7: Disaster

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=90 BGCOLOR="#CC9900" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="047005a0dwnjzk.gif"> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U><B>home</B></U></A><B>     | </B><B> </B><B> </B><B>  </B><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FFCC66" FACE="Arial" ><B>Cassie's Writing</B></FONT></div> <div> <A HREF="id53.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="1: New Orleans"><U><B>1:  New Orleans</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id54.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="2: Mary Margaret"><U><B>2:  Mary Margaret</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id55.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="3: Rumrunners Row"><U><B>3:  Rumrunners' Row</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id56.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="4: Speakeasy"><U><B>4:  Speakeasy</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id57.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="5: Sys Deal"><U><B>5:  Sy's Deal</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id58.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="6: Reunion"><U><B>6:  Reunion</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><B>7:  Disaster</B><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id60.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="8: Petofi"><U><B>8:  Petofi</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id63.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="9: Cuddeback"><U><B>9:  Cuddeback</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id64.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="10: Angelique"><U><B>10:  Angelique</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id65.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="11: Making Plans"><U><B>11:  Making Plans</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id66.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="12: Chicago"><U><B>12:  Chicago</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id67.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="13: Nora"><U><B>13:  Nora</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id68.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="14: The Gypsy"><U><B>14:  The Gypsy</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id69.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="15: The Trap"><U><B>15:  The Trap</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id70.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="16: The Gift"><U><B>16:  The Gift</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id71.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="17: Beth"><U><B>17:  Beth</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id74.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="18: Together Again"><U><B>18:  Together Again</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id75.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="19: Petofi Strikes"><U><B>19:  Petofi Strikes</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id51.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Taking Wooden Nickels"><U><B>Taking Wooden Nickels</B></U></A></div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=210 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <B>7:  Disaster</B></div> <bR> </td> <td valign="top" height=390 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div>      After breakfast, Edward made a call to arrange for a Ford rental car to be brought round to the hotel.  "The keys will be at the lobby desk.  After you bring whatever you need back here, you can meet me at the hospital--in Jamison's room," Edward explained.  He looked troubled and doubtful.</div> <div>      "What's wrong, Edward?"  Quentin asked.</div> <div>      "Even after our talk, I wonder if you will come back," Edward answered.  "I wonder if you will run away again."</div> <div>      "No, I won't run away," Quentin promised.  "I wouldn't do that now, Edward.  I think we understand each other now, don't you?"</div> <div>      Edward's face cleared up.  "I was hoping so," he answered, relieved.</div> <div>      Quentin got the keys from the desk clerk and exited the hotel.  The Ford was parked right there at the curb.  As he walked to the car, he felt someone grab his arm and yank him down the short sidewalk and into the alley.  "What the hell--" he began, and then he was shoved up against the wall of the alley.</div> <div>      Dave put his forearm across Quentin's throat and pressed him harder against the wall.  His free hand was drawn back in a fist.  He looked wild, distraught.</div> <div>      "Dave!  What the hell you doing?"  Quentin gasped.</div> <div>      Dave was nearly in tears and could barely speak.  "You damn fool!  Who'd you sell that stuff to, Franky?  Who?"</div> <div>      Quentin was too surprised to answer.  "Dave, let me go!  What's the matter with you?"</div> <div>      Dave put his arms down momentarily, but as Quentin began to move from the wall, Dave clamped down on his shoulders and slammed him back. He shook Quentin back and forth as if he was trying to shake a rag doll.  Quentin's head hit the wall, and the pain caused him to cry out:  "Hey!"  He grabbed Dave's wrists.  "Have you lost your mind?  What's the matter with you?"</div> <div>      "Have I lost MY mind, kid?  That's what I want to know from you!  What the hell did you do, Franky?  Who did you sell the booze to?  Who?  Who?"</div> <div>      Slowly, Quentin realized what Dave was talking about.  That sale was days ago, before the accident, before his reconciliation with Edward.  He'd put it all out of his mind.  "Why, I took it to Sy," he answered.  "What the hell is going on?"</div> <div>      Dave shook him again.  "You damn fool!"  he shouted.  "What are you, stupid?  Don't you realize what you've done?  I oughta smack the shit out of you for this only I know what they did to your family, too!"</div> <div>      "Dave, what are you TALKING about?"  Quentin asked, completely bewildered.</div> <div>      Dave threw his arms up in the air in exasperation and despair.  "You don't know what you did, do you?  You don't know what happened, do you?"</div> <div>      "No!  I don't know!  What are you talking about?  All I know is, Jamison and Ruth were in a car accident--"</div> <div>      Dave put his face close to Quentin's.  "That's right!  I know!  And I know she's dead!  And I know what happened to her, man!"</div> <div>      Quentin began to feel a creeping horror come over him.  "What do you mean?  What happened?"</div> <div>      Dave continued to rant; it was very similar to the way the old Edward had ranted and raved. "You damn fool!  Did you think you could step on his toes and get away with it?  Who was supposed to be in that car that night, man?  Who?"</div> <div>      "Jamison and me, but we were too drunk--"  Quentin stopped.  "What the hell are you saying, Dave?"</div> <div>      "The tire was shot out, man.  She wasn't supposed to be the target.  YOU were.  