mick was quick to speak up. “Poor fella is a friend of the family. Our man John is helping me get him home. Too much to drink, an’ we are just takin’ a shortcut, because who wants to carry him up and down hills, right?”
De Bruijn thought it as good a story as any. Certainly better than anything his addled brain might produce. The officer let them go, admonishing, “This is no quarter for young’uns like yourselves, nor for a gennulman like him there.”
Antonia muttered to Mick, “We’re lucky he didn’t recognize you, what with your pa bein’ a detective and on the force and all.”
“Aw, he probably knows my da, but not me. Besides, it’s dark, and I’m not exactly dressed like a policeman’s son.”
The hardest part was at the end, at the stairs.
De Bruijn would have been willing to crawl up the stairs on hands and knees, or rather curl up in the entryway and sleep, but they would have none of it.
“You gotta go up. The. Stairs,” huffed Antonia behind him, shoving him on a most undignified portion of his anatomy.
But it was John Hee, his hand wrapped firmly in the belt around de Bruijn’s waist, who supplied the muscle needed to propel him up the stairs and finally onto Antonia’s little bed.
“Need doctor.” John Hee had lost control of certain articles of speech during the ordeal.
Mick said, “There’s Dr. McGee. My ma says he’s good. Should I fetch him?”
“He’s gonna want to be paid, right?” Antonia sounded nervous. “I know where Mrs. S keeps the household pin money. I suppose Mr. Brown’ll pay her back.”
They looked at him. He closed his eyes and floated.
From a distance, John Hee said, “I go now. Everyone be fine. No worry.”
Mick said, “Dr. McGee’s a good ’un. Don’t worry about the money. He’d probably even put it on a bill for you. Are you gonna be all right here, just you and him?”
“Of course I will.” She sounded indignant. “I’ll just sit and make sure he keeps breathing.”
Multiple footsteps pounded away, in time to the beating of his heart, and the throbbing of his head.
He floated.
A small, icy hand slid into his and squeezed. He tried to squeeze back, to open his eyes, but couldn’t. The hammering in his head thrummed through his whole body, sapped his strength.
Before he slipped into dreamless sleep, he heard Antonia whisper, “I just wish I knew where Mrs. S was. She’d know what to do.”
Chapter Thirty-one
After seeing Haskell, Inez went directly to the residence of the San Francisco Musical Protective Association’s secretary only to be told by his frazzled housekeeper that he was away “across the bay” on a job. Furthermore, he would not be able to see her until the next morning and he then would be gone the rest of the day. Inez thanked her and promised to return before noon.
“It’s important,” she added, “and I cannot wait until the meeting next month. I must talk to him as soon as possible.”
The housekeeper sighed, not moved by Inez’s urgency, and tucked a strand of limp brown hair behind her ear. “It’s alwus ‘as soon as possible.’ When they’s get sick, when something bad happens, they’s alwus need their money wi’out delay.”
This statement perplexed Inez until she realized that the housekeeper probably thought she was the wife of some poor, deathly ill member of the society, desperate for the funds needed to pay the grocer, the rent, and the doctor. Inez did nothing to dissuade the woman from her assumption. Let her think whatever she wants, as long as she passes the message along that I have an urgent need to talk with him.
When Inez arrived home she avoided the store, not wanting to be questioned about the private piano lessons she was supposedly giving. She was beginning to wish she’d simply said she had private business to attend to. Her lies just complicated an already complicated situation.
Upon unlocking the door and letting herself in, Inez discovered an envelope just inside the threshold. Noting the partial boot print on the cream-colored stock, she marveled that Antonia had somehow failed to spot the envelope even though she’d trod upon it. Inside was a simple “Thank you” in Carmella’s fine script, proof that Inez’s message had been received and acknowledged.
Another silver lining brightened her day when Antonia announced a classmate, Katie Lynch, had invited her to dinner. Inez was pleasantly surprised.
