‘I’m going in,’ she says. She has steeled herself, her declaration a final push. With footsteps not much lighter than the strange, tall man, she jogs up the stairs and – taking a deep breath – pulls the latch. The door opens easily, silently, and, my own courage faltering, I dash by her ankles into the dark antechamber of Bushwick’s riverside warehouse.
‘Blackie?’ Her voice trembles and I press against her, reassuring her of my presence. Although I can make out the details of the empty space – the discarded papers in the corner, the rodents exploring the garbage by the stairs – I can tell she is hindered by the dark. She waits a minute, letting her eyes adjust, and when she proceeds she does so carefully, feeling the floor with each step before committing her weight. It is a slow process but I respect her caution and stay with her as she moves toward the stairwell. Surely she must see the glow from above. The meeting, for surely those men have come to talk, to seal their deal, on a floor above.
Yes! She has, and now she moves like a cat, taking the last few feet toward the stairwell so quietly the rats barely pause. Then she hugs the banister, working her way up. Her face slants upward, toward the light, and I see once again how young she is. How frail. A growl begins deep within me. This girl should not have to be here. She should not be on the street alone. I take the steps ahead of her, trusting that she knows I am here, with her, as she climbs.
I pause before the landing, my size giving me the advantage of stealth as I peer over the last step. To my left, a door, outlined in light, must be where the meeting is taking place. Two men stand guard outside. But before I can explore – before I have a chance to warn the girl – she is behind me. She crouches behind the banister and puts her hand on my back. She shivers slightly – nerves or the chill night – but her breathing is quiet and deep. She is acknowledging me, seeing what I have seen, and is readying herself for what lies ahead. Once again, I think that someone has trained this girl well.
But where is the other guard?
She takes one more deep breath and starts to stand. She will go in that door. She will brazen this out, despite a fear that has made my fur stand on end. She stands – and whips around as footsteps approach from down the hall.
‘What’s this?’ AD appears, a cigarette hanging from his long, filthy fingers. ‘Care? My darling, your timing couldn’t be better.’ He flicks the ash on the floor. ‘You want to join the meeting, don’t you?’
‘I’m here to talk to Bushwick,’ she says. Pulling herself to her full height, she faces the gang leader, chin up. Her voice is steady. ‘I have intel for him. Something he can use.’
AD smiles and takes a drag. ‘Good thing I came by to escort you in then, isn’t it? ’Cause this is an invitation-only event.’
He reaches out, as if to take her arm, but she turns and starts to walk. Keeping one step ahead of him, she marches toward the office. The guards are smiling, more relaxed than earlier, and one of them knocks on the door and pushes it open without waiting for a response. Not hidden in the carryall this time, I have stayed behind, but I can see Bushwick as well as Diamond Jim inside the cavernous room. It’s luxuriously appointed in a masculine way – and in stark contrast to the rest of the building, brass nail heads glinting out of leather furniture and a freestanding humidor of some exotic hide.
Both Diamond Jim and Bushwick are seated as the door opens. The jewelry dealer is slouched in a leather-backed chair, angled toward a desk and, beyond it, a grimed-over window that reflects the room’s harsh light. His posture, if not his belly, makes him look like a deflated balloon. To his right sits the importer. Not behind the desk, which is the centerpiece of the office, large and dark and substantial, as if it itself were in charge. Instead he reclines on a small sofa, his legs extended over the worn carpet. The desk they both face is empty. The third man, I realize, has left. I do not know if this is his office or by what authority he assumed the central position. I only know that the meeting has already taken place.
Care looks from one man to another. Surely she notices the absence of the third man. Surely, she understands its import. Then I realize, for her purposes, it does not matter. She is not concerned about that other boss, anonymous to her. A businessman. What she has been pushing for is to get Diamond Jim and Bushwick in the same room. She seeks to expose Diamond Jim’s hypocrisy, to avenge her mentor’s death. But something is amiss. Something I cannot explain.
‘Look who I found poking about.’ AD has come in behind her, and with a moment to decide I barely slip in before he closes the door. ‘Little hood rat, she is.’