Heyes was glad to leave his lawyer and the associated worries behind for a while. Figuring out how to get into the academic world gave him challenges enough. At loose ends on this first work day when he had no work, but his wife did, he naturally headed to where he knew he could find friends in the middle of the day. As the former student got close to the familiar brick building where he had taken so many classes at Columbia University, a slender young stranger in a fashionable grey suit and thick glasses came up to him. He peered nearsightedly at Heyes. In New York the former outlaw had often heard blue-blooded New England accents like the one in which the young man asked, "Pardon me, sir. I'm looking for Columbia University. Are you familiar with the school?"
Heyes nodded and said, "Sure. What can I do for you?"
The New Englander asked, "Could you please direct me to the main building?"
Heyes smiled. "Come with me - I'm just headed up to Columbia myself. Are you a student?"
The young man sounded very eager. "Yes, sir. I will be studying mathematics beginning in the fall. I have my first appointment with my advisor today."
The young New Englander was terribly proper and upright. He even called Heyes "sir" - something the ex-outlaw didn't expect any longer from anyone above the office of a bootblack. But he automatically felt welcoming toward a fellow Columbia mathematics student, no matter how different their backgrounds might be. Heyes reached out his hand. "Welcome! It's an excellent department. Who's your advisor?"
"Professor Charles Homer," answered the new student.
Heyes was enthusiastic. "Great! Charlie was my advisor, too. He's the very best. I'm glad to know he's on campus today. I'll talk with him when you're done, if he's got time."
The new student looked curiously at Heyes. "So you are a recent graduate?"
"I am." Heyes didn't have to think a lot to figure out what caused the skepticism in the youngster's voice. Even a nearsighted person could see that Heyes was much older than the usual new BA graduate who would be expected to be about 22 years old. Heyes was 38. He said, "I just got my M.A. this year." There was a note of pride in Heyes' voice.
"Congratulations! Are you going on for a PhD?" The new man looked at the recent graduate with respect.
"Thanks. No, I'm not going on yet. Maybe in a few years. But right now, I'm just looking for a good position." Heyes saw no reason to tell this stranger anything about why this was so. His debts and his new wife were his own business, as were his worries about his criminal past.
"I can understand your wanting to get experience before a PhD. I have often been advised that it is a good idea." The New Englander looked around. Seeing no one paying the two of them any mind, he leaned toward Heyes and asked in a low, conspiratorial voice, "Tell me, what was last semester like around here? It sounds like there was a lot going on outside of the classrooms."
There was a pause in the conversation as the two men arrived at the grand red-brick main building of Columbia University and climbed the stairs. As they climbed to the floor where Homer's office was, Heyes was full of guilt and trepidation. He asked his new acquaintance, "What do you mean outside the classrooms?" It hadn't occurred to him before to wonder what distractions his adventures might have caused for his classmates while he was being tried and imprisoned in Montana and Wyoming. He had been far too involved in his own problems.
The new student snorted. "Ah, come now, it was in all the newspapers about Hannibal Heyes studying here. What with the arrest and the trials, it must have gotten quite exciting."
Heyes felt terribly reluctant to let out his name, despite the new amnesty. In this context it was embarrassing, to say the least. He shrugged noncommittally.
"What was it like, studying alongside an outlaw? You must have known him."
Heyes laughed uneasily, unsure how to answer without sounding either arrogant or hostile.
Before Heyes could gather himself to reply, the new student continued with eager curiosity, "They say he is brilliant, but did you ever really trust him? The man is a thief. I don't see how you could ever be sure someone like that was truly reformed. No matter what he says, he could turn on anyone at any time, surely? He could steal anything from anyone. And he has killed one man – who's to say he won't kill more if he thinks he has reason? How could you trust a criminal?"
Heyes walked down the hall in pained silence with the new student at his side. Every second when he didn't reply made it harder for him to answer the young man civilly and honestly. He was so caught between fury, shame, offended pride, and fear that it took him a while to figure out what he might say. As Heyes opened his mouth to admit his identity he was cut off again by a familiar figure coming down the hall.
Charlie Homer turned to call out "Heyes! What brings you back to campus?"
The new student drew back and stared at Heyes with fresh eyes, peering through his glasses to pick out the older man's scars and very short hair. The New Englander's eyes widened.
Heyes glanced unhappily at the new student and then at Charlie Homer. "I've got fresh news for you, Charlie, from my lawyer. But it can wait until you meet with your new advisee here. I didn't ask his name yet, or give him mine." Charlie's mouth fell open in a little "o" as he realized what he had just done in giving away his former student.
The young man said, "I'm Henry Raeburn. Glad to meet you, Professor Homer." He shook Homer's hand, while pointedly ignoring Heyes.
Charlie was friendly, although he was certainly aware of Heyes' discomfort. "Welcome to Columbia, Raeburn. I see you've met our school's celebrity. Don't let him scare you – he's gotten pretty civilized since he came to New York." Charlie winked at his former advisee and close friend. "Come with me to my office, Raeburn. See you later, Heyes."
But as Charlie started to walk away in one direction with Raeburn and Heyes went the other way down the hall, Raeburn turned to stare furiously at the man who had directed him. "Mr. Heyes, why didn't you tell me who you are? Pardon me, but it was dreadfully rude of you to hide your identity and play on my ignorance."
