It was three o’clock in the morning when she climbed out of the bus. She put her valise in a locker and walked through the empty streets to State and Broad. She stood on the corner, looking up and down.
The Eye stepped into a doorway a half-block behind her. What are you going to do now, Joanna?
She walked up East State past the Bell Telephone Building and the post office, turned down Clinton to the railroad station. There was an all-night restaurant here, so she ate a sandwich and drank a cup of coffee.
I’m going home.
She walked to Tyler Street.
All the houses were gone. The whole block was a vast crater filled with high cranes reaching out of the darkness like dinosaurs’ necks. A spotlight lit up a sign reading BATTLE MONUMENT PARK 4,000 Apartments 20,000 Trees.
Shit! Then she laughed. In my father’s house are many homes!
She went back to the terminal for her valise. In the morning she moved into a rooming house on Yard Avenue. In the afternoon she looked for a job. She was hired as a waitress in The Hessian Barracks on West State Street.
The Eye sat down at his usual place near the front window. He opened a menu.
Try our Special 13
Original Colonies Breakfast
Try our Marquis de Lafayette Salad
He’d tried both. They sucked.
There were eight waitresses, two in each quarter of the restaurant, wearing Hessian grenadier tunics, tiny tricorn hats pinned atop periwigs, hip boots, and miniskirts. The half-dozen or so tables in this corner of the room were Joanna’s sector.
Try our Battle of Trenton Roast Beef
Try our Delaware Crossing Bake Shop
Corn Bread & Soda Biscuits.
She came out of the kitchen, served a couple sitting in front of him.
‘Hey, girlie!’ someone called. ‘What about our coffee?’
‘Yes, sir.’ She dropped a spoon. She was wearing her glasses. Her peruke was lopsided, her tricorn had come unpinned. She looked like a cartoon Betsy Ross.
Try our Special Mercer County Bivouac Brunch
‘Miss! Miss!’ a woman’s voice chirped, ‘can I have another napkin, please?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Try our $1.50 Dawn’s Early Light Eye Openers
She dropped a knife.
‘Honey!’ a man shouted. ‘I don’t want to rush you or anything like that, but we’ve been waiting here for almost fifteen minutes now.’
‘Yes, sir.’
She finally came over to the Eye’s table. ‘Good morning.’
‘Morning.’ He fumbled with the menu. ‘I’ll have the – the – uhh – eggs with sausage and herbs.’ He had the shakes again. This was his nth meal in the place, but he always began quaking whenever she stood next to him. His trembling subsided in time, as it always did, thank God.
It was June. The window was open. The sun warmed the backs of his hands. Christ! She’d been working here in this ye fucking olde mess hall for two weeks – no, longer – eighteen days!
What are you doing, Joanna?
Waiting. She dropped an armful of menus.
Waiting for what?
Waiting. Waiting. She picked up the menus. Waiting …
The hostess hurried over to the Eye’s table. She was plump and fussy and motherly and always in a state of crisis. ‘We’re so crowded,’ she complained. ‘Would you mind very much sharing your table?’
‘Help yourself,’ the Eye said.
‘Thank you so much.’ She turned and called, ‘Over here, Lieutenant!’
Two men came across the room and sat down beside him. They were lean and cool and short-haired. They wore shabby suits. One of them needed a shave. ‘Thanks,’ the lieutenant grinned. The Eye nodded politely. They picked up menus and ignored him.
Fuzz!
He closed down his radar, locked it. If he started sending out signals, he knew they would feel the vibes. They were pros, oldtimers, just as attuned to the beams as he was. He turned off all his switches, dials, and buttons.
‘What was the sergeant so worked up about?’ Shaggy Cheeks asked.
‘Those junkies he grabbed on State Street,’ the lieutenant muttered. ‘One of them was only eleven years old.’
‘My God.’
‘Father’s a teacher at Junior Three.’
‘You eat in this place often?’
‘Once in a while. Since they closed Louie’s joint there’s not much choice.’
The Eye glanced out the window. He had to say something. If he didn’t they’d notice. An innocent bystander wouldn’t just sit here and clam up. He would have to try to start a conversation and let them brush him off.
