not the cheerful giver you think I am. And I didn't want to find out who the dead woman was at first. The truth is, I am being a snob. I don't want to be back here, traipsing all over these streets. My family lived here, you know. Before my grandparents moved upstate. I'm just two generations removed from Hell's Kitchen myself." There. He had said it. Now she would know he was just another common fortune seeker.
Lilah patted his hand reassuringly. "That only proves you have honest blood. Just because you feel like a snob doesn't mean you have to act like one. We all have our demons to face, remember?" Her own demons, compared to those of many, were quite mild. But they pricked at her conscience nonetheless. "I'm sure you'll be a big help to Auntie Lil. And I hope that you'll let me help you, too. I don't think anyone should be allowed to die that way, Theodore. Murdered and unknown. No matter how poor or old they might be."
She was right, of course. He would help Auntie Lil find the killer. He'd do whatever it took to unlock the secrets behind Emily's death.
Lilah asked him about his family, and the talk of murder passed. Their hours together went by quickly and dinner was forgotten. He would later be unable to really remember what they'd talked about. He would only recall, instead, the soft sound of the piano and the air heavy with cigarette smoke and secrets. He'd remember Lilah's laugh cutting through the surrounding noise, as if it were meant for his ears only, and the quavering high notes of a drunken old lady at the bar who stood up to sing an Irish ballad to herself. He and Lilah joined the rest of the crowd in applause and—if only for a few moments of alcohol and music-inspired togetherness in a lonely city—they were all part of the same family. He would remember the ache that the old woman's voice produced in his heart, and the recurring vision it conjured of sailing ships entering New York Harbor, crowded with people filled with meager hopes and facing a new land. Their dreams did not seem so ridiculous to him anymore.
It was as if he had disembarked in a strange land, where time stood still and strangers welcomed him with open arms. Best of all, he spoke their new language magically, while slipping effortlessly and without fear from one adventure to another. He did not want the feeling to end and was so lost in belonging and warmth for the people around him that he was shocked when Lilah waved at Grady through the window. How had two hours passed so quickly from his grasp? Yet, checking his watch, he discovered that three hours had gone by, with Grady waiting tactfully outside for Lilah's discreet signal. It was nearly midnight by the time they were ensconced again in the back seat of the limousine. They pulled away onto the streets of Hell's Kitchen at dark and New York's human night crawlers emerged from doorways to watch them glide past. The cozy comfort of Robert's was quickly left behind.
"Where do all these people come from?" he wondered out loud as they cut across Forty-Second Street to the photo store. The streets were clogged with hustlers of all colors and ages, eyeing one another for territorial transgressions and scrutinizing each unwary tourist for potential profit. Brightly attired in tee shirts and long shorts that reached to their knees (despite the cool night air), New York's night citizens clustered in ominous groups across from the chaotic entrance to the Forty-Second Street Port Authority bus station entrance, laughing and shouting insults as frightened visitors dashed to their cabs. Some hustlers tried to tug at their luggage or hail cabs for them, in hopes of extracting a bribe or two. But most simply watched with smug expressions of streetwise superiority, clutching small brown paper bags containing cans of beer as they waited for something bigger and better to come along.
The limousine crossed Eighth Avenue and made its way toward Broadway through the jangle and noise of the seedy Forty-Second Street strip. Boarded-up theaters awaited renovation that would never come, providing dark pools of shadows between the brightly lit storefronts of cheap electronic stores and fried chicken joints. The sidewalks churned with people jostling and seeking a fast score. Hardly anyone noticed or cared that a limousine was passing by—they all had their