Heyes fought with little success to keep his temper under control. He spoke quietly, but through clinched teeth. "Pardon me, Mr. Raeburn, but you didn't give me a lot of opportunity. You were running on mighty fast and I don't talk so fast since I caught that chunk of lead in the head. You were also damn quick to draw some nasty, unsupported conclusions about me. I didn't want to answer when I was angry – which I was. And I am!"
Raeburn stared at Heyes open-mouthed. Now he was the one too taken aback to answer. The young man might be naïve, but he was starting to think perhaps it wasn't a good idea to get Hannibal Heyes mad.
Heyes tried not to be too threatening, "I won't hurt you, or anybody. Call me a thief if you will. I can't deny all the stealing I've done. I don't steal any more, and I won't." But then his voice grew angry again. "But what you said about killing – that gets under my skin. I was found innocent of murder in a court of law, fair and square. I've seen plenty of murders done in my time – but I've never committed one myself. There was a lot of pressure on me to murder or to order my men to kill. But I refused, even when it put my life in danger. I've been straight as any arrow for more than seven years now. I'm committed to an honest academic career. So I don't appreciate what you said about me. Not one bit." Heyes gave Raeburn the same flint-hard look that had put many a subordinate outlaw in his place.
Raeburn's young face showed how he was struggling to understand the man before him, and his own anger had not totally cooled. "I apologize for jumping to conclusions, but still, it wasn't very . . ."
Professor Homer stepped in at this point. "Mr. Raeburn, we would both appreciate it if you kept your doubts to yourself. Heyes has enough to cope with while he's looking for work. If you read the newspapers carefully, you ought to have some idea of what my friend has been through recently. He had a rough semester of classes, made a lot worse by knowing he could be arrested at any time. Toward the end he was teaching my classes as well as his own when my wife got ill and died. Then Heyes had no break before final papers and exams, and his M.A. thesis. After only a couple of days he had to put up with a public arrest, long train rides in chains, jails, trials, prison, hard labor, beatings, and solitary confinement. He and his partner got amnesty, all right. And then he had to present his case to the Columbia board before he could graduate . . . and there was plenty more hardship that's none of your business." Homer shook his head ruefully. "It's a wonder Heyes isn't in the hospital. So if he's a little prickly, he's got more than enough reasons. Give the man a break. Four governors figured he deserves one, and I agree. He is, you should also know, the finest mathematician I have ever taught or ever hope to teach. And the finest man. Heyes will be the kind of professor this country needs for the new century coming up. So don't mess that up with that mouth of yours, boy."
Heyes looked down modestly, feeling himself flush at his mentor's unstinting praise.
Raeburn looked at the ground and then at Homer, then up into Heyes' eyes in embarrassment during this long and impassioned speech from his own new advisor. Finally, he said, "I . . . um . . . my apologies, Professor Homer, and um, Mr. Heyes. I should not have assumed so much."
Heyes' temper ebbed quickly. "That's alright, Raeburn. You're not alone in what you were assuming. I'm not proud of what I did before I got to Columbia." But Heyes could see that the young man was still very uneasy around an ex-outlaw, so he retreated, adding, "Good luck to you, Raeburn. See you a bit later, Charlie." But before going far down the hall, to find other friends, he turned and asked Homer, "By the way, did you tell any of my pals here about . . . ?" He gestured to the old gunshot wound on his left temple.
Homer shook his head. Charlie hadn't informed Heyes' school friends about his recent injury. He would leave Heyes to deal with that according to his own judgment.
Heyes went down the hall and found his fiery-haired young friend Huxtable in the tiny, grubby teaching assistants' office with his feet up on the desk and a writing pad in his lap. Paul got to his feet and reached out a hand as his friend entered. "Joshua . . . Sorry, Heyes, it's good to see you." Heyes could see that his real name, and his real history, still made his young friend more than a little uncomfortable. Huxtable put his head out the door and called down the hall, "NG! Come see who's back to visit!"
Huxtable sat back down and said, "Make yourself at home, Kansas. Sit down, if you trust anything there is to sit on around here. I took the best one and I'm not giving it up. I've got work to do."
"Thanks for the nice note after the wedding, Huxtable," said Heyes. "Sorry I haven't had time to answer it in writing. Some stuff has happened."
The retired outlaw perched on the edge of the desk – he preferred that to the broken rolling chair and the overturned trash can. Soon NG arrived, panting from his rapid trip down the hall.
"Heyes! Welcome back to Columbia!" the two men shook hands.
Heyes smiled at his two friends, "How's it been around here, Missouri, NG?"
Huxtable sat down and studied his friend thoughtfully. "Kind of calm without you around to stir things up, Heyes. How was your honeymoon with Beth's family?"
Heyes smiled crookedly, "Beth's family warmed up to us real well, once they got to know us better. Even Corey, who wasn't exactly keen on the idea of having outlaws in the family, got to be friendly. Turns out, he's a very . . . reasonable guy. Barbara's a great cook and as fine as hostess as I've ever known – or tied with Cat, anyhow. She's a lot like her sister. Yeah, they keep a comfortable place there, with good fishing. You should go some time, both of you, after you finish up. Beth's got a nice young nephew and two cute little nieces. They're innkeeper's kids – they know how to be friendly but not drive you too nuts. And Beth's Aunt Bertha is a treat. She made us feel like family right off. But then, she has a soft spot for old robbers."