‘Beautiful day,’ he remarked. They smiled at him tiredly. ‘Trenton’s a lovely city. You fellows live here?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m just passing through myself. My son’s at Princeton. Going to drive up and see him and –’
Joanna came to the table, and they ordered. The Eye asked for a pear. She walked off, colliding with another waitress.
‘Watch it!’ the girl yelped.
‘Sorry,’ Joanna gasped. She fled to the kitchen.
The lieutenant watched her, chuckling sardonically. ‘Very attractive chick,’ he drawled.
‘Gorgeous,’ the other sneered. ‘That monkey suit! It’s too much!’
They bolted down their food and left. The Eye ate his pear and drank two cups of coffee. When she came to gather up the dishes he whispered to her, ‘Policemen always make me nervous.’
She looked at him. ‘What?’
‘Those two – they were cops.’
She shrugged indifferently.
Balls! She just wasn’t reacting. He sat back and stared at the menu.
Try our Independence Day Port Wine Melon
& Clover Honey Baked Grapefruit
He had to get her out of here. How?
Try our Hessian Soldier Strudel
Fuck all! How?
Try our Yankee Doodle French Fish Courses
Filets de sole aux raisins à la Thomas Jefferson
Médaillons de colin à la Ben Franklin
Brochet grillé à la John Hancock.
There was only one way.
He took a train to Camden and bought a car – a Stone Age Porsche with a rattling washing-machine motor. He paid for it in cash, not bothering to use one of his fake BankAmericards. This proved to be a lucky inspiration, saving him from a rap later, when the police investigated the car’s ownership.
He drove it back to Trenton and moved into a motel on the Washington Crossing turnpike.
He then rented another car, a Chevette, which he drove to the motel, too.
He bought six blank cartridges in a sporting goods store on Greenwood Avenue, and loaded them into the clip of his .45.
He went to the Broad Street National Bank and cashed ten one-hundred-dollar traveler’s checks. He bundled the money into a package of twenty fifties and put it into an attaché case.
Then he went back to The Hessian Barracks for supper.
Joanna was passing and repassing, carrying trays and menus. He waved to her but she didn’t see him.
He opened the case, took out the wad of money, pretended to conceal it as he counted it. He recounted it. Then he counted it again. And again.
Finally she walked over to him, removing her glasses and pinching her nose. ‘What will it be tonight?’ she asked listlessly.
‘I don’t care.’ He held the wad in both hands, like an offering. ‘Anything at all. I –’ He was trembling. He looked up at her. She was staring out the window. He saw her throat rising out of the open collar of the tunic. He saw the powdery curve of her cheek. He saw her green eyes shining over him, past him, beyond him. He looked down and saw her hand on the table, the crooked finger just beside him.
She put on her glasses and blinked at him. ‘I beg your pardon …’
‘How about an omelet.’ He dropped the bills back into the attaché case. ‘And a salad or something.’
‘Mushroom omelet?’
‘Sure.’ He set the case on an empty chair. ‘Fine.’
She walked off. She stopped, looked over her shoulder at the chair.
Whew.
By eight o’clock half the tables were filled. The lieutenant came in, alone. He sat down on the opposite side of the room.
She brought the Eye his omelet.
‘He’s back again,’ he said.
‘That policeman.’
‘Do you want to order your dessert now?’
Waiting, she whispered. Waiting …
The kitchen door swung open, knocking a carafe out of her hand. It smashed to the floor.
A loudmouth shouted. ‘Hit him again!’
She brought him his salad. He tried to speak to her. He couldn’t.
All the tables were filled. A line was forming behind the entrance rope.
She brought him another salad, covering the table with a jungle of lettuce. ‘Two for the price of one?’ he quipped.
‘What?’ She stared blankly at the two huge bowls. ‘Oh, excuse me –’
‘It’s all right. I’ll eat them both. I’m starved.’ He swallowed a mouthful of greenery. ‘Famished.’ He climbed up to the top of a skyscraper and peeked down at the microbes of movement thousands of miles below. He almost vomited with vertigo. Then he jumped off into space.
‘What time do you finish work?’ he asked her.
She just stood there.
‘Waitress!’ somebody yowled. ‘I don’t have any mustard!’
‘Yes, sir.’
And she was gone.
The lieutenant jumped out of his chair and held up his hand like an umpire. The Eye turned. Two men and a woman were standing in the entranceway.
