Chapter 17
Arthur worked on Sunday, but only in the afternoon. I drove for a few hours, then after I dropped off my last fare, I headed for the market to meet him, intending to give him a ride home. It was only four o'clock and I'd thought about taking him on another date, but other than the club, I didn't know what else we could do. We could do anything really, but we'd have to behave like friends, nothing more.
I parked down the block from the market entrance and watched for him. The area was quiet, with most stallholders packing up and leaving by four. A few stragglers walked out of the market and headed off in different directions, but I didn't see Arthur. I glanced at my watch and waited another ten minutes before I got out of the car to go and look for him.
I headed into the market, but was immediately stopped by one of the security guys who locked the entrance after everyone had left. "We're closed."
"I know. I'm not shopping. I'm meeting someone."
"You can wait for them out here." Over six foot and almost as wide, he blocked my way. I backed off and walked around the perimeter of the market. The covered stalls were surrounded by a high metal fence, with gates both front and back. The rear gates were close to the area where Arthur did his Punch and Judy act, so I tried that way, but they were locked.
"Shit," I muttered, and walked back around to the front. Arthur had probably come out by now and headed for the subway. He wouldn't know I was here, as I'd planned to surprise him. I gazed up and down the street, and hovered near the front entrance a little longer. He had to have left by now. Another security guy appeared, spoke to the one who'd stopped me, and began closing the gates. Clearly, they'd checked no one was left inside.
Anxiety made my guts churn, and I walked back to the car, continuing to gaze about me in all directions, but there was no sign of him. I didn't think I could have missed him but it was the only explanation. Either he left before I arrived, or he came out of the front gates while I was around the back and walked away quickly enough to be off the street before I came back. I got in the car and drove home.
As I trudged up the stairs to our room, the sense that something was wrong increased. He wasn't home—I knew it. Something had happened to him. I told myself not to be stupid, and that the minute I opened the door, I'd find him drinking a cup of coffee and smoking while he waited for me. I tried the door and found it locked. He wasn't home. Or he was having a bad day and had locked it after him. That sometimes happened.
I unlocked and went in. "Arthur?" The bathroom door was closed, but when I looked around, there was no sign of his jacket and shoes, or his bag of puppets. "Arthur!" I burst into the bathroom, hoping to immediately be chastised for bursting in on him using the toilet, but the room was empty. "Fuck!" I dragged my hands through my hair. "Where are you?"
He had to be on his way home. The simple explanation was that we'd missed each other, and he was on the subway. He'd be here any minute. I lit a cigarette and opened the fridge to get a beer. Then I changed my mind and poured a glass of whisky. I tipped it down my neck in one large gulp, and refilled the glass. My heartrate accelerated and I paced, worrying. I had good instincts about things, and telling myself there was a perfectly innocent explanation didn't work. My imagination went into overdrive. He was lying somewhere hurt, perhaps in an alley, unable to call for help. But how could I look for him? He could be anywhere.
"Fucking Christ," I muttered as I drained the second glass of whisky. I picked up the bottle to pour another, then put it down. I'd be no good to him drunk.
I tried to sit down and watch TV, but I couldn't stay still. I paced and smoked my way through half a pack of cigarettes, my hands shaking as I lit each one. Then suddenly, the door opened.
"Arthur!"
He didn't speak. He closed the door and sat down on the couch, pressing his hands between his knees. Blood from his nose had left a small rivulet down his chin, and his tan jacket was damp and dirty.
"Arthur, what happened?" I sat beside him and touched his arm. He shook his head. I helped him take off his jacket. He flinched as the sleeve pulled over his left hand, and I noticed the side of it was badly grazed. We didn't have a first aid kit, but I got a damp cloth, some tissue paper, and towel from the bathroom. They would have to do.
Arthur didn't move or speak, only flinched a couple of times as I cleaned the graze on his hand and wiped away the dried blood on his face. Then I lit a cigarette for him. He took a couple of drags and breathed out smoke.
"Talk to me." I slid my arm around him. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"
"Not really. A couple of bruises."
"Who did this to you?"
"Just kids. A similar thing happened in Gotham once. I was sign-spinning outside a music store that was closing down. I had my clown suit on. Some kids grabbed my sign and ran off with it. I chased them and they hit me in the face with the sign and kicked me."
"What the hell?"
"Kids don't seem to have any respect these days. Today was the same kind of thing. They were teenagers. I'd just finished my last show and was packing up." A wild laugh burst from him. It went on and on, filling the room and almost choking him. I waited it out until he was able to speak again. "They made fun of me and my puppets. They're all gone." He put his hands over his face and a broken sob left him. I took the cigarette out of his hand to prevent it burning his hair.
"Who's all gone?"
"My p-puppets. They threw them on the ground and stamped on them. I tried to stop them and they turned on me."
"Was no one else around?"
"No. Only an elderly couple and their grandson. They were the last ones to leave the show. They looked scared and left. I thought they might get help, but no one came."
I tugged him against me and held him tight as he wept. He was right—a lot of kids showed no respect for others, and I wanted to find whoever had done this to him and beat them to a pulp. Not that I would, but they deserved it.
"I'm sorry, Arthur," I murmured. "We'll get you some new puppets."
"They cost a lot of money." He sniffled and pulled away. "The ones I had were only a hundred dollars because the old man had them for years."
"It doesn't matter." I stroked his hair and kissed his temple. "I should have come earlier."
