Page 80 of Bright Lights, Big Christmas
“I don’t know…” Carlos picked up his toast and dunked it in the mug of coffee. “He’s a pretty private old guy. Never seen anybody coming or going from his place. Don’t think he’d appreciate some strangers showing up at his door.”
“We’re not strangers. We’re his friends,” Austin said indignantly.
“We’re worried he might be really sick,” Kerry explained. “Up until this past week, he came around our Christmas tree stand every day. And the last time we saw him he had a terrible cough and didn’t seem himself.”
“I don’t know…” Carlos looked over at Claudia. “I could get in big trouble with Rex… It’s kind of an invasion of privacy, isn’t it?”
“You leave Rex to me,” Claudia said briskly. “And you can look for something extra in your Christmas envelope this year. Now let’s go.”
chapter 45
Carlos led the group—Kerry, Austin, and Patrick—down to the building’s basement.
When the freight elevator doors opened and they stepped out, Austin was wide-eyed, taking in the dimly lit basement’s cinderblock walls and cracked concrete flooring, low ceilings crisscrossed with innumerable exposed plumbing pipes and electrical wires, and the huge boiler hunkered in a far corner of the space.
“How come Mr. Heinz lives in a dungeon?” he whispered, clutching both Patrick and Kerry’s hands.
“Don’t know, buddy,” Patrick said. “But you know, it might not even be him.”
“It’s gotta be him,” Austin insisted as they picked their way past the clutter of paint cans, building supplies, and discarded plumbing fixtures.
“Over here,” Carlos said, pointing to a door on the other side of a caged tenant storage area.
“I could lose my job if this gets back to my boss,” Carlos fretted. “If anybody asks, you came down here on your own. I had nothing to do with it, right?”
“Absolutely,” Kerry said. “And thanks.”
She glanced uneasily over at Patrick and took a deep breath. “What now?”
But Austin had no such hesitation. He ineffectively pounded the heavy steel door with his fists. “Mr. Heinz? Are you at home, Mr. Heinz? It’s me, Austin. And Kerry and my dad are here too. Can we come in and see you, Mr. Heinz?”
The boiler in the corner hissed and groaned, but the basement was otherwise silent.
“Maybe we should come back later,” Kerry said.
“Nooooo,” Austin howled.
“Let me try.” Patrick looked around and found a short length of iron pipe. When he banged on the door the clanging echoed through the basement. “Heinz?” he called. “Are you there, Heinz? It’s Patrick and Kerry. Are you all right?”
Kerry pressed her ear to the door. She heard a faint, almost inaudible wheezing sound.
“Heinz?” she shouted.
She put her ear to the door.
“Go away.” The old man’s voice was so weak she could barely make out the words. “I’m sick, and I don’t want you to get sick.”
Alarmed, she tried the knob. It turned easily. “We’re coming in,” she called, opening the door a fraction of an inch. “Just a welfare check.”
“No, don’t. Just leave me be.”
“I’m sorry, but we can’t do that,” Kerry replied, opening the door wider.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but gradually the room came into focus. It was small and chilly, sparsely furnished, and smelled of damp and sickness.
Heinz was sitting in a chair near a tiny window that had been painted over. He seemed to have shrunk just since the last time she’d seen him. He was dressed in a tattered flannel bathrobe, his eyes sunken into his face, pale except for his cheeks, which were a bright scarlet. He held a crumpled handkerchief to his lips.
Austin approached his friend without trepidation. “Mr. Heinz, you don’t look so good,” the child said.
