“That’s my brother, Henry,” Theta cooed, shaking a hip toward the piano. “At least, that’s what I tell my landlord.” She winked and the audience roared. They were eating it up, and the press took notice. At the back of the theater, Florenz Ziegfeld smiled. Some poor chumps could work their whole lives and never see their names in lights. But some people just had that special something, and Theta Knight was one of those people. She was about to become a star, whether she liked it or not.
“I’m a baby vamp who loves her daddy, I never wear paste when I can have pearls. So if you’ve got the Jack then everything’s jake, ’cause I’m just one of those girls….” Theta sang.
“Our dear mother taught us that!” Henry yelled, and the audience hooted.
The song was a lie, a shiny bauble meant to distract people from their cares and woes. But they’d all agreed silently to be blinded by it. The stage lights turned Henry and Theta into a pantomime against the painted flat behind them. Henry banged on the keys and Theta sang for all she was worth.
They kept the lie going, and the people loved it.
Sam sat at a warped table in the back of a dark gin joint within blocks of the Brooklyn Navy Yard. It was the kind of saloon frequented by roughnecks and old sailors, and it smelled of bad booze and sweat. Sam kept his back to the wall so he could see the whole of the place. He watched the man in the rain-spattered coat shake himself off at the door and walk toward the back. The man slid into the booth beside Sam. They did not speak for a moment. Sam put the postcard down on the table. After a moment, the man lifted the postcard and pocketed the fifty dollars underneath. He turned the postcard over, read it, and passed it back to Sam.
“Project Buffalo. They said they shut it down after the war. But they never did.”
“What is it?”
The man shook his head imperceptibly. “A mistake. A dream that went wrong. That old song.”
Sam’s mouth was tight. “I gave you fifty dollars. Do you know how hard it was for me to get that dough?”
The man rose and squared his hat low over his brow, casting his face in shadow. “She’s still alive, if that’s what you want to know.”
“Where?”
“There are truths in this world people don’t really want to know. That’s why they hire people like us. So they can go on dancing and working, go home to their little families. Buy radios and toothpaste. Want my advice? Forget this, kid. Get out and enjoy life. Whatever’s left of it.”
“I’m not like that.”
“Then I wish you luck.”
“That’s it? You really going to blow and leave me with nothing?”
The man chewed the inside of his cheek and took a quick look around to be sure no one was watching. The people surrounding them were oblivious, like most. He took a cheap motel pen from his pocket and wrote a name on the napkin. “You want answers? That’s a good place to start.”
Sam stared at the name. His jaw tightened. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“I told you to forget it, didn’t I?” The man walked to the door and disappeared into the rain and the night.
Sam sat staring at the table. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to get stinking drunk and toss the bottle at the moon. He looked at the name on the napkin and then crumpled it, shoving it into his pocket. He would find his mother and the truth, no matter how long it took or how dangerous it might be. No matter who got hurt along the way.
A man turned slightly toward him. “Don’t see me,” Sam growled, and the man looked right through him. Sam slipped unnoticed into the crowd, lifting wallets as he went.
A gust of wind howled across the cobblestones of Doyers Street, rattling the paper lanterns of the Tea House. In the back room, the girl with the green eyes came out of her trance with a gasp.
“What is it?” the older man asked. “What did you see?”
“Nothing. I saw nothing.”
He frowned. “They told me you had the power to walk in dreams, to talk with the dead.”
She shrugged and took his money. “Maybe the dead want nothing to do with you.”
“I am an honorable man!” he yelled.
“We’ll see.”
“You are a liar! A half-breed with no honor!” the man accused. On the way out, he banged the front door so hard it shook the windows.
The young man came out of the kitchen, looking scared. “I thought you said you could keep the ghosts away.”