Chasing Stan
I raised my hand to gesture toward Delaware Avenue and the roar of unmuffled engines as a pair of cars ran a race. When the sound died away, I asked a question. “When does this end?”
Sunshine checked his wristwatch. “We’ve probably got another hour to go. The races usually break up around eleven. Sometimes they run later, twelve or maybe one in the morning, but only for the guys who never have enough.”
“How do people leave?” I asked. “Does everyone go the same way?”
David entered the conversation for the first time in a while. He’d been mostly quiet since the scuffle he had with Smokey in the back of Sunshine’s car. “What are you thinking, Law?” He asked.
I explained. “I think Smokey is right, at least about one of the things he said. I think Stan has too much money. He seems to have more money than someone who won at the track or had a good night of poker. Whatever he’s doing to get the money must be a regular thing.
“Back during Prohibition, guys who had fast cars ran liquor. Now, the scams are less obvious. I want to follow him to see where he goes. If he’s doing something crooked, he’s likely doing it on his days off. This is Friday night. I want to keep an eye on that smug son-of-a-bitch from now until Monday morning.”
Sunshine stood forward, closer to me and David. “I want to help.” He announced firmly. “If what you’re doing will help Larry and will get some justice for Ted, I want to help.”
Smokey threw his arm over Sunshine’s shoulders and pulled him into a sidewards hug. “I told you he was a good egg!” He exclaimed. “I’m with Sunny. I wanna help too.”
I went around to the passenger side of Walt’s station wagon and checked the glove compartment. In there I found a small clipboard and pencil that Walt used when we went to New Jersey to buy produce for the restaurant. Walt had purchased the station wagon for that very purpose. He’d said fresh produce would be a big selling point for Walt’s Special.
At the time, I’d thought he was crazy. Fresh produce came to the city daily. Some of it came on trucks from Jersey and the rest came from refrigerated train cars from all over the country. I saw no reason for Walt to have to haul his own. As usual, when it came to matters of the restaurant, Walt had been right, and I had been wrong. The customers loved ‘Walt’s Special Farm Fresh Salad’ and ‘Walt’s Special Farm Fresh Vegetable Soup.’
I used the clipboard to record Smokey’s telephone number and the number to Sunshine’s rooming house. I told both men I would reach them the following day. I decided that David and I would tail Stan for the rest of the night. By the morning, we would need sleep. I hoped to trade off with either Smokey or Sunshine, or both, and to work in shifts until we discovered Stan’s secret, whatever it was.
Once all the sharing of information was settled, I re-asked my previous question. “How do people leave here? Where can David and I go to make sure we follow Stan as he leaves?”
“That’s easy.” Sunshine announced. “Stan always leaves the same way. When he runs his last race, he doesn’t stop to get his time. He runs wide open past the timekeepers and stays hard on the throttle up Delaware Avenue. He’ll have to slow a little at the bend at Porter Street, then he opens her up again between the warehouses next to the B&O rail lines. He likes the noise the exhaust makes when it echoes off the big warehouse walls.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
Sunshine readily admitted how he knew. “Ted told me. One race day back in January, when Smokey stayed home for his little girl’s birthday, Ted got me to drive the Lincoln past those old warehouses.”
“Why did he want to drive down there?” I asked out of curiosity.
Sunshine’s face reddened and he grew bashful. “The noise and the speed did something for him. He was…uh…real excited after.”
I held my hand up to stop Sunshine from embarrassing himself any further. “I understand.” I said. “So, David and I should park on Delaware Avenue, probably near Porter so we can pick Stan up when he slows down for the curve.”
Smokey shook his head. “No way you’ll keep up in your Merc wagon. It’s too heavy with all the wood. Stan’s Olds is a lot lighter and has at least fifty more horsepower.”
I had an answer ready for Smokey. “I don’t have to catch him. All I have to do is not lose him. By the time he leaves, the city will be asleep. There won’t be any cars on the road and no noise to confuse with Stan. As loud as he is, even if I lose sight of him, I can follow his noise. We’ll be alright.”