"What do you mean?"
"I came to meet you. I was gonna take you out tonight. But the security guy wouldn't let me in. They were ready to lock up. I must have missed you by a few minutes."
Arthur rubbed his hands over his face, then took the remains of the cigarette back and lit a fresh one from the smouldering butt. "Where were you going to take me?"
"Anywhere you wanted. We might have had to just go as friends, but I wanted us to do something nice together."
"Can we still do that?"
"Do you feel like it?" I asked in surprise.
"No, but maybe it will help. Being with you always helps when I feel bad."
"Okay. Maybe we could go to see a movie and get something to eat after."
"That would be nice." Arthur lips twitched a little. He didn't manage to smile, but at least he tried.
"I'll freshen up and get changed." I went into the bathroom, but left the door open as I had a quick wash and put on a fresh shirt and trousers. Arthur sat on the couch and smoked, not talking. I hated that things like this happened to him. He seemed to be a target for the scumbags both in New York and in Gotham. Perhaps people just didn't like clowns and entertainers anymore.
When I was ready, Arthur took his turn in the bathroom. He emerged half an hour later, wearing his red suit and the green shirt he'd worn on the Murray Franklin show, but without the waistcoat.
"You look good." I drew him towards me and gave him a quick kiss.
"I don't feel very good but these clothes help."
We saw Raiders of the Lost Ark at the theatre. I let Arthur choose the movie and didn't make suggestions that might influence him. I fancied Chariots of Fire, but he clearly didn't when he read the summary of it. The adventure movie was good, though, and Arthur even smiled a few times. We sat at the end of a row of seats, with the theatre about half full, and discreetly held hands in the darkness. We ate popcorn and shared a large cup of lemonade. When we walked out, Arthur seemed better.
"Harrison Ford's really good," he said. "Did you see him in Apocalypse Now?"
"No. I don't see a lot of movies." I couldn't remember going to see movies at all in Gotham; only at the porn theatre.
"It was a war movie set in Vietnam."
I grimaced, immediately transported back there in my head. Strangely, I hadn't thought about it in the past few weeks.
"You were there," Arthur remembered. "I'm sorry. You probably wouldn't have like it."
I shook my head. "I can do without reminders."
"If you ever want to talk about it, you can. You're always there for me, no matter how crazy I get. I might not be good at much, but I can listen."
"Thanks. Maybe someday. What do you want to eat?"
"After all that popcorn? Not much."
"How about some pie and coffee in a diner?" I suggested.
Arthur nodded. "That sounds good. I like apple pie."
"Me too."
We walked to a diner halfway between the theatre and the apartment. A handful of people were in there, but plenty of empty tables waited. We took one in a corner away from the windows, and immediately a waitress came over.
"What can I get you two fellas?"
"Do you have apple pie?" I asked.
"Sure thing."
"Two slices of apple pie and some coffee, please."
"You want cream or ice cream on the pie?"
"Cheese," I said.
"Cheese?" Arthur and the waitress echoed at the same time.
"Yeah. You know the little cheese slices that go in burgers? Can you put one on the pie and melt it?"
"Sure. Whatever you want." The waitress wrote something on her notepad. "And you?" she directed at Arthur. "You want cheese too?"
"Oh, no. Cream, please."
She went away and came back seconds later with a jug of coffee, poured us some, and left again.
"Cheese? On apple pie?" Arthur leaned forward across the table, eyes wide. "Isn't that weird?"
"Weird and nice."
"Okay. Maybe I should try it."
"You don't like cheese," I reminded him.
"There is that."
The pie arrived a few minutes later, my slice with melted cheese on it just the way I liked. Arthur watched in fascination as I shovelled a forkful into my mouth and groaned with pleasure.
When the pie was gone, we had refills of coffee and I got out my cigarettes, lit two, and passed one to Arthur. My fingers brushed his as I handed it to him.
"Trav!"
I jumped and snatched my hand back at the sound of Wizard's voice. Shit.
"Hey." I nodded at him.
"What you doing in here?" He eyed Arthur curiously.
"I could say the same to you. Not your usual haunt," I pointed out.
"I saw you through the window." His brows drew together and he half-nodded in Arthur's direction. "Who's this?"
"My buddy. Arthur." I sucked in a lungful of smoke. "This is Wizard," I told Arthur. "Fellow taxi driver."
"Hello," Arthur said.
Wizard turned his frown on Arthur. "How'd you know our Travis?"
"I, um, we, um—" Arthur stuttered, and laughed suddenly. He clamped his hands over his mouth, but his guffaws continued, barely smothered.
"I helped him out one day when he was in trouble," I put in. I stretched out my foot under the table and rubbed the toe of my shoe against Arthur's calf. He jumped, shaking his head. "He has a condition," I continued. "Inappropriate laughter due to a head injury. Don't sweat it."
"I wasn't." Wizard stared warily at Arthur. "He looks kind of familiar."
"Maybe you gave him a ride one day." I raised an eyebrow.
"I doubt that. I'd have remembered."
Arthur's laughter subsided and he helped himself to another of my cigarettes with shaking hands. I would have given anything to hold his hand right then, but Wizard was clearly suspicious as it was. The last thing I wanted was for him to realise what was really going on. But then again, I had no plans to end things with Arthur. My old friend may find out sooner or later if he saw us together often, and I knew exactly what his reaction would be. He'd made no secret of his homophobic thoughts in the past.
