The Neon Jungle (8 page)

AT FIVE MINUTES of ten on Monday morning, Paul Darmond stood near the magazine stand and watched the people coming out of the gates from the train that had been announced as arriving a few minutes before.

He saw Jimmy Dover come into the station, put his battered blue canvas zipper bag on the floor, and light a cigarette with elaborate casualness, shake the match out, and then look slowly and warily around the station waiting room. He looked more gangling and awkward than he had in the reform-school denims, and Paul realized it was because the boy’s chest and shoulders had thickened while he was at the school, and the gray jacket with its faded team emblem was too small for him.

Paul could guess how the trip down had been, how the boy must have tried to appear casual about staring out the train window. The boy saw him and picked up the bag and came toward him, unsmiling.

Paul advanced to meet him. This was the ticklish time, this first meeting outside the school. It would set the pace of their entire relationship. The fact that the boy had not smiled on seeing him was something to bear in mind.

He smiled and put his hand out. “Hello, Jimmy.”

“Hello, Mr. Darmond.” The boy took the offered hand somewhat shyly, released it quickly.

“Coffee?”

“Sure. I guess so.”

They went into the station restaurant and sat on two stools at the counter. “Have a good trip?”

“It was all right.”

“Would you rather have a Coke?”

“Coffee is fine.”

They did it to every one of them. Forced them to build the wary walls, something to hide behind and peer over. Something to duck quickly behind. Adolescence built its own wall, for both the free and the caged. This boy had a good face. Square lines. A firm chin. Level brows. Carsey, at the school, had recommended him for freedom before his time was up. Carsey’s recommendations were generally good.

The waitress brought the coffee. There was a tenseness about the boy, an air of waiting for something unpleasant. Paul knew how the boy had classified him. A do-gooder. A giver of moral lectures. The man who could send him back at any real or fancied slip. Better than average intelligence, Carsey had said.

He decided to take a chance on the boy’s intelligence. “This is the place, Jimmy, where I’m supposed to explain the difference between good and bad, and ask you if you’ve learned your lesson, or words to that effect.”

The boy turned his head quickly and gave him a look of surprise. “What?”

“Tell me, do you feel like a lecture this morning?”

He saw the threat of a smile, immediately repressed. “I guess not, Mr. Darmond.”

“Carsey no doubt gave you that business about not letting me down, and him down, and Gus Varaki down.”

“He sure did.”

“That’s the standard line. We appeal to your sense of loyalty. Actually, Jimmy, it’s a calculated risk. Think of some of the guys up there who’d be bad risks. Can you think of some?”

“God, yes!”

“We calculate our risk on the basis of a lot of factors. We considered your environment, which wasn’t good. The death of your parents, which was unfortunate. We considered your adjustment to the school, your intelligence, your leadership abilities, your personality. On that basis we decided to take the risk. We’re good at evaluation. We don’t miss often. When we do, they give it a lot of publicity You’ve been evaluated as a good risk. So I don’t want to mess with your emotions. How you feel about all this is your own business. If it works, we’ll be glad. If it doesn’t work, you’re a statistic. Get what I mean?”

“I… guess so.”

“So no lectures today, Jimmy.” He saw some of the defensive tension go out of the boy. “I’ll answer any questions you might have.”

“How often do I have to report to you, sir?”

“We won’t make that a routine. If you have a problem, you can get in touch with me. I drop around at the store once in a while. You can’t change jobs or where you live without informing me first.”

“One thing I’ve been wondering. I don’t get it. Why does Mr. Varaki give me a room and a job?”

“Forty years ago Gus Varaki was in bad trouble. Somebody gave him a break. He’s been paying it back over the years. You remember my speaking about Vern Lockter last time I talked to you? Gus took Vern under his wing two years ago. Vern lives there too. He’s on his own now, the way you’ll be when one year is up. He’s stayed out of trouble. He drives the delivery truck. Gus took his butcher, Rick Stussen, out of an orphanage twenty-four years ago. Gus lost one of his sons in March. He hasn’t snapped out of it yet. So don’t worry if he acts a little strange.”

“That’s tough.”

“Korea. Next year you’ll be registering for the draft, once you’re out from under my wing.”

“Maybe I could enlist then.”

“Why, Jimmy?”

