This Thing of Mine - Prologue

The Man in the Pinstriped Suit

“Flash.”

Harmony sighed. He turned over the little instrument in his fingers again. A harmonica. It presented no remarkable qualities about it, nothing more than a piece of brass and wood. It whistled a few weak notes as the breeze blew through the holes.

“Flash.”

He lifted his head. There was a voice. A person was saying something.

“Flash?”

The voice came from the left. Harmony looked over, and winced. A man stood at arm’s length. He wore a suit, pressed to perfection and impeccably tailored. The white pinstripes running the length of the jacket and pants looked like lines on an asphalt road. The hat matched, a deep charcoal gray with a black ribbon. And the patent leather shoes, it looked as if just one was worth more than all of the money Harmony had seen in his lifetime.

The man was smiling at him. A friendly smile one would give to a dear friend. He tilted his head forward, inviting a response.

“…Can I help you?” Harmony asked.

“Come on now, the countersign!” He certainly knew what he wanted to hear, though it made no sense to Harmony.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know any countersign.” Harmony shrugged his shoulders and leaned back against the bench.

The man chuckled, smoothing his lapel. “The proper response is ‘Thunder,’ soldier,” he said. “You must remember.”

It occurred to Harmony that he was wearing a soldier’s field jacket. His father’s, from the army. His mother had given it to him. A man who was gone had no use for a jacket.

“Oh, I’m not a soldier. I’m sorry,” Harmony said.

“Oh, my mistake!” The playful smile dissolved. “Forgive me, it’s just that you looked a bit like someone I thought I recognized. I suppose not, eh?”

“It’s no trouble, don’t worry.” Harmony sighed. He waited for the man to turn and leave. A moment wandered slowly by, he remained in place.

“Do you mind if I sit?” He asked, gesturing toward the bench.

“No, go on.” He was already making himself comfortable as Harmony responded. Another moment passed by, heavy in the air.

“So…you were a soldier then?” Harmony asked.

“Screaming Eagles.” He chuckled. “101st Airborne Division, my fellow, haven’t you heard of it? Well, by that face I would say not.” He leaned back and rested a foot on his knee. “Paratroopers, we jumped out of planes. Ha, don’t look so surprised!”

Harmony blinked. He imagined for a moment jumping out of a plane over Europe. Was it possible to fall that far?

“Oh, but that’s all over and done with now. Just memories. I’ve been almost two years home now, haven’t thought about the army in quite a while.” The man let out a long breath. “Bruce Pikerson, nice to meet you.” He offered a hand. Harmony shook it. There was something in the grip, firm but not intimidating.

“Harmony. Harmony Holmes.”

“Hmm…interesting. Unique. A good deal of character to it,” Bruce said.

“Th-thank you.” Harmony turned his gaze down to the harmonica again.

“You play?”

“Pardon?”

Bruce gestured to the harmonica. “That little instrument there, you play?”

Harmony’s face flushed. “Oh, well…I, well…” He struggled to form a proper answer. Bruce’s gaze burned against the side of his face, and the question sat heavy on his shoulders.

Harmony had found the harmonica in the pocket of his jacket. He had never even held one before he pulled it from its hiding place that morning. It must have belonged to his father during the war. He had blown through the holes a few times in the past hour, just to hear the sound, but nothing close to a song. But why was he thinking about it? It was not important. What did it matter if he could play?

“It’s okay if you don’t, it’s just a-”

“No, I-I can.” Harmony gripped the harmonica tighter. The words had come on their own.

“Well, alright then! Would you mind indulging a fellow?” Bruce smiled again.

With shaking fingers, Harmony lifted the instrument to his mouth. When he pressed his lips against the number seven hole, the shaking stopped. He gave it a soft breath, and the note rang out clear and smooth. Without so much as a thought, he played the tones as they came to him, one after the other.

Bruce tapped his foot in time with the melody, and when Harmony played a final note, he clapped. “Excellent! You have a talent, Harmony my friend.” Bruce patted his shoulder. Harmony was surprised, but there was no threat in it. It was reassuring, even somewhat comforting.