Huxtable and NG listened carefully to this long speech. They couldn't help but notice the same slight pauses that they had last heard in their friend's speech a couple of years ago when they had still known him only as Joshua Smith. The two friends exchanged a troubled glance. Neal George asked, "Heyes, what happened? What's wrong?"
The ex-outlaw was disconcerted. "Is it that obvious?"
Huxtable nodded. "It is to us. But then, we do know you pretty well. Are you gonna tell us what happened, or do we have to ask Charlie?"
Heyes shook his head. "He wouldn't tell you – not without my permission. Paul, Neal, before I tell you -please promise not to tell anyone else except Ev, and tell him to keep it to himself. Alright? If the wrong people found out, it could be bad for me."
"Heyes, you're worrying me," said Huxtable nervously. The much older NG looked worried, too.
Heyes looked down at the dusty wood floor. "It worried me, too. Still does. Um, the Kid and I had a little d-disagreement. He punched me the wrong place." He touched the ugly scar on his left temple.
NG and Huxtable exchanged a look as they both noticed Heyes' mild stammer, something they had almost never heard from him before. "Your own partner hit you? There?" NG asked in distress.
Heyes grimaced at the memory of the disastrous fight. "Come on, don't you and your brother ever fight, NG? Jed didn't mean to catch me there – I turned my head at the last second. And he didn't hit me any harder than I hit him."
"Yeah, but wasn't it mighty stupid for you to be fighting with Kid Curry?" NG couldn't stop seeing Curry as a threat.
Heyes sighed. "Yeah, it was. We used to settle things that way now and then. We won't do it again. We've learned our lesson. There for a few days, I lost everything. Jed was real upset. So was I."
"Lost . . . what do you mean?" Huxtable asked anxiously as Neal George looked on in concern.
"Speech, understanding, reading, writing – the whole thing. Gone. Or, well, we think I might never have lost writing – but I don't know for sure. D-didn't try writing just at first. I was too upset to think of it. And even when I could write letters, I found out I couldn't write numbers."
Paul's eyes got very big. "Oh my God! You must have been scared stiff!"
Heyes took a deep breath, remembering all too vividly. "Yeah, I was. Not as bad as the first time, though. There wasn't that sheer terror – that feeling that the world had gone totally nuts and I didn't know why. But I wasn't sure if I'd ever get some or all of it back. I sure didn't know it could happen that fast. It was a strange feeling – it all came back at once. I was out riding with Curtis – Beth's nephew. Maybe the jiggling around on horseback shook something loose."
NG understood Heyes' fear. "So when you said don't tell anyone – you mean because if someone knew it was that easy to hurt you . . ."
"Yeah. There are guys out there still looking to do me a bad turn any way they can. You can't be a success like I was in my old field and not make enemies. Dangerous ones." Heyes felt an ache in his middle as he saw the horrified looks in his friends' eyes. He wondered if they would ever really be reconciled to his past.
Huxtable gave Heyes a worried look. Heyes nodded. "Yeah. I know what you're hearing. Doctor Leutze said to expect some fresh damage after Jed hit me. He was right. . My speech is back where it was a couple of years ago, or even worse in some ways. I hope I get over it. But right now, when I want to do interviews, it doesn't help."
The wise Neal, with 45 years of experience, was eager to get Heyes' attention off of his own problems. So he asked, "Where's the Kid now?"
But Heyes had worries about the Kid, too. "Oh, he went on out West to see if he could find a deputy. Our old enemies will be gunning for him, and so will any other guys who want to make headlines. He'll need somebody on his side. I'm afraid most of the lawmen won't be hopping up and down to help out an old outlaw. Guys know how dangerous it'll be to be Kid Curry's deputy, so he had a hard time finding anybody who are willing to work with him. He even asked me – he was that desperate."
"So that's what you two fought about?" asked the canny NG.
Heyes nodded and looked away from his friends uncomfortably. "I said no. And now the doc's got me under such tight wraps, I couldn't even consider it. The limits he set are permanent. I can't do anything that could put my head in danger. Never again. For sure no fighting. He'd even rather I didn't ride. He knows I've got to – but he asked me to be real careful not to fall. He won't even let me play baseball."
"That's a damn shame. Is the Kid alright?" NG asked.
"I called Jed on the telephone from a train station. He's fine. He finally found himself a good young deputy. He's getting started on the new job. He misses Cat, of course. She's staying with us. She's shopping with Polly today so I guess she's enjoying that. But Cat's looking forward to being with Jed as soon as he figures the deputy's settled in and the boys have stopped gunning for him too bad."
NG said solemnly, "I appreciate your trusting us so much Heyes, to tell us about what happened to you and Jed. I promise not to tell anyone but Ev. And to make sure he knows how serious it is."
"I trust you, NG, Missouri. But when I think of what's happened - when I look back I have to wonder - do you trust me? Trust – that's the thing, isn't it? That's what the judge for the hearing about my name has decide on. That's what the deans I'll apply to have to decide on."
