They get to the main lobby. Lots of people going all which ways doing what they do. Maks keeps searching ’bout but sees no sign of the man.
“Come on,” he says to Willa. He’s heading for the Men’s Club. When they reach it, he says, “Wait here.”
Willa stands tensely at the entry while Maks goes in. Takes a quick look. Ain’t many people there. Maks don’t see the guy.
He comes out. “Not there.”
Willa is so nervous, she has to work hard to keep from bursting into tears. Feels so lost, she needs Maks to tell her what to do. Trouble is, Maks ain’t so sure he knows what to do either. Then he gets his idea.
“Follow me.” They head back to the lobby. “I’m gonna take you to this table,” he whispers. “There’s this guy sitting there, Mr. Trevor, captain of the bellboys. He’ll ask you what you want. You say, ‘I’m looking for a guest. Mr.—’ What’s your father’s name?”
“Gustav.”
“No, last name.”
“Brunswick.”
“Okay. Brunswick. Say to the guy, ‘I’m looking for Mr. Brunswick. Is he in?’ ”
Willa gives him an I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-’bout look.
“Just do what I say.” Maks is trying to sound as if he knows what he is doing. Fact, he’s making everything up as they go along.
He leads Willa up to the desk. Trevor is sitting there.
Maks says. “Sir, this lady is looking for someone.”
Trevor gives Willa a funny stare, as if she don’t belong, but he don’t connect her with Maks. “And whom do you wish to see?” he asks.
Willa, her voice tiny, says, “Mr. Brunswick.”
Trevor opens up his book, looks up and down the list of names, nods to himself. Picks up the telephone. Gives it some cranks.
“Mr. Trevor, here. Ring room nine thirty-two.”
Willa, trembling, stares at Trevor.
Maks, watching her, feels like the world is gonna crash.
“Mr. Brunswick, sir!” says Trevor. “Good morning!”
Willa’s mouth drops open. She slaps a hand over her mouth, as if to keep her insides in, then makes a half turn, trying to find Maks, or maybe looking for a way out.
Trevor, into the phone, says, “A young lady to see you in the lobby.”
He looks at Willa. “Name, please?”
Willa can’t speak. Not for her soul. Shakes her head.
Maks thinks, Her father may not be a ghost, but she looks like one.
Into the phone, Trevor says, “She doesn’t wish to give her name, sir. . . . Very well, sir.” He puts the phone down. To Willa, he says, “Please have a seat. Mr. Brunswick will be down in a few moments.”
82
Willa, finding she can’t breathe, throws a loopy look to Maks that ain’t nothing but desperation. Maks had moved a few paces away, trying to act as if they’re not connected, but, of course, they are. He tells himself, This uniform I’m wearing, it don’t matter no more. Just pretend. It’s Willa who’s real.
He jumps forward, whispering, “Come on.” Grabs her arm, tries to guide her from Trevor, to a place where she—and he—can see where the elevators let people off.
He figures that’s the way this Brunswick guy—Willa’s maybe father—will have to come down. At least, Maks is hoping so. Or maybe, he reminds himself, he’s got it wrong. Maybe the guy ain’t Willa’s father after all.
Willa is barely moving on her own. She hardly seems alive. But Maks leads her near a big plant that’s in a huge pot. It keeps them somewhat hidden. From behind it, they can move one way or another, be seen or not be seen.
Willa is clinging to Maks’s arm with tight hands, her breathing coming in short gasps. She’s blinking. Tears on her face.
At the same time the hotel is doing what it’s supposed to be doing, which is people going ’bout their business, walking, sitting and watching, meeting, talking, going out the front entry, coming in. Only to Maks and Willa, it feels as if they’re the real center, as if the whole world is spinning frantic fast, like that famous new Ferris wheel out at the Chicago World’s Fair. Except nobody knows the world is spinning out of control but them.
Then, out of nowhere, Maks sees Packwood. The hotel detective is walking into the lobby. Coming easy. Nothing special. Maks don’t think he’s looking for him. But same time, Maks don’t want the detective to see him. He might pull him away. So Maks reminds himself that he’s not really a hotel employee. That Willa’s what’s real. She’s what’s important. He won’t budge.
