Sleepers. Part 4

"The new ones?" I asked.

"Just got 'em the other day."

I nodded my head toward Tommy. "What about you?"

"What about me?" he wanted to know.

"What do you got?"

"Nothin'," Tommy said. "I just wanna see you do it."

"So?" Michael said. "What's it gonna be?"

"Pick a book," I sighed.

Moments later, I reached the top level of the library fiction shelf, a copy of Moby-d.i.c.k Moby-d.i.c.k in my hand. John and Tommy were stationed at opposite ends of the aisle, watching for pa.s.sing librarians. Below me, Michael held the wooden ladder with both hands. in my hand. John and Tommy were stationed at opposite ends of the aisle, watching for pa.s.sing librarians. Below me, Michael held the wooden ladder with both hands.

"Take your time," he said. "They must all be on a coffee break."

There were twenty-five books on the shelf, all arranged by author. I pressed the dozen on my left to one side, tipping their covers toward the center. I did the same to the books on the other end, arranging them so that each depended on the weight of the novel beside it. I dropped Moby-d.i.c.k Moby-d.i.c.k in the middle of the shelf, making slight adjustments until it caught the weight from both sides. I scanned the row with satisfaction and then moved down the steps of the ladder. in the middle of the shelf, making slight adjustments until it caught the weight from both sides. I scanned the row with satisfaction and then moved down the steps of the ladder.

"Think it'll work?" Michael asked.

"It's a can't-miss," I a.s.sured him.

"Who should we get?" Tommy said, coming up behind my right shoulder. "You know, to test it out?"

"How about Kalinsky?" John suggested, one foot resting on the base of the ladder. "Everybody hates her."

"Not everybody hates her," Michael said. "So, let's leave her outta this."

"Sorry, Mikey," John said. "Forgot about her and your dad."

"Just pick somebody else," Michael said.

"How about Miss Pippin?" I asked. "Anybody's father goin' out with her?"

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TOMMY STOOD AT the counter in the middle of the large room, patiently waiting as Miss Pippin, a tall, worried-looking blonde, stacked a handful of children's books on top of a file cabinet. the counter in the middle of the large room, patiently waiting as Miss Pippin, a tall, worried-looking blonde, stacked a handful of children's books on top of a file cabinet.

"h.e.l.lo," she said, turning to face Tommy. "Do you need help?"

"I can't find a book," Tommy said.

"Do you know the name of the book?" she asked, moving her gla.s.ses from the chain around her neck to her eyes. "Or who wrote it?"

"It's called Moby-d.i.c.k," Moby-d.i.c.k," Tommy said shyly. "I think a guy named Herman wrote it." Tommy said shyly. "I think a guy named Herman wrote it."

"You're half right," Miss Pippin said. "It was written by Herman Melville. It shouldn't be all that hard to find."

"That's great." Tommy nodded his head and slapped the top of the counter with his palms. "Did you know there was a movie made about it?"

"No," Miss Pippin said. "No, I didn't. But the book is much better."

"How do you know?" Tommy said. "If you didn't see the movie."

"I know," know," Miss Pippin said, stepping out from behind the counter. "Follow me and we'll get you your book." Miss Pippin said, stepping out from behind the counter. "Follow me and we'll get you your book."

"Right behind you," Tommy said.

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MISS P PIPPIN RESTED her hands on the edges of the step-ladder, scanning the bookshelves left to right. We sat at a table at her back, only Michael facing her. John and I were across from each other, catching quick glimpses of Miss Pippin in profile. We were settled behind the pages of large picture books, our eyes visible, peeking over above the covers. her hands on the edges of the step-ladder, scanning the bookshelves left to right. We sat at a table at her back, only Michael facing her. John and I were across from each other, catching quick glimpses of Miss Pippin in profile. We were settled behind the pages of large picture books, our eyes visible, peeking over above the covers.

"Well, you couldn't have looked for it very long," Miss Pippin said to Tommy. "There it is. Right up there."

"Where?" Tommy said. "I don't see it."

"Right there," Miss Pippin said, one sharp-nailed finger pointing up. "On the top shelf."

"I'm sorry, Miss Pippin," Tommy said. "I can't see it. I left my gla.s.ses in school."

"Since when do you wear gla.s.ses?" Miss Pippin asked. "I've never seen them on you."

"Just got 'em," Tommy said.

"All right, all right, I'll get you the book," Miss Pippin said. "But next time, don't be so quick to give up your search. Take the time to look for what you want to read."

"I will," Tommy said. "I promise."

Miss Pippin started up the steps of the ladder, one hand keeping her long, pleated skirt in place. Tommy stared up, his eyes eager to catch a flash of thigh. Michael turned to me and winked. John held the book he pretended to read well above his face, making valiant attempts to suppress his giggles.

"Keep it down," I whispered.

"She's almost there," Michael said, his voice even lower. "Couple more steps."

"Don't look up," I said. "Until it happens."

Tommy turned his head away as soon as he saw Miss Pippin's fingers wrap themselves around the spine of Moby-d.i.c.k. Moby-d.i.c.k. She gave the book a slight tug, inching it from its wedged-in slot. It slipped easily into her hand, releasing the pressure on the other books on the shelf, causing them all to fall in her direction. She gave the book a slight tug, inching it from its wedged-in slot. It slipped easily into her hand, releasing the pressure on the other books on the shelf, causing them all to fall in her direction.

The first two landed on the side of Miss Pippin's head, undoing the red ribbon in her hair and slamming her eyegla.s.ses to the ground. A flurry of other books collapsed around her, loosening her grip on the ladder. The flat pages of an open novel hit her square on the chin, her body lurching down, off the ladder, to the ground.

"Oh, s.h.i.t," Tommy yelled. "She's gonna fall."