Huxtable and NG studied their friend in silence for a while. Heyes sounded a bit shaken. Finally, NG said, "Well, four governors and the Columbia deans and board already do trust you. And if you ever need us to stand up for you, you know we will."
NG went on, "Heyes, I hate to say it, but Paul and I really need to talk some about school. We've got work to do and not a lot of time to do it," said NG, "so can we talk about this later? If you don't mind.
"Mind?! I don't mind," replied Heyes in relief. "Math is what I came to talk about. That and any good position listings you've seen. And that symposium coming up at Drexel. I'd almost forgotten about it, but they accepted my talk proposal before I got arrested. So I've got to get that together in a hurry – if they let me switch names on them and still present. That's going not going to be a lot of fun to explain. And the Dean contacted the publisher on the journal with my first scholarly article so they'd hold it in press until they know what name to put on it. I've got to explain to them, too. I've sure got myself in a pickle. So yeah, I'd really rather talk math."
Heyes' friends laughed with him as the talk turned resolutely to mathematics and the gossip of the field. Eventually, Heyes pulled out his new pocket watch and said, "I almost forgot, I've got to go tell Charlie about my lawyer's plans for my name hearing, which includes having Charlie speak for me. Pardon me, boys. I've got work to do today, too."
As Heyes walked rapidly down the hall toward Charlie Homer's office he nearly walked into Professor Reynolds, the aesthetics professor who had made Heyes' life such a misery one semester. The Englishman glared at his former student. "So, the criminal returns to the scene of the crime," he remarked with distain in his upper crust English accent.
Heyes was sorely tempted to strike the arrogant man, but he controlled himself remembering his graduation hearing. "I understand you spoke for me when the dean asked you, Professor Reynolds. Thank you, sir," said Heyes humbly. He knew enough to pick his battles.
"Will wonders never cease. Hannibal Heyes has at least perfunctory manners. I truly was shocked that even that hick Homer would let a notorious felon into our school. It's an embarrassment we may never live down. But I wasn't going to deny A level work. How someone from such a low, disgusting background could manage college work, I will never know." The professor walked quickly past Heyes, leaving the former outlaw seething with fury.
Heyes got to Homer's office and saw the door open. He walked in and dropped into the worn leather chair where he had often sat as a student. "Charlie, I just ran into Reynolds in the hall."
"I was afraid you would. I don't dare hope that he was anything but rude to you. I apologize on behalf of the school, Heyes," said Charlie with a wry smile.
Heyes' spoke bitterly, "How he can manage to acknowledge my A level work and be so insulting at the same time, I don't understand. He spoke about me in the third person while I was standing right there facing him, and even thanking him! Like I was so far beneath him that he wouldn't even speak to me. He called my own family low and disgusting right to my face!"
"He's a piece of work, ain't he? Wouldn't you just love to let the Kid loose on him some time?" said Homer with a grin.
Heyes had to laugh at that. "No, honestly Charlie. The Kid's calmed down over the years, but he's still got a temper. He'd probably kill the man and hang for it."
Homer joined Heyes' laughter. "He'd be doing the world a favor to wipe out Reynolds, but we need to keep Jed around. He's gonna be a daddy – we've got to keep him alive, well, and out of prison. But you said you had news – what is it?"
"My lawyer thinks I've still got a good chance on the name change despite what Governor Hogg of Texas said. Senator Warren wrote a real nice letter recommending me, in addition to the simple yes to the name question he sent earlier. So that might help. Brown is going to argue that anyone who insists on my not changing my name is trying to hold me back from improving who I am. He might be right. Will you please come and speak for me, Charlie? I hate to keep asking all this of you."
"Of course I'll speak, Heyes. How are you – you know, with the talking and writing stuff?"
"I don't know. Seems about the same to me. I mean, the same since I got my speech back. I hang up just a little now and then, and I'm still a little slow. You can hear it as well as I can. Well, I'd better run along. I've got stuff to do and you must, too, or you wouldn't be here. Bye, Charlie," said Heyes. His former professor got up and went down the hall with him.
Charlie looked at his former advisee with concern. "Let me know if you have any questions while you're preparing for interviews. Don't forget that new Texas Normal College. They do want to hear from you."
"I hope they still do, when I tell them my real name," said Heyes. Now the two had gotten to the doors of the building and Heyes went down the steps.
"Take it easy, Heyes! And good luck with the applications! And the Drexel symposium – I might get to it, but I'm not sure." Charlie called down the steps to Heyes. "See you soon!"
"Bye, Charlie!" Heyes called and waved up from the sidewalk.
Heyes went down the street with his hands in his pockets. He whistled softly as he walked, glad to have Charlie Homer so strongly on his side.
A pair of fashionably dressed young women in dark dresses hurried up to Heyes. "Excuse me, sir," said a stunning young blonde nervously twisting a pair of white gloves in her hands, "may I ask your name?"
"I . . . why do you want to know?" asked Heyes in puzzlement, automatically glancing up and down the street to make sure no one among the other walkers on the sidewalks was paying him any particular attention. In this, he was disappointed. Several assorted people seemed to be staring at him and his pretty young questioners.
