as well as one of the funniest guys I ever knew, plus about the best looking, he was also an alumni of my old alma mater, the Staten Island Home for Children.
If anyone was going to break Mrs. Willingford’s spell, it was Jarrett—even wearing a Hawaiian shirt. The shirt was purple and covered with enormous yellow flowers. No one but Paul would wear it. No one but Paul had the gumption. Or the bad taste. Whichever.
“You keep chewing on that until I get back,” I told her, “I can’t miss this.”
Chapter 14
First thing Paul said to me, after the bear hug (he’d been a strong kid though only an inch or so taller than me; he was now a strong guy, not an ounce of fat on him, solid muscle—practically lifted me off my feet), was, “Heard about Mister. Not surprised in the least. But sorry to hear about your mom. That was bad. Real bad.”
“I’ve filed it, Paul. Way down, deep as it goes.”
“Understood.”
I turned my glass round and round in my hands. “And there we were, thinking the words ‘Staten Island’ and ‘murder’ didn’t go together.”
Paul stared at me. “You kiddin’, kiddo?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Well, think again. You ever hear of Albert Fish?”
“ The Albert Fish? The Brooklyn Vampire? The Gray Man who killed and tortured who knows how many children and ate their—”
“Well I ain’t talkin’ about my Mom’s pet guppy. And you’re all grown up now. You can say ‘butts.’”
Once again, he’d made me smile, not that Fish was funny. But Paul just had that way about him. “OK, go on. Tell me about how the island and Albert Fish go together.”
Paul leaned closer over the table. He used to do that exact same thing after lights were out and he’d tell us all ghost stories. He could tell a story, any story, so well we’d all spend hours shivering under our meager covers. “Once they finally caught him, ’35 I think it was, he boasted he’d killed or raped or tortured over a hundred little kids. And one of ‘em was a poor little eight year old boy he’d seen playin’ on his front porch in Port Richmond.”
“Our Port Richmond!”
“The very one. They found the kid later in the woods strangled with his own suspenders. That was in ’24 or ’25.”
“Seriously?”
“The police sure thought so and it’s a safe bet that Francis X. McDonnell’s mom and dad thought so.”
“If I’m so smart, how come I didn’t know that?”
“Some of us knew some things when we were kids, and some of us knew other things. Mister told me about Fish.”
“Why the hell would he tell you that?”
“To scare me? To keep me in line. Who knows about Mister? He could surprise a kid. He sure surprised you.”
“That he did.”
Paul peeked over my shoulder. “As for me, I am surprised about Mrs. Willingford over there.”
“What? I’m not good enough for her?”
“Too good. Be careful. She gets her nose out of joint, guys like us get other stuff out of joint.”
“Point taken. Which means I can’t hang around here too long. Look. I’m staying at the Pascal House on Case Street.”
“Pink suits you.”
I let that one go right on by. “You got some time to come round and talk over old times?”
“You bet. Am I hearing you got an actual case?”
“Amazingly enough, yes.”
“I’ll come tonight. You can tell me about it.”
“Eight o’clock?”
“Eight it is. That’s if you can escape the clutches of the Joker’s wild card.”
I snuck a look. Mrs. Willingford was inspecting her make-up in a small blue enameled compact. A smaller pink tongue licked something off her painted lips. I remembered something I’d only been reading a few days back. Something out of The Bride Wore Black . “…those ice-cold eyes, that kissable mouth.”
I said: “She’s not Lombard.”
“Nobody is.”
I gave him one of my best smiles. He caught it
If anyone was going to break Mrs. Willingford’s spell, it was Jarrett—even wearing a Hawaiian shirt. The shirt was purple and covered with enormous yellow flowers. No one but Paul would wear it. No one but Paul had the gumption. Or the bad taste. Whichever.
“You keep chewing on that until I get back,” I told her, “I can’t miss this.”
Chapter 14
First thing Paul said to me, after the bear hug (he’d been a strong kid though only an inch or so taller than me; he was now a strong guy, not an ounce of fat on him, solid muscle—practically lifted me off my feet), was, “Heard about Mister. Not surprised in the least. But sorry to hear about your mom. That was bad. Real bad.”
“I’ve filed it, Paul. Way down, deep as it goes.”
“Understood.”
I turned my glass round and round in my hands. “And there we were, thinking the words ‘Staten Island’ and ‘murder’ didn’t go together.”
Paul stared at me. “You kiddin’, kiddo?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Well, think again. You ever hear of Albert Fish?”
“ The Albert Fish? The Brooklyn Vampire? The Gray Man who killed and tortured who knows how many children and ate their—”
“Well I ain’t talkin’ about my Mom’s pet guppy. And you’re all grown up now. You can say ‘butts.’”
Once again, he’d made me smile, not that Fish was funny. But Paul just had that way about him. “OK, go on. Tell me about how the island and Albert Fish go together.”
Paul leaned closer over the table. He used to do that exact same thing after lights were out and he’d tell us all ghost stories. He could tell a story, any story, so well we’d all spend hours shivering under our meager covers. “Once they finally caught him, ’35 I think it was, he boasted he’d killed or raped or tortured over a hundred little kids. And one of ‘em was a poor little eight year old boy he’d seen playin’ on his front porch in Port Richmond.”
“Our Port Richmond!”
“The very one. They found the kid later in the woods strangled with his own suspenders. That was in ’24 or ’25.”
“Seriously?”
“The police sure thought so and it’s a safe bet that Francis X. McDonnell’s mom and dad thought so.”
“If I’m so smart, how come I didn’t know that?”
“Some of us knew some things when we were kids, and some of us knew other things. Mister told me about Fish.”
“Why the hell would he tell you that?”
“To scare me? To keep me in line. Who knows about Mister? He could surprise a kid. He sure surprised you.”
“That he did.”
Paul peeked over my shoulder. “As for me, I am surprised about Mrs. Willingford over there.”
“What? I’m not good enough for her?”
“Too good. Be careful. She gets her nose out of joint, guys like us get other stuff out of joint.”
“Point taken. Which means I can’t hang around here too long. Look. I’m staying at the Pascal House on Case Street.”
“Pink suits you.”
I let that one go right on by. “You got some time to come round and talk over old times?”
“You bet. Am I hearing you got an actual case?”
“Amazingly enough, yes.”
“I’ll come tonight. You can tell me about it.”
“Eight o’clock?”
“Eight it is. That’s if you can escape the clutches of the Joker’s wild card.”
I snuck a look. Mrs. Willingford was inspecting her make-up in a small blue enameled compact. A smaller pink tongue licked something off her painted lips. I remembered something I’d only been reading a few days back. Something out of The Bride Wore Black . “…those ice-cold eyes, that kissable mouth.”
I said: “She’s not Lombard.”
“Nobody is.”
I gave him one of my best smiles. He caught it
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