The evening was rife with visitors meandering through the city. Cabs were in high demand. Buses filled and emptied and filled again. The trains whisked passengers above and below the streets while trolleys offered a more leisurely ride.
The two women who left the dinner party at t the Taconite Lounge now joined the ever-lengthening queue waiting for a trolley at the Pike Center stop. They stood inside a glass and steel enclosure waiting for the next trolley. The air within the sidewalk depot grew rank with the stench of day shift crews heading home.
Buskers came out in force to play for the. crowds. People filled their hats and cases with coins and dollar bills, not for the talent or the entertainment but to send them away.
Jillian rummaged through her handbag for spare change.
"It isn't necessary for you to see me home, Belinda."
"I don't mind."
Jillian dug out several coins from the bottom of her handbag.
"I'm sorry for ruining your evening."
"You didn't ruin it."
"I know you were excited about going to the Swann Club."
"I'm sure I'll have plenty of opportunities."
"They can probably still get you in if you hurry back to the Taconite Lounge."
"Jilly, it's all right."
"I just feel bad for storming out of there."
"You were upset."
A crowd of additional riders joined the line. Belinda, speaking to Jilly, had a clear view of the people standing behind them. A man with a hat pulled low on his brow walked past the Pike Street Stop dragging a cane instead of using it for balance. A heavier jacket on his back covered a longer blazer or suit coat peeking out beneath it. He looked at his feet as he passed before slowly turning around and joining the growing line. Once he did, he raised his face long enough to chill Belinda.
Had the man's face just changed?
When he first glanced in Belinda's direction, she swore he looked older than Methusula. Wrinkles. Wiry, white eyebrows, Thin, pale pink lips pulled taught like drying worms after a rain storm left them on a sun-soaked sidewalk. Those dark moles her grandmother called liver spots peppering his face.
A trolley bell rang. In the mere seconds that Belinda turned away to watch the trolley approach and to speak to Jillian, the old man's face had fallen off, replaced by that of a younger older man now holding a violin. He began to play.
Eerie music filled the air inside the small structure. Melancholy smiles spread over some faces. A couple of people sang different lyrics to different tunes though they appeared to think they were singing to what the man played. One child danced.
Jilly Proust wept.
"I don't know how that woman knew about Marilyn and Barry. People just shouldn't go around talking about things they know nothing about."
"No," Belinda said, her voice far away in her own ears. "They shouldn't."
"Board!" The trolley driver's announcement snapped the spell cast by the violinist now once again an old man with a cane. His hat hid his face.
Belinda followed Jilly onto the trolley. "Artie was just probably following a lead."
"Yes, I'm sure I know what lead he was following and it doesn't have anything to do with the case."
The two women took seats near the front. The old man with the cane did not board. Belinda felt an odd sense of relief in that. She watched the man from the window. He did not look up at her until she was directly next to him as the trolley rolled forward.
Her heart jumped.
This time the man had no face. Belinda looked deep into the swirling void where his face should be and felt that void looking back.
Jillian's voice sounded millions of lifetimes away. "Are you sure you're all right, Bel?"
"Hmm?"
"You made a sound."
"A sound."
"Kind of a humming."
"Really? You sure it wasn't the trolley?"
"Trolleys clang and ding. This was a hum. Like a dynamo. Low. Visceral."
"I didn't intend to hum."
Jillian sighed. "Now I'm hearing things. That woman saw things and I'm hearing things and I only had the one glass of wine before that other dredge of a woman finished the first bottle Vittorio opened."
"Yes, well, that dredge of a woman made sure it didn't go to waste. When I left she was snoring in her salad greens. Had a big old dandelion leaf stuck to her cheek when her friend lifted her up."
The story made Jillian laugh. "Is that what they call karma?"
"My mother would call it 'just desserts', I think."
"Whatever it is, it's well deserved."
The trolley driver yelled over her shoulder. "Next stop Pine Street."
Jillian sighed. "Only eighteen blocks to go."
"We can always walk."
"In these heels? Our feet will be like raw hamburger by the time we reach Tip Town."
Belinda watched the people strolling the sidewalk along Middle Creek Boulevard. A few people were keeping pace with the trolleys, which wasn't uncommon. The trolleys were redesigned to be a more leisurely form of transportation in an effort to avoid future catastrophes.
Thanks to Mayor Tibbets, pedestrians didn't have to risk death by crossing busy intersections. Pedestrian bridges were built throughout Port Pinnebog, the first being memorial bridges for Mariyln Proust and Barry O'Neil.
