Season of the Witch (13 page)

They were squatting in the open door of a boxcar, like some strange variation of the Joads, several diminutive young people. Even standing feet away it was hard to make out their faces in the gloom. They were all deathly silent as I walked up and came to a stop in front of their car, as if they were half expecting me to pass them by without noticing, if they were just quiet enough.

“Hi, guys.”

There were a couple of mumbled responses. One of their number, still hunched over, edged to the front of the car.

“What’s up, dude. You a cop?”

“Not exactly. I’m a private investigator.”

“Oh, wow, like, for the railroad?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m not here to bother you guys.”

There were general mumbles of relief.

“Is there, like, some kind of trouble?” The spokesman ventured, still feeling me out to see if I was dangerous.

“Not really. I’ve been hired by someone to find a missing person,” which was technically true. “It’s a young person, who may be doing what you guys are. They aren’t in any trouble.” That was a complete lie. Pray for me.

“So, like what was the kid’s name?”

“Danny. Danny Weber. His friends call him Itchy.”

The entire group turned and looked back into the interior of the car.

Someone else did the crab walk forward, as The Spokesman had done. It was a young girl in a black toboggan and a dark jacket. Her long hair hung down on either side of her face. Around her neck glinted a gold chain. Only her face was vaguely visible, made pale and moonlike by the darkness. Beneath it the shimmer of the gold chain shone like a star. The effect was like a disembodied head at a séance, floating in the darkness above me. The apparition spoke.

“Dude, did you say Danny Weber?”

“That’s right. His family is worried about him. Do you know where he is?”

“Uh, we used to hang out, man. Like, maybe a year ago. I still see him around, but we don’t hang out anymore. We, uh, broke up.”

“That’s too bad. How long have you been hopping trains?”

“Me? I don’t know, um, like, two years now, yeah, two years.”

“Your parents must send you money.”

“No, man, I mean, I haven’t spoke with my folks in a long time.”

“Well, if you see Danny, you might let him know that a man named Don Ganato is looking for him, and he might do better talking to me. Everyone turned and cast a wary glance into the dark boxcar again.

“That’s a nice chain you have there, miss. You must have a rich boyfriend.”

Her hand went to her neck. “I . . . uh . . .” Her voice trailed off into a mumble.

“Look, guys. Danny’s got no place left to go. I know he’s afraid to try to leave the city. There are people waiting for him to do just that. You guys don’t want to talk to me, fine. But I’m the first visitor. If he’s really a friend, you should help me. Understand, the people who come to look for Danny next, well, they won’t be too nice to you guys if you don’t tell them the truth.
Capice?”

The third mystical figure emerged from the shadows. He was tall, thin and bearded, wearing a frayed flannel shirt and jeans. He walked upright to the edge of the boxcar’s floor. He leaned against the doorframe of the boxcar, and looked down at me. When he spoke his voice was firm and calm.

“He isn’t here anymore.”

“Shut up, J.C.!” the girl said, and elbowed him in the leg from where she squatted.

“Quiet, Maggie, he’s right. You don’t want
them
out here do you?”

The girl fell silent and skulked back into the interior of the boxcar.

“I’ve known Danny a long, long time. It seems he’s always into trouble. I’ve tried to talk to him, but he never listens. Some people just don’t know how.”

“I know what you mean. You want to tell me where he is?”

“I’d like to, but I really don’t know where Danny is now.”

“Well, that’s not going to help me much.”

“We’re almost out of here, there’s an eastbound freight due through here soon. I wish I could help you more. I don’t want any trouble. We just want to be free, live our own way without hurting anyone. But maybe I can help you, a little.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“I can’t be sure, but I might know who Danny is with now. Though I can’t say where.”

“Anything would be helpful.”

“Well, he left here about three days ago, I guess. He hadn’t been staying in one place too long. He talked a lot about running around the city, though he would never say why. Seems like he was just crashing here till he made up with an old girlfriend of his, some stripper party girl from uptown. At least, that was the idea I got. This really hasn’t been his scene for a long time now.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know her name, Danny’s old girlfriend?”

He broke into a wide smile. I felt a warm ray of hope.

“Of course. Her name is Lucinda.”

Chapter 11

I had driven around in this part of the city many times, but I had never heard of the Red Horse. That was hardly a surprise. Bars, legal and otherwise, came and went, like the district’s sad denizens. I found a couple of strips of seedy bars down next to the train tracks, and drove slowly past, but I didn’t see any Red Horse. I drove on down to the end of a deserted street and pulled over to get my bearings. I pulled out the card and looked at it again. It still stubbornly refused to reveal the bar’s whereabouts.

I could hear the shouts and drunken merrymaking from the places up the street. Time to go crash the party, I decided. Some of these revelers would know where the Red Horse was stabled. I got out and strolled up the strip. There were empty warehouses on either side of me. I was walking slowly along when I became aware of someone standing just inside an alley I was just about to walk past. They were standing there, still and quiet as a mouse.

“How’s it going?” I mumbled, keeping my voice casual.

There was no detectable movement, but a rather elderly sounding voice replied, “Okay, and you?”

I abruptly stopped. The figure separated from the building and walked towards me. I heard keys jangling, and the figure doffed a dark-colored poncho. I could make out a light blue or gray uniform and some sort of badge. The poncho had made the figure all but invisible.

“I’m the security guard here. Doing my rounds.”

“Almost didn’t see you standing there.”

“Yeah, I was taking a breather, under the awning there, to get out of this drizzle.”