And Jamison."  Quentin's mouth dropped open, which only increased Dave's fury at him.  "Man, are you THAT stupid?  Who did you think you were playing with?  Why didn't you tell me that you were taking all that stuff to Sy?  I'd have stopped you.  Is that why you didn't tell me?  Did you think you could get away with it?"</div> <div>      "I--I--" Quentin was deeply shocked.  "I don't understand.  What did I do?"</div> <div>      "Didn't you know better than to lay off any speak belongin to the mob?  Who you think is supposed to supply large deliveries to Sy, Franky?"</div> <div>      The realization of what may have happened was beginning to sink in on Quentin.  He was horrified, going back over in his mind the sequence of events.  Sy asking him if he could get a full load of this "good" stuff; he and Jamison bragging it was no problem at all.  Delivering it, Sy had been so secretive about the whole thing...</div> <div>      Dave shook him again.  "Franky!  What have you done?  They burned me out, man!  Did you know my ma and sister were lucky to get out?  I was supposed to have been there, too, man, but I was with YOU that night!"</div> <div>      Quentin covered face with his hands, trembling.  His mind was reeling as he tried to take it all in.  "But Sy said--" he began.</div> <div>      "Forget Sy! There ain't no more Sy!  You know where Sy is?  You know what cement shoes are, man?  He probably sleepin on the bottom of Sheepshead Bay right now, more'n likely! Do you  have any idea just who you and your bright nephew have offended, you  dumb rich white boy?"</div> <div>      It was too horrible to contemplate.  It was all slamming home, now.  "No," Quentin protested, weakly.</div> <div>      Dave leaned in close again.  "YES.  Yes, yes, yes!  You didn't think, did you?  Sy at the Side Car wanted to get him his own side stash, and you were willing to do it, weren't you? And then he wanted a large delivery. That's what that last run was, wasn't it?"</div> <div>      "Yes," Quentin whispered.</div> <div>      "Man, I'd smack you up this side your face and back down again if I didn't know what they'd done to you.  Now, since you don't know it, I'm going to tell you.  Then you can beat your own self up."  Dave paused, glaring at Quentin, who'd gone sickly pale. "You got your big headed self mixed up in mob territory. They don't like that, you understand me?  These people don't LIKE it when you mess with them.  They take care of business.  So they fixed it to shoot out Jamison's tire.  Just to teach you two a little lesson about playing in the wrong backyard.  And if someone happened to get killed--" Dave shrugged.</div> <div>      "No!"</div> <div>      "YES, Frank.  Thing with me is, guilt by association.  So they wanted to give me a little message, too.  Torched my mama's apartment building."  Dave punctuated his next few words by jabbing his finger into Quentin's chest.  "Only I wasn't there.  SHE was.  And my sister.  I was with YOU-takin care of your drunk self."</div> <div>      Quentin closed his eyes tightly and hit the wall with his fists.  "I just don't ever stop!"  he cried out in pain, thinking that he always made stupid choices, always got himself and people he loved into serious trouble.  He would never learn, never.  He took a deep breath and then looked at Dave.  "I can't even tell you I'm sorry, can I?"  Dave gave him a disgusted look.  Quentin's eyes filled with tears, thinking about Ruth, poor dead Ruth.  And Jamison.  "Can I do anything to make this right?"</div> <div>      "Word is out that there's a fixer that's interested in making peace," Dave said, not without some pity.  He put his hand on Quentin's shoulder.  "Listen, we can go talk to Larry on the Island.  He got a message to me.  The fixer wants to talk to you and then deal."</div> <div>      Quentin smiled grimly.  "As luck would have it, Edward rented me a car."</div> <div>      "Well, then, my friend, I suggest we make tracks and go see Mr. Fay," Dave said.</div> <div>      Quentin bowed his head.  "I really am sorry, Dave.  I'm  really stupid."</div> <div>      "Don't think I'm gonna argue with you about that," Dave said sternly.  "If my mama and sister had been hurt in that fire, I'd'a probably tried to kill you.  You really are a dumb kid."  He looked at Quentin's tortured face.  "Look, you just try listening to me for a change, will you?  Maybe you'll learn something."  Quentin swallowed, unable to speak.  "Franky, I'm not going to dump you.  Specially not after all you done for me.  I'm gonna stick with you--I'll just try to teach you how to get along better, is all. For starters, you let me drive.  You don't look so good."</div> <bR> <div>      They drove to Larry's estate in Great Neck.  Quentin remembered the last time they'd been there--it had only been a couple of weeks ago.  He could see Ruth and Jamison dancing together, wild, laughing, enjoying themselves immensely.  He shook his head as if to clear the vision from his brain.  Dave hadn't spoken to him again during the entire drive, leaving him alone with his thoughts and his guilt.  They pulled into the estate driveway.  Through the trees, Quentin could see the Scotts' fine home.</div> <div>      "I guess we rate," Dave said finally.  "Look who's come to meet us."</div> <div>      Larry stood outside on the great porch, watching them park the car.  He was elegantly dressed as usual, and watched them with cold, hooded eyes.  They got out of the car and started up the steps.  Larry turned and gestured to them to follow him inside.  He took them to his library.  He sat down behind his great desk and indicated they should sit across from him.  He leaned back in his chair and looked at them stonily.  Then he spread his hands.  "Look around.  Nice room, no?"</div> <div>      Dave and Quentin obligingly looked around the room.  It WAS a nice library, much nicer than the one at Collinwood, Quentin thought.  It was a whole lot sunnier.  "Sure is," Dave agreed.</div> <div>      "And my house.  Grand, no?"</div> <div>      Dave agreed again.  Quentin wondered what Larry was getting at.  "Nice room, grand house.  Classy neighborhood, you gentlemen agree?"</div> <div>      "It goes without saying," Quentin said.  "This is a very classy neighborhood."  Dave shot him a warning look, and Quentin shut his mouth, confused.</div> <div>      Larry slammed his fist on the desk top.  "Do you have any idea how long it took me to get to the point where I could have this room, this house, this neighborhood?"  Now Quentin got the point.  Larry put his finger in Quentin's face.  "You!  I trusted you!  I let you use my cab, didn't I?  I did good by you, didn't I?"</div> <div>      "I'm sorry--" Quentin began.</div> <div>      Larry slammed his fist on the desk again, and Quentin shut up.  He wondered if Larry meant to break his hand on the table or on his face.</div> <div>      "You're sorry?  Is that all you can say?"</div> <div>      "He made a serious mistake in judgment," Dave explained.  "It was a total accident, and not on purpose at all."</div> <div>      "I'm not talkin to YOU, jig, so butt out, see?"  