Читать книгу The Vultures - Mark Hannon - Страница 18

13.

Pat drove over to Allentown after work the next day. He went down Allen Street slowly and looked around. A couple of used book stores, a bar with opaque windows. Queer hangout. A sub shop. A four-story men’s club. The University Club, former D.A. Stone’s hangout. Two guys with long hair stared into the open engine compartment of a rusting Ford Falcon. Haven’t got the slightest idea how to fix it, do you? A blonde hooker in a plastic raincoat smiled at him as he waited for the light at Elmwood. Phew. Head to the clinic if you get with her, brother. The Greek diner on the corner and another bar next to it with a sign featuring the Lone Ranger. Dope deals in there. A small department store that sold everything from shoes to brooms. Two more bars, one brick, been there forever, one a wooden cottage painted black. Always trouble in that joint. What the hell does Tommy want to live down here for?

Pat found a parking spot up the street from Tommy’s apartment house, locked the car doors and walked back to it. Looking over the mailboxes, he saw three names taped to the mailbox for Apartment 3 – H. Roberts, N. Molla, T. Brogan. He tried the front door, locked. Good. At least they got it locked. He pushed on the doorbell but heard nothing. He pushed again and waited. Nothing. He went back to his car and waited, watching the street. After an hour, he saw HR’s Volkswagen go by, gears grinding. He waited another half hour, and the two boys were walking back towards him from Allen Street. In the bars. While they were still twenty feet away, he got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk. Both boys stopped. HR blinked and Tom said, “Uh, hi, dad.”

“I tried the doorbell, nobody answered,” Pat said.

“Yeah, we stopped for a beer after school,” Tom said.

No books.

“Well, I’m heading up,” HR said to Tom. “Nice to see you, Tom’s dad,” and he trotted back to the apartment house.

“Tommy, I want to talk to you about this new place. Your mom and I are concerned...”

“C’mon, dad. I’m eighteen years old, I’m working and going to school. I can pay for my rent with what I make at the warehouse.”

“It’s not that, Tommy. We’re worried that you won’t keep up with your studies, and with all the bars and the dope around here...”

“Look, you didn’t think Rory was too young when he went off to Vietnam, did you? You thought that was ok, he could take care of himself, and look what happened! Now I’ve got a crippled brother and you guys just go to church and pray that it’ll all go away!”

Head down and hands in his pockets, Tom brushed past his father.

“Tommy, wait! That isn’t true...” but Tom was already going up the steps with his keys out and into the building. Pat heard the door slam shut.