No Such Creature

TWENTY-SIX

Owen didn’t go home until late that night. He slipped quietly into his bedroom, packed a suitcase, and checked into a cheap hotel in midtown. He could have stayed with a school friend, but he didn’t want to see or talk to anyone; he just wanted to be alone.

He spent the next few days wandering from Starbucks to Starbucks, bookstore to bookstore. He sat in Union Square feeding the squirrels, he visited the Central Park Zoo, he read magazines in the public library. He wasn’t thinking; he wasn’t able to think. His mind had seized up, locked itself around what Max had told him. Owen wasn’t even sure if he was angry; he didn’t know what he was feeling.

He would sit in the cool dark of the movie theatres taking in nothing of what was happening onscreen. His mind would not let go. And when he came out, the world seemed drained of colour, overexposed. The crowds, the noise, the traffic swirled around him and he hardly knew where he was.

He tried to separate the two essential facts that Max had revealed to him and weigh them one at a time. First, how bad was it that Max was not really his uncle? Did it alter the fact that he had raised him? Did it render everything else about their relationship false and empty?

And then the other, much worse: that Max had been the cause of his parents’ deaths. His actions had led to all that tearing metal and twisted steel that had killed them both instantly. But obviously Max hadn’t intended that outcome. He was just a criminal on the run, in a blind panic, heedless of everything except the spectre of prison looming before him.

Still Owen stayed away. After three days he moved into the dorm at Juilliard.

He felt a lot better once classes started. It was exciting to embark on a new life, and he found himself enthralled by all the books on the syllabus: critical works, texts on acting, playwrights he had never heard of. And he was fascinated by the other people in his class. They too had all earned raves for their performances in their drama club, and a lot of them had worked in theatre camps and small summer theatres while Owen had been busy robbing Republicans.

Owen was intimidated by some of them, they were so talented. While others, well, you had to wonder how they had ever passed the audition. The stage set his group was using consisted of leftovers from the previous semester, a living room suite that might have been new in the mid-seventies, cat-clawed and much stained. Halfway through the second week of school the instructor, Phil Major, was centre stage, analyzing the performance of a student named Jason who had mumbled his way through a Sam Shepard monologue. Then it was McKenzie’s turn.

McKenzie was a knockout, with shapely cheekbones and wide-set eyes that made her look both innocent and wise. Everyone in her class wanted to recognize some speck of talent in such beauty, but when Phil gave her the go-ahead, she fell hard onto the couch and, in a manoeuvre straight out of World Wrestling Entertainment, pitched forward onto her knees, where she proceeded to claw at the carpet. She shrieked her lines at such volume that Owen covered his ears.

Phil clapped his hands twice, two sharp reports.

“Okay, McKenzie, thank you. Thank you,” he said, in a silky tone that betrayed nothing of the horror he must have felt. “Well, that was certainly less restrained than Jason. But you have to keep in mind, this scene occurs early in the play, and if you start at that level of intensity you’re going to have nowhere to go for later scenes. Remember, acting is never about losing control, even if your character is losing control. Okay. That’s all we have time for today. Same time, same place, Thursday.”

The students filed out of the auditorium, quieter than usual, subdued by the McKenzie Chernobyl.

“Owen, you heading to the caf?” It was Bobby Jaye who spoke. Bobby was all blond dreadlocks, an earnest Midwesterner with a skateboard under his arm.

“No, I’m gonna take a walk. I need a breather.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Bobby looked around conspiratorially. “Man, that McKenzie really goes to eleven. I thought we were gonna have to call an ambulance.”

“She may have given us a little too much.”

“Oh, really, you think?”

Owen headed up Broadway to the Acropolis, one of the last old-style diners on the Upper West Side. Tuesday at four in the afternoon, the place was full of chattering high school students. Owen sat at the counter and ordered a Coke. The TV above the glassware was tuned to NY1, sound off, the mayor gassing on about something. Owen pulled out a used paperback copy of Burn This. He turned to Pale’s opening speech, a fiendishly intricate rant that he was hoping to memorize by Thursday.

But all he could think about was Max. Here he was at Juilliard, immersed in theatre arts-it was ridiculous not to be discussing it all with Max. He pulled out his cellphone and set it on the counter beside the book, considering.

Dr. Abe Pfeffernan, a scholarly-looking man dressed in hospital scrubs, waited calmly in line with the other customers of the Chase branch at Sixty-eighth and Madison. He had a beaky nose, a slightly mournful expression, and a full head of curly salt-and-pepper hair bisected by the surgical mask he had pushed up there and forgotten.

