Wheels (70 page)

May Lou nodded. "Yes
.”

"I'm going now," Leonard Wingate told Rollie and May Lou, "but I'll be
back. Lock the door after me and keep it locked. Don't let anyone else
in. When I come, I'll identify myself by name and voice. You
understand
.”

"Yes, mister
.”

May Lou's eyes met his. Small as she was, scrawny and
unimpressive, he was aware of strength. Not far from the Blaine apartment house, Leonard Wingate found a pay
phone in an all
night Laundromat.
He had the phone number of Brett's apartment in a notebook and dialed
it. The Laundromat's washers and dryers were noisy and he covered one
ear so he could hear the ringing tone at the other end. The ringing
continued unanswered, and he hung up.
Wingate remembered a conversation with Brett a day or two ago in which
Brett mentioned that he and Barbara would be meeting Adam and Erica
Trenton-whom Leonard Wingate knew slightly-later in the week. Wingate
decided to try there.
He called Directory Assistance for the Trentons' suburban number. But
when he dialed it, there was no answer either.
More than ever now, he wanted to reach Brett DeLosanto.
Leonard Wingate recalled something else Brett had told him: Barbara's
father was still on the critical list at Ford Hospital. Wingate reasoned: The chances were, Barbara and Brett were together, and Barbara
would leave word at the hospital about where she could be reached.
He dialed the hospital's number. After waiting several minutes, he spoke
with a floor nurse who admitted, yes they did have means of getting in
touch with Miss Zaleski.
Wingate knew he would have to he to get the information. "I'm her cousin
from Denver and I'm calling from the airport
.”

He hoped the Laundromat's
noises sounded sufficiently like airplanes. "I've flown here to see my
uncle, but my cousin wanted me to meet her first. She said if I called
the hospital you'd always know where I could find her
.”

The nurse observed tartly, "We're not running a message agency here
.”

But she gave him the information: Miss Zaleski was at the Detroit
Symphony tonight with Mr. and Mrs. Trenton and
Mr. DeLosanto. Barbara had even left the seat numbers. Wingate blessed her
thoroughness.
He had left his car outside the Laundromat. Now he headed for Jefferson
Avenue and the Civic Center, driving fast. A fine rain had begun while
he was telephoning; road surfaces were slick.
At Woodward and Jefferson, crowding his chances, he beat an amber light
and swung into the forecourt of the Ford Auditorium -blue-pearl
granite-and-marble-f aced showplace of the Detroit Symphony Orchestra.
Around the Auditorium, other Civic Center buildings towered-Cobo Hall,
Veterans' Memorial, the City-County Building
modern, spacious, brightly
floodlit. The Civic Center area was often spoken of as a fountain
head
the
beginning of a vast urban renewal program for downtown Detroit.
Unfortunately, while the head was finished, almost nothing of the body
was in sight.
A uniformed attendant by the Auditorium's main doors stepped forward.
Before the man could speak, Leonard Wingate told him, "I have to locate
some people who are here. It's an emergency
.”

In his hand he held the
seat numbers he had copied down while speaking with the hospital nurse.
The doorman conceded: Since the performance was in progress and there
was no other traffic, the car could remain "just for a few minutes,"
with the key in the ignition.
Wingate passed inside through two sets of doors. As the second doors
closed, music surrounded him.
An usherette turned from watching the stage and the orchestra. She said,
low-voiced, "I won't be able to seat you until intermission, sir. May
I see your ticket
.”

"I don't have one
.”

He explained his purpose and showed the girl the
seat numbers. A male usher joined them.
The seats, it seemed, were near the front and center.
"If you'd take me to the row," Wingate urged, "I could signal Mr.
DeLosanto to come out
.”

The usher said firmly, "We couldn't allow that, sir. It would disturb
everybody
.”

"How long to intermission
.”

The ushers were unsure.
For the first time, Wingate was aware of what was being played. He had
been a music lover since childhood and recognized Prokofiev's Romeo and
Juliet Orchestral Suite. Knowing that conductors used varying
arrangements of the suite, he asked, "May I see a program
.”

The
usherette gave him one.
The passage he had identified was the opening of the "Death of Tybalt
.”