“Thanks.” Harmony let the harmonica fall into his lap.

Bruce reached into his pocket and took out a gilt pocket watch. He smiled at its polished face. “You know, I was on my way to take an early dinner, would you care to join me? My treat.”

Harmony felt his breath catch in his throat. “I…I…”

“Oh come now, it’s the Lord’s Day, let’s both be hospitable,” Bruce said, getting to his feet. “If you want to hear more about the army, I have some stories.”

Harmony was interested in hearing about jumping out of planes over Europe, but he was more interested in Bruce. He had never seen a finer suit on any stockbroker that had walked through Central Park. What could a boy on a bench ever offer to someone like Bruce?

“Well…?” Bruce held his arms outstretched in invitation, with the friendly smile from moments ago.

Harmony sighed, and tucked the harmonica into his pocket. “Where?”

~~~

Bruce paused for a moment to sip from his wine glass. “I was assigned to one of the pathfinder groups during Normandy,” he said.

“What’s a pathfinder?” Harmony asked as he bit into a biscuit.

“We dropped in the night before the invasion force. We went in to set up beacons for the airplanes, show them where the drop zones were.” Bruce chuckled as he saw Harmony’s eyes grow wide.

“How many of you were there?”

“Eight in my squad. It was a lot of the division, maybe a few thousand. Could have been more, could have been less.” Bruce swirled the wine in his glass. “I was more concerned with my own boys at the time, hah.”

Harmony swallowed. “Wow. The whole army was counting on you?”

“Oh, don’t give me that much credit, hah, the brass planned the whole thing, it was all their huge success.” Bruce dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin.

“What does ‘flash’ and ‘thunder’ mean?”

“It’s a sign-countersign system we used to identify each other in France. We were all taught it during training for the campaign. You see or hear a solider walk by, you say ‘flash.’ If they’re friendly, they say ‘thunder.’ If you don’t hear it, well, you know.” Bruce gave him an impish grin.

“That must have been…” Harmony furrowed his brow as he tried for the word he wanted.

“Terrifying? Exhilarating? Deadly? Yes it was all of those things, hah. Oh, here’s our food!” The waiter handed Bruce a plate of steaming spaghetti with large meatballs. A thick red sauce blanketed the entire dish, adorned with a fine dust of parmesan cheese. Harmony almost lost his grip as the waiter handed him an identical plate.

“I just had them bring us two specials, I hope you don’t mind,” Bruce said. He laid his napkin across his lap.

“N-not at all!” Harmony eagerly picked up his fork and took several quick bites, barely stopping to chew. The pasta was perfectly boiled, and the sauce filled his mouth with rich, savory warmth. It was the best thing he had tasted in months.

“I see you’re impressed,” Bruce chuckled. Harmony immediately became aware of the large mass of spaghetti in his mouth. He lowered his eyes as he swallowed.

“I’m sorry, just…hungry, that’s all.” Harmony spun strands of pasta on the tines of his fork.

Bruce laid his silverware neatly on the table. “Well you’re in the right place, hah. This is the best place around here for real Italian spaghetti. I’ve been coming to Sylvia’s for a long time, it never disappoints. You can quote me on that.”

“So are you in this area a lot?” Harmony asked.

“I come around here often for business. Meet clients, discuss deals, lunch appointments, that sort of thing,” Bruce explained. “I also like a nice walk through the park when I have the time. It’s nice, wouldn’t you agree?”

“It is. Very calming.” Harmony sliced a meatball with his fork, taking a bite.

“What about yourself? Do you live around here?” Bruce asked.

Harmony looked away. He hadn’t really lived anywhere for quite some time. Not since he left his home. “Um…well…”

“You don’t look like a working man, you got a family?”

“I’m…in between homes right now,” Harmony said. “I’ve been…out of work for a while, I’m staying with some friends until I can find a place of my own.”

Bruce nodded. “Nothing wrong with that. A man’s got to help out his friends.” He took another bite. “I wouldn’t worry. A good pair of hands is never out of work for long.”

Harmony smiled, and the two returned their attention to dinner. After a few moments, the waiter came by again to take the empty plates. Bruce thanked the man and placed a folded bill into his vest pocket.

“Well I am fed and satisfied!” Bruce got to his feet and stretched.

“I am too. Thank you so much for dinner Mr. Pikerson,” Harmony said, following him out onto the patio.

Bruce wagged his finger. “None of that ‘mister’ business, call me Bruce.” He held out his hand. “My pleasure, Harmony my boy.”

Harmony shook Bruce’s hand. Like before, there was something about the grip. Some feeling he did not know the word for. But it made him feel comfortable. “It was very nice meeting you Bruce.”

With a tip of the hat, Bruce turned to the sidewalk, but he stopped midstride. “You said you were looking for work?”

Harmony pulled the jacket higher on his shoulders. “Hmm? Oh, yes, yes I am.”

Bruce reached into an inner pocket and retrieved a small white card, held between two fingers. “One of my associates could use an extra hand at his place of business. Why don’t you go and see him at this address?”

“Really? Y-you mean it?” Harmony felt his arm tremble as he took the card.

“Hey, a man’s got to help out his friends, right?” Bruce winked.

“I…well…thank you, thank you so much Bruce, you-” Harmony looked up, but the man in the pinstriped suit was already across the street, off and away.

