A Golden Cage by Shelley Freydont Page B

he smelled something bad. Most likely himself, because Joe could smell him from where he stood, a combination of stale beer and unwashed body.
    The man stuck out his hand, bony fingers shook either with palsy or to urge Joe into giving him something. Joe reached in his pocket, found a coin, and withdrew his hand. He flashed it open just long enough for the old man to see it but not to grab it and run.
    â€œWhere do you live?” Joe asked.
    â€œUseta have a room over the shipbuilder’s.”
    â€œDon’t have it anymore?”
    â€œNaw. Got my palace right here.” The old man gestured vaguely in the direction of the crate.
    â€œSo you were sleeping there last night?”
    â€œCouldn’t hardly sleep with all the gaiety going on down there. Kept me awake nearly to daybreak. How’s a body to sleep with all that racket?”
    He lifted an arm, then let it drop. “Over on them demfloating palaces. All sorts of carousing going on. Every end of week, always something goin’ on at one or t’other of them. Women and liquor. Wouldn’t even give a bit to a man in need.”
    â€œThe one last night kept you awake all night?” Joe asked.
    â€œPretty much all night.” The man beetled his eyes at Joe and thrust his chin out so far that Joe was afraid the rest of him would follow it, and he’d end up facedown on the walkway. “Say, why do you want to know? You ain’t with the police, are you?”
    Joe shook his head. “Looking for my sister.”
    â€œYou oughta not let a young girl go all among those gentlemen.” He spit out the last word, letting Joe know what he thought of those gentlemen. “She’ll come to no good, if she ain’t already. And don’t expect them to take care of her. They don’t feel beholden. They just use them and throw them away.”
    He started hobbling away. Joe went after him. “You see anyone fighting? Maybe over a woman?”
    â€œNope. Well, yep. Only he wasn’t fighting over her; he was chasing her. Almost got her, too.”
    â€œChasing her?”
    â€œI’m feeling awfully parched, and I get real forgetful when I’m thirsty.”
    Joe shoved his hand into his pocket and brought out a second coin. Went through the same motions he had before. Flashed both coins and closed his fist around them.
    The old man moved closer.
    â€œTell me about this man and the woman he was after.”
    â€œI could remember more if I had something to wet my whistle.”
    Joe shook his head and started to put the coins back in his pocket.
    â€œWait. I’m remembering now. Young fella. He wasn’t on the yacht but was waiting outside. Not one of them. First, I thought he was waiting to roll one of them gentlemen when they staggered home, so I kept my eye on him.”
    To demand part of the take, Joe had no doubt.
    â€œBut he just sat there. Then this one young woman come out and he stops her. She pushes him away and runs off into the night. He yells after her, then he follows her. That’s all I know.”
    â€œCan you describe them?”
    The old man heaved a sigh that ended in a rattle of a cough. He grabbed the edge of the crate to steady himself. “Young. They was young. Just young.”
    He held out his hand. Joe dropped the coins into it. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few more. “Have yourself something to eat.”
    The old man just looked at him.
    â€œFood, man. Don’t waste it all on drink.”
    â€œYou one of them pro ho-pro ho—teetotalers?”
    â€œNot me,” Joe assured him.
    The old man nodded. “Then, I thankee, sir.” He pushed away from the crate. “The boy. He was a towhead.” He peered over Joe’s shoulder and his mouth dropped open. “Well, did you ever, now? What’s the world a-coming to? Women on bicycles, pure craziness, next they’ll want the vote. You mark my words.”
    Joe