The bright-eyed brunette accompanying the blonde stifled a giggle. "Um, we heard that man call you Heyes. Would you happen to be Hannibal Heyes, the outlaw?"
"No, ladies," said Heyes firmly, starting to turn. "I am not an outlaw." He tried to be icily forbidding. He felt decidedly insecure having even such attractive strangers know his name, and especially being stared at on the street in New York City.
"But you are Hannibal Heyes," insisted the brunette, "aren't you? We've seen your picture in the papers and you look just like it. And we know you went to Columbia University, like we will. Otherwise why were you in that building?"
Heyes reluctantly checked his turn. He spoke crisply, trying to swiftly disentangle himself from what he supposed must be some of his fans. Other than Jim and Curtis, who were in a special category, he had never really met any. He wasn't at all sure what to make of them. "Yes, Miss. I am Hannibal Heyes the thoroughly reformed ex-outlaw. Good-day to you." He raised his straw boater politely to them and again turned to go.
"Oh, but wasn't it much more fun to be an outlaw?" giggled the blonde.
Heyes couldn't help admiring the pair of spirited and very attractive young women of about eighteen years each, but he assumed an air of fierce annoyance. "If you enjoyed my infamy, that's your outlook. For my part, I most certainly did not enjoy being pursued, shot, arrested, tried, or thrown into prison at hard labor. I am now a professional academic, which is a much safer and more beneficial field of endeavor. Good-day to you both." He tipped his hat again and started yet again to turn and leave.
"Oh, come on, Mr. Heyes," pleaded the brunette with a gleam in her eye, "didn't you enjoy opening safes and blowing things up and having lots of money? You must have had pretty girls around all the time. Don't tell me you objected to that."
Finally Heyes' icy façade cracked. He began to laugh and winked at the pretty brunette with one eye and then at the equally lovely blonde with the other eye. Suddenly the formerly hard brown eyes were sparkling and the Heyes charm emerged. "Yeah, I'll admit it, having a pretty girl on each arm was kind of nice. It didn't happen nearly as often as I would have liked. Devil's Hole is awful remote and some stupid gang leader didn't allow women there."
The blonde giggled again. "Why Mr. Heyes, what stony-hearted gang leader would forbid women?"
"Me," laughed Heyes. "Women cause fights and distract the men. If I could have broken my own rule, I would have, but I didn't think it would be fair. Now, if you will pardon me, I really must be going. It's been a pleasure to meet you, Miss . . .?"
"I'm Edna Farley, and this is Helena Rowe," said the blonde. "We're fans of yours. In the fall, we start as students at Columbia University. You have been very kind to give us your attention, Mr. Heyes. We really should let you go."
"But Mr. Heyes," asked Miss Rowe, "I must ask. I've noticed you looking around watchfully when we say your name. Surely, with amnesty, you are, as they say, in the clear?"
Heyes shook his head and his voice turned low and serious. "No, Miss. I don't think there will ever be such a thing as being in the clear for the Kid and me as long as we live. We have a lot of enemies. And yes, we've encountered some of them right here in New York City on occasion. The Kid and I turned a couple of them in to the law not too long ago, as a matter of fact. I really must go."
"How heroic of you! But don't you feel naked without a gun on your hip?" asked Miss Farley, suddenly conscious that she and her friend might be exposing their idol to danger, yet unwilling to end the conversation.
Heyes shook his head. "Not after almost six years in the city, I don't. But I do feel exposed having people know my real name. Now, every enemy we've got knows where to find the Kid and me. I feel like I've got a d-" Heyes just barely stopped himself from uttering a curse in gentile company, "a target painted on my back. Ladies, it's been delightful, but honestly, I have business to attend to." Heyes tipped his straw hat a third time and was relieved to have finally made his escape. But this time he was whistling as he walked away. Heyes had certainly noted how his brilliant smile had struck home with these young ladies. Even as a married man, he could hardly help taking pleasure in making the hearts of stunning young women beat faster.
Heyes had just walked around a corner when someone else stopped him. This time it was two scruffy looking men with their hats in their hands. "Sir," a young man holding a dusty cap said eagerly, "would you happen to be Hannibal Heyes the famous reformed outlaw?"
"Yeah, we're big fans of yours," said the older bearded man, stepping forward way too close for the former outlaw's taste.
Heyes stepped back skeptically and inched his hand toward the gun hidden under his jacket. He was reluctant to use it and court assault charges, but these two hardly looked like they would be avid novel readers. They must have heard Heyes talking to his fans and now they wanted to rob the famous robber.
"I don't want trouble," said Heyes cautiously. "I'm looking for work. Ain't found it yet. I ain't got more than a dollar on me. If you want it, you can have it and welcome."
As Heyes went to reach into this pocket, the older man pulled a battered little gun from under his hat. "Not so fast, Heyes. Hands up and now. Money ain't what we fans want from you." He backed Heyes up against a wall.
"No, sir. We want a demonstration of those famous skills of yours at openin' things," said the younger man softly in a rough Brooklyn accent as he revealed the long knife that he had had hidden under his cap.
