When Auntie Lil said nothing, he continued. "I was born in this neighborhood. Practically on this block. I grew up here. I've seen it change again and again. I watched the Irish take over from the Puerto Ricans, who took over from the blacks, who got it from the Irish in the first place and around and around and around. Unless you know someone and you've got protection, this is a dangerous place to be messing with. The people you see on the street may seem nice enough, but it's the people you don't see that you have to worry about. I know. I know them. They're not fooling around."
"Has anyone been in here asking about me?" Auntie Lil asked quietly. She did not resent the warning, she just wished she knew whether it was sincere or an attempt to dissuade her from her task.
"No. Not yet. And like I say, I don't know what you're up to and I don't think I want to know what you're up to. Just be careful. Maybe you should find yourself a new way to pass the time." He held up both palms in apology. "Not that it's any of my business."
The door chimes tinkled again and a chubby man entered the deli. He was burly and of just below average height, with a scraggly beard that was beginning to go gray. His long, flowing hair tumbled to his shoulders in brown waves. He was dressed in a flannel shirt and baggy blue jeans. Altogether, he looked like he belonged on the outskirts of Anchorage, Alaska, rather than in the heart of New York City.
The man quickly scanned the store and his gaze settled on Auntie Lil. "Lillian Hubbert?" he asked politely.
"Yes, that's me. Who are you?"
"I'm Bob Fleming. From Homefront." He glanced at Billy, then looked away with a quick nod.
The deli owner acted swiftly. He took his daughter by the hand and pulled her away from the table toward the door.
"Where are we going?" Megan asked indignantly. "You didn't give me my cake."
"I'm going to watch you walk down the block to meet your mother," Billy answered back grimly. "Now. And don't talk back to me, either."
The atmosphere in the deli instantly chilled. Bob Fleming sat quietly at Auntie Lil's table. They both stared at Billy's broad back as the deli owner stood in the doorway, watching his daughter's progress down the block to where her mother was shopping.
"Careful father," Bob Fleming observed.
"Around here, I guess you have to be."
The man nodded in agreement and stared directly at Auntie Lil. "I've just been by St. Barnabas, dropping off some kids. Father Stebbins said you wanted to help me out, so I thought I'd try and catch you here. We could use some help. But you look kind of old."
"You're certainly direct," Auntie Lil admitted. "But don't worry about me. I'm strong and healthy."
The man nodded. "Sometimes an old lady is good." His voice trailed off. It was plain that Bob Fleming was not a happy man. His shoulders slumped from worry and fatigue. He had not chosen to take an easy path. Runaways in midtown Manhattan could be untrusting, unforgiving and unredeemable. "Old ladies don't usually remind the kids of anyone," he continued. "Except for maybe a long-forgotten grandmother. What can you do?"
"Anything you want me to do." Auntie Lil did not like lying to this man. He worked too hard and spoke too plain to deserve anything but the truth. What she really wanted was to show him the photos of the two young boys. But after Billy's warning, she was reluctant to bring them up again in front of the deli owner. "Can we go somewhere else and talk?" she asked Bob Fleming.
"Sure. We'll go to my office. I don't think that guy likes me very much, anyway." He cocked his head Billy's way and Auntie Lil found it hard to disagree. Billy was leaning against the counter shooting barely disguised glares Bob Fleming's way. He would not meet Auntie Lil's eyes and she finally marched to the counter, money in hand.
"How much?" Auntie Lil inquired politely. She would be back to find out what the trouble was between the two men.
"Three and a quarter," Billy mumbled, taking her money without his usual cheerfulness.
As she left the deli with Bob Fleming, Auntie Lil could feel the owner's gaze following them out the door. And no wonder—Billy stared after them until they were well out of sight.