Timberwell nodded. "I don't think you're in any danger yourself, but as far as the people who killed Levinson are concerned, you're poison. If anyone they deal with as much as breathes the same air as you, and they find out, he's dead nastily."
Wainwright was about to speak when the other silenced him.
"Listen, I'm not saying you shouldn't send some other guy underground. That's your business and I don't want to know about it at least, not now. But I'll say this: If you do, be super-careful and stay away from him yours self. You owe him that much."
"Thanks for the warning," Wainwright said. He was still thinking about the body of Vic as he had seen it with the covering removed. "I doubt very much if there'll be anyone else."
Part Three
Though it continued to be difficult on her $98 weekly bank teller's wage ($83 take-home after deductions), somehow Juanita managed, week by week, to support herself and Estela and to pay the fees for Estela's nursery school. Juanita had even by August slightly reduced the debt to the finance company which her husband, Carlos, had burdened her with before abandoning her. The finance firm had obligingly rewritten the contract, making the monthly installments smaller, though they now stretched on with heavier interest payments three years into the future.
At the bank, while Juanita had been treated considerately after the false accusations against her last October, and staff members had gone out of their way to be cordial, she had established no close friendships. Intimacy did not come easily to her. She had a natural wariness of people, partly inbred, partly conditioned by experience. The center of her life, the apogee to which each working day progressed, were the evening hours which she and Estela spent together. They were together now.
In the kitchen of their tiny but comfortable Forum East apartment, Juanita was preparing dinner, assisted. and at times hindered by the three-year-old. They had both been rolling and shaping Bisquick baking mix, Juanita to provide a top for the meat pie, Estela manipulating a purloined piece of the dough with her tiny fingers as imagination prompted. "Mommyl Look, I made a magic castle!"
They laughed together. ";Que lindo, mi cielo!" Juanita said affectionately. "We will put the castle in the oven with the pie. Then both will become magic."
For the pie Juanita had used stewing beef, mixing in onions, a potato, fresh carrots, and a can of peas. The vegetables made up in volume for the small quantity of meat, which was all Juanita could afford. But she was an instinctively inventive cook and the pie would be tasty and nutritious.
It had been in the oven for twenty minutes, with another ten to go, and Juanita was reading to Estela from a Spanish translation of Hans Andersen, when a knock sounded on the apartment door. Juanita stopped reading, listening uncertainly. Visitors at any time were rare; it was especially unusual for anyone to call this late. After a few moments the knock was repeated. With some nervousness, motioning Estela to remain where she was, Juanita got up and went slowly to the door.
Her apartment was on a floor by itself at the top of what had once been a single dwelling, but which long ago was divided into separately rented living quarters. The Forum East developers retained the divisions in the building, while modernizing and repairing. But redevelopment alone did not amend the fact that Forum East generally was in an area notorious for a high crime rate, especially muggings and break-ins. Thus, although the apartment complexes were fully populated, at night most occupants locked and bolted themselves in. There was a stout outer door, useful for protection, on the main floor of Juanita'a building, except that other tenants often left it open.
Immediately outside Juanita's apartment was a narrow landing at the head of a flight of stairs. With her ear pressed against~the door, she called out, "Who is there?" There was no answer, but once more the knock soft but insistent was repeated.
She made certain that the inside protective chain was in place, then unlocked the door and opened it a few inches all the chain allowed.
At first, because of dim lighting, she could see nothing, then a face came into view and a voice asked, "Juanita, may I talk to you? I have to please, Will you let me come in?"
She was startled. Miles Eastin. But neither the voice nor the face were those of the Eastin she had known. Instead, the figure which she could see better now was pale and emaciated, his speech unsure and pleading.
She stalled for time to think. "I thought you were in prison."
"I got out. Today." He corrected himself. "I was released on parole." "Why have you come here?" "I remembered where you lived."
She shook her head, keeping the door chain fastened. "It was not what I asked. Why come to me?"
"Because all I've thought about for months, all through that time inside, was seeing you, talking to you, explaining..;" "There is nothing to explain."
"But there is Juanita, I'm begging you. Don't turn me awayl Please!"
From behind her, Estela's bright voice asked, "Mommy, who is it?"
"Juanita," Miles Eastin said, "there's nothing to be frightened about for you or your little girl. I've nothing with me except this." He held up a small battered suitcase. It's just the things they gave me back when I came out."
"Well…" Juanita wavered Despite her misgivings, her curiosity was strong. Why did Miles want to see her? Wondering if she would regret it, she closed the door slightly and released the chain.
"Thank you." He came in tentatively, as if even now he feared Juanita might change her mind. "Hullo,”Estela said, "are you my mommy's friend?"
For a moment Eastin seemed disconcerted, then he answered, "I wasn't always. I wish I had been."
The small, dark-haired child regarded him. "What's your name?" "Miles." Estela giggled. "You're a thin man." "Yes, I know."
Now that he was fully in view, Juanita was even more startled by the change in Miles. In the eight months since she had seen him, he had lost so much weight that his cheeks were sunken, his neck and body scrawny. His crumpled suit hung loosely, as if tailored for someone twice his size. He looked tired and weak. "May I sit down?"
"Yes." Juanita motioned to a wicker chair, though she continued to stand, facing him. She said, illogically accusing, "You did not eat well in prison."
He shook his head, for the first time smiling slightly. "It isn't exactly gourmet living. I suppose it shows." "It shows."
Estela asked, "Have you come for dinner? It's a pie mommy made." He hesitated. "No." Juanita said sharply, "Did you eat today?"
"This morning. I had something at the bus station." The aroma of the almost-cooked pie was wafting from the kitchen. Instinctively Miles turned his head.
"Then you will join us." She began setting another place at the small table where she and Estela took their meals. The action came naturally. In any Puerto Rican home even the poorest tradition demanded that whatever food was available be shared.
As they ate, Estela chattered, and Miles responded to her questions; some of the earlier tension began visibly to leave him. Several times he looked around at the simply furnished but pleasant apartment. Juanita had a flair for homemaking. She loved to sew and decorate. In the modest living room was an old, used sofa bed she had slip covered with a cotton material, brightly patterned in white, red, and yellow. The wicker chair which Miles had sat in earlier was one of two she had bought cheaply and repainted in Chinese red. For the windows she had created simple, inexpensive draperies of bright yellow bark cloth. A primitive painting and some travel posters adorned the walls.
Juanita listened to the other two but said little, within herself still doubtful and suspicion. Why had Miles really come? Would he cause her as much trouble as he had before? Experience warned her that he might. Yet at the moment he seemed harmless certainly weak physically, a little frightened, possibly defeated. Juanita had the practical wisdom to recognize those symptoms.
What she did not feel was antagonism. Though Miles had tried to have her blamed for the theft of money he himself had stolen, time had' made his treachery remote. Even originally, when he was exposed, her principal feeling had been relief, not hate. Now, all Juanita wanted for herself and Estela was to be left alone.
Miles Eastin sighed as he pushed away his plate. He had left nothing on it. 'Thank you. That was the best meal in quite some time." Juanita asked, "What are you going to do?"