The doctor chatted amiably with the lady behind him. They agreed that one of the problems with the prevalence of ATM machines was that when you eventually did require the services of a human teller, you faced a hideous lineup. And so slow. Invariably the person in front of you was there to refinance a mortgage or to exchange Ugandan shillings for Swiss francs; no one went to a teller for a simple withdrawal.

“Why don’t you go ahead of me?” the doctor suggested. “You don’t want to waste your entire afternoon here.”

“Oh, no, no. That’s all right.”

“Please, I insist. I’m in no rush.” He stepped aside so she could move up.

“Such a gentleman,” she said, clutching her purse. “But surely you have to get back to the hospital?”

“You’re very kind to think of it, but no. I’m only involved in research.”

“Research whereabouts?”

“Over at Rockefeller.”

“Oh, my, you must be a brilliant man. That’s very prestigious.”

“We have our victories now and again,” Dr. Pfeffernan allowed with a small smile. “Failures, unfortunately, are more common.”

“And what are you researching?”

“The old enemy, I’m afraid.”

“Cancer?”

“And we’ll conquer it,” Dr. Pfeffernan swore, raising a palm above his head. “Hand to God. Someday, I swear, we’re going to wipe it out.”

“Oh, I hope so. My husband died of colorectal seven years ago. Irv Rosen? He was a pediatrician in a family practice, I don’t suppose you ever met him.”

“I never had the pleasure. I believe in a few more years we may be able to save people like your husband.”

“Oh, you’re just like him. He was totally dedicated, never wanted to retire, and always hoped for the best, even though some of his cases were heartbreaking.”

“Pediatrics, yes. Such tsoris.” Dr. Pfeffernan placed a hand over his heart. “You see some real tragedies there.”

Mrs. Rosen unsnapped her purse, pulled out a handkerchief, and dabbed at her eyes. “Well, Doctor. With people like you on the job, maybe someday there’ll be a lot fewer of those tragedies.”

“From your mouth to God’s ear, Mrs. Rosen. I think the teller’s ready for you.”

“Well, it’s been a pleasure, Dr. Pfeffernan, you have a good day now. And good luck on your quest!”

When Max got to the counter, he met the inquiring gaze of a young black woman on the other side of the bulletproof glass.

“I need to open my safety deposit box,” he said, handing her a piece of Pfeffernan ID. “Can’t go anywhere without a passport these days.”

“Oh, you didn’t need to wait in line for that, Doctor. You could have just got one of the managers to assist you. Wait there, I’ll be right back.”

She returned a moment later with another black woman. She wore a red dress and large gold earrings that gleamed against her skin.

“This is Miss Leary,” the teller said. “She can help you.”

“Dr. Pfeffernan, you need to open your safety deposit box?”

“That’s right. I rented it just a week or two ago.”

“Come with me.” She handed back his identification.

He followed her through a door into the back. A security guard was seated just inside.

Miss Leary showed him into the safety deposit room and inserted her key into the drawer. Max turned his key in the lock, pulled out the drawer, and set it on a table.

“There you go, Doctor. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

He pulled open the drawer and removed a snub-nosed automatic, pointing it at her.

“Don’t be alarmed, my dear, but yes, I’m afraid there is.”

The coffee shop was filling up. A man sitting next to Owen was explaining to his seven-year-old daughter what same-sex marriage meant.

“Well, you see, Megan, some girls like girls, so they marry girls. And some boys like boys, so they marry boys.”

Owen picked up his cellphone from the counter and dialed home. No answer. He tried Max’s mobile, but it switched him over immediately to voice mail. He didn’t leave a message.

He was pulling out some change to pay his check when someone said, “Hey, turn the sound up. Where’s that happening?”

The TV screen showed the front of a Chase bank. The banner said LIVE: Upper East Side.

“What’s going on, Daddy?”

“Someone’s robbing a bank,” the man said.

“Why?”

“Because he wants their money.”

“Will they give it to him?”

“If they do, he’ll have to give it back. It belongs to other people.”

According to the reporter on the scene, the robbery had begun barely twenty minutes ago, but the bank was already surrounded by police. A sweep of the camera showed snipers on the corners of buildings across the street. Helicopters hovered overhead. The amazing thing, the reporter said, was that the robber was a senior citizen, apparently a doctor, who was holding a woman employee hostage.

“Hey, don’t you want your change?” the counterman called out, but Owen was gone.