Maks eases the numb Willa farther back behind the potted plant, hoping Packwood don’t see them.
As Maks does that, he all of a sudden hears, “Stop!”
Someone is yelling.
People look round. So does Maks.
“You can’t go in there!” comes a shout.
Maks ain’t certain what’s going on. It’s a commotion. But where? What? Then Maks realizes the shouting, which continues, is coming from the front of the lobby, near the main entrance.
“Stop that kid! Stop him!”
People—the rich people, the hotel people, everybody—back away, retreat, as if something awful is coming at them. Something they don’t like. Something bad.
Maks leans out from where they are hiding, wanting to see what’s happening, why there is all the yelling. And what does he see?
He sees Bruno.
83
Maks don’t believe it. Can’t believe it. Don’t want to believe it.
But sure as certain, it is Bruno.
The clothing he’s wearing is ragged, dirty, full of rips, as if he just crawled from some hole. His good eye is glazed with fury, his squinty one twitching; his grin is nasty; and his red hair is flopping over his face like a veil of blood. Seems ready to fight anybody who’s willing enough to come near ’cause he has a shovel in his hands, holding it like a weapon, swinging it wildly so that it is a weapon. Which is all to say, Bruno is crazy.
Men and women are shrieking, screaming. “Look out! Get away! He’s mad!”
A couple of hotel mugs take steps toward him. But Bruno swings his shovel round so wickedly, they have to jump. You can cut a guy’s head off with a shovel that’s swinging. Which is just what Bruno’s trying to do.
Then he starts yelling, “Where’s Brunswick? I know he’s here. I need to see Brunswick!”
Maks can’t believe what he’s hearing—that Bruno is after the same guy Willa is.
Maks turns and catches sight of Packwood. But Packwood is running in the opposite direction, going fast, away from Bruno. Maks don’t understand why. Scared, maybe. The way he is.
Even as Maks is looking after him, he suddenly sees the person he thinks is Willa’s father stepping out of an elevator, coming right into the lobby.
Where Bruno is.
People are screaming and yelling: “Stop him! Look out!”
Brunswick—not seeming to understand what’s happening—stops and stands to look, Maks supposes, for the “young lady” he’s to meet in the lobby.
When Maks turns back toward Bruno, the redhead is coming down the lobby—swinging that shovel wildly, trying to keep everyone away. Which is working, ’cause people are scattering everywhere, frightened like anything.
Maks turns to Willa.
Everything is happening so fast, he almost forgot her. He don’t know if she saw Bruno—how could she not?—but maybe she hasn’t. What he does know is that she’s facing that man, Brunswick. She’s looking right at him. Staring at him. And on her face is a look Maks never seen before. Maybe it’s joy. Maybe it’s pain. Maybe it’s something Willa just invented, which is both things, and she can’t tell the difference and don’t know how to. Don’t want to.
“Brunswick!” Bruno shouts. “I want that pistol. Give it to me!”
Maks is now sure that Willa—who’s staring so hard at Brunswick—hasn’t seen Bruno, don’t know he’s even there, don’t understand what’s happening. She can only see the man, her father. In fact
, the next thing Willa does is yank away from Maks. He’s so dazed, he don’t stop her. She steps into the open lobby, going right toward the man, this man who’s her father. The one who left her.
Maks don’t know what to do. He stands there, tight with horror, but what he’s seeing is two people moving toward this same Brunswick. One of them, Bruno, is acting as if he’s wanting to kill the man. The other, Willa, is wanting to love him.
Maks can tell by the way Brunswick starts and stares that he now sees Bruno. Even so, Brunswick just stands there, gawking, maybe amazed, maybe scared, maybe both, doing nothing. It’s as if he can’t believe that this crazy kid, this Bruno, is really in the Waldorf lobby coming at him. The point is, Brunswick ain’t moving.
But Bruno is moving. He’s coming closer, shovel swinging.
Suddenly, Brunswick reaches into his pocket. Now he has a pistol in his hand.