~~~

Harmony stood on the sidewalk, an unmarked door of an unmarked building in front of him. He looked down at the card Bruce had given him the day before. It held only a name and address in simple typeface.

Virgil Gallo

537 West End Avenue

New York, NY

This was 537 West End Avenue, so it must be where to find Virgil Gallo. He had been watching the door all morning from the alley across the street, where he had spent the night. Only a few people had gone in or out, with no outward indication of their intentions or purposes. The plain brick face of the building told him no more.

With a deep breath, he knocked on the door. After a moment, he tried the knob, and found that it turned. He stepped through the doorway into a spacious room filled with crates. Several working men walked about the room, carrying crates and lifting them onto the back of a truck. When the space was filled, it drove out onto the street through a large open door.

“Hey, what are you doin’ here kid?” A sharp voice cut through the air.

Harmony realized that the question was directed to him, and looked around. He noticed a man walking toward him from the opposite wall. He had on a dark tweed jacket, matched by his hat, and smooth khaki pants. A pair of wingtip shoes carried him in long strides across the stone floor. His dress was paltry compared to Bruce, but he looked like the one in charge.

“Are…are you Virgil Gallo?” Harmony asked.

“I’m not gonna ask you again, what’s your business?” He sounded annoyed as he brushed over the question.

“I-I came from…I was, err…Bruce sent me, Bruce Pikerson,” Harmony said, fumbling for the card in his jacket pocket. “He said he knew you, and that you could, err, use some help?” He handed the card to the man, who snatched it from his grip.

“Well, that is my name, with this address.” Virgil looked up. “You’re Bruce’s kid?”

Harmony felt embarrassed at his appearance as Virgil squinted at him. The most he could muster was a cough.

“Hmm, I guess I expected somebody…bigger. But hey, hands are hands.” Virgil tossed the card back to Harmony and thrust his hands into his pockets. “You got a record?”

“No, no record.”

“Good, so you’re not familiar to anybody. Can you do what you’re told? More to the point, what I tell you?”

“Of course.” Harmony nodded.

Virgil raised his chin. “We shall see.” He turned on a heel and motioned for Harmony to follow him. They walked over to another truck parked at the loading bay. Virgil climbed onto the bed and held out an arm. Harmony grabbed his hand and felt a heavy pull as Virgil lifted him up over the edge. He hardly needed to make any effort. Virgil pounded on the back of the cab, and the ignition of an engine answered him. Harmony crouched to steady himself as the truck pulled away from the building.

“Alright, so here’s the plan of attack,” Virgil said. “This crate is the important one.” He sat down on one of the crates and tapped on the side.