Lieutenant Nat Saperstein was hoping the hostage negotiation guys would get there soon, but word was they were hung up on the FDR. In the meantime it was his show, until such time as the SWAT team should get the go-ahead to take over. He had snipers on the roofs and an offensive football team of beefy guys blocking the only other exit. There was no way this scumbag was getting away, though why a doctor in his seventies or eighties suddenly gets it into his head to rob a bank, well, you have to wonder.

“Loo, we got a possible lever here.”

Saperstein put down his binoculars and turned to see a uniform holding on to the arm of a young man, teenager really.

“Kid says the guy inside is his father.”

“Oh yeah? You got some ID?”

“He’s actually my uncle, but he adopted me. He’s been losing it lately. He was talking about robbing a bank, but I never thought he was serious.”

“Like I said, got some ID?”

Owen pulled out his wallet and showed him his driver’s licence. “Please don’t shoot him,” he said. “He’s not going to hurt anybody.”

Saperstein looked from the licence photo to Owen and back again. “Maxwell? Good news, kid. It ain’t your uncle in there.”

“I’m telling you, it’s him. I saw him on TV, through the front window when he was closing the blinds. He’s not using his real name. He was going to make it something Jewish. He’s always wanted to play a Jew.”

“What are you, Ku Klux Klan? ‘Play a Jew.’ You think robbing banks is playing a Jew? Get this asshole outta here.”

The uniform made a move to grab Owen again.

“Pfeffernan! Dr. Pfeffernan-that was the name he was gonna use.”

The lieutenant’s face changed now. He gestured at the uniform to let go of the kid. “Okay, son, you have my attention. Tell me more.”

“His name is Magnus Maxwell-Max. He’s British. A former actor. He likes to play different roles. He said he wanted to do an educated Jewish New Yorker, a doctor.”

Saperstein looked him over. The kid looked sincere, and sincerely scared.

Owen went through his wallet and found an old photo of him and Max together at Niagara Falls. “This is him.”

Saperstein looked at the photo, raised his eyebrows.

“He looks pretty different, kid.”

“That’s his theatrical training. He loves wigs and makeup, the whole deal. If you let me talk to him, I’m sure I can get him to come out.”

“You’re welcome to try.” He keyed in a number on his cellphone and handed it to Owen.

An American voice answered, a New York voice. “You’re trying my patience here, Lieutenant. How many times do I have to tell you: move your men back.”

“Max,” Owen said into the phone, “it’s me. Owen. You have to give this up. You have to quit while you’re ahead.”

“I’m sorry, young man. You must have the wrong number.” There was a click.

“He hung up on me,” Owen said, handing the phone back.

“That’s okay, kid, you did your best. Negotiation team’ll be here in a-Hey, wait a second!”

Owen took off and ran straight through the crime scene tape. He was in the cordoned-off area, trying not to think of the snipers positioned above him. The front door was open; he was able to walk right in.

“Owen, me lad. What brings you here?”

The actual sight of Owen shook Max into dropping the American accent. He was in his surgical scrubs, seated in one of two executive chairs that had been pulled from offices. The other was occupied by a black woman with big gold earrings. A telephone on a long extension cord was on the floor between them.

“This is Miss Leary,” Max said. “She’s playing the role of hostage, though with a disappointing lack of conviction. I let the others go.”

“Oh, you an Englishman now?” Miss Leary said. “Why don’t you make up your mind who you are before you go robbing banks? You know this man?” she said to Owen. “Would you inform him, please, that his ass is in a world of trouble?”

“You have to let her go,” Owen said. “There must be a hundred cops out there. Snipers. Helicopters. The works.”

“Well, yes, that’s the point,” Max said. “If I let Miss Leary go, all those guns are very likely to go off.”

“Max,” Owen said, “the show is over. You’re not getting out of this. The only question is how hard you want to make it on yourself. The sooner you let her go, the easier things will be.”

“The sooner I’ll be back in Sing Sing, you mean.”

“Don’t you talk trash to this boy when he’s telling you the truth,” Miss Leary said. “Mister, I get the feeling you a whole lot dumber than you look.”

“Madam, can you not at least try to understand your role?” Max said. “Could we have some cowering, please? Some begging? Quivering?”

“The only person going to be begging around here, Doctor, is you when I get the chance to kick your fat ass.”

“Casting problems,” Max said to Owen. “Make an error in casting and no amount of good writing or good direction can make up for it. Look what I’m stuck with.” He gestured at Miss Leary as if she had been delivered to his door by mistake.