Heyes froze. Now, he knew what weaponry these thugs had. He doubted they had more weapons or any other men. They weren't that organized or sophisticated. It was one against two, but the one was Hannibal Heyes. So, he had few doubts he could best them. Now, Heyes just needed a distraction, any distraction. The city was full of things that could break a man's attention. His eyes flicked back and forth. He listened attentively.
"Alright, Mr. Heyes, sir, you just come along with us," said the older ruffian, starting to walk Heyes toward a shadowy alley. "You open one thing, just one little old thing, and we'll let you go. Might even give you a share, if you handle yourself as good as they say."
"Yeah, and then I'll go to prison at hard labor for the rest of my life," said Heyes coolly as he went with the men but walked as slowly as he could get away with. "No deal, boys." Heyes wasn't about to leave anyone who might walk by with the impression that he would even pretend to cooperate with these men on the wrong side of the law.
The ex-outlaw's keen brown eyes were searching all around. He knew this precinct and the policemen who patrolled it. He didn't have their beats mapped or timed, but if he just took his time, one of them could come along and get him out of this. Or, since they were close to Columbia, one of his friends or professors could easily walk by. Heyes was watching for an opportunity, any opportunity. Strangers, walked by constantly, young and old, rich and poor, all ignoring Heyes and the two criminals. And the hard-boiled hold-up men ignored the people on the sidewalk. Nothing was distracting them.
"Why is that Officer Tryon coming down the street?" asked Heyes, looking behind the older man with fake innocence.
"No dice, Heyes. That's the oldest dodge in the book," said the older man.
"Aw, you're onto me," said Heyes coolly, just as he faked a trip over a rough bit of sidewalk. The younger man caught him before he could fall, holding his knife to Heyes' throat.
"Now, Heyes, we ain't that stupid, either," the young thug hissed into the western's ear. "You know, you don't want to call for help. If you don't come along quiet, we can get you back in that alley and cut your throat real easy."
Heyes was really starting to sweat. They were nearly into the alley. He was missing his partner right about now. He had set up his captors to expect only crude attempts at escape, but how was he going to manage something more subtle that would really work? He still needed a real distraction.
Suddenly a very familiar young woman's voice called out, loudly, from near the corner, "Mr. Heyes! One more question!"
Both thugs glanced in the direction of the voice, but Heyes didn't look toward his devoted female fans. He was otherwise occupied. In a split second, the one criminal's knife was knocked to the ground and kicked away down a storm drain. At the same time, Heyes grabbed the other man's grimy little gun with his left hand while he drew his own gun with his right. "Hands up, boys," said Heyes with a grin. "We're going to the police station. The guys there know me – the Kid and I have brought in no-goods like you before."
The two scruffy would-be thieves looked at their former victim in shock. "I never saw a man move that fast in my life," muttered the younger man as he put up his hands. "I thought the other guy was the one with the fast hands." He shook his head in wonder and admiration.
Heyes laughed, "You're wrong there, boy – it's both of us. Keep those hands high, both of you. Up! Up! I ain't kiddin'. If you knew how many men my partner and I have captured and turned in, you would take this more seriously."
His lovely saviors were approaching in high excitement and he spoke to them, "Miss Rowe, thank you for taking the part usually played by my partner, even if you didn't happen to have a pistol on you. Now you can forget those stupid novels. Filled with lies, all of them. You've got your own Hannibal Heyes story and this one is true!" Both women stood looking on with their mouths hanging open.
The older criminal glared and started to rage, "Heyes, we are going to . . ."
"Shut up, or I might just decide to shoot you while you try to escape, low-life," responded Heyes with evident self-satisfaction.
Miss Rowe gathered herself and spoke first, "Mr. Heyes, much as I have seen about your exploits in print, nothing I have read does justice to the truth. You are amazing."
"Truly, ladies, that was nothing," said Heyes happily, but without taking his eyes off of his prisoners. "Pardon me for not looking at your loveliness, Miss Rowe and Miss Farley. But I'm not about to have these guys turn the tables on me like I just did to them. I've got to pay close attention all the way. Step out, boys, just down the street and now to your left if you please. You do know which way is your left, don't you?" Heyes grinned at the men he was placing under citizen's arrest. "Good-day, ladies, unless you'd like to come along and swear out statements in support of my citizen's arrest. If you come, keep your distance from these bums. They wouldn't scruple to use you in bad ways."
The two young woman undergraduates backed off from Heyes' prisoners, but they came along with their eyes wide with the thrill. They weren't going to miss this adventure. The prisoners grumbled, but Heyes kept them moving along steadily.
A few minutes later, Heyes had his two would-be kidnappers and his two witnesses at the police office he knew best. The young ladies opened the door for them and in they went.
"Officers, look what I've got for you," said the ex-outlaw to the men behind the desk.
"Officers, arrest this man! He's a criminal!" cried the older prisoner. "He's Hannibal Heyes himself!"
"Shut up, you!" growled Heyes. "He knows who I am. Officers, these boys tried to kidnap me at gun point so I would open something for them – a safe, I guess. If it required a gun and a knife to be held on me, I think we can assume it wasn't anything legal. And these two ladies can swear to at least part of that."