“What’s important about it?” Harmony asked.

“What’s inside.”

Harmony lowered himself to the floor of the truck bed and leaned up against the wall. “What are we going to do with it?”

“You are going to get off the truck when we get to our destination and take the crate to the person waiting for it,” Virgil explained. “I am going because this is my truck, and my crate, and I like to be close to what’s mine.”

Harmony nodded. “What are we...what am I delivering?

“Imports.” Virgil declared. He raised an eyebrow when Harmony tilted his head. “Didn’t you know who you were working for, kid? The Virgil Gallo of Gallo Imports!”

“Oh. Well, no I didn’t,” Harmony said.

“And you didn’t wonder?”

Harmony shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t think much about it. I needed work, Bruce told me I could find you, so here I am.”

For the first time that Harmony had seen, Virgil smiled. He leaned back against the cab of the truck and crossed his arms. “You’ll make a good lackey.”

The truck slowed to a halt alongside the sidewalk on Clermont Avenue. Virgil nodded to the driver as he got out, took a crate from the back and made his way across the street. Harmony watched as Virgil stood up and looked around in every direction before turning to him.

“I want you to take this crate and hand it off to its buyer,” Virgil said. “He’ll pay you for it, two hundred.”

“Wait, you want me to take the money?” Harmony asked.

“Just for a moment until we get back to pick you up. We have another delivery a street or two over, we won’t be gone long.” Virgil grabbed Harmony’s arm as he moved for the crate. “Hey, count it when you get it. Two hundred, a dollar less and you give him nothing.” He leaned in close enough for Harmony to smell the coffee on his breath. “Are we clear?”

“Y-y-yes, we’re clear.” Harmony exhaled as Virgil let go of his arm. He stepped down onto the sidewalk and hefted the crate off the bed of the truck, finding it to be lighter than he expected. He set it down at his feet as the driver climbed into the cab and started the engine.

“Wait, where am I supposed to find the buyer?” Harmony asked.

“He’ll come to you!” Virgil tipped his hat as the truck drove off.

Harmony looked around. Men and women walked past and around him in both directions, all off to some destination or another. The street was alive with the people of Manhattan. He turned, and was immediately overwhelmed with the view of Riverside Church. It loomed above him, looking out over the island in all directions. He felt small, gazing up at the tower as it reached into the sky.

“What have you got there son?” Someone asked.

Harmony lowered his eyes and saw a man standing just in front of him. He felt his heart beat faster. The man was tall, very tall, with incredibly broad shoulders. “I-it’s a delivery. F-f-from Gallo Imports.”

“Well, I’m picking up a delivery from Gallo Imports,” he said. “Are you delivering that crate?” The man pointed to the package.

“Yes, I am.”

“Well then that must be my crate! This works out nicely, eh?” He lowered his knee to the ground and slowly examined all sides of the container. He tapped on the top, shook it a few times, and nodded before standing again. “Looks to be all in order. One hundred and fifty, right?” He reached into a pocket and withdrew a roll of bills.

Harmony swallowed. “Um…no. No, it’s two hundred for the box.”

The man looked up with a start. His eyebrows furrowed. “Well it seems to me,” he said, taking a step toward Harmony, “that I remember one hundred and fifty. And I don’t often remember wrong.”

Harmony took a deep breath, stretching himself as tall and as wide as he could. “Look, sir, I-I came directly from the boss, a-and he said he agreed on two hundred. S-s-so the price is two hundred.”

The man took another step, and Harmony could see muscles rippling under his shirt. “I don’t appreciate being lied to, boy. And I don’t appreciate being stolen from.”

Harmony felt his fingers begin to shake, but he held the man’s gaze. “I’m not lying to you, so I would appreciate if you didn’t lie to me either. Two hundred.”

