And when she talked to Professor Thomas about it, she felt disloyal to Steve, and the professor always told her to be patient. He couldn't be out of work for much longer. “I'd hire him in a minute if he came to me for a job. Believe me, someone else will.” She hated to bother him with her problems, his health had been failing since the previous winter. He was beginning to look his age, and was very frail now. And that spring, they had discovered that Mrs. Rosenstein had cancer. They all had their troubles. And Gabriella's seemed small in comparison. She knew that her problems with Steve would end the moment he found employment.

But it was July when she realized that he was stealing her checks, and forging her name on them. He had cashed several by then, and her bank manager was going crazy. Steve had bounced checks all over town, and for the rest of the month, they were both out of money. It was only a week after that that Mrs. Boslicki took three phone calls in one afternoon from the Department of Probation in Kentucky. And not knowing what to make of it, she went to talk to the professor. But he was sure there was a reasonable explanation for it, and told her not to panic.

But it was by a series of strange coincidences that the professor opened some of Steve's mail after that and discovered that he had been using several other names, cashing checks everywhere, and was on parole in both Kentucky and California for being a forger. Professor Thomas made several phone calls of his own then, and what he uncovered was not a pretty story. Steve Porter was none of the things he had claimed. He had attended neither Yale nor Stanford Business School, and his name wasn't even Steve Porter. It was Steve Johnson, and John Stevens, as well as Michael Houston. He had a multitude of names and identities and a police record as long as his stories. He had come to New York on parole, not from Des Moines, but from Texas. And the professor felt terrible that he had been so wrong about him and had encouraged Gabriella to see him. The man was a monster.

Professor Thomas had no idea what to say to her, but after a great deal of thought and anxiety, he decided to confront Steve himself, and suggest he leave town immediately, or the professor would expose him. It seemed a simple plan, and in exchange for his rapid departure, the professor would agree to keep his secrets from Gabriella. He didn't want her to know that she had been used shamelessly, and the man she thought was so in love with her was a con artist and a liar. After all the grief she'd been through in her life, the professor felt that Steve could at least give her that much.

He waited for him in the living room, and when he heard Steve come in, he got up and went to meet him. The professor was wearing a clean shirt, his best suit, and he was coughing badly, but he wanted this to be a meeting between reasonable men, a kind of gentlemen's agreement to protect Gabriella. And he had no doubt whatsoever that Steve would agree to it.

But the moment he saw Steve come in, he knew there was going to be trouble. He looked as though he were in a dark mood, and the professor correctly suspected he'd been drinking. He'd made a small deal on the Lower East Side to buy some marijuana he wanted to resell, and the deal had gone badly. He'd been ripped off by the dealer, and had wasted the last of Gabriella's money.

“Steve, I'd like to speak to you for a moment, if I may,” the professor said politely, and Steve nearly snarled at him as he walked past him. His manners were no longer quite so impressive.

“Not now, Professor, I've got some things to take care of.” He wanted to go through her room carefully, sometimes she hid money from him, and he knew all her hiding places. He wanted to get to them now before she did.

“This is important, Steve,” the professor said, looking stern. It was an expression that used to terrorize his students, but they were outclassed by Steve Porter, and so was the professor.

“What is it?” Steve turned and looked at the old man, as the professor handed him a stack of letters. They were the incriminating documents that the professor had used to begin his investigation. And he had done his homework. He had called Stanford and Yale, and the Department of Corrections in four states. He had the goods on Steve Porter, and glancing at the letters he handed him, Steve knew it. And he didn't like it. “Where did you get these?” He advanced on the old man slowly, but the professor looked anything but frightened.

“They came to me by mistake, and I opened them in all innocence. But I think we'd both prefer Gabriella not to see them.”

“I'm not sure I understand you,” Steve said clearly. “Are you planning to blackmail me, Professor?”

“No, I'm asking you to leave, so I don't have to tell her.” Everyone else in the house was out. Even Mrs. Boslicki had gone to her doctor. The two men were alone in the house, and Steve knew it.

“And if I don't leave?” He looked at the old man through narrowed eyes. But the professor knew he had the winning hand now.

“I expose you. It's that simple.”

“Is it?” Steve asked, giving the professor a gentle shove, which sent him reeling backward, but he regained his balance quickly. “You expose me? I don't think so. I think you say nothing to Gabriella, my friend, or you have a serious accident the next time you walk down the street, and I don't think you or Gabriella would enjoy that. You know, one of those nasty little things that end up in a broken hip, or a crushed skull, or a hit and run. I have very effective friends here.”

“You're a rotten little bastard,” the professor said in a fury. Steve was evil to the core, and he had taken full advantage of the kindness and naiveté of Gabriella. It made the professor sick to think it. “She doesn't deserve this. She was good to you. You've gotten all you could out of her. Why don't you leave her alone now?”

“Why should I?” Steve asked evilly. “She loves me.”

“She doesn't even know you, Mr. Johnson, Mr. Stevens… Mr. Houston. Who the hell are you, other than a small-time operator, a rotten little con man who preys on women? You're nothing.”

“It works for me, Grampa. You don't see me knocking myself out nine to five, do you? It's great work, if you can get it.”