With that, David and I thanked Smokey and Sunshine for their information, their time, and their promised help. They left to get in line for one more race. David and I started to get into the station wagon. David went around to the passenger side, but I stopped him.
“You’re a good driver, aren’t you?” I asked my old friend. “You kept up with Stan on the way here and you managed not to rearend him when he locked up the brakes. I think you should drive tonight.”
“Are you sure?” David asked.
“I’m not much of a driver.” I admitted. “Whenever me and Walt go anywhere together, he drives. Besides, the older I get, the harder it is for me to see at night. We’re going to have to run without the headlights. You’re younger than me. I expect you’ll be able to see better.”
David nodded to agree with my assumption. “I’m used to how dark it gets at home. When there’s no moon, it’s black. Here, with all the streetlamps and houselights, I can see just fine.”
I let myself in the passenger side of the wagon and stowed the clipboard in the glovebox. David got in the driver’s side and started the car. He eased it out of the vacant lot and followed my instructions until we were parked on the river side of Delaware Avenue, on the outside of the bend at Porter Street. I had David park the car in the shadow of the Philadelphia Electric Company building. Our backs were toward the river and the front of the car was pointed toward the southern end of Delaware Avenue so we could see everything that came toward us.
There were enough streetlights along Delaware Avenue that we were sure to be able to pick Stan out when he left the race. We also left our windows down to listen for Smug Stanly’s ‘lake pipes.’ David shut the car off and we waited. I’d thought about telling him to leave the engine run, so we’d be ready to take off after Stan when he came, but I worried the car would overheat if it idled for too long.
We sat a few moments in silence until the quiet got to be too much for me. I asked a question just to be saying something. “How did you win over Sunshine so fast? I thought sure that one of us was going to have to slug him. You must have said something impressive.”
David ran his palm around the rim of the steering wheel. “I told him what’s at stake. I told him that my son’s life is on the line. I also told him that he didn’t have any reason to be embarrassed about what he did with Ted. I said that, once upon a time, I’d done the same.”
I was stunned by David’s admission to Sunshine. I worried the information would travel. “The news might get back to your boy.” I warned. “Did you make him promise not to tell?”
David shook his head at the windshield. “I don’t give a damn.” He said angrily. “I’m tired of secrets. My son is in jail because of secrets. I didn’t trust him enough to be honest about who I was, and in return, he didn’t trust me enough to be honest about who he is. No more fucking secrets! NEVER!”
David’s anger worried me. Up to that point, he’d been either miserable or focused. Anger was a new emotion. I wanted to know what caused it. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“MY SON DIDN’T TRUST ME!” David exploded. “FUCK!” He cried and slammed his great fist on the top of the driver’s door.
I waited for David to elaborate. I suspected he would once he calmed down a bit. He took a few deep breaths and explained himself. “I was angry with Sunshine for fooling around with Ted. I thought it showed poor taste for him to do it when he worked with Larry and knew the boys were together. Sunshine said he didn’t do anything with Ted until he checked with Larry. Once he knew the boys were nothing more than roommates, that’s when he accepted Ted’s offers.”
“So what?” I asked because I didn’t see the point of what David had said.
“Do you know when that was?” David asked. He answered his own question before I had a chance to speak. “It was the second week in December. The boys left the farm right after Thanksgiving. They got here and found work and a place to live right away. They weren’t here a week when they had their falling out. Larry could have gotten on the train and come straight home, but he didn’t think he was welcome. None of this had to happen. If only I’d been honest, everything would have been fine.” David bit his lip and shook his head. Hot tears streamed down his face. He pounded his left fist on the driver’s door over and over.
My heart ached for my old friend. I patted his shoulder and tried to offer some comfort. “You know, David, if you had been honest, he wouldn’t exist at all.”
David misunderstood my statement. His anger flared. “WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?” He demanded as he rounded on me like he was going to strike me.
