Page 26 of By Any Means

A hand twitched over his arm, pulled him firmly back.

Chary slipped free, bumped into a woman’s feathered hat in doing so. “Why are you following me?”

He veered left, beneath the clatter of the El. He’d run all the way to Broadway if he had to. But the hand came back.

“Chary, wait a moment—you’ll get yourself run over.” Laurie was panting, sweating from his run. “Remember where we are, for chrissakes.”

A cab rocked past, rattling on the cobblestone, and Laurie’s hands were on him again, tugging⁠—

“Oof.”

Laurie wrapped him around the waist like a football player and hauled him back against the cast-iron El support. It was gritty and black with coal soot, quivering from an oncoming train, and Chary’s alarm hiked up like a cat’s back. He was taller, but Laurie was strong, and Chary didn’t like to fight.

He did anyway.

“Let—go!”

“Dammit— Stop— A scrap’ll draw the cops on us— Is that what you want?”

“Shall it? Here? What I’m doing isn’t illegal⁠—”

“It should be⁠—”

Pedestrian traffic parted warily around their tussle. Eyes avoided him as though he, Chary, would turn upon them next. Street boys catcalled and hissed noxious, fricative things. Laurie firmed his grip on Chary’s shoulders and spoke something in his ear.

Chary didn’t hear it. Above them, the train rattled on past, slowing as it neared the station. Vibration settled gradually out of his teeth and joints.

“Please let go,” Chary whispered.

To his surprise, Laurie complied, stepping back. “Just don’t throw yourself before a streetcar, alley cat. Geez.” He straightened his suit.

Was that what he worried for? “I wasn’t… I’m not suicidal,” Chary hissed.

“Sure. I mean, you could be, the way you ran across Second.” Laurie removed his hat, ran his hands over his hair, replaced it again. “Why the hell’d you run away from me? I just want to talk a minute.”

To Chary’s right came the jingle of a bell, and the door to a dime museum opened. From within came true slummers and their tour guide leading them, who, having found a spectacle, was smirking unpleasantly.

Chary had become that spectacle. He curled into himself.

Laurie shifted, casually putting his body between the party and Chary. “Fuck off onto Eldridge,” he called over his shoulder, his accent thick, “there’ll be more t’see, anyway.”

He wasn’t wrong. Slowly, the slum party moved along past, parasols bustling, eyes wide.

“I appreciate the gesture,” Chary muttered, “but what do you want?”

“Where’d you get those clothes?” Laurie reached out a finger to a suspender and pulled it taut. “They look authentic.”

A distant whistle of teeth; somebody called out something like “Man… rough an’… there’s rough, ya know?”

Laurie glanced sidelong but stayed outwardly casual, relaxed. The crowd coasted and bumped around them; the El support helped.

“They’re mine,” Chary snapped.

“Hmm.” Laurie shook his head and leaned in. “Play along, yeah? You wanna get outta here?” he said, louder, and let go the suspender; it snapped back against Chary’s chest.

“I—” Chary gritted his teeth. “No! In fact, I do not. And you can lay off your playacting until you tell me why you’ve been following me.”

A wolf howl, distinctly human, reached them, closer than the whistle. On the corner, the slum party tittered audibly.