“You think you in some kind of movie here? This my life we’re talking about. Yours too, and this sensible young man’s as well.”

“Madam, you don’t know him,” Max said. “He’s the least sensible person I’ve ever met. Wants to be an actor.”

“Max,” Owen said, “I told them you’d let her go, that you don’t really want to hurt anyone.”

“Thank you for that, Owen. That’s very helpful. I do hope your acting career takes off, because you’re not what I’d call a first-class negotiator.”

“Young man, would you tell this old party to undo this handcuff?” Miss Leary pulled up on her manacle, shaking it. “Believe it or not, I do not enjoy being held prisoner in my place of employment.”

“You’re not a real prisoner,” Max said. “You’re only playing one.”

“Well, if that’s the case, and we all just on a movie set, I’d like to go to my trailer now, please.”

“Max, give me the key,” Owen said.

Max went over to the window and peered out between the blinds. “The plan was good,” he said. “I had backups and redundancies built in. For example, a change of clothes. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring them, and if you say I told you so, I shall smite you.”

“Max, give me the key and let’s get Miss Leary out of here. You can use me as a hostage.”

The phone on the floor rang.

“Take a message,” Max said. “Tell them I’m at the club.”

Owen picked up the phone.

“Saperstein. What’s the progress, kid?”

“Miss Leary will be coming out in a minute,” Owen said. “Make sure no guns go off by accident.”

“Nothing’s going to happen by accident. You just send her out and we’ll take care of her. But I’m warning you, do not try anything fancy. Anyone who makes any sudden moves when she comes out is going to get shot, you understand?”

“I understand.”

Owen hung up. Max was back in his executive chair, rocking it.

“Max, give me the key.”

“I’m ashamed to say I forgot it.”

“Jesus Christ, Max. Do you hear how ridiculous that is? I told you you should be seeing a doctor, getting tests done, but no-you had to rob a goddamn bank. Fine, she can go out in the chair. It’s got wheels. I’ll push her out the door and they can come and get her.”

“Actually, I was just kidding.”

Max reached into the pocket of his scrubs and pulled out the tiny key. Owen undid the handcuff and Miss Leary stood up. Max, ever the gentleman, stood up as well.

“Get you gone, madam.”

Miss Leary looked him up and down, hands on hips. “Mister, you are too smart to be pulling shit like this. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Thank you for auditioning. Don’t call us.”

The woman folded her arms across her impressive chest and rested her weight on one cocked hip. “You a fool, and that’s the truth.”

“Madam, I said get you gone. Why do you linger?”

She pointed at Owen. “Frankly, I am concerned about this boy. I don’t want you using him as some kind of bargaining chip.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” Owen said. “I’ll be all right.”

“I don’t think so, sugar. Why don’t you come out with me?”

“Really. Max is my-” Owen looked over at Max. The old man gave him the slightest of New York shrugs, perhaps a last vestige of Dr. Pfeffernan. “Max is my uncle. The detective in charge out there knows the score. You just go ahead, Miss Leary, and I’ll be fine. I’m sorry for your inconvenience.”

“Inconvenience!” Miss Leary shook her head slowly back and forth. “Honey, you get out of this alive, got to be a job waiting for you in public relations. Inconvenience.”

Owen held the door open for her.

Miss Leary turned for one last look at Max. “I hate to tell you this, sugar, but your old man on a one-way ticket to Crazytown,” she said, and stepped out into the glare of Madison Avenue.

“Well, I hope you’re pleased,” Max said. “Now that we’re rendered defenceless.”

Owen watched as two cops in helmets and body armour jogged out to take Miss Leary by the arms and hustle her away.

The phone rang again.

“Good job, Owen,” Saperstein said. “Now let’s follow the same procedure with you and your uncle. You come out one at a time, him first. Hands in the air, understand?”

“Wait a minute. Why one at a time? I don’t like that.”

“One at a time because we don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Max isn’t going to hurt me.” Owen looked over at Max. “I’m more worried about you hurting him.”

“I understand that, kid, but we have to handle this the safest way for all concerned. Soon as you get out, you lie down on the sidewalk, hands above your head.”

“Me too?”

“You too. We have no way of knowing if he’s passed you a weapon or not. It’s not like you’re a hundred percent hostage, is it? So, no sudden moves or someone’s gonna get killed, understand?”

“I still don’t like the one-at-a-time thing.”

