The Moneychangers (42 page)

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 muc
h 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 g
o, and Juanita was reading to E
stela from a Spanish translation of Hans Andersen, when a knock sou
nded on the apartment door. Juani
ta 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. I
t'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 suppo
se 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 su
spicion. 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?"

"I don't know. Tomorrow I'll start looking for a job." He took a deep breath and seemed about to say something else, but she motioned. him to wait. "Estelita, vamps, amorcito. Bedtimel"

Soon after, washed, her hair brushed, and wearing tiny pink pajamas, Estela came to say good night. Large liquid eyes regarded Miles gravely. "My daddy went away. Are you going away?" "Yes, very soon."

"That's what I thought." She put up her face to be kissed.

When she had tucked in Estela, Juanita came out of the apartment's single bedroom, closing the door behind her. She sat down facing Miles, hands folded in her lap. "So. You may talk."

He hesitated, moistening his lips. Now that the moment had arrived he seemed irresolute, bereft of words. Then he said, "All this time since I was… put away… I've been wanting to say I'm sorry. Sorry for everything I did, but mostly for what I did to you. I'm ashamed. In one way I don't know how it ha
ppened. In another I think I do..”
,

Juanita shrugged. 'What happened is gone. Does it matter now?"

"It matters to me. Please, Juanita let me tell you the rest, the way it was."

Then, like a gusher uncapped, words flooded out. He spoke of his awakened conscience, and remorse, of last year's insanity of gambling and debts, and how they had possessed him like a fever which distorted moral values and perception. Looking back, he told Juanita, it seemed as if someone else had inhabited his mind and body. He proclaimed his guilt at stealing
from the bank. But worst of all
he avowed, was what he had done to her, or tried to. His shame about that, he declared emotionally, had haunted him through every day in prison and would never leave him.

When Miles began speaking, Juanita's strongest instinct was suspicion. As he continued, not all of it left her; life had fooled and shortchanged her too often to permit total belief in anything. Yet her judgment inclined her to accept what Miles had said as genuine, and a sense of pity overwhelmed her.

She found herself comparing Miles with Carlos, her absentee husband. Carlos had been weak; so had Miles. Yet, in a way, Miles's willingness to return and face her penitently argued a strength and manhood which Carlos never had.

Suddenly she saw the humor in it all: The men in her life for one reason or another were flawed and unimpressive. They were also losers, like herself. She almost laughed, Then decided not to because Miles would never understand.

He said earnestly
"Juanita, I want to ask you something. Will you forgive met" She looked at him. "And if you do, will you say it to me?"

The silent laughter died; tears filled her eyes. That she could understand. She had been born a Catholic, and Though nowadays she rarely bothered with church, she knew the solace of confession and abso
lution. She rose to her feet. "M
iles," Juanita
said. "Stand up. Look at me."

He obeyed her, and she said gently, " Yes, I forgive you."

The muscles of his face twisted and worked. Then she held him as he wept.

When Miles had composed himself, and they were seated again, Juamta spoke practically. "Where will you spend the night?" "I'm not sure. I'll find somewhere."

She considered, then told him, "You may stay here if you wish." As she saw his surprise, she added quickly, "You can sleep in this room for tonight only. I will be in the bedroom with Estela. Our door will be locked." She wanted no misunderstandings.

"If you really don't mind," he said, "I'd like to do that. And you'll have nothing to worry about."

He did not tell her the real reason she had no cause to worry: That there were other problems within himself psychological and sexual which he had not yet faced. All that Miles knew, so far, was that because of repeated homosexual acts between himself and Karl, his protector in prison, his desire for women had evaporated He wondered if he would be a man in any sexual way again.

Shortly after, as tiredness overcame them both, Juanita went to join Estela.

In the morning, through the closed bedroom door; she heard Miles stirring early. A half hour later, when she emerged from the bedroom, he had left. A note was propped up on the living-room table. Juani
ta With all my heart, thank you,
Miles

While she prepared breakfast for herself and Estela, she was surprised to
find herself regretting he had g
one.

2

In the four and a half months since approval of his savings and branch bank expansion plan by FMA's board of directors, Alex Vandervoort had moved swiftly. Planning and progress sessions between the bank's own staff and outside consultants and contractors had been held almost
daily. Work continued during nights, weekends, and holidays, spurred on by Alex's insistence that the program be operating before the end of summer and in high gear by mid-fall