I held my hands up in the surrender pose to make him understand that I hadn’t meant anything bad by what I’d said. “It means you pretended to be straight and had a wife and nine kids. You’re upset at yourself for lying to your son. If you hadn’t lied, you never would have had him. If you hadn’t lied, you’d likely be alone. You can’t curse yourself for doing the very thing which paved the way for your son to exist in the first place. See?”
David settled back in his seat and wiped his face on the sleeve of his borrowed suit jacket. “I’m sorry.” He said and sniffed. “I should know you’d never say anything to hurt me. You’re right, as always, but when we get Larry out of jail, I’m going to tell him everything. My son deserves to know he’s not alone. He should know that he’s just like his old man. He should know I could never hate him for being what I am.”
I patted David’s shoulder again. “Good for you.” I said in support. “You’re a good dad.”
David shook his head and lowered his chin to his chest. “Sure, I guess.” He said into his lap. “I did the best I could. I wish I was smarter. I wish I could have given my kids more than I did, taught them more than I know.”
“You gave them love.” I said in a rare display of warm emotion. “Love is the most important thing. Look at where you are. Look at what you’re doing. You could have written Larry off when you got the letter from Scofield. You could have assumed he was guilty and disowned him like our fathers would have. You didn’t. You got a letter of credit on your farm and came here to do what you could. You found me and asked for my help. You’re sticking by your son when it would have been much easier not to. You’re a good dad.”
David lifted his head and smiled at me. The smile was a sad one, but it was a smile all the same. “Thank you, Law, for everything. I feel terrible that helping me has cost you so much. The first time you helped me, it cost you five thousand dollars. This time, it cost you time away from your business and an argument with your husband. I hope you and Walt can settle your differences.”
I shook my head and shrugged because I didn’t know what else to do. I loved Walt, but I was hurt and angry over what he’d said. I didn’t know if we’d be able to ‘settle our differences.’ I hoped so. My stomach knotted and grumbled with the sad emotions. I held it until it quieted.
“How are you feeling?” David asked when I didn’t say anything. “I noticed you’re not holding your stomach much. Does that mean your pain is less?”
I admitted that it was. I patted my stomach with my hand and felt the uneven topography of my skin and scars through my shirt. “Since you held me, and the other thing you did, I feel much better. My stomach is still upset, but it’s not unbearable like it was this morning.”
“I’m glad I could help.” David said.
He and I seemed to run out of things to say. We both focused our attention along Delaware Avenue and waited for Smug Stanley. He took his time to arrive. We experienced a few false alarms as other cars left the races in the same manner as Stan. Three or four cars sped up the street toward us. One looked enough like Stan’s Rocket Oldsmobile that I had David start the station wagon and get ready to give chase. It wasn’t until the car was almost upon us when I noticed the grill was different, and it didn’t bear the same disapproving frown of Stan’s Oldsmobile.
David and I waited a long time in the dark and the quiet. Finally, at a quarter after eleven, Stan and his roaring lake pipes blasted up Delaware Avenue. David started the car and held the clutch down with the shifter in first. He gave the engine a little throttle to warm it up quickly.
Even though Stan had to slow for the bend in the road, he still passed us at a tremendous rate of speed. I was happy to see that he didn’t even look our way as he streaked by. His full attention was on the road before him. David let the clutch out and set off after Stan. Just as we left the side street, I heard the engine of Stan’s Oldsmobile roar louder as he accelerated away from the bend.
David touched the clutch and grabbed second gear. The station wagon surged forward, but Stan’s Oldsmobile was much faster. He moved away from us until all we could see were the small spots of his twin taillights as they burned dim red through the dark. I was glad to learn that I’d been right about the noise Stan’s car made. His exhaust echoed between the shuttered warehouses as he sped along. I was certain we could follow him on noise alone if we had to.