Which is just when Willa calls out, “Father!”
Brunswick must have known her voice, must have kept it in his head all this time, pushed it away but not completely, ’cause some voices you can’t lose no matter how you push ’em away, not in a million years. And so he turns sharp toward Willa. Stares at her with this look on his face. Maks can’t tell what it is. Shock. Anger. Disgust. None of it, maybe, but it sure ain’t love.
The thing is, that moment, he’s no longer looking at Bruno. Not paying attention.
Bruno, seeing this, drops his shovel and dives at Brunswick.
At that last moment Brunswick turns from Willa. Sees Bruno, but it’s too late. Before he can shoot, Bruno is on him, grabbing hold of the pistol.
Now the two of them are wrestling, falling to the floor, rolling, fighting frantically for that gun.
Willa stops moving. Just stands there, watching, both hands over her face—but not her eyes.
People are still screaming and yelling: “Help! Help! Police! Police!”
There’s an explosion. The sound is as huge as the whole gigantic lobby. Punches people’s ears like boxing gloves. Makes ears hurt bad. Makes ’em ring like the final bell.
Brunswick jerks away from Bruno, flops down. The minute Maks sees him do that, he knows the guy has been shot down dead.
Same time, Bruno staggers back. In one of his hands is that pistol he took from Brunswick. Next moment, he dives forward, drops to his knees. He’s reaching for the dead man, reaching into his jacket. Yanks out stuff. Out pops a picture, a wallet. And a gold watch.
Bruno grabs them all.
That’s when there’s another pistol shot, even louder than the first.
Bruno is hurled back and collapses in an instant. Dead. The things he took from Brunswick’s body drop, scatter.
Maks spins around. Mr. Packwood is standing there, a pistol in his hand. He’s just shot Bruno.
84
In the Waldorf it’s quieter than Eden before creatures came. The only one in that whole gigantic space who’s moving is Willa. She’s rushing to the dead Brunswick. She’s kneeling by his side. She’s holding his hand. She’s crying, crying, crying.
Maks runs to her, and he’s on his knees in the spreading blood, and he is trying, trying to hold her.
People start edging closer, looking, looking.
Packwood is there too now, kneeling on the other side of Willa’s father. He looks up and he sees Maks. “Do you know who these men are?”
Maks can only nod, yes.
Mr. Packwood bends over Brunswick’s body, sees the watch on the ground, starts, picks it up, and stares at it.
85
It becomes wild in the lobby. More than wild. All kinds of people are swarming, yelling, screaming. That includes the police. The ambulance wagon has arrived, bringing docs. The bodies are taken away. Lots of hotel people gather and are working frantically to clean up the blood, trying to make sure there’s not a spot left. The way the Waldorf is supposed to be. A place with no blood.
Packwood leads Willa and Maks into his office.
Willa is so stunned, she’s not truly there. Maks don’t know where she is. It is no place he ever visited. No place he ever wants to visit.
Sometimes she’s crying. Sometimes she’s not. The only thing she’s really doing is keeping Maks close, clinging to him, gripping his hand hard, grabbing him if he moves an inch away. And sometimes he’s holding on to her, keeping her from bolting away. If none of that makes sense, it’s because there ain’t much sense to this scene I’m telling.
As for Packwood, he keeps asking Maks who these dead people are. Maks tries to tell him. Only it’s pretty confusing and hard to answer with the questions coming so fast, like someone threw a pack of cards at him, each card a question. Then the police get there and ask their own questions. More policemen come. More questions. They write down Willa’s answers. Maks’s, too.
“Are you saying that this Mr. Brunswick was this girl’s father?” someone wants to know.
“Yes, sir,” Maks says. “But he left her. She hasn’t seen him for months.”
“And the other one?” asks another.
“Named Bruno,” says Maks. “Head of the Plug Ugly Gang.”
“Bruno who?”
“Don’t know.”
“How are the two men connected?” asks Packwood. “Why did this Bruno kill your father?” he asks Willa.
She shakes her head.
Maks says, “We don’t know.”
Fact, the more questions there are, the fewer answers there are.