"Heyes, I thought you were looking for work, not trolling for stray criminals," groused the older of the two policeman behind the desk wearily. He was the same man who had been on duty when Heyes and the Kid had brought in a pair of thieves a few days before. He directed another man, "Marks, lock up these two losers. It's not the first time we've seen them, but I hope it might be the last."
As the two criminals were hauled away squirming and complaining in handcuffs, Heyes put the criminal's gun and his own on the desk. "Here's the gun one of those two thugs held on me, until these two lovely ladies distracted him enough for me to get it away from him. The other weapon is mine. The knife the young fellow had, I regret to say is down a storm drain, where I kicked it."
"Why do you keep on plaguing us with petty criminals, Heyes?" asked the man behind the desk. "I would have thought you'd want to stay away from the law. You didn't do this kind of do-gooder stuff out west, did you?"
Heyes looked at the man uncertainly, thinking he was kidding and hoping so. Joking around with lawmen was not exactly something he was used to. So he spoke with perfect seriousness, well aware of his lovely young fans listening as well. "Yeah, as a matter of fact, we did turn in a good few criminals out west, after we went straight. It was rough in those days, when we could have been caught and put behind bars ourselves. But sometimes it was with the law or against it – and we chose the law."
"That's very impressive!" exclaimed Miss Farley.
"Don't you remember, Edna?" said Miss Rowe excitedly, "They talked about it at Mr. Heyes' murder trial. They couldn't prove most of it, but the defense attorney brought it up."
"That's right, he did," said Heyes. "But since we did most of it under aliases and in secret, proving it would be impossible. When we did that in Texas once, a judge let us off, even knowing who we were. He's a good man. He sent a statement to support me at my murder trial, as Miss Rowe probably recalls. She's a close reader and has a good memory, it seems. She'll make a good student."
"That's quite a story," said a young man who was leaning against the far wall writing rapidly on a pad. "You mind if I put it in the New York Herald? About your turning in these men and the ones before, and the ones out West?"
"Huh? You're press?" asked Heyes, stepping back in horror. "Damn! Oh, sorry, ladies."
"How could it hurt you, now that you have the amnesty, Mr. Heyes?" asked the lanky young reporter. "How about an interview?"
Heyes didn't hesitate. "No. The press has turned on me too many times. Write your story, if you're bound to, but I don't have a word on the record for you."
"But how could it hurt, Mr. Heyes?" asked the reporter. "Come on, give me an interview. Just a few minutes. You've never spoken to the press, but now you can."
"No!" barked Heyes. "I know I can't stop you from publishing, but I've got legal paperwork to do. Please let me get to it."
Once Heyes, Miss Farley, and Miss Rowe had completed their legal obligations to the police, they went out the door together. Miss Rowe asked. "Mr. Heyes, why wouldn't you give that nice reporter an interview? He could have helped you to look good in the eyes of potential employers?"
Heyes sighed. "I'm about to go through a civil hearing," he said. "It could look like I rigged it to impress the judge. Besides, I hate the press. They've caused my partner and myself more trouble than anybody but sheriffs and bounty hunters. Snakes, all of them! Well, all but my partner."
Miss Rowe looked thoughtful. "Mr. Heyes, don't you feel bad putting those two thieves away like that? Aren't they a lot like you used to be?"
Heyes was indignant. "We were never that stupid and clumsy! We were professionals! And, no, I don't feel bad. They wanted to make me steal for them and get me put away for the rest of my life. It doesn't bother me at all to avoid that. Ladies, if someone had put the Kid and myself away when we were stealing – which they did, and been able to keep us behind bars – which they didn't, it would have been the right thing. We wouldn't have liked it, but it would have been right. You seem to think about only my past. It's my future that my wife and I are concerned about. And to have a good future is going to take work. A lot of it. Now, pardon me, ladies, but I have to go off and get going on that work. Again, thank you very much. I'm sure I'll see you around Columbia, when I'm back to visit." Heyes tipped his hat to the young women for a fourth time and headed toward home. The two young fans watched him go with puzzled looks on their faces. Mr. Heyes had given them a lot to think about.
Heyes saw a favorite deli as he walked. He dropped in, since it was about noon. "Hi, Harold. Can you get me a chicken sandwich, please, on rye with lettuce, tomatoes, and mustard?" Heyes asked the rotund, bald man behind the counter, whom he had seen often in the past.
"No, you dirty thief! I know you're really Hannibal Heyes. Get out of here before I call the police!" growled the deli man.
"I've got amnesty, Hal," said Heyes patiently. "I'm not a thief any more. I guess you talked to Moe Arnheim. Honestly, neither one of you has anything to fear from me. I've gone straight. I've got a master's degree and everything."
Harold Fridgeon wasn't listening to Hannibal Heyes on any point. "Out! I can refuse service to anyone I want. You could frighten good customers away. Get out now, Mr. Heyes. No food for you here, ever."
Heyes knew there was no use in arguing. He would have to find someplace else to get lunch. It took him a while to find a deli where he was sure he wasn't known.
After Heyes had finished his lunch, he continued toward home. Suddenly he stopped. He had spotted a hand written sign posted in a shop window at a men's clothing store. It said "Bookkeeper wanted." Heyes straightened his tie and walked in.