Walt’s station wagon was much quieter. Even with its throttle held wide open, I could barely hear the Mercury V-8 engine over the deafening racket of Stan’s car. David drove the car hard. He didn’t even lift his foot from the throttle as he shifted into third. The car gained more speed but still gave up ground to Stan. Stan was more than a quarter mile ahead of us as he approached another curve in the road.
The previous curve had been to the left, inland from the river. The curve we approached was to the right, almost like both the road and the river wanted to correct their course. I hoped we could gain ground against Stan when he slowed for the curve. I knew we’d lose most of the progress on the next straight section of road, but I thought we could achieve a net gain. David handled the driving with skill. We were moving far faster than I’d ever driven. The speed was so great, the vertical boards which sided the warehouses flashed past like the flicker of a movie projector.
Stan’s taillights glowed brighter as he applied the brakes near the curve. David and I gained on him. We gained on him much more quickly than we should have. I realized with sudden fear that perhaps we’d been discovered. I thought maybe Stan had stood on his brakes to confront us. To my relief, I was wrong.
Without any warning, Stan threw his Oldsmobile into a hard, one-hundred-and-twenty-degree left turn. His car slid sideways with the angry protestations of rubber tires on worn concrete. He bumped over the railroad tracks which were set into the center of the roadway, straightened out, and accelerated down Swanson Street which met Delaware Avenue on a fork.
David and I were moving too fast to make the turn in the unwieldy station wagon. David trod on the brakes and downshifted the transmission into second. The car lurched and nose-dived as it lost speed. David had the steering wheel to hold onto, but I had to put my hands against the dashboard to keep from kissing the windshield.
We passed Swanson Street and negotiated the curve in Delaware Avenue without too much trouble. Once we’d slowed enough, David tossed the car into a frantic U-turn. He forced the transmission into first with the metallic crunch of confused gears. He stomped the throttle and accelerated back the other way. By the time we turned around, Stan was gone from sight.
“Where the fuck did he go?” I demanded.
David replied in a steady, self-assured tone of voice. “He made a right down a side street. I saw him in the mirror.”
David upshifted to second and let the car cruise at just a little faster than the legal limit. He took the fork from Delaware onto Swanson. We strained our ears to listen for Stan’s exhaust, but the racket was gone. I knew Stan hadn’t disappeared into thin air. I assumed he was going slow, or he’d arrived at a destination very near to where we were.
When we reached the first cross street, which was Moore Street, David stopped in the middle of the intersection to look down the road. Nothing moved on the dark and desolate street. We looked ahead and didn’t see anything there either.
“Turn the headlights on.” I whispered.
David pulled the switch out on the dashboard and the headlights flared to chase the darkness away. The street narrowed ahead of us where the loading docks of businesses on opposite sides intruded into the thoroughfare. David pointed down Moore Street. “He has to be down there. He turned before those docks. He had to or I would have seen them.”
I wasn’t certain David was right. I wished there was a way to be sure. I decided to try to listen for Stan. “Turn the engine off.” I directed David.
David switched the engine off. He and I sat in uneasy silence. We strained our hearing to listen for Stan’s loud exhaust, but we heard nothing. “Let’s go.” I said at length. “Drive down Moore Street. Let’s see what we can see. Leave the headlights on and go slow.”
David restarted the car. He backed until he had room to make the turn and proceeded onto Moore Street in first gear. The area which surrounded us was a cheap, waterfront neighborhood. It was cheap because the houses were hemmed in by warehouses, railroad property, and freight lines. During the day, the neighborhood hummed with activity and reeked of industry. At night, it was as silent as a tomb. I was familiar with the area because it wasn’t far from where I’d once had my office in Moyamensing. It was also where I’d had to come when Charlie died.
The memory of the nightmare I’d had the day David arrived flashed in my mind like a poltergeist. I shook my head to chase it away and strained my aging eyes into the darkness. The windows in most of the homes were dark. Only an occasional light showed behind a drawn second floor shade. We crept along the street with only the steady throb of the station wagon’s engine to keep us company. David and I traversed the first block and stopped to look down the side streets.