Then Packwood tells Maks and Willa they can go, and he’s decent enough to get them a cab, guiding them in, even giving the cabbie some cash to get them home to Birmingham Street.
But as he puts Maks into the cab, he dangles the watch, the watch that Brunswick had, and he says, “Tell Donck I found the watch.”
“What watch?” Maks asks.
“The stolen one. Mr. Brunswick had it.”
“The one you said Emma stole?” cries Maks.
Packwood nods.
Maks can’t speak no more.
86
As the kids go downtown, it’s mostly quiet, save for the horse’s hooves on the street stones, going clop-clippity, the carriage wheels jolting, Willa’s crying. It’s not hard crying. More like whimpering. Her face is gray as city sky, and all tight with pain.
She says, “Why did he leave me?”
Maks shakes his thoughts away from Emma, but he ain’t sure if it’s him Willa’s asking or herself. Don’t matter, ’cause he has no answer. No more than he thinks Willa does.
But then Willa says to him, “Where am I supposed to go now?”
That time Maks can speak. “Home,” he says.
And Willa gives Maks the most grateful look that ever was grateful.
They get to the flat. Mama takes one look at Willa and cries, “What’s happened?”
Maks says, “She needs to be in bed.”
Mama puts Willa into her own and Papa’s bed, covers her with all the old country blankets. Even then, Willa can’t stop shivering. Mama sits with her, holding her hand, stroking it. Maks brings her doll.
Briefly, Mama comes out and says to Maks, “Tell me.”
Maks starts at the end. “She found her father. He got killed.”
“How?”
“Too complicated. Tell you later.”
All that day Mama sits with Willa, and she does so into the night.
That afternoon Maks sells his papers. No Bruno. No Plug Uglies. Only newsies talking ’bout what happened in the night. Maks don’t tell ’em ’bout the morning.
That night, back at the flat, when everybody is there, Maks tells the family all that happened. All he knows. Willa ain’t there. She’s still in bed and don’t want to or can’t talk.
When Maks finishes, no one speaks.
Papa shakes his head.
It’s Agnes who says, “It’s Emma’s trial tomorrow.”
Maks says, “But didn’t you hear what I said? They found the watch they said Emma stole. That guy, that Brunswick, Willa’s f
ather, he had it.”
Mama wrings her hands.
“Does that mean,” asks Papa, suddenly breathless, “that Emma will go free?”
Maks, as he keeps doing, says, “I don’t know.”
But then sometimes “I don’t know” is the most honest thing anyone can say ’bout anything.
87
Early next morning, Saturday, they all—the whole family—troop to The Tombs. Willa insists that she go along. Papa and Agnes are skipping work.
They enter The Tombs, and when Maks asks, they’re told where the trial is being held. Finding it, they discover Packwood outside the doors of the courtroom.
He greets Maks, and Maks introduces him to his family.
“Where’s Donck?” Maks wants to know.
“I spoke to him late last night,” says Packwood. “I’m afraid he’s very ill. But he had enough strength to tell me what to say. It will be me who goes before the court.”
“Did Donck figure it out?”
“He says you did.”
“Me?”
“We believe you are exactly right as to what happened.”
“That mean Emma goes free?”
“That remains to be seen. It’ll be up to the judge.”
Agnes puts her arm round Mama as they all go into the court. It’s a big room, full of wood and chairs. High windows and a tall desk, with an old mug of a judge in a black robe and white beard sitting up high.
Maks’s heart sinks. It’s another swell stiff.
Lots of people in the court. You can’t tell who is who or what is what. You might say they all look innocent, ’cept they all look guilty, too. Only in one section there are these others—poor people mostly but not all—where Maks can see Emma in the middle of a crowd. The prisoners.
The cases are quickly heard. Most of the people are sentenced to time in jail on Blackwell’s Island, some to Sing Sing. It all goes fast, as if what’s important is the sentencing, not the people whose lives are being locked away.
When they finally call “Emma Geless!” she stands up, hands clasped, looking pale, fearful, tears wetting her cheeks. Packwood goes and stands by her side. What he says to the judge is this: