All of a sudden she understood everything. She was a fourteen-year-old girl in a hospital room—a prisoner, surrounded by men, policemen and doctors, none of whom would ever believe anything she told them about what had happened, even if it was the truth. No one would believe she and Henry had tricked a murderer. No one would believe she had stabbed a man to death with a knife. Not even her mother would defend her.

And Henry had forgotten her, or maybe they’d made him a prisoner, too.

There would be no reward. Everyone believed that Fatty Bacon and a reporter were the heroes: not her, not Henry. She looked up at the hospital wall and saw a crucifix there. She hated it, she hated God. She hated this world and those who made it.

She stared at Deneen, wanting to spit at him, to attack him as she had attacked Max, claw his tiny piggy eyes from his face and leave him bleeding on the floor.

Instead, she told him her real name. And then she collapsed on the bed, weeping inconsolably.

Chapter 101

Chapter 101

THEY FINALLY ALLOWED her to leave early that evening. They brought her the clothes they’d found her in, the soiled sailor dress that Glory had loaned her. She almost cried again, thinking of Glory, who would surely never speak to her once she knew the truth. She begged her mother to bring in her own clothes, but Gina refused.

“That’s all over, Pin,” was all she said, and returned to the corridor.

Pin dressed in a silent fury, then went into the hall, where her mother and Fatty Bacon were waiting. Her mother tried to take her hand, but Pin pushed her away and walked on ahead of them without speaking.

Outside the hospital stood a dozen or so men, all holding notebooks. Several had cameras and took her picture. She glared at them, turning to where her mother and Fatty had halted behind her.

“Make them stop,” she ordered.

Fatty looked at her, then nodded. He walked over to the reporters and spoke to them. She could hear them arguing, but after a few minutes they all left, except for one dark-haired man who stepped over to a tree, where he lit a cigarette and watched her as he smoked. She recognized him from inside the hospital: he was the reporter who would share the reward with Fatty Bacon.

Pin walked out onto the street. She didn’t know where she’d go. She might run away, hop a freight car near Belmont and see where it took her.

“Pin! Pintail, Pinafore!”

She whirled to see a small figure running toward her. He wore his hospital work clothes, dirty overalls and a stained work shirt and work boots.

“Henry!” She ran to meet him, and he stopped, turning his head to avoid her delighted gaze. “Jesus, Henry, where were you?”

“I had to go to work.”