We didn’t see anything. There weren’t even many parked cars along the blocks. The few cars which were there didn’t look anything like Stan’s Oldsmobile. Most were far too old, pre-war heaps still in service because their owners were too poor to afford anything newer. We drove on until we reached the next intersection and then the next. We stopped to check each one. At each cross street, we saw nothing.
As David idled the car down the fifth long block, I’d just about given up hope. I thought we must have lost Stan or missed him on one of the side streets we’d already passed. I was tempted to have David park the car so we could walk back along the blocks for a closer look. I was tempted to find a public telephone to call Wiry or Smokey to get more help to search the neighborhood. I was tempted to stand on the street corner and shout ‘Ollie, Ollie out in FREE!’ like the kids do when they’re tired of playing hide and seek. I didn’t do any of the three.
I was in the middle of clearing the absurd ‘hide and seek’ idea from my head when David jammed on the brakes to stop the car with a screech. “Look.” He hissed as he pointed.
I looked around David to where his left arm was stuck out of the driver’s side window of the car. Between a pair of rowhomes was what I thought was a vacant lot. Sometimes, when a rowhome needs to be demolished because of a fire or structural problems, it is simply removed from between its partners and the lot remains empty like a gap tooth in a smile. The space where David pointed looked just like one of those. The only evidence that the space was anything but a vacant lot was a ‘Dead-End’ sign mounted to a metal post which stuck from the edge of the sidewalk.
“Is that a street?” I whispered.
“It is.” David agreed. “And I think that’s an Oldsmobile.”
I squinted into the dark. I could just barely see the rear fender of a car. The car was parked parallel to the street we were on, like it had turned into a hidden garage or parked behind the house we faced. The edge of its chromium bumper glinted in the stray light which was cast from a shaded first floor window at the end of the alley. I couldn’t tell if the car was an Oldsmobile, or more importantly, if it was Stan’s Rocket Oldsmobile. I needed to get a closer look. I nodded up the street. “Drive up the block and park. Let’s check it out.”
I directed David to drive towards the end of the block. I didn’t want to park the station wagon too close to the alley we planned to investigate. If the fender we’d seen behind the house belonged to Stan’s car, then logically it followed that Stan could have gone into the rear entrance of any one of the row homes which faced the street we were on. I didn’t want to risk the possibility he would look through a window and see the wagon parked at the curb.
David and I got out of the car and nudged the doors shut so they closed with a click instead of a slam. David started to walk back along the block, but I whispered to him to stop. I pointed around the corner along the cross street. We crept down that way because I wanted to see if it was possible to approach the alley from another direction.
My idea paid off. The houses on the cross street had as many gaps between them as the teeth in a prize fighter’s smile. The empty lots were weedy rubbish heaps. The first one we came upon treated us to a view of the front of a parked car. I could tell from the shape of the frowning grill that the car was an Oldsmobile.
I unbuttoned my suit jacket to make for easier access to my gun if I needed it. I didn’t want to carry the weapon, but I wanted ready access to it if circumstances required its use. I got David’s attention and leaned close to him to whisper. “Not a sound.” David nodded and readied himself to follow me.
We crept down the empty lot between the blank and windowless walls of the flanking rowhomes. One of the walls was bathed in light from a nearby lamppost. The one closer to what we assumed was Stan’s car was shrouded in shadow. We stayed close to the shadowed wall to try to blend into the darkness. We also stepped very carefully to avoid kicking discarded bottles or noisy tin cans.
David and I made it to the car without alerting anyone to our presence. I felt the hood. It was warm. The paint under my hand was rough like flat paint would be. I crouched down to look along the side of the car. The chromium from the lake pipes winked back at me.
I nodded at David to tell him that we were in the right place. He nodded back that he understood. I held one finger up to tell David to stay where he was while I crept ahead to get the lay of the land. I kept my body low against the side of Stan’s car so I wouldn’t stand out. My aging joints didn’t like being made to work in ways they weren’t used to. I braced myself against the car to take some of the weight from them. I was doing fine until I put my left hand on the driver’s side lake pipe for balance.
