Read Night Secrets for Free Online

The phone had jangled, pulling them from the only peace they knew. Then a voice had broken over them, screeching or wailing, telling them that they were in trouble again, that they needed money. Frank knew that in the end they nearly always brought it, that it was often all they had left after the weekly bills, and mat even as they forked it over to the little shiny-headed bondsman, they knew that the voice was lying, had always lied, but that they would still have to spend their lives taking it for the truth.
    â€œYo, man, got a light?”
    Frank turned and saw a wiry little man in a sleek blue suit as he leaned forward to talk to the large black man on the bench just in front of him.
    â€œYeah, I got one,” the man said. He pulled out the book of matches and handed it to the other man. “You can keep it”
    â€œThanks,” the man said. He lit the bowl of a brown Kaywoodie pipe, then waved out the match, his eyes still on the other man, studying him carefully. “So how you doing?” he asked lightly.
    â€œOkay, I guess,” the man replied wearily. He was wearing gray flannel work clothes and smelled faintly of motor oil.
    â€œMy name’s Upjohn, brother, glad to meet you.”
    The man shrugged halfheartedly.
    Upjohn smiled. “You need a lawyer, by any chance?”
    The other man kept his eyes fixed on a young boy who stood near the bench while two attorneys huddled before the judge. “I don’t know yet,” he said.
    â€œâ€™Cause I know a good one, if you do.”
    â€œLike I said, I don’t know yet.”
    â€œWell, let me ask you this, brother, what we talking about here?”
    The man glanced back at him. “You mean, who’s in trouble?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œMy son done something to a girl. Cops say she’s underage.”
    The other man’s eyes flitted toward the bench. “He don’t look that old, himself. What’d he do, knock her up?” He grinned. “My guess is, he didn’t have much choice. You know how it is. Things happen, then somebody gets knocked up. You think that’s what it is?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œâ€™Cause if that’s the situation,” Upjohn told him, “I got another guy could handle that for you.” He smiled. “It’s all a matter of money.”
    The man looked oddly encouraged. “It is?”
    â€œAlways,” Upjohn told him. He plucked the pipe from his mouth and pointed the black, well-chewed stem at the other man. “You don’t mind my saying so, brother, I think you could use a little advice.”
    The man nodded. He had an open, trusting face, an easy mark.
    Upjohn smiled sweetly. “Well, lemme come up and talk to you.” He stood up immediately, brushed quickly past Frank’s knees and joined the other man, huddling with him closely, his words now lost in a flurry of conspiratorial whispers.
    Frank turned away from them and watched the bench. The lawyers were still standing shoulder-to-shoulder, talking earnestly with the judge, a slender red-haired woman who covered the microphone carefully with her thin white hand.
    To the left of the bench, a large glass enclosure separated the men behind it from the rest of the people in the room. It was lighted a shade more brightly, and the mood behind the glass was a bit more defiant. In such places, the edge turned sharp, and the air seemed to grow hard and desolate around those particular people who had obviously offended the peace and good order of the City of New York more deeply than the minor-league felons who filled the benches behind the rail.
    In Atlanta, Frank had spent long hours looking at the same sort of men who now slumped behind the glass. He had watched their lost, hunted eyes comb the walls around them, and of all the people he’d ever known, they’d seemed the least connected by the common ties of life. Even now, as he moved