He spun around and looked out of the window, his balls retracting as if dipped in ice water.
One of the men was Abdel Idfa. The other was –
‘Hey!’ somebody at the next table brayed. ‘Isn’t that Duke Foote?’
It was Duke Foote indeed! Who else could it have been? He was wearing gazelle trousers, a Buffalo Bill jacket, snake boots, and a John Wayne hat. ‘Howdy!’ he yodeled. And he and Abdel escorted the woman to the lieutenant’s table.
She was in a very simple RAF blue woolen dress and matching headband and carried a bag of striped hemp. A silver zodiacal disc hung from her neck.
She was Dr. Martine Darras from Boston.
The Eye watched them, frozen with dismay. He refused to believe that this was really happening. It was too stark. No disaster could be so colossal.
Now they were shaking hands with the lieutenant, sitting down like old friends. Behind them, covering the entire wall from floor to ceiling, was a bright mural depicting George Washington crossing the Delaware in a fleet of longboats filled with ragged continental riflemen. The soldiers enclosed the table, rising among the four of them like a ballet of invalid madmen.
‘Duke Foote?’ someone was asking. ‘Didn’t he marry Michelle Phillips?’
‘No,’ somebody else piped up. ‘You’re thinking of Dennis Hopper.’
‘Well, wasn’t he with the Mamas and Papas?’
‘Dennis Hopper?’
‘Nah, Duke’s a folker.’
Joanna came out of the kitchen carrying a tray of ice cream dishes. The Eye cringed. Don’t drop anything, Joanna … please don’t make any noise … please!
She didn’t, but another passing waitress dropped a metal tureen and it bounced on the floor, an echoing gong of pandemonium. Every head in the room turned.
Old friends? Well, shit! Maybe they were! What the fuck, maybe the whole situation was just a farcical coincidence, a crazy quilt of hazards stitched together by some turned-on seamstress of fates. Yeah, why not? They’d all gone to Princeton together and met once a year in Trenton for an alumni dinner … or maybe Dr. Darras was Duke’s shrink and Abdel Idfa, the Arab prick, was her boyfriend and they were in town tonight for one of Duke’s CW concerts … and Duke was the lieutenant’s nephew or something … and Abdel was going into the record business and had contacted Duke to cut some albums for him, and they were all just having a bite to eat together before the show …
Oh, God. He almost relaxed, the full horror of the disaster anesthetizing him. No, Jesus! It was an FBI setup all the way. A Fed would come out of the woodwork now, and the five of them would – yeah! There he was pushing through the crowd – the same shabby little motherfucker he’d had lunch with! There he was! He was shaved now and wearing a clean shirt, but he still looked grubby and unwashed.
Okay. This was it. Wow!
Washington was across the fucking Delaware! The Hessians were surrounded!
Duke was here to identify Nita Iqutos from Nashville. And Abdel Idfa, the goddamned toad, could identify Dorothea Bishop from Chicago. And Martine could identify Joanna Eris from the White Plains concentration camp. In fact, by Christ, she could identify him, too! All she had to do was look in his direction and –
Joanna was standing before him. ‘I’m off at nine thirty.’ She set his dessert in the middle of the salad leaves.
He glanced at his watch. It was only eight thirty! ‘Can’t you leave now?’ he asked.
‘Darling!’ a woman at the next table whined. ‘You have got to be kidding, doll! Where’re my clams?’
‘Miss, don’t you have any influence at all in the kitchen?’ someone else japed.
‘Wait for me outside,’ Joanna murmured. And she rushed away.
A whole fucking hour to go!
The Eye watched the quintet on the far side of the room. They hadn’t seen her. Or him. The place was too crowded, and they were in the wrong corner. Martine was lighting a cigarette. Duke was autographing menus. The lieutenant munched a steak. Abdel and J. Edgar Hoover were drinking screwdrivers.
He was just one night too late. It was infuriating! Yesterday would have been perfect! Perfect! The ball-breaking capriciousness and inconsistency of fortune outraged him. Fuck all!
It was true, there were winning streaks and there were losing streaks, and when the jinx freaked you there just wasn’t anything you could do about it. Or was there?