The gangster turned his attention back to Quentin.  For that is what he was after all--a gangster.  He was elegantly dressed and looked like a businessman, like Edward.  But he really was nothing like Edward at all.  His eyes were cold and flat, and that made him seem even more dangerous.  "You!  This is how you pay back my hospitality, is that right?"</div> <div>      "I made a mistake, a big one," Quentin explained, using his best respectfully contrite tone.  He'd used it many times before many headmasters, knowing it was the best way to placate them.  However, they hadn't frightened him very much; he much more intimidated by Larry Fay.  He didn't know what Fay was capable of.  "I wasn't trying to step on anyone's toes, I really wasn't."</div> <div>      Fay rolled his eyes and shook his head in disgust.  "A child with matches!  That's what I did.  I gave a book of matches to a child!"</div> <div>      "If it's a child I am, then I think I've been punished enough," Quentin said reasonably.  "Members of my family have been killed and injured.  Members of my friend's family have been threatened.  I made a mistake, and I'm willing to pay, but I want everyone else left alone."</div> <div>      "Well,  you got guts.  That's what I liked about you, kiddo, and that's why I tried to help you.  I didn't expect you to double-cross me, you little prick."</div> <div>      "I'm trying to tell you I didn't double cross you," Quentin said earnestly.  "Not on purpose."</div> <div>      "You know, I believe you kid.  Otherwise, I'd've had your balls on my plate already.  You have any idea the trouble you've caused me?  You don't know a damn thing about us, do you, kid?"  Fay didn't wait for an answer.  "Of course you don't.  You don't even rate as a small-time hood.  Because let me tell you one thing about playing with this kind of fire--it burns out of control very quickly.  You understand me?  Out of control.  You got in with the big boys, my young friend.  They don't understand this 'I didn't know what I was doing' shit.  All they know is, you're in their territory messing with their accounts.  You hear what I'm saying, sonny?"</div> <div>      "Yes, sir," Quentin replied.  He was out of his league, knew it, and was scared.</div> <div>      "What happened to your family was NOT my idea," Fay went on.  "In fact, if they'd known the truth of it, some of my friends in higher places would be amused by this kid stuff.  In spite of that, though, you did something you had no business doing, and you messed with business you had no business messing with.  So they had to do something about you.  Because if they didn't, the word would go out, and we'd have this kind of thing popping up all over.  Bad for business, you follow me?"</div> <div>      "Yes, sir," Quentin answered.  "Haven't I paid enough?"</div> <div>      "Well, that's an interesting question, kid.  You should've been in that car. So here we have the two wise apples walking around still.  I have one friend high up there who would take a tolerant view of all this.  However, there's another fella--more powerful--and this man is crazy.  Very unreasonable."</div> <div>      "Larry, I just don't want them to hurt my family anymore," Quentin pleaded.  "I don't care about myself."</div> <div>      "I can't help you, kiddo.  I'm in enough trouble as it is for lending you the cab. My higher connections and I conferenced at the Inn, and they let me know that they were very--let's say 'disappointed' that I lent you that cab. I'm not interested in putting my neck on the line and losing all this, you understand me? So there was nothing I could say to help you.  However, there is some good news I can tell you.  There is someone who is willing to intervene and speak to the bosses on your behalf.  Let your family off the hook, definitely.  Maybe you, too."</div> <div>      "Who?"</div> <div>      "Your savior's name is Count Bartelli."</div> <div>      Quentin froze.  "Count?"</div> <div>      "We call him 'The Count.'  His name is Geraldo Bartelli.  Don't you remember meeting him?  He was here at the party Easter time.  He's a very powerful man, very respected among our 'circle of friends' you might say."</div> <div>      Quentin thought.  He'd met so many people that night.  He'd also had quite a lot to drink.  All he could clearly remember was how much fun he'd had playing the piano and watching Jamison and Ruth dancing.  As usual, Fay had stood by, watching everyone else.  F. Scott Fitzgerald had remarked on it before leaving for Paris with his family. "A fascinating character study," Fitzgerald had explained to Quentin. "I'd like to use him in a book."  Now Fay was staring at Quentin, and Quentin realized he was chewing his nails again.  Just like a damn scared kid, he thought, dropping his hands.  "I really don't remember."</div> <div>      "I remember," Dave said.  His voice had a soft, warning tone to it.</div> <div>      "Who asked you?  Shut up," Fay snapped.</div> <div>      "Look, do you mind?  He's my friend," Quentin objected.  </div> <div>      Fay looked startled.  Then he laughed.  "You have no respect.  I ought to beat the crap out of you for that."  He stopped laughing abruptly. "You listen to me, kiddo.  I'm telling you this for your own good.  You may have your charm and your pretty face and that might help you out of a jam, but there's gonna come a time where you are gonna get seriously hurt for doing something stupid like this.  You understand me?"  When Quentin didn't answer right away, he slammed his fist down on the desk again.  "I asked you a question!  I said, do you understand me?"</div> <div>      "Yes, sir!" Quentin answered promptly.</div> <div>      "I just happen to like your spirit, and that's the only reason why I don't break your neck for you.  You better get this through your head--just because I'm not doing anything to you doesn't mean no one else will.  Look, I think you're a nice classy kid.  You're a good piano player.  You don't belong in this game, I know you don't.  So I don't want to hurt you.  But you go back on me ever again--you ever so much as cause me a  speck of trouble, and I'll come after you myself.  Do I make myself clear?"</div> <div>      "Yes, sir."</div> <div>      "Now, I'm gonna help you just this one more time.  Mr. Bartelli wants a meet with you.  He wants to discuss terms with you.  You may not like them.  But if you want your family safe, you'll keep your mouth shut and let him take care of it.  He knows what he's doing, you don't.  He's friends with the big boys, you aren't.  You follow?"  Quentin nodded.  "Okay, I got a driver for you whose gonna take you to Mr. Bartelli's place by cab."</div> <div>      "We have a car," Dave said.</div> <div>      "'We' ain't both going," Fay said pointedly.  "You are not invited, you understand?"</div> <div>      Dave started to say something, but Quentin said quickly, "Dave, that's okay, maybe you can go pick up our stuff, huh?"</div> <div>      "Yeah, right," Dave said agreeably.</div> <div>      Larry Fay stood up.  "Then I think our business is concluded, gentlemen.  Now, if the sp--I mean, your friend will be on his way, Frank, then I'll send you off to see Mr. Bartelli."</div> <div>      Quentin saw the expression on Dave's face and said, "Let me just talk to Dave for a few minutes.  I have to make sure he's got the directions and knows what to pick up."</div> <div>      "Sure, sure, go ahead," Fay said, waving his hand in dismissal.</div> <div>      Quentin and Dave walked back to the rented car.  "Franky, I don't like this," Dave said.</div> <div>      "I know you don't.  What's wrong?"</div> <div>      "It's this guy who wants to help you, Bartelli.  Frank, you have to ask yourself WHY does he want to?"</div> <div>      "At this point, I really don't care," Quentin answered.  "I just want them to let us alone.  I'm done with all this.  And if this guy can fix it--"</div> <div>      "Yeah, he can fix it, all right, Franky, but you don't remember him.  I do.  Watch yourself, you hear me?  You have to be very careful with this man.  He is very, very dangerous."</div> <div>      Quentin groaned inwardly.  More dangerous men!  "Tell me, then.  What do you know about him?"</div> <div>      "Word is that he can get Fay and the other bosses to cooperate because he's got the Midas touch.  Word is that's why those bosses survived so many hits.  Word is this guy is the one with all the power and he's just hanging in the dark corners, watching, just like a black widow spider."</div> <div>      Quentin looked at Dave thoughtfully and sighed.  The man sounded extremely unpleasant as well as formidable.  "Black widow spider?"</div> <div>      "His bite is poison, Frank," Dave warned.  "His prey is pretty young things."</div> <div>      "Prey?  You mean me?"</div> <div>      "You.  Girls.  It doesn't matter.  He noticed you, Frank.  He was watching you.  That's what I'm really worried about, buddy."</div> <div>      Quentin felt himself go cold.  "Tell me what he looks like, Dave."</div> <div>      "Big guy, broad shoulders.  A mean looking devil.  He looked more like one of Fay's drivers than a guest.  He has this thick curly black hair and a black beard.  Had on a black tux.  He's got this big hands, like meat cleavers. Got a smile like a pirate. You really don't remember him?"</div> <div>      "No, and I'd remember someone like that."</div> <div>      "I spotted him.  He sat at a table in the shadows, surrounded by his people. Had a couple young ladies on either side of him.  I mean, young and pretty.  He sat back in the shadows, watching you.  I've really got a VERY bad feeling about this, Frank."</div> <div>      "I have to go," Quentin said.  He didn't really want to.  Not after what Dave told him.</div> <div>      "You just listen to me close and watch yourself, you hear me?  I'll tell you what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna drive off in this rented car, but I'm gonna pull off the road.  I'll wait for you to go by, and then I'm gonna follow you.  See where you go.  If I can help you, I will."</div> <div>      "Thanks, Dave," Quentin said, deeply relieved.</div> <div>      Dave thumped Quentin on the shoulder.  "Okay, I guess you're done giving me directions and all.  I'll be around.  You watch your back, you hear me?"</div> <div>      "Yes, I hear," Quentin said.  He watched Dave get into the car, start it up, and drive away.  He turned back toward the big house and saw that Larry Fay was watching him through the library window.  He shuddered.  He felt totally alone.</div> <bR> <div>      The driver drove him into the city and parked along the curb.  He turned to look at Quentin.  "The building you want is there, across the alley."  He pointed to a building on the next block.  It was medium sized; about 10 stories tall.  "I'll get you inside, but then I'm gonna come back and wait for you here.  Y'understand?"</div> <div>      "Yes," Quentin answered.</div> <div>      He and the driver got out.  The crossed the alley and then the driver led Quentin down a flight of steps to the basement door.  The driver rapped "shave and a hair cut" on the door.  There was a slot that slid back momentarily.  "A sweet for the count," the driver said.  The slot closed immediately.</div> <div>      "What?"  Quentin asked, suspiciously.</div> <div>      The driver looked at him impassively.  "Code, you dope.  You know that.  You got to have the right password."</div> <div>      Quentin wasn't sure he bought that, but the door was opening, so he couldn't do anything now.  The body guard who let them in was very tall and broad shouldered.  A typical bouncer.  They were entering a speak-easy.  The room was nearly full with lunch time guests.  At the end of the long, narrow room was an elevator, and Quentin was led there.  "I'm gonna get a bite and then I'll meet you back at the car," the driver told Quentin.</div> <div>      The bouncer and Quentin got into the elevator, and the other man punched the top button.  "Mr. Bartelli's got the whole top floor," the bouncer said, as if that was a major accomplishment.  He laughed.  "He owns the whole damn building!"  Quentin didn't say anything.  The elevator lurched and then shot upward.</div> <div>      The elevator doors opened up onto a luxurious, large open space.  There was a thick burgundy carpet on the floor.  Quentin felt his feet sinking into it, it was so thick.  There were windows along one wall, and the view, though limited,  was spectacular.</div> <div>      Another wall was panelled over with wood.  This seemed to be the living/work area.  There were huge stuffed armchairs and a long sofa arranged before an especially large fireplace.  Through the window near the fireplace, Quentin could see the fire escape.  On the other side of the living area was a large businessman's oak desk, with a large, comfortable looking executive's chair.  Quentin could see a partially enclosed kitchen area, and two closed doors.  Possibly a bathroom and/or bedrooms to provide some privacy.  Otherwise, the space was very open and inviting.  Still, Quentin felt a warning prickling on the back of his neck.</div> <div>      One of the doors opened, and the man Dave described entered.  He had a commanding presence that filled the room, and Quentin agreed with Dave's assessment that the man looked very much like a pirate.  All he needed was the eye patch.  The man strode forward and held his hand out, "Welcome to my parlor!  Come in, come in!"  He shook Quentin's hand, squeezing it very tightly, watching Quentin's face closely.  Quentin was more dismayed by the man's choice of words than his show of strength.  </div> <div>      "Mr. Bartelli," he said easily, refusing to show his discomfort at having his hand squeezed so tightly.</div> <div>      Bartelli ushered Quentin into the living area and conducted him to one of the chairs.  The bouncer stood at attention nearby.</div> <div>      Bartelli sat down in a chair across from Quentin and regarded him with a most piratical grin.  He pulled out a cigar and offered it to Quentin, who declined politely.  "No?  They're Cuban.  Excellent cigars.  Perhaps you'll change your mind."  Bartelli lit one for himself and sat back, staring at Quentin with an unnerving inscrutable expression on his face.  Just as Quentin was beginning to fidget nervously, Bartelli said, "You are in trouble with some friends of mine, my dear boy, and you need my help."</div> <div>      "Yes, sir, that's right," Quentin replied, deciding respectful was the tone to take.</div> <div>      "Fortunately for you, I have taken the liberty of speaking to my friends on your behalf.  I talked with Larry Fay earlier. He spoke very highly of you.  He is especially impressed with your ingenuity and your musical skills.  I am aware of your foolish boy's prank.  I admit that I was quite taken in by your cleverness and sense of daring as well, so I have explained it all to my friends.  They do not see the humor in it, but they have agreed that you have been punished enough by them and you will not repeat the mistake.  Am I correct in this?"</div> <div>      "Yes, sir," Quentin said, relieved.  "Thank you, Mr. Bartelli, sir."</div> <div>      "You have such good manners, my dear boy.  I like that in a young man.  However, you haven't asked what the price is for 'getting you off the hook' as it were."</div> <div>      Quentin remembered Dave's warning.  "What is your price then, Mr. Bartelli?"</div> <div>      Bartelli laughed.  It seemed unpleasantly familiar.  Bartelli blew a puff of smoke into Quentin's face.  "You are most attractive, have you been told that?"  He didn't wait for an answer.  He followed up with his next question, which threw Quentin totally off balance.  "You don't remember me, do you?  I must say I am most wounded, although I am not terribly surprised."</div> <div>      "Do you mean from the party?  I'm sorry, but--" Quentin stopped.  He looked closer at the man, unpleasant as he was.  There WAS something familiar about him--something from years and years ago--</div> <div>      "Charles!" Bartelli called out suddenly.  The door opened, and Quentin turned to see who was coming in from the other room.  He was so shocked he nearly jumped to his feet with a shout of alarm.  He forced himself to stay still.  Charles Delaware Tate came into the room.  He was almost thirty years older and his hair was completely white, but he was still a handsome man.</div> <div>      When Tate saw Quentin, he grinned maliciously.  "Well, well, well!  Look who's dropped in!"</div> <div>      "Charles, would you be so kind as to bring us both a drink?  I'm afraid my young friend doesn't remember me, although I remember HIM very well."</div> <div>      Quentin felt himself leap up.  He looked from Tate to Bartelli.  Tate had gone to the bar and was pouring out two drinks.  A distant, dim memory was becoming clearer to Quentin.  "I've met you before," he said hesitantly, softly.  "It was in the cemetery.  You were looking for someone--"  The memory suddenly became clearer.  "Aristede!  That's who you were looking for.  But how is that possible?  That was--"</div> <div>      "1897?  That is right, dear boy.  However, I must correct you on one small detail.  The person you met who was searching for the unfortunate Aristede was an individual named Garth Blackwood, the squire of Dartmoor.  That is not who I am.  I must say, Quentin, I am really wounded now that you haven't found me out yet."</div> <div>      Quentin went ice cold and froze.  Now he knew for sure who Bartelli was, and if he was face to face with Devil himself he couldn't have been more frightened.  He was so terrified he lost the ability to speak and could only stare at Bartelli--who was actually Count Petofi--with huge, frightened eyes.  Bartelli--or Petofi--threw his head back and laughed.  "Well, I see the glimmers of recognition at last, my dear boy!  And now that we know who we really are, perhaps we should now discuss our terms. My dear Charles and Duke, if you would be so kind, I would like to discuss my agreement with Quentin alone."</div> <div>      Charles laughed unpleasantly.  "Good luck, Quentin--you'll need it.  But trust me, I won't wish any for you.  What say we get something downstairs, Duke?"</div> <div>      "Whatever you say," Duke said agreeably.  He and Tate got onto the elevator, and the doors shut.</div> <div> Alone, Quentin faced the man calling himself Geraldo Bartelli.  Bartelli flexed his huge, ringed hands and grinned, looking very much like a shark about to devour his prey.  Quentin felt himself begin to tremble.</div> <div>      "Are you so frightened of me, my boy?  I can't imagine why," Bartelli said sarcastically.  He laughed, a familiar unpleasant sound.  "I suppose you think that I still covet your attractive young body."  He leered at Quentin. "Well, I do, but not in the way you imagine, my dear boy.  You see, there are advantages to having this burly, intimidating form.  It's easier to get my way. I have much more power and influence than I could ever hope for. People pay more attention to a face like this than they would, say, to a face with boyish features such as yours--attractive though they may be."  He'd begun to approach Quentin, who backed up for every step that Bartelli drew nearer.  "I find that not only am I mentally superior, I am also physically superior to most men.  It won't take long for me to hold all the power of the underworld from coast to coast.  I will become the boss of bosses, as it were."  Bartelli had Quentin backed up against the wall.  Even still, he moved in closer, and Quentin pressed himself against the unyielding wall behind him.  "I don't want to transfer my mind to yours, dear Quentin.  However, I do want to possess you, and I always get what I want."</div> <div>      Without warning, he put his hands on Quentin's face.  Quentin flinched, but felt no pain from the power of Bartelli's hand.  Bartelli leaned in close, and Quentin was unable to turn his head to the side.  Bartelli kissed him full on the mouth.  Quentin felt Bartelli trying to force his tongue between his lips and clenched his teeth tightly, repulsed.  Bartelli's mouth was gone; he took a half step backwards, frustrated.  Then he lifted one hand and gave Quentin a stinging slap on the cheek.  "Open your mouth!" he ordered.</div> <div>      "No," Quentin ground out from behind his gritted teeth.  He was in a turmoil, torn between  the feelings of terror and revulsion.</div> <div>      Bartelli slapped him again.  Involuntary tears stung Quentin's eyes.  "I get what I want, Quentin, and I want you very badly," Bartelli said harshly.  "Don't think I am unaware of your sexual experimentations.  I know all about your little menage a tois."</div> <div>      "That was different," Quentin said defensively.</div> <div>      "Ah? Was it, then?  Well, perhaps you will feel differently after this experience. How charming you are, Quentin!"  Bartelli winked and added in a soft, dangerous tone, "I will have you.  This can be a very pleasurable experience if you cooperate with me."</div> <div>      "No!"</div> <div>      "You can't refuse me.  I am used to having my way with both the ladies and the gentlemen.  When everyone cooperates, we all have a good time.  If not---, then at the very least I still enjoy myself.  