Stanley had shown himself to be ferocious, hammering me and other people into submission. Still, this might be my last chance to have Clown—and deprive him of it. Both things were important.
So, again, I directed my attention to a man more easily defeated.
“Abner,” I said, “think about what you’re doing.”
“What?” he said, clueless. “What am I doing?”
“I know it’s tempting. He’s promised you so much. That’s important for guys like us. But use your head for a second.”
“Why would I want to do that?” Abner actually said.
“You’re depending on a person who’s never been loyal to anything or anyone. You’ve served your purpose. He’ll be on to someone else the minute he moves the merchandise.”
Slowly, Abner seemed to get it. “This is different—hey, how would you know anything about it, Milano? You just sleep with your clicker at night.”
I was sensing the cracks in Abner’s ego. “Why be so desperate? Relax. Men are like buses, they …” Unfortunately, I forgot the rest of Claude Kripp’s folksy homily. “Look, one day, you might actually find someone who would be a fan of Clown, and not its pimp.”
“Shut up, Milano,” Stanley snapped. “This isn’t going to work.”
He was wrong; it was starting to. I could see Abner darting little looks at Graus’s tape, held in Stanley’s hand. It may have been cruel to play on his insecurities, but he had lost his victim status by being so ambitious. And the power of the powerless was a dangerous thing.
“Face it,” Stanley continued. “You’re afraid to fight me. So you’re preying on the weak.”
This was true, so I had no comeback. Luckily, I didn’t need one.
“What do you mean, the weak? Who’s weak?” Abner said.
I would let this one just play itself out.
“I didn’t mean weak,” Stanley said, irritated. “You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. Who’s weak?”
Two things were happening. Abner was looking ever more greedily at the tape. And Stanley was losing his grip on it, the more he lost his temper.
“Forget it. Forget I said anything.”
“I’m not going to forget it, I—”
“You’re letting Milano play with your head. What’s the matter with you, are you stupid?”
“Oh, now I’m stupid, too, not just weak.”
It was working better than I could have dreamed. Stanley, so adept at stealing, punching, and shooting, was lousy at personal relationships. But then, why should he be any different from the rest of us?
“Let’s just talk about this later, okay?” he said.
“No, I think we should talk about it now.”
“Well, I don’t agree, I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care if you’re sorry.”
Stanley had no intention of doing this anymore. He noticed the same thing I had: Abner had moved from behind him to before him. Near me.
That meant there were now two people within grabbing distance of the tape.
There were also two people to get through to reach the door.
So, ever resourceful, Stanley decided to spring a surprise.
He went out the window.
It was a narrow aperture, apparently all a maid in 1906 required. Stanley was slender, but had had the benefits of mid-century nutrition. So it took him a second to struggle through the space.
First, he had to hold on to the wood of the frame, which was frail, dirty, and full of chipped paint. Then he had to shove up the shaky bottom window. Then he had to squeeze himself out onto the ledge.
He only had two hands. And one of them was holding the tape.
In a second, Abner had poached it.
Halfway out, Stanley looked back, shocked at his boyfriend’s audacity and speed. He glanced at me, enraged. Then, shaking his head with disgust, he fled the room altogether.
There was silence for a second. Abner’s expression told me to let him go. But it wasn’t enough to stop Stanley from having the film. I had to stop Stanley.
So I went after him.
LESS AGILE THAN STANLEY, I SMASHED MY HEAD INTO THE OPEN BOTTOM window. Cursing, I opted for legs first. Before I knew it, I had both feet on the thin ledge. Then, holding on to the shaking window wood, I snaked my top half out.