He considered a number of desperate ways of breaking this shitty deadlock. He saw a fuse box over there in a corner by the John. Maybe he could kill all the lights, then go into the kitchen and smuggle her out the back door … Yeah – then what? Or he could come up shooting with his .45, firing blanks at the crowd. That would send these assholes stampeding like steers in all directions, and he could grab her and make a run for it … but run where?
The lieutenant and that little Fed fink would have Trenton boxed up within ten minutes.
He needed at least three hours … two hours … all right, one hour to get her away from here and out of town. And furthermore, he had to take a leak first!
‘That’s her,’ the Fed whispered.
Martine looked across the room. ‘Where?’
‘Over there by the kitchen.’
‘What in the world is a Yankee Doodle French Fish Course?’ Abdel Idfa asked.
The Eye got up and started for the men’s room. The hostess intercepted him. ‘Are you leaving, sir?’
‘No, I’m just –’
‘We’re absolutely jammed tonight! It’s awful! There just aren’t any tables available! I’ve never seen anything like this!’
‘Neither have I.’
He got as far as the fuse box, then changed his mind. Fuck it! He came back to the table and sat down, every nerve in his body clanging. It was ten to nine!
‘That’s not Joanna Eris!’
‘Please keep your voice down, Doctor.’ The Fed turned to the lieutenant. ‘Do you have somebody watching her house?’
The lieutenant nodded, chewing a piece of pie.
‘I tell you it’s not her,’ Martine insisted.
‘We have reason to believe it is, Dr. Darras.’
‘Which one is she supposed to be?’ Duke popped out of his chair and looked around.
‘Sit down, Mr. Foote. I’ll point her out to you later.’
‘As I told you before,’ Abdel Idfa nibbled a sole aux raisins à la Thomas Jefferson, ‘I cannot assure you categorically that I am capable of recognizing the woman after all this time.’
‘We realize that, sir. We just want you to have a look at her.’
‘Well, I’ll sure as hell be able to recognize ol’ Nita.’ Duke sawed a slab of roast. ‘Just drag her over here.’
‘Are you sure I’m watching the right girl?’ Martine asked. ‘That one wearing glasses?’
‘Yes.’
‘It isn’t Joanna.’ She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Which?’ Duke turned. ‘Whereabouts? Who?’
‘By the door there.’
‘Her?’ Duke hooted. ‘You fellers bird-turdin’ me or what? That there ain’t Nita!’
‘Knock it off, Duke,’ the lieutenant growled. ‘Stop hollering.’
‘Turn around, Mr. Foote,’ the Fed muttered. ‘Don’t stare at her.’
‘I cannot see her from here.’ Abdel dabbed his lips with a napkin. ‘Can we have some more wine?’
Then Martine looked through the crowd and saw the Eye.
Nine five.
He fumbled with the Trenton Times, ripping it open clumsily, almost tearing it apart. He read Joanna’s horoscope.
Take advantage of this
period of bliss and plenitude.
You’re one of the fortunate
people who can do no wrong.
Everything you touch today
will turn to gold.
Gold! He was giggling. Gold! Giggling like an idiot! The diners at the adjacent tables smiled at him. He swallowed, almost choking on the thick bile filling his mouth. Christ, he was going to puke! No, he wasn’t … no … no … Hold right. Nope! Cool! Why spoil everybody’s meal? Unwind your abdomen! Stay insensible … comatose … numb …
He lowered the paper, his eyes sweeping across the room to meet Martine’s gaze.
They glowered at each other.
Great! She’d spotted him! Bliss and plenitude!
Joanna passed, serving the next table. A man handed her a menu.
‘Would you ask Mr. Foote to sign this?’ He slipped her a quarter.
‘What?’ She stared at him blankly.
‘Duke Foote over there,’ he pointed. ‘Get his autograph for me.’
‘Duke Foote?’ she looked dazed.
The Eye pulled out a handkerchief, wiped his streaming face. An autograph! That did it! This was the Apocalypse! The gas chamber, the firing squad, the electric chair, ruin, total havoc … he looked up.
The hostess was hovering over him.
‘You’re all alone!’ she snapped at him accusingly. ‘Would you mind …?’
‘I beg your pardon …’
‘Your table …’
‘My table?’
