The Animal Hour (43 page)

And there was the parade.

It was coming up the avenue. A high-stepping Dixieland band led the way. He could hear the mournful horns playing “St. James Infirmary.” He could see a cornet's bell as it caught the streetlight, as it slashed the air, leaving green and golden traces in its wake. Behind and above the band, dancing to the music against the sky, were skeletal dinosaurs. Enormous fossils made of papier-mâché, swaying over the heads of the people who carried them. Clowns and spangled transvestites skipped along the edges of the march, along the curbs, throwing confetti at the onlookers. A cheer went up from the crowd as they passed. It rose up toward Perkins like a wave. Paper trumpets honked loudly. Noisemakers rattled. The crowd seemed to tighten around him.

Then he broke free. He twisted away from the muddy flow. He went stumbling down Cornelia Street, toward his brownstone.

Zach.

Breathing hard, forcing down his premonitions of disaster, he ran for home.

Zachary was on his feet by the time Oliver got there. He was pacing back and forth in the little floor lanes between the books. The sound of the key in the latch made him stop short, spin to the door. The door swung open. Zach saw Oliver there, leaning against the jamb, slumped, panting.

Thank you, Jesus
, Zachary thought.

It was quarter past seven. There was still time.

“You all right?” Oliver said, breathless. He peeled off the jamb, staggered into the room. He pushed the door shut behind him. Neither of them moved to turn on the lights. They faced each other in the blue shadows. For some reason, the dark made them speak low, almost in whispers.

Zachary already knew what he had to say. He had it all worked out. Still, the words came shakily. “She … she was here, Ollie. She came here.”

Oliver coughed, tried to catch his breath. He leaned back against the wall, holding his chest. “Who …? Who did?”

“Tiffany.”

“What?”

Oliver straightened. Zach couldn't make out his expression. He didn't want to meet his eyes. He paced back and forth a little in the dark. He ran his hand up over his bristly crew cut. “That's right. That's right. I was on the bed …”

“She came here?” Oliver whispered. He shook his head. “When? I just saw her. I just saw her at Nana's. She left, like, ten minutes before me.”

At Nana's? Zachary stopped pacing. His heart seemed to ball itself into a fist, expand like a balloon, and then contract again. What the hell was she doing at Nana's, for Christ's sake? She wasn't supposed to be at Nana's. She wasn't supposed to be anywhere! No one was supposed to see her. She was supposed to stay out of town, stay out of the way at her mother's until the time was right. That was the plan.
EVERYTHING'S GETTING FUCKED UP, JESUS, HEEELP!
“Uh, that's right, that's right,” he went on quickly. He paced again in front of his brother. His brother peered at him, watched him going back and forth in the shadows. Zach massaged his forehead. The sound of Dixie brass was at the window. Under that, he could hear the baby crying louder: Aaah. Aaah. Aaah. It was hard to think. “That's right,” he pressed on. “She was here, uh, just about ten minutes ago, that's just about right. I was … I was on the bed …” He went back to the story he'd planned. Oliver, panting, gaping, watched him. “Just lying there and I heard a knock. A knock at the window and I looked up. God, Ollie, it was like she was floating there in the night, floating right outside the window.”

Oliver turned toward the window, as if he expected to see her there. “She came up the fire escape.”

“Yes. Yes. So I went—”

“How? How did she know you were here?”

“What?”

“How the hell did she know you were here, Zach?”

“I don't know. I don't know,” Zach answered quickly. He watched the floor as he paced. His black eyes shifted back and forth. He had to think. “I mean, that's why … that's why I was so surprised to see her and … And I got up, I … I went to the window. I said, ‘Tiffany …' You know, like: ‘What the hell is going on?' And she said—she said she knew everything, Ollie. About the murder. The girl in the mews. She said she knew the whole story.”

“Damn her, damn her.” Oliver's voice cracked. His eyes were suddenly gleaming eagerly in the darkness. Zach turned his face to the side to hide his smile.
Yes!
he thought.
I've got him.
“Did she tell you?” Ollie asked.