A long, silent moment passed, neither of them giving an inch. All at once, the man drew back from his threatening stance and laughed out loud. “I’m jerking you around, son!” He patted Harmony on the shoulder and wiped his eyes. “Whew! You are a character. Boy, Virgil sure knows how to pick ‘em.” He peeled off several bills from his roll and handed them to Harmony. “Alright, there’s the payment for the box, I’ll get out of your hair. Have a good one!”

Harmony nodded to the man as he picked up the crate and carried it off down the sidewalk. He set his eyes on the stack of bills to count them, as Virgil had said. They were all for ten dollars, so the adding was easy. When he reached two hundred he stopped. There were still five bills left.

He leaned against the side of the church and stared at the money in his hand. There was more here than what Virgil expected. Virgil had not told him what to do in this circumstance. The man was gone, so he could not give the extra back, and he could not see the truck anywhere nearby. What was he supposed to do?

A thought occurred to him. He separated five of the bills from the rest of the stack. He imagined that he could stick them into his jacket, and no one would ever know. Virgil would not know anything, and he could easily vanish into the sprawl of the city if the other man went looking for him. You could walk around New York for a long time and never see the same person twice. It would be so easy.

He heard an engine rumbling and looked up to see the truck pulling over to the sidewalk. In a quick motion, before he could think, he shoved the bills back together.

“I see no crate there, so the deal was good?” Virgil asked, pulling Harmony up onto the truck bed again.

“Yes, it went off just fine. Here’s the money.” Harmony handed over the stack.

“You counted it? It’s all there?”

Harmony nodded. “Yes. It’s all there.”

Virgil smiled, sticking the money up under his hat. “Good man.” They both sat down. “What’s your name kid? I don’t remember if I caught it.”

“Harmony Holmes.”

“Huh. Really? Seems like a name for a girl to me,” Virgil said.

Harmony shrugged. “Ask my mother about it. Hah, I never did.”

“Well I suppose I’m not liable to forget it soon.”

The ride back was made in silence. Harmony and Virgil left the truck and returned inside the warehouse. Virgil spoke something to one of the workers before walking over to a small office. Harmony followed him inside.

It was an unremarkable room. There was a desk with one chair, covered in a hundred different papers. A telephone sat on one side. The walls were the same dingy brown as the floor, with no ornaments or portraits hanging. In one corner was a safe. Virgil walked over to it and opened it, setting the money from the deal inside.

“You did good today Harmony,” he said as he closed the safe. “Real good for your first show. Well done.”

“Th-thank you Virgil sir.” Harmony accepted the handshake Virgil offered. It did not feel like Bruce’s. “Wait, you knew I hadn’t done this kind of work before?”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, kid. I’ve been at this a while, I know when someone’s green.” He clapped Harmony on the shoulder. “Hey, but I also know good work. And good workers.” Virgil reached into his pocket and took out a handful of bills. He pressed them into Harmony’s hand with a nod and a grin.

Harmony stared at the money Virgil had given him. It was fifty dollars. “Y-you’re…paying me?” The sound of the bills rubbing together filled Harmony’s ears.

“Yeah! What did you think all this was for? You did a job for me, I gave you money. You did something I needed, and I paid you for it. That’s traditionally how these things go,” Virgil laughed.

“Oh. Um…thank you,” Harmony said, smoothing out the wrinkles in each bill.