As their trolley passed under the 47th Street bridge, Belinda saw the man with the hat pulled low coming down the stairs.
"Are you sure you're all right, Bel? You're very pale. Maybe I should see you home."
"I'm fine. I was just thinking I wasn't sure you wanted to take the trolley."
"I prefer it to the train. I like the breeze on my face. I like to watch the people along the streets." Jillian glanced side-eye at Belinda. "Did you think I swore off trolleys after my sister's accident?"
"No. It's just that tonight, back at the Taconite Lounge. I just thought it would be too painful."
"I wasn't upset about the accident. I came to grips with that long ago. The trolley driver that night had to decide whether to quickly stop a fully loaded trolley in the path of a speeding ambulance thereby endangering many more lives just to let my sister Marilyn and Barry continue crossing the street or to ring his bell as a warning to get Marilyn and Barry to turn back so he wouldn't hit them as he sped up to avoid being struck by the ambulance."
"He was damned either way."
"I mean, what would you have done? It's not as if time could be stopped to maneuver people out of the way. He rang his bell and sped up. Marilyn and Barry ignored the warning. Typical."
"Ouch."
"It's how they were. Always doing things their way with no regard. Drove my family nuts. Me included."
Jillian opened her handbag. She took out a tin of breath mints. She popped one into her mouth before quickly adding three more. Jillian offered the open box to Belinda, who also took one. The mint soothed her.
"No," Jillian continued. "What upset me was the audacity of that young woman to tell me my family history without me asking or her knowing any of us Prousts."
"Maybe she knew your sister."
"I doubt that. It happened eleven years ago. That young woman would've been a child."
The trolley lurched. The tin of breath mints spilled, a cache of green lozenges bouncing across the wooden floor of the trolley. Most rolled into the street.
"Just wonderful," Jillian said. "That's what I get for speaking ill of people."
"More just desserts?"
"There's a pharmacy on the next block. I have to stop there and get some more."
Belinda looked at the street. Her fear was that the man with the wide-brimmed hat pulled low on his brow would be there. She didn't know what to make of it if he was. Something odd had occurred back at the Pike Center street depot. It was something she wasn't sure she could tell Jillian. Her colleague hadn't said anything about seeing a man with a changing face or no face at all. Perhaps the music had a different effect on her.
The trolley stopped at 59th Street and Middle Boulevard. Jillian stepped off quickly. Belinda hesitated, giving the street a quick look. When the trolley driver rang the bell, it gave Belinda a bit of a start and she brought her foot down hard on a mint lozenge. Her ankle bent under her leg. She felt herself toppling out of the trolley. Behind her, a woman screamed.
Belinda fell into the arms of a tall, red-haired man about to board the trolley. She looked up into his face hoping it would be there.
"Are you all right?"
Belinda, her cheeks burning from embarrassment, nodded. "Yes, thank you."
"Can you stand, hon?" Jillian asked her.
"I think so." She held the man's arm for support as she put her weight on her injured ankle, a blinding flash of pain made her buckle. She felt the man's arms hold her.
The trolley driver came over. "Regulations say I have to call for an ambulance and report the incident to the police."
"That's a lot of bother," Belinda said. She held back the tears from the pain.
"Sorry, Miss. I have to do my job." The trolley driver used the two-way radio inside the trolley to relay the incident to his dispatcher. The dispatcher assured him she would send an ambulance.
Belinda looked at the crowd of faces gawking at her. She tried to smile. Somewhere behind the encroaching crowd, she heard violin music. Her hands gripped the man's arms. She looked at Jillian.
"I was supposed to see you home."
Jillian smiled. "I'll get there after we go to the hospital."
The wail of the ambulance siren should have drowned out the violin music. Belinda continued to hear it. When the crowd parted, the music continued even though Belinda did not see a busker.
Jillian smiled at Belinda as they put her in the ambulance. "I'll meet you at the hospital."
The ambulance driver closed the door. Belinda saw Jillian talking to the man who caught her. It was the last time Belinda would see Jillian for a very long time.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
I felt I needed to break away from Art Reasoner for a while. Yes, he is the hero of the story but I wanted new perspective. It seemed like Jillian's sister's story needed to be told. I tried to keep Jillian and Belinda from talking about Art but Belinda brought him up if only briefly.
I've gone down a rabbit hole of creating AI images. I have some wicked scary ones that emerged I will use for a different project when I feel this one is complete. I'm over 11,000 words. I'm taking it to the minimum 61K in case something emerges. It's an alternate history, a gaspunkish 1950s from the imagery but take away the AI images and it feels like a story is emerging.
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