“Well, I’ve only got one year of high. That isn’t much. It’s pretty tough to handle a job and night school too. I want to look into that, though. I was reading about how they extended this G.I. Bill. That would give me a chance to catch up, I mean after I got out.”

“What gave you this yen for education?”

Jimmy glowered at his coffee dregs. “I guess it was that bunch of punks up there.”

“Can you control your temper, Jimmy?”

The boy looked at him. “What do you mean? Sure. I guess so. I don’t get mad often.”

“There’s a police lieutenant named Rowell.”

“I heard about him.”

“The market is in his precinct. He’ll leave you alone for a week or so. Then he’ll come around and he’ll give you a bad time. He’ll try to make you sore. He’d like to make you sore enough to take a punch at him. Then he could send you back and laugh in my face. He doesn’t think anybody ought to be let out until his time is up, and he doesn’t like it even then. He says boys like you are incapable of ever being anything but criminals. He goes around trying to prove his point.”

“He won’t make me sore, Mr. Darmond.”

“Then let’s go get you settled, Jimmy.”

On the way to the west side, Paul drove slowly and briefed Jimmy on the people who lived in the big shabby old house. As he went through the list in his mind, he had the feeling that he had left someone out, yet he knew he hadn’t. It seemed there was something missing in the house, something that should be there if it were to be a proper place for Jimmy Dover to recover his confidence, his self-respect. There seemed to be a drabness, a sound of defeat in the list, and he realized that he had subconsciously thought of the Varaki house as still containing the dead mother, the dead son. All at once he had the strong feeling that this was perhaps a mistake—that Gus was making an offer of something he no longer possessed, the sense of warmth and household unity that he had wanted to share in years past.

But once they were there Gus’s greeting made Paul Darmond forget his uncertainty. Gus talked loudly in his distorted English, laughed, patted Jimmy’s shoulder as he introduced him around. Walter, Bonny, Rick, and Jana were in the store. Walter’s greeting was the only one that seemed a bit cool.

Anna, in the kitchen, favored the boy with one grave, monolithic nod. Doris, in the living room, was waspishly polite. Vern was out on delivery. Gus labored first up the stairs, saying, “You go on third floor, Cheemee. Not big room, but clean. Good bed. Bonny and Vern, they are on third floor. Me and wife and Walter and Doris and Anna and my Teena, all on second floor. Rick in back room way down.” Gus proudly showed the room, saying “You like, Cheemee?”

“It’s swell, Mr. Varaki.”

“No mister. I am Pop. I am Gus. I am no mister. You unpacking, then no work today. Look around. Take a look at the neighbor houses. Tomorrow is work quick enough, you bet anybody.” Gus stood for a moment and Paul saw his eyes go dull as he seemed to look into distant places. The life seemed to drain out of the man.

“This is fine, Gus,” Paul said.

“Er? Oh, sure. Hope the boy likes. Plain food here. Plenty of food, you bet anybody.” He jabbed Jimmy in the ribs. “I take you buying in the morning. Still dark. You learn something new, eh?”

“Sure.”

“Come down now and meet my Teena. Home from school today. Not feeling good.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t bother her now, then,” Paul said.

“Is not bother.”

They followed him down the hall on the floor below and he banged noisily on Teena’s door. “Teena! Come meet new boy friend, Cheemee.”

They heard her faint answer and soon the door opened. She stood, unsmiling, in the doorway. It had been many weeks since Paul had seen Teena and the look of her shocked him. It took only a moment before the second, much greater shock hit him. He had seen a lot of it. The dull look of the oversized pupils of her eyes. The graininess of skin, the dullness of hair, the sleepwalking look. It seemed incredible that Gus could not see it. Yet he supposed she had changed slowly while Gus was lost within himself, lost in the endless mourning for his son, He knew at once that he had to do something, and do it quickly.

“Teena, this is Cheemee Dover.”

“Hello” she said tonelessly.

“Hi,” Jimmy said, unsmiling.

“You need new boy to go to movies with, eh?” Gus said, reaching out and awkwardly, playfully knuckling his daughter in the ribs.

“Cut it out!” she snapped, her voice going thin and shrill. She whirled and banged the door in their faces.

Gus moved uneasily down the hall, trying to smile and saying, “Today is not feeling good, I guess.”

