to reach her at home without any luck. She must still be busy at the soup kitchen, he reasoned. Perhaps he should stop by to see.
Lilah's coat still hung, untouched, over a chair. Where was she? What was taking her so long?
He made himself some plain egg noodles and nibbled at them tentatively. They went down smoothly and stayed there. In fact, he felt almost human again. He pulled out the envelope that Worthington had given him and reexamined the address and apartment number. It was not Emily's, after all, but the unit next door on the same floor. Why would Lance Worthington invite him to that particular apartment? What could be waiting for him there?
Of course. T.S. suddenly remembered the sounds he had overheard and the shadows he had seen the day that he and Auntie Lil had searched Emily's apartment. A young boy had run past them, followed by a red-faced man trying to hide his identity.
But surely Worthington didn't believe that he was one of those sweaty middle-aged men who—T.S.'s spoon clanked abruptly into the bowl.
Of course Worthington thought he was into young boys. The man's mind was in the gutter. In such a disgusting context, the producer's entire cryptic conversation that afternoon made perfect sense.
T.S. knew exactly what would happen. He would walk into the apartment and a young boy would be waiting for him. One of those tough, overused hardened street kids with a heart made of leather. In fact, the young boy could very well be Timmy. If so, it was the perfect opportunity for T.S. to speak to him alone. They'd been trying to contact the boy for a week to determine how and what he knew about Emily.
Even more significantly, Auntie Lil had failed utterly at this task. Finally, it was his turn to get there first.
Except that he wasn't going to be stupid about it. Being alone in a room with an underage boy who specialized in middle-aged men was far too indiscreet an act to attempt without a witness. And who could guarantee the boy would be alone? He needed a hidden observer, someone to protect his own reputation. It had to be a person who could be counted on to remain discreetly in the background shadows. Someone who would not try to butt in at a delicate moment and wrestle the conversation away from T.S. Which absolutely ruled out Auntie Lil. But left Herbert Wong. Herbert was agile enough to climb a fire escape, smart enough to stay hidden and easy to contact.
T.S. checked his watch. It was nearly eight o'clock, which meant that Herbert was conveniently at his post across from Emily's building already. Unless he was getting carried away again with his potted plant disguises, T.S. would have no trouble spotting him and enlisting him in the plan.
Four aspirins and another shower later, T.S. was on his way back to Hell's Kitchen.
Herbert Wong had heard about Timmy's injuries from Adelle and her followers at their afternoon meeting. He, in turn, had broken the sad news about Eva's death. Their reactions had, surprisingly, been muted. Until he realized that many of the old actresses may have been in shock. The more shaken women quickly returned to their tiny apartments or group homes where they felt safe. Three of the hardier ones, including Adelle, elected to accompany Herbert to Roosevelt Hospital where, they assured him, Timmy would have been taken. Herbert wanted to see if Auntie Lil needed him.
Their presence complicated an already chaotic scene. Timmy had been whisked immediately into the emergency room entrance, but the waiting area outside was jam-packed with the poor of the neighborhood, who considered the emergency room to be a de facto doctor's office. This annoyed the overburdened nurses and aides, who were forced to make such patients wait and wait while the more drastically injured were attended to. The medium-sized room was clogged with clusters of rejected and weary mothers holding ragged children whose running noses and frequent coughs rendered a diagnosis redundant. Interspersed among these contagious hopefuls were pockets of the more befuddled homeless, who came to Roosevelt for a kind word and, perhaps, the chance of being treated as a human being by an understanding doctor or nurse. They were also there for the warmth. The night outside had grown chilly and the waiting room cozy from the heat of many bodies. In short, it was a clean, well-lighted place.
Here and there among this noisy, angry crowd were real emergency-room