“What of him?” said June.
“What shall we do with him? I suppose you think we should harbor him.”
“My suggestion would be that we do harbor him, yes.”
“You’re vouching for him.”
“I vouch.”
“And what of the sheriff? I should think he’d take an interest.”
“The sheriff can go be ten-gallons sick in his ten-gallon hat.”
“Easy to say without the sheriff here.”
“I’ll say it at high noon on the steps of town hall.”
“Easy to say when there is no town hall.”
“Well,” said June. “You asked what I thought and now you know. I believe Bob is a fine young fellow and I vote we take him on.”
Mr. More thought awhile, then said, “I am on the verge of agreeing to harbor him, but I’ve one condition, which is this: if the boy is caught, and my harboring comes back to haunt me in the form of the sheriff darkening my door, I must be able to say to him I was under the impression he was seventeen years old, and had no knowledge of his being to the side of the law.”
June said, “You may say whatever you wish, Mr. More.”
“Yes, but you and Ida must both back me up as witnesses to my being misled.”
“Fair and fair enough,” said June. “Does that suit you, Bob?”
“Yes,” said Bob.
“Tell Mr. More you’re seventeen, please.”
Bob told Mr. More, “I’m seventeen.”
“See there?” June said to Mr. More. “Now you won’t even have to lie.”
Mr. More said, “And Ida? You are on board with all this?”
Ida did not say yes, but neither did she say no, which for her was much the same as a yes. Mr. More asked June, “Who will pay the cost of the fugitive’s room?”
June asked Bob, “Do you have any money, Bob?”
“Yes.”
“It’s four dollars a night,” Mr. More said warningly.
Bob pulled his roll from deep in his sock and counted out four limp ones. He made to pass them to Mr. More, who asked Bob to leave the money on the table. “Give the bills some time to catch their breath,” Mr. More explained to June. He stood and left the room and returned with two keys. “Bob, you will be on the second floor, across the hall from Mr. Whitsell, who I suspect will be ecstatic for the company and who will likely introduce himself just as soon as he might. My good and durable women, you will be in the tower, in keeping with bygone preference.”
“Yes, thank you Mr. More.” June took the key in her hand, turning it over and scrutinizing it with a wondering look. “May I ask a question about the tower? Or, may I make an observation about it?”
“Yes, what?”
“It’s true that in the past we spent our pleasurable times there. But, and in the years we’ve been away, well — the tower looks as though it might collapse at any moment, Mr. More. And while I know that death comes for all, and that it is the fact of this great equalizer that gives our days such a tragic poetry, I don’t know that I’m ready to pass over just yet, to say nothing of my not wanting to perish in a state of terror.”
Mr. More sat listening with a sympathetic look on his face, but he said nothing to bring comfort to June.
“Will the tower hold us, Mr. More,” she said.
“I believe so, yes.”
“Do you believe it strongly?”
“I would be quite surprised if the tower should collapse this week.”
“Oh, would you be.”
“I would.”
“To be clear, though, you admit that it will at some point collapse.”
“Oh yes, it surely must, as must the entire building. But even still, and with this in mind, I do feel that the tower is best suited to your needs as it is the largest and most elegantly appointed room we have. You are welcome to any space in the hotel not already occupied, but I suspect you could investigate every corner of the property and that you would come to the same conclusion.”
“You think we should push on and cross our fingers, then.”
“I don’t believe you need cross them, June, but if it brings you solace then please do do it, and just as tightly as you wish.”
The group broke up and made their way to their respective quarters. Bob climbed the steps to the second floor; as he passed down the length of the hallway the tilt in the building became pronounced, so that he felt his speed increasing with each step. His room was the last on the right, unremarkable, unwarm, dark, a little dingy, even; but Bob was very much impressed by it, for it was a room and it was his, at least temporarily. He stood awhile in honor of his having a location of his own before making an investigation of the area, opening and closing each drawer and dresser, searching for something but finding nothing, not even a Bible. Next and he lay his remaining dollar bills in a marching line across the bedspread, counting out seventeen singles, which meant he had three to four days before any true crisis came into focus. Altogether he was feeling very much a distinguished young man of the world when the girl named Alice knocked once and walked into the room. She halted, backlit by the light from the hallway. Squinting, she said, “What are you doing in the dark, Mr. Sneaky? You’re not going to jump out and terrify me again, I hope.” She clicked on the light and crossed over to stand with Bob. Glancing at the money, she folded up her arms and said, “Christ, it’s freezing in here. Why don’t you turn the heat on?” She knelt to turn on the radiator, then moved to sit on the bed, dollar bills sticking up at kinked angles from under her backside. She commenced rolling a cigarette and said, “So, let me get this straight. You’re standing around in the dark and cold, counting out your five dollars?”
“It’s seventeen dollars,” said Bob.
“Ho ho,” Alice said. She lit her bumpy cigarette and waved the smoke away. Bob saw that she’d put on lipstick, and that her greasy hair was pulled back by a bejeweled barrette. As if in response to Bob’s noticing this, she said, “I don’t have a lot of time to talk to you because me and Tommy are going to the movies.”
“Who’s Tommy?” Bob asked.
“Tommy’s the guy who says we can go steady if I sit up in the balcony with him. I think it’s probably a trick, but I also think I might do it anyway. Sound like a plan?”
“Okay,” Bob said.
Alice took a drag from her cigarette, head tilted to catch the stark light of the naked bulb on the ceiling. She looked Bob up and down and said, “My uncle told me I should be nice to you?”
Bob said, “Okay.”
Alice shook her head. “I’m asking, why’d he say that? Is there something wrong with you?”
“I don’t know,” Bob said.
“You don’t know if there’s something wrong with you?”
“There’s nothing.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what, Mr. Sneaky. I’ll be nice to you if you want me to be nice to you. But you have to say it so I know, okay?”
“Okay,” said Bob.
“Say it.”
“Be nice to me.”
Alice stood and kissed Bob softly on the cheek, then left the room. Bob stood touching the place where she’d kissed him, then checked his reflection in the mirror, gratified and impressed to find a faint smudge of lipstick on his face.
Bob stacked up his money and hid it away in his shoe. He still wore his pajamas under his street clothes; he took his street clothes off, turned out the light, and climbed into bed. There was a portable radio on the bedside table and he listened to the war news for some minutes; when this grew tiresome he shut the radio off and tried to sleep, but the moon was near to full, its light bright as a streetlamp in the window, and Bob got out of bed to lower the shade. Looking out, he could see Alice standing in front of the movie theater across the road from the hotel. She was alone, and looked small under the glow of the marquee. She peered down the road, once, and again. She turned and bought herself a ticket to the movie and went in by herself.