Paul turned and saw Jimmy still standing, staring at the closed door. There was an odd thoughtful look on his face.

“Jimmy!” Paul said.

The boy seemed to shake himself, like a dog coming out of water. He turned from the door and came down the hall toward the staircase. Paul said, “Go on upstairs and unpack, Jim. I want to talk to Gus.” The boy went up a few stairs, then stopped and turned when Paul said, “I’ll have to be running along after that, Jim. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Mr. Darmond.”

Gus was silent on the way down to the front hall. He went into the living room. Doris had left. “Talk in here?”

“Fine, Gus. Sit down, will you?”

“Sure. I think he is a good boy, that Cheemee.”

“This is something else. How has Teena acted lately?”

“Young girls, they get nerves, maybe. Not smiling much. Lot of dates. Popular, I think. Gets too thin and Anna worries about not eating.”

“You haven’t been keeping close track of her, have you?”

“No. Not too close. But why? Is a good girl. I… I do not watch enough, I guess. After Henry is killed, I…” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture and let them fall heavily to his thighs.

“Gus, she’s in trouble.”

Gus stared at him, wearing an apologetic smile, his eyes puzzled. The smile slowly faded away and the big hands closed into fists. “Trouble! You mean is having baby? You mean some boy is—” He began to stand up.

“Sit down, Gus. Worse trouble than that.”

Gus sat down and the half-shy puzzled smile returned. “Worse? Paul, what is worse? You make a joke, eh?”

“She’s a drug addict, Gus.”

The smile grew strained but it remained on his lips. “What big fool tell you that kind of lie, friend Paul?”

“Nobody told me. I could see it when I looked at her. Anybody who has had any experience with them could see it.”

“No, Paul. Not my Teena. No. Good girl.”

“Yes, Gus. It’s the truth. There’s a hell of a lot of it in the high schools. There’s a lot of it among the girls. More than there ever was before. There’s a lot of it coming into this section. They got on it and they have to get the money to keep buying it. Teena is a user, Gus. God knows what else she is if you haven’t been keeping track of her.”

Paul watched the man’s face. He saw the look of stone that came over it. Gus got up and walked to the front windows and looked out across the porch into the street, his hands clasped behind him. Paul went over to him, put a hand lightly on his shoulder.

“Dirty,” Gus said softly. “So dirty.” He turned just enough so Paul could see his wet cheek. He raised one knotted fist. “I find who sells, and I kill.”

“That doesn’t help Teena.”

“I know where the money comes from. I watch. Something is wrong in store. Same business, same prices, not so much money. This thing, it makes her steal from me. From her own pop, eh?”

“They’ll do anything in the world to get the drug once they have the habit.”

The old man turned around from the window, his face bleared with tears. “Tell me what I do, Paul. Tell me what I do now. My fault. All the time think of Henry. Henry is dead. Better I should be thinking of Teena.” His voice broke. “What I do now, Paul?”

“I wouldn’t want her turned over to the county authorities for the standard cure. The best place I know of is Shadowlawn Sanitarium. I know Dr. Foltz, the director. They do a good job out there. It’s about fifteen miles out. It’s expensive, Gus.”

“Money anybody can have. Not daughters.”

“She isn’t going to go willingly. If she finds out what you’re planning to do, she’ll leave here. God knows where she’ll go or what will happen to her before we can pick her up. Like all the rest of them, she won’t talk about her connections until her nerves have had a chance to heal. Then she’ll talk. And they’ll clean up one more little group, and while they’re cleaning it up, two more will be starting.”

“I go up there with a strap. I make her talk, you bet anybody.”

“Now settle down. You’re not going to whip her. That won’t do a damn bit of good. We’ll try to keep this as quiet as possible. I’ll let them know at the school, and maybe they can turn up a lead, the kids she was hanging around with. I’ll check with Rowell and he can see that her friends are investigated.”

“Not him, Paul. No. The shame!”

“I’ll tell him to keep his mouth shut.”

“Just like he talk with Bonny, maybe?”

“I’m sorry about that. I want to talk to her.”

“Everything is go to hell, Paul.”

“So we’ll fix everything, Gus. Now make sure she doesn’t leave the house. I’ll phone Foltz and see if he wants to have somebody pick her up, or if he wants me to take her out there.”

“Not from store.”