“Kid, your father, uncle or whatever he is, happens to be an armed bank robber who has taken hostages.”

“But you just said I’m not really a hostage. Don’t worry, I’ll bring him out and no one needs to get hurt.”

“Kid, one at a time, I’m telling you. Don’t try anything else, or-”

Owen hung up and told Max what Saperstein had said.

“Thank you, my boy, but I believe they have the right idea. Better to go out one at a time.”

“No, I’m not doing it that way,” Owen said. “As long as I’m beside you, they’re not going to shoot.”

“I envy your certainty. No, the safest thing is for you to go out first, then me.”

“We go out together, Max.”

Max rubbed a hand across his hair, came across the surgical mask and pulled it off, studying it. “You know, from now on I’m going to devote more of my time to the sciences. I believe I have the makings of an excellent doctor.”

“Well, you’re going to have lots of time to study, so let’s go.”

Max reached out and closed a hand around Owen’s forearm. “Listen, boy. About before …”

“I can’t even think about that now, Max.”

“I just want to be sure you understand. I never-”

“Max, please. Before they decide to throw tear gas in here and blast us to kingdom come.”

“You’re my boy, understand? Far as I’m concerned, no matter what else, you’re my boy. Best part of my life. You know, when you first came to live with me, you were still very small. Sometimes I’d come home and you’d run to me and I’d hoist you in the air and spin you around, and you giggled like a magical sprite. A creature not of this earth, of finer stuff. Or you’d take hold of my leg and cling like a limpet. I’d have to hobble around the house with you hanging on my leg. An absolute monkey. I loved you like my own, lad. Love you like my own.”

Still hanging on to Owen’s arm, Max raised himself up out of his chair.

“Leave the gun,” Owen said. “We don’t want to give them any reason to shoot.”

“Quite right, boy. Quite right.” Max set the snub nose on the chair. “You know what? Why don’t we have me sit in the chair and you wheel me out? Make a regal entrance.”

“Max, you’re not directing this, I am. We go out together, we lie face down on the sidewalk, hands above our heads. And no sudden moves or they’ll kill you. All right?”

“Face down. No sudden moves. Roger that. Did you know that ‘roger’ used to mean shtupping? Samuel Pepys used to regularly roger the female members of his staff.”

Owen tightened his grip on Max’s arm as they reached the door. “Remember, there’s going to be about a hundred guns pointed at us.”

“Yes, yes. Tedious trolls.”

Owen pushed open the door and the two of them stood arm in arm, blinking in the sunlight.

Someone, probably Saperstein, called over a megaphone, “Hands up, now.”

They both put their hands in the air.

“Face down on the sidewalk. Now.”

Owen started to kneel, saw Max wasn’t moving, and stopped halfway.

“Max, no funny stuff. Just do what they say.”

“Keep away from me, boy. They may shoot anyway, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The megaphone again: “Face down! Now!”

“Max, just lie down on the sidewalk. Please.”

“Stop fussing, lad. I know how to hit my marks.”

They both got down on their knees. Owen lay down and spread his hands over his head.

There was a pause. A murmur of activity went up among the squads of police.

Then Max said, “Sorry, lad. Can’t go to prison again.”

He pushed himself up and started to run-a hopeless manoeuvre, since he was long past the age of swift acceleration. He didn’t get ten feet before a shot rang out, and he slammed against the plate glass of the bank before sliding down to the pavement. Owen crawled over to him. Max was slumped in a crooked seated position like a puppet from which the controlling hand has been withdrawn. In the sunlight, his makeup was obvious-the putty he had used to alter the shape of his nose, the sheen of glue at the edges of his added eyebrows.

Blood was pouring from the wound in Max’s chest. Owen pressed a hand over it, and blood flowed hotly over his fingers. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Max was trying to say something.

“Don’t talk, Max.”

Max’s voice was barely a whisper. His words emerged in a long, slow gasp, as if blown by a distant wind. “I have it,” he said. “And soundly, too.”

“Max, you’re too old to play Mercutio,” Owen said. “Be quiet now.”

Four cops surrounded them, guns pointed, as two more cops frisked them.

Paramedics appeared, wheeling a gurney.

Max was trying to say something else. Owen leaned closer to hear.

“You guys have any brandy?” Owen said. “He wants some brandy.”

The cops pulled Owen back. One of the medics felt Max’s neck; his head had lolled to one side.

The paramedic glanced up at Owen. “This guy a physician?”

Owen shook his head. “Actor.”

“Not anymore, kid.”