With relief, he saw it was the final portion of the work before an
intermission.
Even waiting impatiently, the music's magnificence swept over him. The
swift-surging opening theme moved on to a quickening timpani solo with
strokes of death-like hammer blows . . . Tybalt had killed Romeo's
friend Mercutio. Now, on the dying Tybalt, Romeo wreaked vengeance he
had sworn . . . Horn passages wailed the tragic paradox of human
destructiveness and folly; the full orchestra swelled to a crescendo of
doom . . .
Wingate's skin prickled, his mind drawing parallels between the music
and the reason for his presence here.
The music ended. As a thunder of applause swept through the Auditorium,
Leonard Wingate hurried down an aisle, escorted by the usher. Word was
passed quickly to Brett DeLosanto whom Wingate saw at one. Brett
appeared surprised, but began moving out, followed by Barbara and the
Trentons.
In the foyer, they held a hurried conference.
Without wasting time on details, Wingate revealed that his search for
Brett had been because of Rollie Knight. And since they were still down
town, Wingate's intention was that the two of them go directly to Rollie
and May Lou's apartment.
Brett agreed at once, but Barbara raised difficulties, wanting to go
with them. They argued briefly, Leonard Wingate opposing the idea, and
Brett supported him. In the end it was agreed that Adam would take Erica
and Barbara to Brett's Country Club Manor apartment and await the others
there. Neither Adam, Erica, nor Barbara felt like returning to the
concert.
Outside, Wingate led Brett to his waiting car. The rain had stopped.
Brett, who was carrying a topcoat, threw it on the back seat, on top of
one of Wingate's already there. As they pulled away, Leonard Wingate
began a swift-paced explanation, knowing the journey would be short.
Brett listened, asking an occasional question. At the description of the
murder-robbery, he whistled softly. Like countless others he had read
published reports of the killing at the plant; also, there was a
personal link since it seemed likely that events that night had hastened
Matt Zaleski's stroke.
Yet Brett felt no enmity toward Rollie Knight. It was true that the
young black worker was no innocent, but there were degrees of guilt,
whether recognized in law or not. Wingate obviously believed-and Brett
accepted-that Rollie had become enmeshed a little at a time, in part
unwillingly, his freedom of choice diminishing like a weakening swimmer
drawn toward a vortex. Nonetheless, for what Rollie Knight had done,
there were debts he would have to pay. No one could, or should, help him
escape them.

"The one thing we can't do," Brett said, "is help him get away from
Detroit
.”

"I figured that, too
.”

If the crime had been lesser, Wingate thought, they
might have chanced it. But not with murder.
'What he needs is something he didn
’
t have those other times-the best
lawyer you can get with money
.”

"He doesn't have money
.”

"Then I'll raise it. I'll put some up myself, and there'll be others
.”

Brett was already thinking of people to approach-some, outside the usual
ranks of charity bestowers, who felt strongly about social injustice and
racial prejudice.
Wingate said, "He'll have to surrender to the police; I can't see any
other way. But if we've a strong lawyer he can insist an protection in
jail
.”

He wondered-though not aloud-how effective the protection would be,
lawyer or not.
"And with a good trial lawyer," Brett said, "he might, just might, get a
break
.”

"Maybe
.”

“W
ill Knight do as we say
.”

Wingate nodded. "He'll do it
.”

"Then we'll find a lawyer in the morning. Hell handle the surrender.
Tonight, the two of them-the girl as well-had better stay with Barbara and
me
.”

The Personnel man shot a glance across the car's front seat. "You sure
.”

"I'm sure. Unless you've a better idea
.”

Leonard Wingate shook his head. He was glad he had found Brett DeLosanto.
Though nothing the young designer had said or done so far was beyond
Wingate's own powers of reasoning and decision, Brett's presence and
clearheadedness was reassuring. He possessed an instinctive leadership,
too, which Wingate, with his training,
recognized. He wondered if Brett would be content to remain designing all
his years.
They were at the 12th and Blaine intersection. Outside the rundown,
paint-peeling apartment house, they got out of the car and Wingate
locked it.
As usual, the odor of garbage was strong.
Ascending the worn wooden stairway to the apartment house third floor,
Wingate remembered he had told Rollie and May Lou he would identify
himself from outside by name and voice. He need not have bothered.
The door he warned them to keep locked was open. Part of the lock was
hanging loose where some force-undoubtedly a violent blow-had splintered
it.
Leonard Wingate and Brett went in. Only May Lou was inside. She was
putting clothes into a cardboard suitcase.
Wingate asked, "Where's Rollie
.”

Without looking up, she answered, "Gone
.”

"Gone where
.”

"Some guys come. They took him
.”

"How long ago
.”

"Right after you went, mister
.”

She turned her head. They saw she had
been crying.
"Listen," Brett said, "if we get descriptions we can warn the police
.”

Leonard Wingate shook his head. He knew it was too late. He had a
feeling it had been too late from the beginning. He knew, too, what he
and Brett DeLosanto were going to do now. They would walk away. As so
many in Detroit walked away or, like the priest and Levite, crossed over
on the other side.
Brett was silent.
Wingate asked May Lou, "What will you do
.”

She closed the cardboard suitcase. I
’
ll make out
.”

Brett reached into a pocket. With a gesture, Wingate stopped him. "Let
me
.”

Without counting them, he took what bills he had and pressed them into
May Lou's hand. "I'm sorry," he, said. "I guess it doesn
’
t mean much, but
I'm sorry
.”

They went downstairs.
Outside, when they came to the car, its nearside door hung open. The
window glass was broken. The two topcoats which had been on the car's
back seat were gone.
Leonard Wingate cradled his head in his arms on the car roof. When he
looked up, Brett saw his eyes were wet.
"Oh, God!
" Wingate said. He raised his arms beseechingly to the black
night sky
. "Oh, God! This heartless city!
" Rollie Knight's body was never found. He simply disappeared.