Miss Pippin landed on her back, her eyes closed and her legs spread apart at angles. She lay quiet, an occasional moan rising up from the back of her throat. The copy of Moby-d.i.c.k Moby-d.i.c.k was still clutched in her right hand. was still clutched in her right hand.

"You think she's dead?" John asked, standing away from the table, his mouth open, his eyes fixed on Miss Pippin. "She can't be dead."

"Let's get outta here," Tommy said, stepping away from the crowd forming around the motionless librarian. "Let's get out now."

"Not until we find out if she's okay," Michael said.

An old woman, her arms wrapped around Miss Pippin's head, shouted for smelling salts. Two other women ran by with small cups filled with water from a cooler. A maintenance man, standing in a corner, leaning on the arm of a mop, mumbled on about calling an ambulance.

We stood in a group, a good distance from the crowd, aware of the suspicious eyes cast in our direction. John was the most nervous, lines of concern etched across his face. Tommy was sweating through his T-shirt, his breath coming in rushes. Michael's arms were folded against his chest, staring back at those who looked his way, masking his fear with a defiant stance.

I stood next to him, aware that whatever harm had been caused to Miss Pippin was my fault. I had performed the crammed-book trick dozens of times, each time to gales of laughter. This was the first time something bad had happened, and I didn't like how that made me feel.

I watched with outward relief as the hands and arms of three coworkers helped Miss Pippin to her feet. She stood unsteadily, her back resting against the shelf where the damage had been done, dozens of books scattered about her.

"Looks like she's gonna be okay," Michael said to me.

"Let's go, then," I said.

"In a minute," Tommy said. "Something I gotta do first."

"Let it go," John said. "Then for sure they'll get wise."

Tommy ignored the plea and stepped through the small cl.u.s.ter gathered around Miss Pippin, searching among the fallen books until he found the copy of Moby-d.i.c.k. Moby-d.i.c.k. He scooped it up and turned to face a still-dazed Miss Pippin. He scooped it up and turned to face a still-dazed Miss Pippin.

"Thanks for finding the book," he said to her. "Didn't mean for you to go to all that trouble."

"You're welcome," she said, watching as Tommy turned his back and walked out of the library, slapping Moby-d.i.c.k Moby-d.i.c.k against his thigh. against his thigh.

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I WAS STANDING WAS STANDING in the doorway of the building next to Mimi's Pizzeria, licking an Italian ice, trying not to let the melting liquid drip onto my new white T-shirt. in the doorway of the building next to Mimi's Pizzeria, licking an Italian ice, trying not to let the melting liquid drip onto my new white T-shirt.

"You know what c.r.a.p like that does to your body?" Father Bobby asked, coming up to my left, a cigarette dangling from his lips. "Have you any idea?"

"Beats smoking," I said. "Cheaper too."

"Maybe," he said, tossing the cigarette to the ground and twisting it out with the heel of his sneaker. "So, what do you hear? Anything?"

"Nothing," I said. "Quiet. Nothing to do except wait to go to school."

Father Bobby was wearing a Yankee T-shirt under a blue b.u.t.ton windbreaker, gray sweats, white socks, and low-cut Flyers, fresh from a two-hour basketball game. His face was ruddy, his hair combed back and still wet with sweat. Since he had been raised in the neighborhood, he pretty much knew all the rules and how best to break them. Anything we had thought thought of doing, he had already done years before. He never preached to us, fully aware that long sermons were not the way to go with my group. But he knew we liked and respected him and cared what he thought. There were so many ways to fall on the streets of h.e.l.l's Kitchen. Father Bobby tried to be there to break those falls. of doing, he had already done years before. He never preached to us, fully aware that long sermons were not the way to go with my group. But he knew we liked and respected him and cared what he thought. There were so many ways to fall on the streets of h.e.l.l's Kitchen. Father Bobby tried to be there to break those falls.

"What about what happened at the library the other day?" he said, stepping up into the doorway next to me. "That sounded exciting."

"You mean Miss Pippin?" I asked, finishing the last of the ice.

Father Bobby nodded.

"That was rough," I said. "All those books falling on her. It was scary."

"I heard you were there," he said. "The other guys too. Looking for something good to read, I suppose."

"Something like that," I said.

"Strange business," he said, leaning even closer. "You know, a whole shelf of books falling on top of somebody's head. How do you figure a thing like that happens?"

"Accident, I guess," I said.

"Must be it," he said. "What else could it be?"

I wiped my hands and mouth with the clean corner of a folded napkin and said nothing.

Father Bobby pulled his hands out of his pockets, a stick of Juicy Fruit between his right thumb and forefinger. He had a smile on his face.

"It's got a name," he said, offering me the gum.

"What?" I asked, declining with a shake of my head.

"The shelf trick you and your buddies pulled. It's called keepers. I played it when I was your age. Never could get the whole shelf down though. You must be pretty good at it."

"Father," I said. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe I'm wrong," he said, still smiling. "Maybe I got wind of the wrong information."

"Sounds like you did," I said, shifting my weight. "Well, I'd better get going."

"I'll see you later tonight," Father Bobby said, turning away and walking toward the corner.

"What's tonight?" I asked.

"Going to drop off some books and magazines around the neighborhood," he said. "You know, for the elderly and disabled. People who can't get out on their own. I checked with your mother. She said you'd love to help."

"I bet she did."

"She wants you to be a priest, you know," he said as he wedged the slice of Juicy Fruit into his mouth.

"Do you?" I asked.

"I just want you to stay outta trouble, Shakes," Father Bobby said. "That's my only wish. For you and your friends."

"Nothin' else?"

"Nothin' else," Father Bobby said. "I swear."

"Priests shouldn't swear," I said.

"And kids shouldn't dump a row of books on a librarian," he said, waving and turning the corner, heading for church.

Summer 1964