“I see. Things ever get exciting up here?”

“Nah, it just gets a little loud from all them juke joints up the street.” He nodded his head in the general direction of the bars I had been walking toward. “That’s where you’re headed, I reckon.”
 

“Nah, don’t hang out in places like that.”

“Nothing but heartache in ‘em, that’s for sure. End up broke if you’re lucky, dead if you ain’t. Especially down in these parts.”

“You sound like you’ve been around here a while.”

“I’ve lived in the North Side all my life. You name it, mister, I’ve seen it. That’s a fact.”

“So, back in the day you probably hung out around here, right?”

“Well, I’ll tell yah. I used to have me a fine little gal. Prettiest thing you ever saw. I was so proud of her, I thought I’d take her out and maybe show her off a little. Make some new friends. So I took her out to some places.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It was. Till she run off with a goddamned bible salesman.”

“You don’t say.”

“Never seen ‘em again. Don’t care if I ever do.”

“You ever . . . marry again?”

“Nope. I was through with it after that. Through with bars, too. Nothing in ‘em but lowlifes.”

I nodded but said nothing.

He folded his arms across his chest. He seemed confident in his appraisal of the world. I decided to give him a little thrill.

“Actually, I’m conducting an investigation.”

“Oh, really?” His eyes gleamed in the darkness.

“Yes, I’m looking for a man. He’s reputed to hang out at a bar down in this neck of the woods.”

“What did he do, kill a policeman?”

“It’s not that kind of an investigation. I’m a private investigator.” I handed him my I.D.

“Actually, this man is wanted for questioning in a case that’s pending. It’s important that we find him quickly.”

He handed me my I.D. back, and with great seriousness nodded toward the long line of bars. “How you going to find him in all them places?”

“Well, I’m not looking for the man right now.”

“Come again?”

“It’s actually the bar I need to find.”

“Well, hell, son, why don’t you look in the phone book?”

“It’s not that kind of a bar. I think this one is by invitation only.”

“Gotcha. Well, what’s the name of this here place?”

I pulled out the card, and he directed his powerful police flash light at it.

“You won’t believe this, son, but I know where this place is.”

“You don’t say.”

“You’re sure lucky you run up on me. This here place is off the beaten track, that’s for sure.”

“How would you happen to know that?”

“I’m a guard, son. I’ve watched all kind of places.” I smiled as he pulled himself to his full height.

“You’ve been a guard there?”

“Hell no, boy, places like that don’t have guards. They got bouncers.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I guarded at a place right near it, though. God knows what goes on in that place. You see, there’s a bank near the place, a damn little drive up branch bank, one of those little deals with one window on each side. I guarded there for two straight weeks, at night. It was a regular bitch, too. No place to set down, not for a minute. I hated it. This here is my regular assignment. Had to go out there because somebody quit. Can’t find good help no more. People don’t want to work. They think the world owes them a living.”

“That’s right. Say, did you know there are kids living in freight trains now? Riding the rails like hobos?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me any.”

“I don’t suppose you could tell me how to get there, to the Red Horse?”

“Well of course I can. I ain’t senile, you know.”

“Is it very far?”

“Not at all, but you won’t ever find it on your own.”

He drew up close and started giving me directions. In the distance, I heard the low moan of an eastbound freight.

The guard had been right. I probably would never have found it on my own. It sat nestled at the bottom of a blind turn between two streets that both emptied into the freeway. You had to know where it was. Someone driving by could pass within yards of the place and never see it. Across the street I saw the small branch bank where the guard had stood his uncomfortable vigil.

The place itself had a shoddy exterior. It was a plain, low, gray building, with a single flickering sign outside. On the sign was a painting of the Grim Reaper, astride a red horse. I slogged through the water that had accumulated in the badly pitted parking lot and nodded at the bouncer who sat motionless on a stool just inside the door. He was a chunky man, forty-odd, with big, tattooed arms crossed in front of him. He wore a black Harley Davidson T-shirt and a confederate cap on his head; a long braided ponytail hung from underneath.

“You’re sign’s wrong,” I said conversationally.

“Huh? What?” He started as though I had awakened him. Maybe I had. I saw now that he wore thick glasses, and that he looked older than I initially thought.

“Your sign. Death rides a pale horse, War rides the red one.”

He nodded, removed his hat and scratched the balding top of his head. “Well, I’ll be shit. You’re right.” He leaned back, and seemed to consider what I had said. Then he seemed to go back to sleep. I nodded and went inside. No one reads their bible any more.

The inside was a bit nicer than I expected, almost tastefully decorated, with a step-down to a hard wood floor. It was also warm. It evoked a cozy old time British pub, except that the patrons mingled with scantily clad or altogether nude girls in dark booths along the walls. Against the far wall was a low stage, upon which lay a pale redhead, her legs splayed. Dollar bills were jammed profusely beneath a black lace garter on her left leg, which was her only garment. She rocked back and forth and came up in the splits, in a meticulously timed and practiced motion. Men, mostly in their late twenties to early thirties, sat around her with drinks in their hands.

Some patrons mechanically held out bills, folded lengthwise; she pulled out her garter to allow them to obediently slide their money inside. I was struck how they all moved like somnambulists, patrons and dancers alike, all at the same dull, sleepy pace. I sat at the bar and ordered coffee. The bartender raised an eyebrow skeptically, but returned with a cup of Joe that wasn’t half bad.

He leaned in close. “The coffee’s on the house, my friend. I take it you’re looking for some action?”