“You work for me now kid, don’t act surprised.” Virgil smiled and ruffled Harmony’s messy brown hair. He walked over to the desk and sat down, swinging his feet up onto the surface. “Now go out and get yourself some hot dinner, you look like you haven’t eaten shit all day.”

~~~

Harmony stared across at the dinnertime patrons of Sylvia’s. The sun was halfway to the horizon, and his whole vision was bathed in a brilliant orange. The glass windows, the patio umbrellas, down to the cars parked outside.

Bruce said that he came here often. It was only speculation, but there Harmony sat, on a bench, waiting to see him. He did not know why, why he thought Bruce would walk into his life again, or why he even cared. He was nothing more than a man in an extravagant suit. A man who had talked with him and shaken his hand. Who had treated him to dinner, and provided him with a job. Who had stopped and sat with him to hear him play a harmonica.

Harmony reached into his pocket and felt the instrument there. He drew it out slowly and stared at it in his hands. The last time he had played it, somehow he had made music. Could he do it again? With slow and tentative hands, Harmony raised the harmonica and blew through it. A sweet, smooth note rang out in his ears. He slid the instrument back and forth, somehow finding the perfect note to follow after every other. It was as easy as breathing.

“I’d know that sound anywhere.”

He smiled as he heard the words. Harmony turned around to see Bruce standing behind the bench, a warm and friendly smile on his face.

“You’ve still got that magic, huh?” He teased.

Harmony quickly got to his feet and shook Bruce’s hand, reveling in that wonderful feeling of comfort and ease. “Dinner?”

“It would be my pleasure,” he said, tipping his hat.

Harmony and Bruce crossed the street and sat at an open table on the patio. The same waiter who had served them the night before brought them glasses and poured them water from a polished pitcher.

“Thank you James, it’s good to see you!” Bruce said.

“And you, Mr. Pikerson. Will it be the special tonight?” James asked.

“You know me well, James. Harmony, the special for you?”

“The special sounds wonderful,” Harmony replied.

James nodded to them both and left to bring the order to the kitchen. Harmony took a sip from his water glass and laid his napkin on his lap.

“So Virgil tells me that you did good work today.” Bruce straightened his fork on the table. “I take it everything went well?”

“It did, everything went fine. I didn’t know Virgil had an import company.”

“Oh yeah, he’s been in that business for a good number of years now, he’s very successful. Gallo Imports ships everything from foods to textiles,” Bruce explained. “He has a number of warehouses around the city, and he almost always has work. I figured you both needed each other.” Bruce chuckled and leaned back in his chair.

“Well thank you for sending me to him,” Harmony said. “It’s good to be working.”

“Are you still staying with those friends of yours?”

“What?”

“Your friends, you said you were living with friends?” Bruce asked again.

Harmony felt his knee jerk upward and hit the underside of the table. Thankfully it was not hard enough for Bruce to notice. “Oh, right. Y-yes, I am. Still staying with friends.”

“Well hopefully you’ll be able to find a place soon, right? Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll all work out.” Bruce smiled and winked.

In another moment James brought out their plates. Harmony ate slower this time, savoring every taste of the perfect spaghetti. It was even better than he remembered from the night before. The two enjoyed their meal over light conversation, and Harmony insisted on paying for the food. He was beaming as he laid money that he had earned on the table.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Bruce said as they walked out.

Harmony rolled the bills back up with great care before returning them to his pocket “What about?”

“I have an apartment that I keep not too far from here. I never use it myself, but it would be a lot easier to have someone living there for tax purposes…” Bruce stroked his chin.

Harmony felt an immense pounding against his chest as his heart raced ahead of his mind. “What are you saying Bruce?”

Bruce snapped his fingers and gave a small smirk. “Do you think you might be able to look after it for me?”

The air seemed to grow thin as Harmony took in what he had heard. Two days. In only two days, Bruce had given him food, a job, and now was offering him a place to live. He had done more for him in this short time than his mother ever could have even promised.

“I…absolutely. I can do that for you,” Harmony said.

Bruce slid a hand into his jacket and pulled out a key on a ring. “It’s over on East 96th Street, the one complex there. Apartment 8E,” he said, handing over the key.

“Thank you Bruce, thank you so much!” Harmony grabbed the key from Bruce’s outstretched hand and took off running for East 96th Street as fast as his old shoes could go.

He thought to himself as he ran, listening to the key jingle on its ring. He was not naïve, or oblivious. He had seen the gun in the holster under Bruce’s shoulder. He had noticed the suspicious scents coming from several of Virgil’s crates. And he felt that it was not by guessing that Bruce had known exactly what he needed. There was an air of strange operations about the whole business. But he did not care about any of that now. None of it was important. All he cared about was getting to that building on East 96th Street, and running up several flights of stairs, where he would find a waiting apartment door marked with 8E.