The pipe was searingly hot. I drew my hand back and gritted my teeth to keep a painful scream from escaping my lips. I shook my hand in the air to cool it from the burn and clamped my other hand over my mouth as an extra obstacle to the anger and obscenity which wanted to burst from my lips. I managed to get control of myself after uttering no more than a whine.
David moved up next to me to see what happened. I pointed at the lake pipe and shook my aching hand. David nodded that he understood and retreated to wait. I edged further forward until I could peer down the alley past the back of the house which walled the far end of the lot.
My peering showed me that the block we were on was oddly shaped. It wasn’t a regular square or rectangle like most city blocks. This one was overly large and angled at one end instead of square. The center of the block was a sort of courtyard with rowhomes built around the inside. The alley was the only access.
The courtyard in the middle of the block was like a miniature slum. Many of the houses were obviously vacant. Broken windows yawned like empty eye sockets and doors stood open on sagging hinges. The homes had been built with no porches. The front doors opened directly onto the alley pavement while the ground floor windows were at waist height. Only one window in the whole courtyard showed light and that light was behind a drawn shade. I pointed at David to beckon him forward and moved toward the window without rising from my crouch.
My knees and my legs ached from the effort. I tried to use my hands to bear some of the weight, but my burned left hand objected with blinding pain. I forced my legs to do what I needed them to and crossed the poorly maintained pavement until I could squint into the window.
I closed one eye and searched around the lower sash until I found a gap between the shade and the window frame. I almost laughed at what I saw. I didn’t laugh out loud, but my body shook with silent amusement.
The window I peered through looked into a sitting room. On the right, against the outside wall of the house, was an ancient couch or daybed with low wooden arms and grimy pastel upholstery. Stan sat sprawled in the center of the cushion. He wore only his white undershirt. His denim jacket and his jeans were flung over the far arm of the couch.
Stan’s head rested on the back of the couch. His eyes were closed. His right hand lifted a yellow and red can of Embassy Club beer to his lips. He drank and lowered the can out of sight. Another man knelt between Stan’s feet. The other man was a small, light-skinned ginger with a lot of freckles across his pale back and a tattoo of a red-headed cartoon bird on his right ass cheek. The small man was giving Smug Stanley an enthusiastic blow job.
As far as his endowment, Stan had every right to be smug. His cock stood up tall, thick, and firm. The redhead who worked on it gave it his all. He sucked and slurped. He twisted his hand around the base. He lifted his mouth off to spit on the circumcised tip. He even used his other hand to massage Stan’s balls.
As I watched, Stan had another sip of beer. He opened his eyes and smiled a smug smile down at his partner. He lifted the beer can to pour some of the cold foamy liquid down the back of the ginger man. The ginger shivered as the suds slid down the channel of his spine and dripped from the crack of his smooth ass. He took his mouth from Stan’s cock long enough to make a giggling complaint about the beer. Stan guided the ginger’s head back into his lap. The ginger went eagerly and put his mouth back to work.
I eased away from the window and used hand gestures to suggest that David take a look. I watched as he carefully squinted through the gap in the shade like I had. I waited with an amused grin on my face because I expected to see David’s body shake with silent laughter like mine had.
Instead of a gentle shake, I watched as all the muscles in David’s broad back tensed with what I imagined was anger or stress. David took his face from the window. He frowned at it, blinked his eyes hard like he needed to clear them, then put his eye back to the peering spot. David’s back didn’t relax a fraction when he took his second look.
David moved away from the window and waved an angry hand toward me. The gesture demanded I follow him. David traversed the alley in a running crouch. When he reached the sidewalk of the main street, he made a left toward where we’d parked the station wagon. I hurried after him. I exited the alley and almost ran headlong into David who had stopped to wait for me on the sidewalk. He held his hand out to me. “Give me your gun.” He demanded in a sharp whisper.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because THAT’S TED!” David hissed at me.
