There was a bonfire in the middle of the street; stores on both sides had been broken into, but the looting was nearly finished now. A few children, newly dressed in heavy clothing, pawed through what remained. A few adults stood warming their hands at the fire occasionally tossing rubbish onto it: fragments of a broken counter, papers, scraps of carpet, and the heads and limbs of mannequins. “Somebody hurt?” they asked, seeing Candy’s uniform. She nodded and hurried after Stubb and Nimo.
A liquor store farther down had been abandoned even by the pillagers, a cold, reeking cavern of darkness and broken glass. She hesitated, knowing nothing remained, yet unwilling to leave its odor, the failed promise of warmth and cheer. It seemed to her that they might have left a single case, even if it were only of half-pints, half-pints of rum or some filthy cordial, for those like herself who passed in the street. She began to curse softly as she puffed along. She knew a great many evil words, and she was still cursing when they reached the entrance of the Sandwich Shop.
“Now we’ve gone from door to door,” Nimo said, “without ever getting in. I wish the dark Delilah would clip this lock too.”
“You’re crazy,” Candy told him as she came puffing up.
“He means Madame S.,” Stubb explained as he examined the lock. “He thinks that she, or one of her people, picked the lock of the emergency exit. He’s probably right.”
“Jim, she was right there talking to us.”
“Sure, but where were we? How close to the door? She could have been working on the lock while she talked. Or she may just have had the tools and given them to one of the others.”
“I don’t suppose
“Used to, but I hocked them.”
“I saw a movie once where this private detective had a little piece of plastic in his wallet, and he stuck it in the door and opened it.”
“Sure. I use a credit card—that’s what everybody uses. But it only works on spring locks, and not on all of them. This is a night bolt. You want to wait here? I’m going down the alley.”
“I don’t even go in there when the lights work.”
Nimo said, “I’ll come!”
“Not with Little Ozzie, you won’t. He stays here with me.” Candy took the boy from Nimo’s shoulders, hugged him for a moment, and set him down “I’m glad you’ve got your coat, Little Ozzie. Are you cold?”
“Pretty. When will we see my dad again?”
“When we get back to the hotel, I guess. I—”
The woman must have run up the dark street; but because they had not seen or heard her, it seemed she had not come but materialized, appearing like a ghost out of the blackness. “A nurse! Oh, thank God, a nurse! Please come, please!”
Taken aback, Candy could only ask, “Where?”
“Half a block. It’s just half a block. Please! I couldn’t carry her, so I was going to come here—there’s a little cart thing—but she could bleed to death … .”
“I’m coming,” Candy said. “I’m coming.” She bit her lips. “Oh, Lord, my legs. If you only knew how far I’ve walked today.”
“Please,” the woman said. “She may be dying.”
Candy broke into a limping trot. “What. Happened. To. Her?”
“She’s my mother-in-law. They own that place down the street. Sam and me live with them. I’m not Jewish—do I look Jewish? Over there. I put her in the doorway.”
In the dark, the woman crumpled in the doorway might have been a bundle of old clothes. Panting, Candy dropped to her knees beside her.
“Listen, I know about your legs. You nurses walk all day, and then with the power off and no transit—”
“Never mind. About. My legs. We need light. Any kind.”
“I’ve got a lighter.” There was a rattle as the woman who was not Jewish fumbled in her purse. “So when the power went blooey and the fires started, she went. They’re not supposed to, but she went anyhow. Sam wasn’t home yet. Neither was her other son. I told her I’d go—”
“What did they hit her with? A bottle?”
“I think a piece of pipe. I thought they were going to rape me, but I guess because it’s so cold … You must be freezing.”
“I am. Gimme a cigarette.”
“What? What did you say?”
“I said give me a cigarette. You’ve got a lighter, you must have cigarettes too. I want to light it before your lighter goes out.”
The non-Jewish woman fumbled in her purse again. “They took my money, my MasterCard, everything. Sam will have a fit. Is she okay?”
“Hold that lighter steady for a minute, will you? Little Ozzie, don’t touch her.” Candy drew deeply on the cigarette, until its end glowed almost as brightly as the shrinking blue flame. “No, she’s not all right. She’s got a bad concussion, maybe a fractured skull—I can’t tell for sure. She ought to be X-rayed. Until we can do that, she ought to be kept warm; lying out here in the cold’s the worst thing in the world for her. What is this? This cigarette?”
“A Virginia Slim. She could die?”