“You hateful little shit,” the old professor said, advancing on him, but it was like facing a cobra. Steve was far too dangerous for the professor to win this one, but he did not yet know it. He still thought he could intimidate Steve into leaving, which was a fatal error. Without saying a word, Steve sprang forward and gave the old man an enormous shove and sent the professor reeling backward, until he tripped and knocked the side of his head against a table. There was blood at his temple as he fell, and he was more than a little dazed, as Steve bent down and picked him up by his collar.

“If you ever threaten me again, you pathetic old bastard, I'll kill you, do you hear me?” But in the face of his own rage, the professor began coughing fiercely, and suddenly he was fighting for air, as Steve continued to hold him there, choking him as he pulled back his collar. He fought desperately to catch his breath and couldn't, and then as he hung there, suspended in space, his entire face contorted. It was precisely what Steve had wanted, as he continued to hold him. A heart attack would have served his purposes to perfection. But instead, something even worse seemed to be happening as the professor choked and spluttered. He lost consciousness in Steve's hands, as Steve dropped him to the floor and he lay there seemingly lifeless. Steve righted the table then, walked slowly around the room, making sure that all was in order, and then dialed the operator very slowly. When she answered, he explained frantically that an old man in the boarding-house where he lived was on the floor, unconscious, and she promised to have an ambulance there in five minutes.

He picked the offending letters up off the floor, and put them in his pocket, and when the ambulance arrived, he told the attendants that he had found the professor on the floor, and the old man looked as though he had hit his head on a table. But they could see almost instantly that it was more than that. The problem they observed instantly was more likely the reason for his fall, rather than the reverse. They shone a light in his eyes, took his vital signs, and put him on a stretcher, wasting no time at all to talk to Steve about the details.

“Will he be all right?” Steve shouted after them. “What is it?”

“Looks like a stroke,” they shouted back to him, but they were gone two minutes later, with sirens screaming, as Steve walked back inside with a slow smile, and closed the door behind him.





Chapter 21




GABRIELLA WAS PUTTING a stack of new books away when the phone rang at the bookshop. Ian was out picking up lunch, and she hurried down from a ladder to answer. She was still thinking about the books she'd been looking at when she heard Steve's voice, and she sensed instantly that something had happened. He sounded distraught and he was nearly crying.

“Is something wrong?” She had never heard him sound like that. Things had been a little strained between them recently. They were both upset that he hadn't found a job, and she didn't want him to think she was pressuring him, but having to make her income stretch to cover both of them had her constantly worried. “What is it?”

“Oh… oh God, Gabbie, I don't know how to tell you this…” He knew how much she loved the professor, and a knife of terror sliced through her heart as she listened. She couldn't even imagine what he was trying to tell her. “It's the professor.”

“Oh my God, Steve… tell me quickly…”

“I came home and found him on the floor in the living room… he looked as though he had hit his head… there was blood on the side of it, and he was lying near a table. I don't know if he got dizzy and fell, or tripped, or what happened.”

“Was he conscious?” she asked breathlessly… or worse yet, was he dead? She couldn't even dare to think it.

“Not really. He was incoherent when I found him, and then he passed out. I called the operator for an ambulance right away. The ambulance attendants thought he might have had a heart attack or a stroke. They didn't seem to know. He just left here, I called you the minute the ambulance left. They've taken him downtown to City Hospital.” It was a big public hospital and Gabbie wasn't sure he'd get the best care there. She'd been begging him for months to get some tests, as had Mrs. Boslicki and Mrs. Rosenstein. His health had been failing steadily since the previous winter. He never took her out anymore, he was hardly well enough to leave the house, even for short walks. And his wracking cough had been persistent.

“They said they'd call us the minute they know something. I'll wait here by the phone,” he said valiantly, and Gabbie was instantly grateful that he had called her.

“Thank God you were with him, or at least that you found him. I'll go down there as soon as Ian comes in. He just went out to get us lunch.” All she wanted to do was grab her handbag and go, but she didn't want to close the store while Ian was at the deli, without telling him what had happened.

“Maybe you should wait till they call us,” Steve suggested, but she wouldn't hear of it. She couldn't stay away from him. The professor was the only semblance of family she had, and she wanted to be with him.

“I couldn't stand waiting for the phone to ring,” she said anxiously. “Ill go the minute Ian walks in,” and as she said it, she saw him come through the door, and signaled him to hurry. “I'll call you from the hospital,” she said hurriedly, knowing that Steve would be as frantic for news as she was, as would be the others once they heard what had happened.

She told Ian the news hurriedly, and apologized for leaving him in the lurch, but he understood perfectly, and wished her luck as she ran out the door of the bookstore clutching her handbag. She hailed a cab right outside, and told him which hospital, and when she opened her wallet to pay him, she was surprised to see she had so little money. She was sure she'd had more than that the day before, and then with a nervous flutter, she wondered if Steve had once again helped himself to her wallet. He was so embarrassed to ask her most of the time, that now he just “borrowed” it without telling her, but sometimes it left her badly strapped when she least expected it. She barely had enough for the cab fare.

As she hurried into the emergency room, she forgot about it, and had to ask several people for directions. She gave them the professor's name, and it was very confusing trying to find out what was going on. It was nearly an hour before they told her anything, but at least they didn't tell her he had died on the way to the hospital. But when she saw him, finally, she was shocked at his condition. His face was gray, his eyes were closed, there were monitors attached to him everywhere, and a full team was working on him, struggling to keep him going. In order to get in to see him at all, she had to tell them she was his daughter.