Chapter 4

Heath kept his eyes on the men approaching them and tried hard not to slow down, because Jarrod didn't.

"Are these guys likely to have guns?" Heath asked.

"Not likely, but it's possible."

"What's the plan?"

"Keep on walking. If they stop us, we fight if we have to, but only enough to get time to run."

Heath worried. He was younger and faster than Jarrod. "I'm not leaving you here alone."

"Good. I'm not planning on leaving you either. Here we go."

The men stopped in front of them. Jarrod nodded politely while he and Heath tried to move past them. They kept blocking the way.

"Something you want from us?" Jarrod asked.

"Haven't seen you around here," one of the men said.

"Don't live here," Jarrod said. "Just passing through."

Jarrod tried to move forward, but they blocked the way again. He and Heath moved back a step.

"What's your business here?" the man asked.

"No business," Jarrod said. "Like I said, just passing through."

"People don't just pass through here, pal," the man said.

Suddenly, Jarrod grabbed the man and threw him sideways into the man standing next to him. Heath tried the same with the other two men, succeeding in getting them off their feet, but by then the man who did the talking was already scrambling back up. Jarrod gave him a kick to the face and took off running. It took Heath a moment to deck one of the other men before he took off after Jarrod.

Heath was surprised Jarrod had that much speed in him. He not only got off fast - he was able to dash across the street, dodge several vehicles – and ladies hawking their trade – and not crash into innocent people on the way. Heath did likewise, following where Jarrod led. Then Jarrod was ducking into a street that intersected the one they were on, then dodging traffic to cross it, then he was off onto another intersecting street before he finally stopped to catch his breath and to see if Heath was still with him.

Heath was only steps behind him, but not as out of breath. They both looked behind them. The men had not come after them, or if they had, the dodging among the traffic had thrown them off.

"You all right?" Heath asked.

"Just feeling old," Jarrod said, smiling but still trying to catch his breath. "Come on, let's keep going."

They kept moving further into the island, uphill, but now at a walking pace. Now and then they each looked over their shoulders to see if anyone was following them, but after a while it was clear that they hadn't been that important to the men who accosted them in the first place. Eventually they were crossing the street to their hotel, when they finally stopped, took one last look, and laughed.

"We got lucky," Jarrod said.

"I didn't know you still had those kinds of moves in you, big brother," Heath said.

"Well," Jarrod said. He kept his smile and said, "Just don't -"

"Tell Mother, I know, I know," Heath said.

"Actually, I was going to say don't tell anybody," Jarrod said, still a bit out of breath. "If the family finds out I took you to the Bowery to see if we could get rolled and get out of it, my reputation as a thug is never going to die out. Let's get cleaned up and get a good solid lunch."

"I'm for that."

XXXXXXX

They changed back into suits and left the hotel after fetching some of their money out of the hotel safe. Jarrod had a message waiting for him at the desk. He unfolded it and took a look.

"Not from home, is it?" Heath asked.

Jarrod shook his head, smiling. "From Clive. He has everything set for us for tomorrow night, except the theatre tickets. Those are up to us." Then he showed the note to Heath. It looked somewhat like a bill, but it was marked "Gratis." Clive wasn't charging them for his, or the ladies', services.

"I guess Clive likes you," Heath said.

"More like a quid pro quo for the services I've provided him, and an investment in our continuing business relationship. We'd better pick a very good play for the ladies."

"You still got your heart set on Shakespeare?"

"Depends," Jarrod said. "On what's available, not on the ladies. Clive got me together with the same woman I was with years ago. She had an eclectic taste in theatre."

His smile grew happier, warmer with the memory. Heath liked it.

They had lunch at a local café. It was a far more relaxing time, but Heath could not get the things he'd seen in the morning out of his mind. He gave the men who accosted them a passing thought, but mainly he thought about the children – the children he had swatted like flies.

Sure, he grew up poor himself and had it rough, but nothing like these little ones had it – shoved out of the house before they were out of diapers, begging and robbing in the streets, dodging hundreds of vehicles in a day and hiding from thugs as soon as the afternoon came on. And probably growing up to be thugs themselves. That was not the life Heath had as a child. He was loved and cared for. He was never just another kid to be heaved out on his own as soon as he could walk.

