told Timmy he had to do him a favor. Timmy never told Little Pete what the favor was, but it had something to do with a priest. Timmy didn't want to talk about it. He'd done what the man asked, but then he'd started to feel bad about it. So Timmy had changed his mind, Little Pete explained, and the man had sent someone after him. Little Pete was sure that Timmy had been beaten up to teach them both a lesson about crossing the man. They'd come and taken Timmy to the hospital and Little Pete didn't even know if he was still alive or not. Little Pete figured he'd been spared his own beating only because he had this job to do tonight. The man in charge had told him to come here and take Timmy's place. But now Little Pete was frightened. He'd been thinking about it. He was sure that once tonight's job was over, the man would send Rodney after him, too.
"Rodney?" T.S. asked, "Who's this Rodney guy?"
"He works for the man in charge sometimes. Tall dude. Skinny, but strong. He has an eagle tattooed on one arm."
The Eagle. He did exist. At last they had a name for The Eagle.
"Who's the man in charge?" T.S. asked him. "Who pays you and Timmy to come to this apartment?"
Little Pete shrugged. His tears had slowed to a trickle and T.S. saw with some dismay that the tough little street survivor was about to take over again. "I can't tell you. If I tell you, he'll have me killed."
"You told me about Rodney," T.S. pointed out.
"I don't care about no Rodney anymore." The boy looked up and fierce hatred twisted his face. "I'm getting me a piece from a friend. After tonight, the dude will be dead."
If it was true, T.S. would have to do something to stop him. But for now, he needed more information. T.S. knew that he'd never convince the boy to tell him who the top man was, so he tried another approach. "Look, if you won't tell me who the man is who hired Rodney, at least tell me why he has you and Timmy come to this room?"
"Why?' Little Pete spat the word out like T.S. was too stupid to live. "Why do you think?"
"No, I know that..." T.S.'s words trailed off and his face flushed pink. Then he swallowed and continued, reminding himself that the new T.S. was in control. "I know about that part. But why does this man want to make the men you see happy?"
Little Pete shrugged. "Guess they pay him money. They sure don't pay me. The big man pays me, through Timmy."
T.S. thought hard. Hustling two boys didn't seem like a profitable enough venture to merit renting an apartment like this. "What does this man tell you to do with the men?" T.S. was fishing and he knew it.
"Whatever they want. Look, you sure you know what goes on up here?" Little Pete's distress had turned to incredulity. Who was this pathetically uninformed old geezer? Did he know nothing about real life?
T.S. surveyed the room. There had to be another reason why everything took place here. Yet it seemed an ordinary, if drab, apartment. There was a chair, a bed, a coffee table, small refrigerator and a makeshift bar in the room. The door to a small, empty bathroom stood open. And there was a single large cabinet against one wall with an old black-and-white television perched on top of it. Not a very nice place for an assignation. But not very nice assignations, either.
"Where does all your, um… action take place?" T.S. asked.
"We do it here, in the room," Little Pete pointed out patiently.
"Where in the room?" T.S. stood in the middle, turning in slow circles. It was as bare as a prison cell and not nearly as charming. Why did the meetings take place here, instead of the homes of the men? Or a hotel? And why was the cabinet here? It was tall and a rather nice piece of work. It gleamed with a black enamel finish.
"Here on the bed," Little Pete answered slowly, as if talking to a particularly stupid individual. This old dude was hopelessly out of step.
"Always on the bed?" T.S. confirmed.
"That's what the man says. Says he doesn't want his apartment trashed. Keep it on the bed, boys, he says," the kid answered sullenly.
Trash this place? T.S. stood by the bed next to Little Pete. The cabinet was