“Um … um … um …,” Zach said. A drum echoed him outside: Bum, bum, bum. And that goddamned baby. The thin wail, spiraling higher now with frustration, fear. Why didn't somebody pick the fucking kid up? “Well, she said, she said she wouldn't talk here,” Zach stammered. “She wanted … she wanted to meet me. Somewhere private, she said. She said she'd tell everything, but it had to be … it had to be somewhere private.”

“No.” Oliver shook his head. “No. No. No. This is a setup, man.”

Zach thought his heart would blow right through his ribs. He halted in midstride. He swallowed hard and turned his head to stare at his brother. “What-What-What … What-What … do you mean, a setup?” he said.

Oliver did not answer right away. He just shook his head again. “I don't know, I … I have this feeling … It's just … It's all wrong. I can't work it out, it's all wrong.” Then: “Where is this? Where does she want to meet?”

Again, Zach buried a smile in the shadows. “At your room.”

“My room?”

“In the library. It was my idea. The library is closed during the parade and you're the only one who has a key. You see? It's totally private, no one can get in but you. Tiffy said she'd meet us there at eight. She said she'd tell us everything. She said if we weren't there by eight, she'd leave.” It was a good story. Oliver would go for it; Zach was sure. But he added: “I'm really worried about her, Ollie. This isn't like Tiff at all. She's in some kind of terrible trouble.” It sounded bogus even to him, but Oliver didn't notice.

Oliver just made a noise of frustration. He ran both hands through his long hair. “No,” he said. “No. Something's wrong. Something's wrong with this. I gotta think. We gotta figure this out. Call a lawyer. Call the cops.” He squeezed his eyes shut. His hands gripped his hair.

Zach could only stare at him, stare at his silhouette, holding his breath. He was thinking,
Please. Please, Jesus. Please.

Oliver opened his eyes. He looked around the room. “Do you hear a baby crying?” he asked.

The sound—the thin wail punctuated by screeches of anguish—vanished for a moment under the sound of the parade. An old-fashioned marching band was passing by the corner of Cornelia and Sixth. “Halls of Montezuma” came in through the window. Oliver wasn't sure he'd heard the baby's cry at all. He held his head. He tried to think. His mind was empty except for the consciousness of blackness: that heavy weight, that hunkering thing inside him … For a moment, strangely, he thought of the sledding hill again. The snowy hill outside his home on Long Island when he was a boy. He thought of riding down the hill on the Flexible Flyer, he and Zach.
Don't let go, Ollie, don't let go!

Suddenly, Zach stepped toward him out of the shadows. His face was clear. His large, dark eyes appealed to him. His voice was tremulous and youthful. “I've gotta go to her, Oliver. You don't have to come, but I've got to. Okay? I love her. Nothing else matters to me. I don't care about the police or anything. I've just got to go.”

Oliver looked down at him. The band was marching by. He could hear the baby again. Aaah. Aaah. Aaah. It couldn't be Avis's, he thought vaguely. She'd never let him cry like that. Christ, she'd never let him off her tit long enough.

“I'm going, Oliver,” Zach said with boyish determination.

Oliver stood silent. What could he say? That he suspected her? That he'd had a premonition? That he knew she was faithless because he'd done her his own damned self? He stood silent, his lips moving.

“I'm going,” Zach said again. “With that crowd out there, I may not make it in time as it is. I've got to go.”

He turned and marched away, into the room, into the dark. He went into the bathroom. Oliver knew there was no stopping him. There never was when he got like this.

In a moment, Zach came out again. He was gripping his bag, his red overnight bag.
Just like hers
, Ollie thought.
Everything the same.

“There are a million cops out there tonight,” Oliver told him. “You'll be nailed in a minute.”

Zach was at the closet now. He pulled out a long gray raincoat, shrugged it on and buttoned it. He pulled a cap from its pocket and tugged it down over his eyes. “I'll be okay,” he said.

Oliver snorted. Zach hardly seemed to be there anymore, hidden under all those clothes. He was like the Invisible Man.

Zach stepped to him and held out his hand. “I've got to see her, bro. I've got to go. Give me the key to the library.”

The two brothers stood silent in the darkened room. The crowd cheered outside. The baby cried.

“All right,” Oliver said after another moment. “All right. I'm coming with you.”

