(Their Host Tells a Story)
I first heard about the Streets in the middle of a long drunken evening, and the next afternoon I put it down to the sort of thing that seems to make sense the night before, but not the morning after, if you know what I mean. By the following evening however, I knew different. However, it was Barry who told us the story, so none of us took it very seriously. Barry was a man of tremendous passions, but he didn't always think things through. And, even as he reported it, I remember noting to myself that it wasn't from his own experience.
The whole thing started at Duffy's, of course. Everything did in those days. We had quite a varied group assembled around a large table, drink was flowing freely and we were engaged in solving all the various problems which plague the modern world, when Barry rushed in and sat down. "I just met a guy from Seattle!" he announced.
Matthew said, "who was fond of a bit of a prattle."
Barry looked up, startled. "What?" he demanded.
Matthew smiled. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said blandly. "I thought you were starting a limerick."
Barry shook his head. "No, this is important. From Seattle," he repeated. There was a moment's silence as each of us waited for someone else to jump into this.
"You never met anybody from there before?" I finally asked.
Barry sighed as he always did when he had to explain things to those of us who were just a bit dense. "Haven't you heard about the streets? Something weird has been happening. Some streets are moving around, so you can walk down a block near the docks and suddenly you turn a corner and you're near the bridge, or in the middle of the park."
There was another, longer silence after that, as you can probably imagine, and then we went back to our other topics of conversation. Barry eventually went over to the bar and ended up passing out on the pool table in the middle of someone else's game. And so, that's when I first heard about the streets. I dismissed the whole thing, but then a couple of nights later I heard a very similar story, from somebody quite a bit more reliable.
I had always considered Fifteen to be a very level-headed
young lad. He spent a lot of time in Duffy's, though I'm sure
he wasn't old enough to satisfy Uncle Mike. Hizzonner will probably
decide next that only people between the ages of 35 and 50 are
allowed to drink, and then only on weekends. Anyway, the day
after Barry told us the story about the streets moving around,
Fifteen came into Duffy's and sat at our table, looking vexed. It
was mostly the same crew as the previous night, and he sat down
and nodded absently to all of us. We continued with our
conversation for a few moments, but then it became obvious that
something was bothering our young comrade.
Matthew pulled out a penny and flipped it into the air. He caught it and examined it. He looked up, smiling, and said to me, "Heads. You get to talk to him."
I turned to young Fifteen, who was slumping further and further down in his chair. "You look like you're deep in thought," I commented helpfully. "Pondering the rotten state of the world economy?"
He shook his head. "Something weird just happened." He looked around. "Come on," he said to me, jerking his head toward the bar. As I got up to follow him, I heard Matthew say, "Maybe he just found out about girls," but I'm pretty sure Fifteen didn't hear him.
At the bar, he waited until Archie brought him a beer, then he said, "Something very weird just happened." I was tempted to point out that he had already said that, but I kept quiet. "I was just walking along Prescott, down by the docks, and a couple of guys saw me and yelled something."
"Were you on your bike?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No, so I took off as soon as the guy yelled. I ran down that big street by the brewery, and then I turned a corner and then suddenly I was just a block from here, by the old theater." He shrugged. "I may be crazy, but I didn't imagine those guys, and I'm here."
Ordinarily I would have just laughed, but I could tell he was waiting for that, so I stood up. "Come on," I said, "show me."
As we walked toward the door, Archie called, "You want a refill?"
I realized I was still carrying my mug. I held it out. "Sure. I'll bring it back later." He took it and filled it up. I offered Fifteen a sip, and then we went forth into the night.
Well, I don't have to tell you that I didn't expect
anything to happen, and I guess I don't have to tell you that
something did happen, or there wouldn't be any point in
my telling you this story.
Carly was getting
bored.
As soon as young Fifteen and I got
outside, I started to have second thoughts. For one thing, the night
was cold, with quite a brisk wind. Also, several of the group back in
Duffy's had been concocting a scabrous limerick about Uncle Mike, and
I knew none of them would think to write it down, or be able to
remember it the next day. In addition, I didn't see what would be
accomplished by traipsing around the cold streets, except to make
young Fifteen feel foolish when nothing happened.
However, I had agreed to go along, and my mug was full, so I followed him down the street toward the docks. And, of course, however cold it was near Duffy's, it was sure to be colder down by the water.
Suddenly there was a siren, screeching tires and a loudspeaker blared, "Put that bottle down carefully and step away from it!"
"Oh, shit," said Fifteen. I couldn't see very well in the glare of the strobing spotlights on the roof of the police car, but I put the mug down on the sidewalk and stepped back from it. Then, as the car doors opened, I stepped back further, turned and pulled Fifteen quickly down an alley between two buildings.
My idea had been that the alley went through to the next block, but I must have got confused about how far we'd walked, because it ended in a wooden fence about six feet tall. I quickly kneeled and cupped my hands. "Up and over," I said. "Come on."
"But–"
"Go!" I said. He glanced at the street, where two flashlights were approaching, and he stepped into my hands. I helped him get over, then I turned to face the music.
I was at the absolute back of the alley, almost leaning against the wooden fence, but suddenly there was gunfire from behind me, as though a door had opened and someone had fired through it. I lost no time getting down on the ground, I can tell you.
The shooting went on for a while. Once things had quieted down, I got up and brushed myself off. The two cops were dead, shot several times each, and there was nobody else in the alley. I looked at the wooden fence at the end of the alley, and if there was any sort of door in it, it was very well-concealed indeed.
I picked up my mug from the sidewalk outside the alley and made my way back to Duffy's. Once I was safely inside, I took my seat at the table again and began to tell the story of what had happened. I didn't make it very far, though, before the bar phone rang and Archie answered it. He called my name and held it out.
"Someone named Fifteen is calling, sir," the operator said. "Will you accept the charges?"
"Accept the charges?" I asked. "Where is he calling from?"
"Pasadena, sir."
I must confess that by this time I was not really at my best. "Pasadena?" I asked. "Pasadena, California?"
I could tell the operator was getting impatient. "Yes, sir," she said slowly. "Pasadena, California. Will you accept the charges?"
"Sure," I said, realizing that it was going on the bar's phone bill, not mine.
"Hey," came Fifteen's voice. "You okay?"
"Yes," I said, "though I'm not sure why. Are you really in Pasadena?"
"Yup. You think you could take up a collection there to get me a bus ticket home?"