Go look for the husband
Vinegar Hill might have been there first, but it definitely got the last draw in terms of Brooklyn real estate. It’s a haul from the bridge and a haul from the train tunnel, but real close to the Navy Yard and the new power station. I imagine all those little cobblestone streets had pretty nice water views not that way back when. Some nice breezes probably blew up from the river, too, but those days are done. There are more shady lanes now, and ladies dry their laundry on limp lines. Even the air has the stale static taste that comes when you put two thousand converters between you and the water. The responsible party, a huge brick building which birthed a field of metal converters next door, may have been an eyesore, but it was easy to find. Just about every street in the neighborhood ended up at the front door of Consolidated Edison Electric Company.
I woke up the guard at the entrance, a plump man whose resting eyes were hidden under the brim of his hat. “Excuse me, sir?” His hat bounced to the top of his head and he scanned the ground. Once he found my shoes, he looked up.
“Hmmph?” He started to stand.
“No need to rise, no need.” I took another step towards him, partly to block the glare of the afternoon light with my accommodating shadow, partly to look bigger as I stood before the drowsy chief. “I’m just looking for a fella, thought he might be here.”
He eyed me wearily. He must have thought I was a cop. “There some sort of trouble?” Bingo. I shook my head, and his round shoulders relaxed back into his seat.
“No, no, just a family matter.” That line always worked. “He’s a big guy, real tall, redhead, lives just up the way?” I thumbed over my shoulder. I was going on a hunch that the red head would be at the power plant. There were a lot of jobs in there, and my guess was that all the grown men in Vinegar Hill—all the blue-collars, packed like sardines into the little two three-story houses—still wouldn’t fill the plant with workers. His face brightened.
“Oh, Big Red? Why didn’t you say so?” He scrunched his face up at my shortish legs, round belly and slightly wrinkled, but classy casings—I was wearing my best wingtips, a tie, and a trench from Macy’s—then up to my face. “You two sure don’t look like brothers.”
“Oh, I married in.”
He took my answer and nodded. “Right, right. I’ll be right back.”
You know how the Irish have their leprechauns? Well, think the opposite and you’d have the man that came out the door. “Found him, mister,” the guard proudly announced before plopping his heavy rear back down in his chair. The red-headed giant grabbed my arm and all but lifted me to a patch of pavement out of the guard’s earshot. His voice came out in an intense whisper. “You found Leonard?”
“Leonard? No. I’m looking for Ruby, I mean, err Sarah.”
“What? You mean you aren’t another guy from New Orleans?”
I shook my head. “ ’fraid not. Delancey Street, through and through. PS 20.” His grip relaxed, and I slid back into my own shoes. “Then what are you doing here, looking for Sarah?”
“I’m a friend of a friend, and someone told me she was staying with you.”
“Well, if you’re not a friend of Leonard’s, I’m not interested. Are you with the Italians?”
“The Italians?” My heart jumped a bit...how could he have known about Romeo? But I gathered myself, quick. “No, nothing like that. I just gotta talk to her for a minute. If you have any idea how I might be able to get in touch with her, I’ll make it worth your while...” I started to reach for my billfold. Within the second, he started to reach for his fist.
“For crissake, I’m not gonna rat out my sister-in-law. Whatever you need her for, you’re on your own. And if you’re smart”—he torqued his wrist so the muscle flared and bulged against his rolled up sleeve—“you won’t need her for nothing. You got me?”
“Absolutely. Have a good afternoon.” Big Red slipped back into the factory, and I was left alone, on a chewed-up dead end street in Vinegar Hill.