You decide, dear boy."</div> <div>      Despite his deep fear of the man, Quentin answered stubbornly, "I won't do it."</div> <div>      "That's quite all right, my dear.  I will enjoy it all the more.  I like it even better when they struggle like flies in a spider's web," Bartelli said malevolently.  He patted Quentin gently on the cheek and then moved to kiss him again.  Instinctively, Quentin brought his knee up, hard, driving it into Bartelli's testicles.  He didn't stop to wonder why Bartelli hadn't expected him to try something like that.  As soon as Bartelli dropped to the floor, doubled up, Quentin ran to the window, pulling it open and jumping out onto the fire escape.  He ran down as fast as he could, nearly stumbling and tripping.</div> <div>      Above, he heard a yell "Hey, you!"  He looked up very briefly to see one of Bartelli's henchmen leaning out the window with a gun pointed at him.  He kept running and jumping down the steps.  He heard Bartelli's voice next.  "You fool!  Don't!"  At the sound of gunfire, he looked up briefly to see that Bartelli had pushed the gunman's hand up, and the shot had gone into the sky.  Quentin jumped off the fire escape while he was still two stories up.  He landed heavily on one ankle and toppled over.  He jumped up again and began hobbling down the alley.  Bartelli was laughing loudly.</div> <div>      Quentin was shaking almost uncontrollably.  He could see Larry Fay's cab parked on the street, waiting for him.  There was no way he could go there, though.  Still limping, he began walking in the other direction.  He had to get to the subway; he had to get back to Edward's hotel and warn him.  They had to get Jamison out of here.</div> <div>      He made his way down the steps of the next subway stop and as he approached the turnstile, he heard Dave hiss, "Franky!" Startled, he jumped but then turned and faced his friend. "Where you goin'?  I saw you go into that building, but I couldn't get in there.  Didn't know the right password.  Franky?" He was relieved to see Dave but was unable to speak. "What happened?  You look like death warmed over!"  Dave said.</div> <div>      "I gotta get out of here," Quentin began, finding his voice,  and then found himself pouring out the story in a rush of words.</div> <div>      "Hey, hush, man, shut up!"  Dave snapped.  He shook Quentin.  "You going way too fast for me, my man.  More trouble, is that it?  That's it, right? Now you're in trouble with that devil-man Bartelli, aren't you?  You ain't been in  nothin but trouble since we got here!"</div> <div>      "I know, and you'd better just leave now while you can," Quentin answered, feeling a great deal of self-pity and guilt.  He didn't want Dave to go, but what his friend had said was true.</div> <div>      "Naw, I ain't got no where else to go now but with you," Dave said.  "Besides, I ain't leavin you.  You're helpless--a baby, you know that?" Quentin looked distraught.  He didn't need to be reminded of the mess he'd made.  Dave looked at him closely, worried. "Where we going?  Maybe you can tell me what happened on the way--IF you think you can calm down about it. Come on now, walk with me.  I got the car parked near here."</div> <div>      Quentin nodded, getting himself under control.  "We've got to get back to Edward's suite.  I have to warn my family and get them out of here.  I'll tell you about it on the way."</div> <div>      Dave drove them swiftly back to the hotel, listening as Quentin explained what had happened.  "I told you I had a bad feeling about this," Dave said worriedly.  "This is really bad, Franky.  Man like that won't rest till he's got his mitts on you again."</div> <div>      "I know," Quentin agreed.  He was still shaken by the whole experience.  "It turns out I really do know that man, Dave.  I know what he's like.  He won't give up.  That's why I've got to get my family out of here."</div> <div>      "And us, too," Dave added.</div> <div>      "Especially us," Quentin said fervently.  </div> <div>      "Truth be told,  especially YOU," Dave said emphatically.  "This guy MIGHT make a move against me or your family, but I doubt it.  Only if he thought he could get you back that way.  What he really wants is YOU."</div> <div>      Quentin shut his eyes and shuddered.  "He knew about Cholly," he said, distressed.</div> <div>      Dave looked over at him, alarmed.  "Shit," he said. "That's very bad."</div> <div>      "So that's why he thought I would--" Quentin stopped and swallowed.  He remembered Bartellis' firm hands on his face, holding him, kissing him.</div> <div>      "Frank, listen to me," Dave said sharply.  "It doesn't matter, you hear me?  Cholly or not, it doesn't matter.  That man is a crazy, sick man.  He'd be after you no matter what."  Quentin shook his head doubtfully.  "Frank, trust me.  People talk.  I've heard about that man.  He sees someone he likes-man, woman, or child--it don't matter.  We've got to be really careful.  He's going to come looking for you.  Man, I'm just glad it ain't me.  I'd kill myself before I'd let that man have his way with me."  They'd arrived at the hotel, and Dave parked the car.  He noticed the odd look Quentin gave him.  "You want me to wait here?"</div> <div>      "No, of course not," Quentin objected.  It was what Dave had said that was bothering him. It scared him to think what might happen to him if Bartelli found him again. "Come on."  Dave shrugged and followed Quentin.  Quentin rushed through the lobby, oblivious to the stares Dave got.  He also didn't notice the startled expression on Frances' face when she opened the door to the suite.  "Is Edward here?"  he asked brusquely, brushing by her.  Elizabeth ran to him for a hug.  Absently, he picked her up and carried her with him into the living area.  "Edward?"</div> <div>      Edward came out of the bedroom, looking relieved.  "Quentin!  Where have you been?  It's been hours!"</div> <div>      "Edward, I have to talk to you, but first we've got to get out here," Quentin said swiftly.  Edward looked at him in consternation.  Edward saw Dave and his expression changed to confusion.</div> <div>      "Calm down, Quentin.  What's wrong?  And who is this?"</div> <div>      "This is my friend, Dave Fisher, " Quentin replied impatiently.  "Dave, my brother Edward Collins."  Dave's eyes became huge as he gawked at Edward.  "Edward, listen to me, we have to get out of here."</div> <div>      "How do you do," Edward said politely to Dave, in a somewhat disapproving tone.</div> <div>      "Mr. Collins, sir, pleased to meet you," Dave answered very softly.</div> <div>      "EDWARD, we don't have time for this!" Quentin shouted, on the verge of hysteria.  Edward took Elizabeth out of Quentin's arms; the child had become alarmed.</div> <div>      "Quentin, calm down," Edward ordered.  "Frances, would you please take Elizabeth to the park."  The nanny stepped forward obediently and took Elizabeth by the hand.  Quentin began to protest, but Edward cut in, "Obviously, you are very distraught, and I do want to hear what's going on--however,  I don't want Elizabeth to hear this."