‘Could you share it, please?’ She beckoned, yelped. ‘Over here, you newlyweds!’ A boy and a girl, crimson with embarrassment, sat down before him.
‘Thanks,’ the boy smiled shyly.
‘I’ll be … be …’ The Eye tried to rally what was left of his sanity. ‘… be leaving in just a minute …’
‘No rush,’ the boy said. He held the girl’s hand. She touched his face, grinning, shining, in a coma of happiness. ‘Gosh,’ she whispered. ‘I could eat a horse!’
At least a hundred people waited behind the ropes now and the hostess flew around the tables, devastated. She pounced on Joanna, standing there, still holding the menu, peering around myopically.
‘What are you doing, girl?’ she hissed.
‘Gentleman wants an autograph …’
‘I’ll get it.’ She snatched it away from her.
Nine ten.
‘What time does she get off work, Lieutenant?’ the Fed asked.
‘Nine thirty. She’s looking over here. I think she’s on to us.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
Martine turned to him. ‘You asked me to cooperate with you. All right, I’ve cooperated. It isn’t Joanna Eris. You can take that as a formal statement. Now I want to go back to Boston.’
‘In due time, Dr. Darras.’
‘I want you to know that I find this whole business sickening. Altogether sickening.’
‘Would you care for a dessert?’
‘I would.’ Abdel Idfa finished his sole. ‘I think I’ll try some of this Bill of Rights Fudge Sundae.’
‘Y’know –’ Duke started to say. The hostess handed him the menu. He scribbed his name on it.
‘Thank you, Mr. Foote!’ she cried.
‘Not at all, Ma’am. The pleasure’s all mine.’ He grabbed her hand and kissed it. She crowed with delight and soared back across the room. ‘Y’know,’ he mused, ‘if it is ol’ Nita … I’m not sayin’ it is or it isn’t, formal and positive, mind, not like the doc here … but if it is her, I’m kinda lookin’ forward to meetin’ her again. She was a nifty little ol’ girl.’
‘I think you’ll meet her again, Mr. Foote,’ the Fed said.
Martine leaned back in her chair, holding her Virgo disc, squeezing it tightly.
The Eye studied the newlyweds. They were in their twenties, fresh and clean, unscarred, untarnished, as yet uncontaminated. God Almighty! Which one would betray the other first? Would they have a daughter? What cornucopia of anguish and woe and loneliness and repulsion had they been given as a wedding present by the hymeneal pixies?
It was nine twenty.
‘We won’t bust her here,’ the Fed whispered to the lieutenant. ‘It would only cause a fuss. We’ll wait till she gets outside. Or better still, back to her place.’
‘Right.’
‘I remember just one thing about Dorothea Bishop,’ Abdel Idfa told them. ‘When Mr. Argyle introduced us, in Chicago, I asked her if she was a virgin. And she said –’ He turned to Martine. ‘Excuse me, Doctor – she said, “That’s none of your fucking business.”’
The boy said something. The Eye turned to him. ‘Sorry.’
‘You’re eating my radishes.’
‘Your what? I am? My apologies. I … I’m a nervous wreck …’
‘Be my guest.’
‘My daughter … my daughter ran away and I can’t find her.’ He gaped at them. Why had he said that? Shit and corruption!
‘Hell,’ the boy said.
‘Is she in Trenton?’ the girl asked.
‘I don’t know.’ He smiled sillily, his fingers scratching the tablecloth. ‘She could be. She could be anywhere. Anywhere at all. There are so many places to hide. So many back streets and lanes and suburbs and little towns and crossroads … and locked doors … and … and freeways going everywhere –’ His voice cracked.
‘The last I heard from her, she was – she was in school and she just –’ Jesus Christ! He was crying! Holy Moses! He was coming apart! Ape shit! This was the fucking end! ‘What time is it?’ he blubbered.
‘Nine thirty.’ The boy looked desolate. ‘But I think my watch is slow.’
‘Good – yeah – okay –’ the Eye gibbered. ‘With a little bit of luck, maybe we’ll make it. Listen –’ They stared at him. ‘I wish you all the happiness in the world. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. Let me bear all your sorrows – give me your grief and your loss. I’ll take them with me now, and you two just keep the joys and blessings of life. So long.’
He got up and fled.