Heyes found a man in glasses hanging shirts on a rack. "Excuse me, sir. You put up a sign asking for a book keeper. Are you the right one to ask about that?"
The man stopped his work and stared at Heyes through his glasses. "You interested in the post? We just need someone for a few hours a month to keep the books straight. Our old guy went out West. Pays $5.00 an hour. I'm Clarence Murray, the owner."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Murray. Sounds interesting to me. Can you show me the books?" said Heyes.
Murray studied his new applicant with care. "What are your qualifications? Have you done bookkeeping before?"
"Yes, sir. I've done bookkeeping for a saloon and a hotel out West. The first for only a few days before they sold out. The second lasted more than five years. I just finished up my M.A. in mathematics at Columbia University and I'm looking for a post. I had a class on accounting, but I knew plenty of it before. I'd be glad to do some bookkeeping to help pay the bills while I look. I might stay in the area or not – depends upon where I wind up working full time. Are you interested in someone temporary?"
Murray nodded. "Sure, to tide me over until I can get somebody regular. What kind of grades did you get at Columbia?"
"All A pluses in mathematics and As or A pluses in everything else. Got my BA summa cum laude."
The shop manager gave a shrill whistle. "Wow! Sounds good to me. I'd like to see the transcripts, if you don't mind."
"Sure," said Heyes. He dug into his briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of transcripts. "Here you go, Mr. Murray."
The shop manager stared at the impressive list of A plusses and awards and then stared at Heyes. "So your name is Heyes. H. Heyes," said the store owner, suspicion creeping into his voice. "What's the first H stand for?"
Heyes did his best to sound casual. "Hannibal."
"You're some comedian. Hannibal Heyes, my foot." The man laughed in Heyes' face. "Who would hire a bank robber to keep books?"
"I was kind of hoping that you would, Mr. Murray. But I'm an ex-outlaw. I went straight more than seven years ago and have amnesty now," said Heyes, keeping his tone light even as his heart sank.
"Seriously? Who have you been keeping books for over the last five years?" Murray was amazed and still seemed ready to believe that the man before him was joking.
"Christy's Place – a bar and hotel in Louisville, Colorado." Heyes' voice was absolutely level.
"Who runs it? Kid Curry?" Murray was half laughing and more than half joking.
"Yeah, as a matter of fact, the Kid and his wife. The Kid's now the sheriff of Louisville, in addition to running the hotel."
"You really aren't pulling my leg?"
"I surely am not. You want to see the amnesty papers from four governors?"
"No, that would be a waste of time. I'd like to see me argue my wife into that one! Hannibal Heyes! Hah! Please go on your way, Heyes."
Heyes stood where he was, surprised by Murray's sudden turn on the basis of nothing but his name. But Murray said, "I said, get out of here, Heyes. This is a position of trust. I've read about you and your recent adventures in the newspapers. I don't trust you. I just don't see how I ever could trust a man with your past. You're too smart. You would find it way too easy to fool me." Murray turned and went into the back of the shop. Heyes put his hands in his pockets and went out the door, trying to keep his head up. But he felt heartsick. He was working as hard as he could on his future, but all anyone but Charlie seemed to care about was his past.
When Beth Heyes finished work that night and got home, she could smell something burning. She rushed in, hoping there wasn't a fire started. He found Heyes in one of her aprons leaning over the stove, trying to scrape something out of a pan.
"Heyes!" cried Beth. "Is everything alright?"
"No. I tried to cook something. I wanted to fix dinner and surprise you for your first day back at work. But I left it for a minute to work on a job application. I guess I lost track of time. I burned the chops. I'm sorry, honey. I can't seem to d-do anything right."
"I hope your day was good otherwise, Heyes," Beth said, standing on tip toe to kiss her husband, who was glad to return the salute. "Mine was spent catching up with my students."
"Well, it could have been worse." Heyes wasn't anxious to describe the particulars of his day. "Nobody shot me or locked me up."
Beth looked at him in worry. "I hope you didn't just sit around here and do paperwork. It was a pretty day and you shouldn't be cooped up."
Heyes spoke as he tried without much luck to free a burned pork chop from the cast iron frying pan it was stuck to. "No, honey, I was out all morning. I saw my lawyer – he thinks I might still have a shot at getting the middle name. Senator Warren wrote me a nice letter - I mean an added recommendation."
Beth reached up to turn Heyes' face toward hers. "Well, that's good. So the rest of your day wasn't great?"
"Oh, it wasn't so bad. It had its points. But – well . . . I hope you had a good time with the students. They must be glad to have you back. I know I am." The look on his face told Beth much about the disappointments he had faced.
Beth stayed upbeat, trying to get her husband to cheer up. "Tell me about your day later, Heyes. Right now, take off that silly apron and wash up. I'm taking you out to dinner."
Heyes put his arms around his wife. "I thought it was a kind of indifferent day before, but now it seems pretty fine to me. With you around, Beth, it might just end well. But tell me one thing. Do you trust me?"
"Utterly and completely, Mr. Heyes. And I love you the same way. That's what we're building our future on. Alright?"
Heyes smiled at her and gave her another kiss. "Alright."
The newly-weds were soon on their way along the sidewalk to their favorite French restaurant, hand in hand. Heyes was whistling again.
