"That's bullshit, Jack, because I think you could be as good as Earl Hines or Johnny Dodds. You watch; things will change as the music catches on."
"I don't know if that'll ever happen." Shannon swayed from side to side, his gangly arms moving to their own beat. "You know, they're even blaming jazz for those riots on the South Side. Can you believe that?"
"The rioting had nothing to do with jazz." But the city's race riots were a sour note in a nation that was feeling good about the Allies' victory. They created a sad contrast to the big parades that marched along New York's Fifth Avenue, celebrating America's role in the triumph.
"It's not marching music, Indy. You know what I mean. Nobody feels like a goddamn hero when they listen to it. That's the problem. It's coming from a different place, and so am I."
Indy chuckled. "You could always go to Europe with me, and start a new life."
"Don't think I haven't thought about it. I'm jealous as hell. You're going to love it."
Paris, Indy was sure, would be fascinating, but he wasn't so certain about becoming an expert in ancient languages. "I guess. But studying old manuscripts in libraries isn't my idea of an exciting time."
"You keep saying that. Why are you doing it?"
"The opportunity was there, and I wasn't going to pass it up. Simple as that."
Shannon abruptly turned down an alley, and motioned for Indy to follow.
"Where you going?"
"C'mon," he said in a hushed voice. "I said I'd buy you a bottle. Let's get a pint and take it with us. There's a guy close by who's got it."
"I don't know, Jack." Prohibition was a bad joke, but Indy was anxious to get to the campus.
"It'll only take a minute. C'mon."
He shrugged and followed him. Although the two men got along well, they differed considerably in their con sumption of and attitude toward alcohol. Shannon had been a heavy drinker since he was seventeen, and Prohibi tion hadn't slowed his habit. Indy, on the other hand, had a low tolerance for alcohol and could take it or leave it.
Halfway down the block, Shannon opened a gate, and strolled along the walk to a back door. He rapped out the uni versal code for "it's me"—BOP; bop-bop-bob-bop; BOP; BOP A dog answered, yelping from inside the house. Shannon glanced back at Indy as if to make sure he was still there.
A moment later, a short, frumpy man with a cross look on his face opened the door. A two-day stubble shadowed his jaw and his white hair was mussed, as though he'd been sleeping. He shouted at the dog, then asked what they wanted.
"A bottle of juice, Elmo, what else?" Shannon said with a smirk.
The man motioned for them to enter. Indy smelled whiskey on his breath as soon as he stepped into the cramped kitchen.
A wiry, mixed-breed dog growled from behind his mas ter. Indy kept his distance and looked around the kitchen. Green paint was peeling from the walls, revealing patterned wallpaper. One of the cupboard doors lay on the floor where it had apparently fallen some time ago, and the room stank of urine-soaked newspapers stacked in one corner.
"Just a quick pint, Elmo. We're in a hurry."
"Good for you." He looked past Shannon and frowned at Indy's black gown. "Who's this guy, a judge?"
"Don't you know a college graduate when you see one? We're on our way to the big time."
"Is that right? This professor who visits me says I deserve an honorary degree. How do you like that?"
Elmo grinned, his teeth lining up in his mouth like a picket fence that had yellowed in the sun.
"A degree in what, moonshining?" Shannon asked.
"No. Chemistry."
Indy laughed, but he felt uneasy, and wished they hadn't stopped.
"You got it or not, Elmo? We don't have all day."
"Fifty cents."
"Fifty?" Shannon threw up his hands, enraged by the price. "How about a break for the new graduates?
C'mon, Elmo."
"Fifty cents," Elmo retorted, and crossed his arms over his chest.
"All right, all right." Shannon turned to Indy. "You got a quarter?"
"What about our deal?"
"I'll pay you back. Don't worry."
Indy dug into his pocket. He earned expense money by tutoring high school students in Latin and French, but never had much extra. He grudgingly handed Shannon a quarter.
Elmo dropped the coins in his pocket, ambled across the kitchen, and descended into a cellar. Indy glanced at his watch. "I hope he doesn't get lost down there."
Shannon waved a hand impatiently, dismissing Indy's concern. "Relax, we'll be there in no time."
Indy saw that the dog had bared its teeth and was growling again.
"What's his problem?" Indy grumbled.
Shannon pointed at the mongrel. "Shut up, pooch."
But the dog charged past them as someone banged on the door. Shannon looked toward the cellar, shrugged, then opened the door a couple of inches. "Who is it?"
"Ya mudda. Open up. I'm here to see Elmo."
"Who's there?" the old moonshiner called out as he emerged from the basement. He slipped Indy the pint,
and the graduate-to-be stuffed it inside his mortarboard. The door swung open, and a man in a dark coat, tie, and hat filled the doorway. He had a grim, menacing look on his face and a gun in his hand. Aw, hell. A damp chill raced up Indy's spine. Elmo took one look at the new visitor and bolted toward the front door.
The man yelled for him to stop, but Elmo kept moving. The man charged through the house, the dog yelping at his heels.
Indy and Shannon exchanged a glance and rushed for the kitchen door. At the bottom of the steps, Indy tripped on his gown and fell to his knees. He scrambled up and raced after Shannon, who was sprinting across the yard. Indy couldn't help laughing; they were getting away, escaping the danger, and he even had the whiskey. But then Shannon stopped abruptly, and Indy crashed into him. At the gate were two cops just waiting to nab them. "Hey, you two!" "Shit."
Shannon spun, dashed across the yard, and ran between two houses. Indy didn't wait around for directions; he darted after him, hiking up his gown as he ran. He passed Shannon as they crossed the street. They fled across a succession of yards and in between houses. He was almost sure they had gotten away when he realized he'd run into a yard enclosed by an eight-foot wood fence. "Damn," he hissed.
"Watch out!" Shannon shouted behind him. Indy's head jerked around; he expected to see the cops.
Instead, a pair of Doberman pinschers were dashing to ward them. "Christ," he breathed. He dropped the pint, pulled on his mortarboard, and scrambled up the fence. Just as he was about to lift a leg over the top, he was yanked back. One of the Dobermans had snared his gown. The dog snarled and shook its head from side to side as Indy struggled to get away.
He reached back and jerked hard, ripping the gown from the dog's mouth. He leaped over the fence, and dropped to the ground where Shannon was already wait ing. They crossed another yard, ducked around a garage, then pulled up short. The two cops were standing in the alley with their revolvers drawn.
"Nice going, boys. Hold it right there," said the shorter cop.
Indy froze. Now they were in trouble, and it wasn't even his trouble.
"Billy?" Shannon said, rocking forward onto the balls of his feet. "That you?"
"Jesus," murmured the cop. "Jack Shannon. What're you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing. We were getting a pint. We're on our way to graduation."
"Christ, Shannon." He glanced at his partner. "It's Harry's brother." He jerked his head toward the alley.
"Get out of here and watch who the hell you do business with from now on."
"Thanks, Billy."
"Don't thank me, Jack. Harry's going to hear about this. You can count on it."
Indy had no idea what Shannon's brother had to do with the cop. As they hurried toward the campus, Indy's torn gown flapped like a flag behind him. "Your brother's not a cop, is he, Jack?"