12

Scott Harrington

I was determined to find Tyler before he went to the shelter. Carnegie Library had branches throughout the Pittsburgh area, but only the Smithfield Street branch was downtown. That must be where Tyler spent his days.

Approaching the library, I glanced up at the colorful mural, The Two Andys, painted on the side of a building. Andy Warhal and Andrew Carnegie depicted in a beauty parlor displayed the artists’ attempt to symbolize a revitalized city.

I entered the library and began scanning the rows of bookshelves. There was no sign of Tyler. He had said he used the computers to check e-mail, so I made my way to the database center. He wasn’t there.

I left the library and turned toward Stanwix Street. The shelter wouldn’t be open yet, but I’d keep walking back and forth. Eventually, I’d find him somewhere between these two places.

As I turned a corner, I caught sight of his lanky frame and wheat-colored hair in the distance. I’d have to sprint to catch up with him.

I picked up my pace but slowed as I saw Jim lumbering toward Tyler, his shoulders held tight with fisted hands. When he reached Tyler, he jabbed a finger in his chest. They were too far away to hear their conversation, but Jim stepped close to Tyler, face-to-face. Tyler’s attempt to inch back was futile as Jim stepped in again, wrapping a huge hand around Tyler’s arm. A few more words were exchanged. Then Jim pointed his finger toward his face before pivoting around. As he walked away, Tyler leaned over, hands on his thighs.

I approached, watching for any return of Jim. When I stood behind him, close enough to touch, I laid a hand on his shoulder. “You OK?”

I hadn’t intended to startle him, but he jumped at my touch. “Scott.” He let out a relieved breath, his eyes darting in the direction where Jim had just walked.

I motioned in the opposite direction. “Let’s get out of here.”

This time, he didn’t argue. He fell into step beside me, and we walked. Pedestrian traffic was thick. Meandering away from the crowds, we ended up under the bridge where I slept that first night. With the place unoccupied now, we leaned against the massive pillars imbedded in a concrete foundation.

Daytime sounded so different, with the constant swoosh of cars passing above like a pulsing heartbeat. Brakes squealed and a distant siren beat out a series of high and low tones. But the dampness and trash were the same, as though they were rooted under this bridge. I shuddered from the memory of sleeping here.

Tyler shut his eyes, exhaling deep breaths. The emotional fatigue was evident.

I silently watched him for a few minutes. “You OK?”

“Yeah, I’m OK. I was looking for you.” His breathing returned to normal.

“Well, that makes two of us. I was looking for you as well.”

“You looking so you could tell me how much trouble I was getting in? To say ‘I told you so’? Well, too late. I figured that one out.” He glanced from side-to-side.

I shook my head. “No, I was looking because I’m worried about you. Jim’s trying his best to intimidate you. What did he say?”

Tyler moved from the concrete pylons and sat on a railroad tie. “I didn’t stay at the shelter last night. He came looking for me to find out why.”

“Did he threaten you?”

He gave a half-shrug. “He wanted to make sure I’m still in. The threat was implied if I’d have answered differently.”

I leaned back and folded my hands in front of my chest. “So you’re still going to work for him?”

“No, but I’m not stupid enough to tell him that. I had a bad scare last night. I’ve got to get out.”

I unfolded my arms and sat on the cold ground, facing him. “What happened?”

Tyler slid his backpack off and looped his foot through the straps. “I took the West End Bridge to Carson Street just like he instructed me. I found the row house, but no one waited outside, so I parked at the curb and hung around for a few minutes, not knowing what else to do. Finally, I walked to the door and rang the bell.”

Tyler rested his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped under his chin. “There was no answer. Went back to the car to check my address. I had the right place. I was sure I walked into a bust. My hands went clammy, and I fumbled putting the key in the ignition. All of a sudden there was a thwack on my window. It almost gave me a heart attack.”

He sat up straight, an involuntary spasm twitching his face. “I couldn’t see the face in the dark. I didn’t know if it was my contact or the cops. My hand shook so bad I could barely roll the window down. When I did, I saw the man described on my paper. I made the exchange and couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

I nodded. “So do you have a plan?”

“I’m getting outta here. I gotta go as far as I can from this city. There’s nothing here for me but trouble.” He raised his head arching one brow. “Winter’s coming. You have any interest in heading someplace warmer?”

I stood and leaned against the pylon, tapping my fingers together. “Ty, I think there’s another way. I think we should go to the police.”

He rose to his feet, hands on his hips. “Are you crazy? No way am I going to the cops. You know what I’ve been doing. They’ll lock me up.”

“No, they won’t. They won’t want you. You’ve been a pawn, used in a bigger game. They want the game master.” I took a few steps toward him. “Listen Ty, did they ever tell you what the packages held?”

“No, but…”

“No.” My hand swept down, closing my fist like a conductor halting the music. “That’s all. No but’s, just no. You tell the police you weren’t aware. When you became suspicious, you stopped and went to the authorities.”

“Yeah. Then I’m a dead man.” A siren above sounded, as if in confirmation.

I stepped toward him. “They’ll protect you. We’ll tell them you need protection.”

He shook his head. “I’m not doing it, Scott. Why should I? I can walk away if I get outta this city.”

“Yeah, you walk away and kids all over Pittsburgh are shooting poison in their arms, dying at sixteen. Can you live with that?” My forward motion brought me right before him.

Tyler turned his head away. “Why did I want to find you anyway? You always judge me.”

I stepped back and ran my hands through my hair. Walking back toward the bridge support, I braced my arms and head against the pitted metal pillar.

“Sorry, Scott. I don’t mean to sound heartless, but they’re kids that choose it. No one makes them use drugs. I can’t stop it. It’s a bigger problem than I can fix.”

My shoulders slumped with the heaviness. My tone became more of a plea. “What if you could stop it for one kid? Would that be worth the risk?”

He lowered his head avoiding my eyes. “Can’t.”

“You mean won’t.” I spit out the word with emphasis.

Tyler stiffened. “Judging me again.” He started walking away from the damp, musty overpass.

“Hey wait, Ty. I need to tell you some things. Need to tell you why this is so important to me.”

“You can tell me, but I’m not going to the police. I’m hopping on a Greyhound, and I won’t look back.”