</div> <div>      Quentin turned to Frances.  "Don't go to the park.  Go to the lobby.  Take her for a soda downstairs.  Stay inside."</div> <div>      The nanny looked at Edward, frightened, and Edward nodded his head slightly.  After they left, Edward looked at Dave, considering.  "Perhaps your friend would like to make himself comfortable here and we can talk privately in the bedroom."</div> <div>      "Thank you, Mr. Collins, that's very kind of you," Dave said.</div> <div>      Edward nodded stiffly and then indicated Quentin should follow him to the bedroom.  Quentin shut the door behind them.  Edward sat down on the bed, but Quentin remained standing, frantic.  "All right, Quentin, what's wrong?"</div> <div>      "Edward, listen to me, we have to get out of here NOW, and we have to take Jamison with us.  We've got to get back to Collinsport--"</div> <div>      "You're not making any sense at all!  Jamison has just had surgery.  And why do we all have to get out now?"</div> <div>      "Because--" Quentin began and stopped.  "Please, Edward, it's a long story.  You just have to believe me.  We've GOT to get out of here!"  Edward looked at him, stonily.  Quentin sighed, exasperated.  Some things never changed.  "All right, I'll tell you.  Edward, I--I just want to tell you first that I never meant for any of this to happen.  I-I didn't think--I didn't know--"</div> <div>      "Why don't you just come out and tell me?" Edward demanded, irritated.  He looked tired and pale.</div> <div>      Quentin drew in a deep breath and began.  His words spilled out rapidly, partially from the shame he felt for his part in all this and partially from his concern that they get away as quickly as possible.  He told Edward how he'd gotten involved in rumrunning in the south, coming to New York, contacting Jamison, meeting Larry Fay, the cab drives to Canada, the most recent deal with Sy and the resulting disaster.  The more he told, the more angry Edward began to look.  By the time Quentin came to the story of how the accident really occurred, Edward's coloring had gone from an exhausted pallor to nearly purple. Several veins stood out on his forehead, pulsing. Quentin stopped, alarmed.</div> <div>      Edward stood up.  "You involved my son in this?  Jamison has lost nearly every tooth in his mouth.  He still has GLASS imbedded in his jaw.  He'll probably be crippled for life because of his hip.  My  precious daughter-in-law is dead and with her, my unborn grandchild.  And you are telling me that YOU involved them in this?"</div> <div>      "I--I--" Quentin began.  Edward drew his hand back and slapped him, hard.  Quentin dropped to his knees in front of his brother and bowed his head, grief stricken and sick with guilt for his part in the devastation of his family.  He wished he had the portrait in front of him so he could destroy it himself.  "I wish it had been me that died," he said brokenly, and he began to cry. "It should have been me."  </div> <div>      Edward clenched his fists tightly, gritting  his teeth.  His face worked with emotion as he looked down at his brother.  He fought to control himself and slowly unclenched his fists.  He collapsed back down onto the bed.  "Quentin, get up," he said tiredly.  "As much as you may deserve it, I don't think I could beat you anymore than you are beating yourself right now."  Quentin's head was still bowed, his shoulders shaking.  "Quentin, please come here and sit with me.  I am too old to get down there on the floor with you, and we have to decide what we're going to do."  </div> <div>      Quentin got up and approached his brother, sitting next to him on the bed.  Edward  looked both angry and saddened.  He sighed.  "I can't say that I'm not very angry with you.  You have always been so impulsive--you've never given any consideration to the consequences. I wonder if you'll ever learn."  Quentin winced and closed his eyes tightly.  Edward sighed again,  heavily. "So.  The reason we have to leave then is that these gangsters will be after us?"</div> <div>      Quentin had gotten control of himself, pushing the images of Ruth and Jamison away so that he could think.  He would have to deal with the misery of being the author of this mess later, when they were all safe at Collinwood.  "Those gangsters are done with us.  They're the ones that shot the tire on the car, and they also killed the man I made that deal with at the Side Car," he explained.</div> <div>      "We should call the police!"  Edward exclaimed.</div> <div>      "Edward, they have the police in their back pockets.  You don't know how dangerous these people are.  They'd still be after the family except--except for this 'fixer',  a man called Bartelli."</div> <div>      "And why did he want to help, this 'fixer'?"</div> <div>      "Because of who he really is.  And that's the real reason we have to get out of here, Edward.  It's Count Petofi."</div> <div>      Edward blanched.  "God! This is really too much!"</div> <div>      "He arranged it with the other bosses to let us alone.  But he's after me, Edward, and I'm afraid he'll hurt you or Jamison or Elizabeth to get to me."</div> <div>      Edward patted Quentin's shoulder absently, thinking.  "All right, then, I'm going to make some calls.  I'll hire some detectives to go to Jamison's room and stay with him until we can get there.  I'll have our private car attached to the train back to Boston, and from there to Collinsport.  I'll arrange for an ambulance to take Jamison to the Collinsport Hospital.  He can recover there."  He sounded like the old, efficient Edward.  He looked at Quentin.  "What about Ruth's funeral?  Do you think they would bother the service?"</div> <div>      Quentin swallowed and looked away.  "I don't know.  I hope not."</div> <div>      "Perhaps we'd better make our excuses to her family," Edward said, thinking aloud.  "Perhaps I can go alone.  I don't think they'll bother me, and I really don't care at this point. I feel too damn old."  Looking at Quentin, he said, "I think we'd better get going.  Would your friend mind finding Frances and Elizabeth?"</div> <div>      "No, he won't, " Quentin answered.  "Edward, I really didn't mean for all this to happen."</div> <div>      Edward sighed again.  "I know you didn't, Quentin, but it's not for me to give you absolution.  You can tell me you're sorry again and again, and eventually I will forgive you for this, but you have to forgive yourself as well.  You understand?"  Quentin nodded, bowing his head again.  "I think it would be most beneficial if you at least learned something from all this.  Now, please go and ask your friend to find Frances and Elizabeth."</div> <div>      Quentin went back into the living room and found Dave pacing restlessly.  "We're going to get Jamison and go.  Would you mind finding Elizabeth and Frances and bringing them back here?"</div> <div>      "If it's all the same to you, kid, I'll find them and send them up.  Think I'll stay downstairs and try to keep watch," Dave answered.</div> <div>      "Okay, thanks," Quentin said.  "Look, you're going to come with us."