Jumper. Steven Gould

could—”

      The recording had me put more money in.

      “What did you say, David?”

      “I could go with you if you like.”

      “Get real. You’re in New York.”

      “Sure. Now. In two weeks I could be in Stillwater.”

      She was quiet for a moment “Well, it would be nice. I’ll believe it when I see it, though.”

      “Hey! Count on it. Will you pick me up at the airport? Or should I take a taxi?”

      “Christ! A taxi won’t run sixty miles to Stillwater. I’ll come get you, but it will have to be after classes,”

      “Okay.”

      “What, you mean it?”

      “Yes.”

      She was quiet again. “Well, okay then. Let me know.”

      That took care of my next two Saturday nights. I said good-bye and hung up. The security guard came out of the rest room following closely behind another street person. I swept the rest of the quarters off the ledge and dropped them in one of this guy’s plastic bags. He looked at me, startled and, perhaps, a little frightened. The security man glowered at me.

      I walked around the corner and jumped away.

      Leo Pasquale was a bellboy at the Gramercy Park, the nice hotel I’d stayed at before I got my apartment. He was the winner in the hotel-staff dominance due over who waited on me.

      I tip well.

      “Hey, Mr. Rice. Nice to see you.”

      I nodded. “Hello, Leo.”

      “Are you back with us? What room?”

      I shook my head. “No. I’ve got an apartment now. I could use your help with something, though.”

      He looked around at the bell captain, then tilted his head to the elevator. “Let’s ride up to ten.”

      “Okay.”

      On the tenth floor he led me down the hall and opened a room with a passkey. “Come on in,” he said.

      The room was a suite. He opened a door and we walked out onto a large balcony, almost a terrace. The afternoon was pleasant, warm without being muggy. The traffic noise rose up from Lexington Avenue in waves, almost like surf. Buildings rose around us like mountain cliffs.

      “What do you need, David? Girls? Something in a recreational drug?”

      I took the money out of my pocket and counted out five hundred-dollar bills. I gave them to him and held the remaining five hundred in my other hand where they were still visible.

      “Down payment The rest you get on delivery.”

      He licked his lips. “Delivery of what?”

      It was my turn to hesitate. “I want a New York State driver’s license good enough to pass a police check.”

      “Hell, man. You can buy a fake driver’s license for less than a hundred … a good one for under two-fifty.”

      I shook my head. “Your money is just a finder’s fee, Leo. I’m not paying for a fake ID with this thousand. I’m paying to be hooked up with an expert. I expect to pay for his services myself.”

      Leo raised his eyebrows and licked his lips again. “All of the thousand is mine, though?”

      “If you come up with the product. But if it’s hackwork, if it’s no good, forget the second five hundred. Find me a wizard and the rest of the money is yours. Can you do it?”

      He rubbed the bills between his fingers, feeling the texture of the paper. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure. I don’t know anyone directly, but I know a lot of illegals with really good papers. You got a number I can reach you at?”

      I smiled. “No.”

      “Cagey.”

      I shook my head. “I don’t have a phone. I’ll check back. When will you know something?”

      He folded the money carefully and put it in his pocket. “Try me tomorrow.”

      I paid a homeless man twenty dollars plus cost to go into a liquor store and buy a magnum of their more expensive champagne. He came out with the large bottle in one hand and a jug of wine under his other arm.

      “Here, kid. Have a hell of a time. I certainly intend to.”

      I thought of Dad. I considered taking this guy’s wine away from him, grabbing it and jumping before he could do anything. Instead I said “Thank you” politely and jumped back to my apartment as soon as he’d turned away.

      The champagne barely fit in the tiny refrigerator lying down, but not standing, and even then it bumped against the door. I leaned a chair against the door to keep it shut.

      I spent the next two hours up on Fifth Avenue, buying clothes and shoes. A few of the clerks even remembered me. After that I went to my hairstylist in the Village and got a haircut.

       You don’t even like those people, Davy. Why all the fuss?

      I shaved carefully, scraping the few whiskers from my face with only a few nicks. I resolved to buy an electric razor. Hope the bleeding stops before tonight. The face in the mirror was a stranger’s, quiet and calm. There was no trace of the shaky stomach or the pounding heart I wiped at the tiny bright beads of blood with a damp finger, smearing them.

      Hell.

      I still had three hours before the party, but I didn’t want to read or sleep or watch the tube. I dressed in some of the old, comfortable clothes, the ones I brought with me to New York, and jumped to the backyard of Dad’s house.

      The car wasn’t there. I jumped to my room.

      There was a thin film of dust on the desk and windowsill. There was the faint smell of mildew. I tried to open the door to the hall, but the door was stuck. I pulled harder, but it wouldn’t budge.

      I jumped to the hallway.

      There was a bright, shiny padlock hasp screwed into the wood on the door and frame. A large brass padlock held it secure. I scratched my head. What on earth?

      I walked down the hall to the kitchen and found the note on the refrigerator.

      Davy,

      What do you want? Why don’t you just come home? I promise not to hit you anymore. I’m sorry about that. Sometimes my temper gets the better of me. I wish you wouldn’t keep coming into the house unless you’re coming home for good. It scares me. I might mistake you for a burglar and accidentally shoot you. Just come home, okay?

      Dad

      It was held to the refrigerator by a magnet I’d decorated in elementary school, a day blob in green and blue. I slipped the note out and crumpled it into a little ball.

      More promises. Well, there’s been enough broken promises in the past. As an afterthought I uncrumpled one corner of the note and stuck it back under the magnet. It hung there, a ball of paper held to the refrigerator by the blob of colored clay.

      Let’s see what he thinks of that.

      I was angry and my head hurt. Why do I keep coming back here? I picked up the flour canister from the counter. It was a large glass jar with a wooden top. I tossed it up, high above the floor. It slowed, just below the ceiling, hung there, and then dropped. Before it hit the floor I jumped.

       SIX

      “Christ, where do you get your clothes?”

      I shrugged instead of