"Jarrod," he said as he picked slowly at the last of his food, "what happens to those kids we saw this morning?"

"What do you mean?" Jarrod asked.

"Do they have any chance at all at a decent life, or is it just a life of becoming the biggest thug you can be?"

Jarrod's eyes grew dark. "I'm afraid it's more than the latter than the former. This is a place like many other places in this country. Who your parents are dictates who you become. But some of those kids will grow up to get out of those neighborhoods, make good lives. Some of them even get rich themselves."

"How?"

"They meet the right people, get the right careers going. You remember Julia Saxon?"

Heath was sorry to hear that name. A women Jarrod once loved who turned out to be a Confederate spy, a singer who came to Stockton after the war. He didn't know everything that happened between her and Jarrod, but he did know it had gotten his brother badly beaten up, outside and inside. It was another piece of life that had hurt his brother lately. "I remember her," was all Heath said.

"She came from a place like that," Jarrod said. That was all he said.

Sure, she had fought her way out of poverty, but Heath was not sure the life she built was all that much better. He knew Jarrod felt that way, too.

Jarrod finished up his meal and changed the subject. "We're going to head up to Union Square and find the play we want to see tomorrow night. Maybe catch a different kind of show this afternoon."

"They got theatre in the afternoon here?"

Jarrod grinned again. "In some parts of town, all day and all night long. A lot of them are fronts for the trade you see more of on the corner, but so are most of the saloons back home. They just dress things up a bit more around here, put a few fancier twists on things."

Heath wondered what that meant, especially when Jarrod got that twinkle in his eye.

After lunch, the two of them began a leisurely walk toward Union Square. As they grew closer to the square, the number of theatres began to increase. Dance halls and gaieties were the first types they came upon. The ones "you don't tell Mother about" were already up and running. Pictures of girls in very short dresses and barkers calling out the trade decked the fronts of the places. Women on some of the corners were giving them the come-on – Heath gave them only a smile.

Heath stopped for a moment at one place, to admire the pictures.

Jarrod grinned. "Want to go in? We'll put it on your 'don't tell Mother' list."

Heath gave a grin of his own. They went in.

The room had a stage and was full of tables and raucous men, drinking and yelling. A row of girls were dancing on the stage.

Oh, my goodness, Heath thought when he saw the dancers. The girls kicked high and raised those short skirts even higher and – they had almost nothing on underneath. Not much was left to the imagination, especially when they turned around, lifted the back of their skirts, and everybody in the place cheered.

If there were places like this in San Francisco, Heath hadn't found them yet – not that he was really looking. This experience was definitely – different.

Jarrod laughed as they tried to find a place to sit down and Heath tripped on a chair because he was not watching where he was going. Jarrod took his arm and sat him down, then sat down beside him and ordered a couple beers.

One of the girls caught Heath's eye and winked at him. He thought he might actually blush. The place was full of music and noise, so much so that Heath and Jarrod could not talk to one another. When the girls on the stage came down and began dancing among the patrons, Jarrod tucked some money into the top of the skirt of the girl who had winked at Heath. She gave him a quick wink, then lifted her skirt for Heath and danced on.

Oh, my goodness, Heath thought again. This is DEFINITELY a place I won't tell Mother about. And he wondered what his own birth mother would have thought of him being in a place like this.

They spent a long time nursing their beer before they left, declining an invitation from one of the barkers at the door.

Heath stopped for a moment, looking around. Then he looked at Jarrod. "How can these kind of places be legal?"

"Well, the dance hall is legal," Jarrod said. "The extra trade we just saw at the door – and the kind we've been seeing on the street – aren't. The police do what they can, but in a city where violent crime isn't unusual, and where the police force is outnumbered by the criminals – you put your resources where they'll do the most good. I told you before we came – cram so many people onto one island, and you get problems. I want you to see it all."

Heath raised his eyebrows. "That I am."

They walked further toward Union Square, and the atmosphere around them began to change.