Awright! Awright! I say, Hallelujah, Lord!
Zach went high-stepping down the brownstone stairs, Oliver behind him. The younger brother was practically giggling with glee.
Praise Jesus!
he thought. It was all coming true. Ollie had played right into his wicked hands.
Nya-ha-ha!
He clutched the handle of his red bag. He pranced to the entrance hall, to the foyer door. It was going to be easy now, he thought. There was still plenty of time to get to the library. Plenty of time to get the thing done, to make the switch with Tiffany and be off, the twenty-five thousand dollars in their pockets. Even if Nana had seen her, they could still make up some alibi or other. Besides, when Nana found out Oliver was dead—well, there probably wouldn't even
be
a Nana anymore.
Snark-snark-snark-snark-snark.
Yes! God still loved him. All was forgiven. He could feel it in his crazy bones.

He gripped the door. Pulled it open. Glanced back to urge his brother on.

Oliver wasn't there.

Zach did a double take. His eyes shifted this way and that, as if he thought Ollie had disappeared. Then he looked up. His lips parted. He moved back to the foot of the stairs. He peered up from under his cap, through the harsh light and dark shadows cast by the hallway bulbs.

Oliver still stood on the second-floor landing. He had his hand on the newel post, as if he were about to come down. But he did not move. His head was lifted, cocked, as if he were listening. His face was turned away. He was looking up the stairs.

“Ollie! Ollie!” Zach called up to him. “Come on! Come on! We've got to go. Now! Or we'll be late.”

“That
is
coming from upstairs,” Oliver murmured.

“What?” said Zach. “What is? Come on! Come on!”

Oliver still hesitated. He shook his head. “That's Avis's baby,” he said.

“Ollie!
Come on! Would you hurry? Would you …”

Zachary stopped. The words died in his mouth. They turned to dust in his mouth. He could taste them, taste the dust.

Avis's baby.

His stomach went soft. For a moment, he thought the shit would just stream out of him where he stood. He tightened his ass. He gaped up the stairs at Oliver.

She had a baby. A fucking baby.

He knew it was true. The minute Ollie said it he knew. Jesus! Jesus Christ! If he hadn't been in such a goddamned hurry to get out of her apartment! He should've
checked
that door. He'd meant to. That closed door. That other room. He should've checked in there! There had been a baby!

Zachary felt his face go hot, go red. He felt a helpless wailing rage well up inside him. It seemed echoed by the baby's frantic screams. She had tricked him! Damn her! The bitch! That's why she had started cursing at him like that, he thought. That's why she'd said all those ugly things to him. She just wanted to make him mad. To draw him away from the door. To draw him away so he wouldn't find the baby. So he wouldn't kill her goddamned motherfucking baby!

Zach snorted in his rage. He licked his lips. He tasted the dust in his mouth, the bitter dust. Oh. Oh, he thought. He would've done it too. Oh yes. Oh yes. He would've pinned the wailing snot-nosed little shit to his crib cushion with a single stab. He wouldn't have let him wake up like this, after all. He wouldn't have let him start screaming like this. Drawing Oliver's attention away, drawing him upstairs to find what had-happened …

Zach peered up the stairs, red-faced. His bowels churned like a cement mixer. This was exactly what he hadn't wanted.

“Oliver,” he said again—but his voice was so weak that Ollie probably didn't even hear it. “Ollie …”

“Hold on a minute, Zach,” Oliver said. He let go of the newel post. Moved away from the top of the stairs. “Hold on. I've got to go up there.”

Zach followed his brother up the stairs. He went heavily, miserably, like a prisoner to his doom. His head was hung. His footsteps thudded on the stairs. Why did God hate him so? Why would God not forgive him?

As he trudged up the second flight, he heard the pounding above him. Oliver's fist on Avis's door. Thump, thump, thump. The baby shrieked in answer. Oliver shouted: “Avis! Ave! You in there? You all right?”

Zach reached the landing. He saw his brother at the door, his fist still raised. There was a woman in the hall too, standing in the neighboring doorway. She was a thin woman with a waxy face and bug eyes. Her hands were clasped before her, fingers working, as if she were a mantis.

“She never lets that baby cry like that. Not ever,” she whispered. She had an English accent.

Zachary watched sullenly, his shoulders hunched inside his coat. His eyes had sunk deep beneath his brows.
Damn her! Damn her!