</div> <div>      "Well, we'll see, okay?"  Dave responded, and then he was out the door.</div> <div>      Edward came out of the bedroom.  He looked composed again but very tired.  He went to the phone and began making his calls. He was still talking on the phone when Frances and Elizabeth returned. "Frances, would you kindly pack and get ready to leave very shortly?" Edward asked, covering the phone with his hand.  "We are going home--to Collinwood."</div> <div>      Frances looked at him, wide-eyed.  "Yes, Mr. Collins," she said.</div> <div>      "Is Daddy coming, too?"  Elizabeth asked as Edward began speaking into the phone again.</div> <div>      "He sure is, sweetheart," Quentin said, picking her up and giving her a hug.  He wondered what she would think when she saw her father.  Well, can't worry about that now.  </div> <div>      "And you, too, cousin Frank?  Will you play the piano again?"</div> <div>      "Sure I will."</div> <div>      "Piano?  Since when?"  Edward asked, between calls again.</div> <div>      "Since ragtime," Quentin answered.  "I always did like music, Edward, that's no surprise."</div> <div>      Edward nodded and waved his hand, indicating he was on another call.  He finally hung up and said, "Well, everything is arranged. A private rail car will be waiting for us at Union Station.  An ambulance will bring Jamison there, and a doctor will accompany us back to Collinsport.  He checked the time.  "Everything should be ready within a few hours.  Jamison is being prepared to be moved.  I wish I could call him and explain.  I'm sure he's wondering what this is all about."  He looked at Quentin.  "Or is he?"</div> <div>      "I'm sure he is.  He didn't really know who we were involved with, Edward, I swear."  Quentin hesitated.  "Edward?  I wondered--I feel responsible for what happened to Dave, too."</div> <div>      "Dave?"</div> <div>      "My friend--he was just here."</div> <div>      Edward nodded.  "Ah.  Him.  Yes?"</div> <div>      "I'm worried about him, too.  His home was torched."</div> <div>      Edward looked exasperated.  "But doesn't he have any family that can take care of him?  Really, Quentin, we can't take in every stray you pick up--especially someone who is of questionable influence."</div> <div>      "Edward, he didn't get me into this mess.  I got him into it.  All of this was my idea, right from the beginning.  I feel responsible."</div> <div>      "I might have known,"  Edward said, outraged, his voice rising until he was shouting.  "Listen to me, now,  I am just about at the end of my rope.  I don't think I can stand any more, do you hear me?  And what would your friend do in Collinsport, anyway?  And just where is he going to stay?"</div> <div>      "In the West Wing?"  Quentin asked tentatively.  Edward started to reply, and Quentin went on hastily, "You know, he's taken me to his home.  His family welcomed me, took care of me.  They gave me a bed to sleep in."  Edward was staring at him with an inscrutable expression.  "Edward?  Why do we treat people the way we do?"</div> <div>      "What are you talking about?"</div> <div>      "I think you know what I mean.  I mean, I stayed at Dave's home.  I stayed at a black man's home, and they were kind to me.  But it's not all right for Dave to come and stay with us, is it?  He asked me if I knew of any black people in Maine, and I couldn't think of any."</div> <div>      "Oh, Quentin, for God's sake.  I think we have more important things to worry about than class differences.  It's just the way things are."  Edward was becoming more exasperated.  "I really wish you wouldn't tax me with this now.  I am already very angry with you."</div> <div>      "I'm sorry.  I don't want hard feelings between us again," Quentin said contritely.  "But, Edward, please.  Can we let Dave stay in the West Wing?  Just for a little while."</div> <div>      "Oh, all right.  If that's what he wants to do, then yes.  Perhaps I can find him something to do-"</div> <div>      "He's a musician, Edward."</div> <div>      "Well, he still needs a real job doesn't he?"</div> <div>      Quentin decided not to push any further.  "Thank you, Big Brother," he said gratefully.  "This means a lot to me." Edward looked at him very sternly and didn't say anything, but after their talks, Quentin suspected this might be part of his act. Awkwardly, he approached his brother and hugged him to see what would happen.  He was grateful when he felt Edward return the embrace. They were still not entirely comfortable with their feelings toward each other, but the apparently the damage between them could still be repaired.</div> <div>      Edward and Quentin put their coats on.  Edward started to open the door and was thrown against the wall by the force of men rushing into the room.  Quentin recognized Bartelli's hoods right away; they all had their guns drawn.  Elizabeth shrieked in terror.  The nanny instinctively grabbed her by the hand and ran from the room, slamming and locking the door.</div> <div>      "What is the meaning of this?"  Edward roared in shocked outrage.</div> <div>      One of the hoods hit him in the head with his gun.  Edward staggered and fell to the floor.  The man raised his arm again.</div> <div>      "No!" Quentin cried out.  "Don't hurt him!"</div> <div>      "C'mere, pretty boy, you're the one Mr. Bartelli wants to see," one of the men said in an exaggeratedly high pitched voice.  Two of the men grabbed Quentin by either arm.</div> <div>      Edward was up on his knees.  When he saw his brother being manhandled,  he made a real effort to get up.  "Stop!  Let him go!"  he called sternly.  The man who'd hit him with the gun slammed him against the wall and pulled one arm behind his back.  Edward cried out.</div> <div>      "Let him alone!"  Quentin said, despairingly.  "Edward!  Don't fight them!"</div> <div>      Edward tried to turn his head.  "Quentin!  Quentin!" he called, frightened.  The hood pushed him roughly to the floor.  </div> <div>      "Stay down there, old man!  You count to seventy-five before you move, you hear me?" he said threateningly.</div> <div>      Edward was bleeding heavily from the blow to his head.  Still, he looked over his shoulder at the men hauling his brother away.  "Quentin!" he called in real fear and concern.  His eyes locked momentarily with his brother's.</div> <div>      "Edward, don't worry, I'll be all right!" Quentin called with false reassurance as he was dragged out the door.  He had no idea if he'd ever see his brother again.</div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <A HREF="id58.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="6: Reunion"><U>6:  Reunion</U></A>    <A HREF="id60.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="8: Petofi"><U>8:  Petofi</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id51.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Taking Wooden Nickels"><U>Taking Wooden Nickels</U></A>    <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U>Cassie's Writing</U></A></div> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>