I felt the outside air explode around me and I stood just beyond the door laughing with the sudden relief of the joke restored, looking back at the defiant old man in his long-billed cap and the confounded eyes of the crowd. Rinehart, Rinehart, I thought, what kind of man is Rinehart?
I was still chuckling when, in the next block, I waited for the traffic lights near a group of men who stood on the corner passing a bottle of cheap wine between them as they discussed Clifton's murder.
"What we need is some guns," one of them said. "An eye for an eye."
"Hell yes, machine guns. Pass me the sneakypete, Muckleroy."
"Wasn't for that Sullivan Law this here New York wouldn't be nothing but a shooting gallery," another man said.
"Here's the sneakypete, and don't try to find no home in that bottle."
"It's the only home I got, Muckleroy. You want to take that away from me?"
"Man, drink up and pass the damn bottle."
I started around them, hearing one of them say, "What you saying, Mr. Rinehart, how's your hammer hanging?"
Even up here, I thought, beginning to hurry. "Heavy, man," I said, knowing the answer to that one, "very heavy." They laughed.
"Well, it'll be lighter by morning."
"Say, look ahere, Mr. Rinehart, how about giving me a job?" one of them said, approaching me, and I waved and crossed the street, walking rapidly down Eighth toward the next bus stop.
The shops and groceries were dark now, and children were running and yelling along the walks, dodging in and out among the adults. I walked, struck by the merging fluidity of forms seen through the lenses. Could this be the way the world appeared to Rinehart? All the dark-glass boys? "For now we see as through a glass darkly but then -- but then --" I couldn't remember the rest.
She was carrying a shopping bag and moved gingerly on her feet. Until she touched my arm I thought that she was talking to herself.
"I say, pardon me, son, look like you trying to pass on by me tonight. What's the final figger?"
"Figure? What figure?"
"Now you know what I mean," she said, her voice rising as she put her hands on her hips and looked forward. "I mean today's last number. Ain't you Rine the runner?"
"Rine the runner?"
"Yas, Rinehart the number man. Who you trying to fool?"
"But that's not my name, madame," I said, speaking as precisely as I could and stepping away from her. "You've made a mistake."
Her mouth fell wide. "You ain't? Well, why you look so much like him?" she said with hot doubt in her voice. "Now, ain't this here something. Let me get on home; if my dream come out, I'm-a have to go look that rascal up. And here I needs that money too."
"I hope you won," I said, straining to see her clearly, "and I hope he pays off."
"Thanks, son, but he'll pay off all right. I can see you ain't Rinehart now though. I'm sorry for stopping you."
"It's all right," I said.
"If I'd looked at your shoes I woulda known --"
"Why?"
" 'Cause Rine the runner is known for them knobtoed kind."
I watched her limp away, rocking like the Old Ship of Zion. No wonder everyone knows him, I thought, in that racket you have to get around. I was aware of my black-and-white shoes for the first time since the day of Clifton's shooting.
When the squad car veered close to the curb and rolled along slowly beside me I knew what was coming before the cop opened his mouth.
"That you, Rinehart, my man?" the cop who was not driving said. He was white. I could see the shield gleaming on his cap but the number was vague.
"Not this time, officer," I said.
"The hell you say; what're you trying to pull? Is this a holdout?"
"You're making a mistake," I said. "I'm not Rinehart."
The car stopped, a flashlight beamed in my green-lensed eyes. He spat into the street. "Well, you better be by morning," he said, "and you better have our cut in the regular place. Who the hell you think you are?" he called as the car speeded up and away.
And before I could turn a crowd of men ran up from the corner pool hall. One of them carried an automatic in his hand.
"What were those sonsabitches trying to do to you, daddy?" he said.
"It was nothing, they thought I was someone else."
"Who'd they take you for?"
I looked at them -- were they criminals or simply men who were worked up over the shooting?
"Some guy named Rinehart," I said.
"Rinehart -- Hey, y'all hear that?" snorted the fellow with the gun. "Rinehart! Them paddies must be going stone blind. Anybody can see you ain't Rinehart."
"But he do look like Rine," another man said, staring at me with his hands in his trousers pockets.
"Like hell he does."
"Hell, man, Rinehart would be driving that Cadillac this time of night. What the hell you talking about?"
"Listen, Jack," the fellow with the gun said, "don't let nobody make you act like Rinehart. You got to have a smooth tongue, a heartless heart and be ready to do anything. But if them paddies bother you agin, just let us know. We aim to stop some of this head-whupping they been doing."
"Sure," I said.
"Rinehart," he said again. "Ain't that a bitch?"
They turned and went arguing back to the pool hall and I hurried out of the neighborhood. Having forgotten Hambro for the moment I walked east instead of west. I wanted to remove the glasses but decided against it. Ras's men might still be on the prowl.
It was quieter now. No one paid me any special attention, although the street was alive with pedestrians, all moiling along in the mysterious tint of green. Perhaps I'm out of his territory at last, I thought and began trying to place Rinehart in the scheme of things. He's been around all the while, but I have been looking in another direction. He was around and others like him, but I had looked past him until Clifton's death (or was it Ras?) had made me aware. What on earth was hiding behind the face of things? If dark glasses and a white hat could blot out my identity so quickly, who actually was who?
The perfume was exotic and seemed to roll up the walk behind me as I became aware of a woman strolling casually behind me.
"I've been waiting for you to recognize me, daddy," a voice said. "I've been waiting for you a long time."
It was a pleasant voice with a slightly husky edge and plenty of sleep in it.
"Don't you hear me, daddy?" she said. And I started to look around, hearing, "No, daddy, don't look back; my old man might be cold trailing me. Just walk along beside me while I tell you where to meet me. I swear I thought you'd never come. Will you be able to see me tonight?"
She had moved close to me now and suddenly I felt a hand fumbling at my jacket pocket.
"All right, daddy, you don't have to jump evil on me, here it is; now will you see me?"
I stopped dead, grabbing her hand and looking at her, an exotic girl even through the green glasses, looking at me with a smile that suddenly broke. "Rinehart, daddy, what's the matter?"
So here it goes again, I thought, holding her tightly.
"I'm not Rinehart, Miss," I said. "And for the first time tonight I'm truly sorry."
"But Bliss, daddy -- Rinehart! You're not trying to put your baby down -- Daddy, what did I do?"
She seized my arm and we were poised face to face in the middle of the walk. And suddenly she screamed, "Oooooooh! You really aren't! And me trying to give you his money. Get away from me, you dumb John. Get away from me!"
I backed off. Her face was distorted as she stamped her high heels and screamed. Behind me I heard someone say, "Hey, what was that?" followed by the sound of running feet as I shot off and around the corner away from her screams. That lovely girl, I thought, that lovely girl.
Several blocks away I stopped, out of breath. And both pleased and angry. How stupid could people be? Was everyone suddenly nuts? I looked about me. It was a bright street, the walks full of people. I stood at the curb trying to breathe. Up the street a sign with a cross glowed above the walk: