The Outliers

Chapter 3

I met the marshal almost thirty years ago. It was on a Friday. I couldn’t forget the date, it was May 3, 1901, exactly one week before my brother died. I was out on the pier that day taking stock of visitors, steering for the girls, when the marshal got off the boat.

The early May air carried a bracing chill. Towners covered the pier like ants on a carcass. Even a whiff of good weather brought people out. I remember the ferry coming in from Cape May had to stand out off the breakwater while a freighter wallowed under steam and sails to tack out against the tide. We got traffic like that in season.

When the ferry steamed in, I got busy watching the men coming off, trying to figure who were traveling alone or passing through—maybe here on business or looking to lose money at the hotels’ tables. Miss Lil had showed me what to look for. They carried small bags or none at all and never had somebody there to meet them. As soon as they set foot on the pier, they’d start checking for the ladies like crabbers dropping a line. They were easy to spot once you knew what to look for.

I worked fast because there’d be more men coming in when the fishing fleet tied up. Menhaden crews were harder to work. The crews were bone tired and had families in town. You could steer some of them, but it took more talking. Their boats came in at the Iron Pier, and I had to get done at Queen Anne’s and get over there so Tommy Dallard couldn’t beat me out. Trawler men couldn’t pay much, plus the girls didn’t care for the way they smelled. But Miss Lil hated losing seamen to the hotel girls Tommy steered for.

Anyway, the old man, that is how I thought of him that day, must have come off with the rest. I guess he didn’t look like the sort to steer because I hadn’t noticed him. But he’d been watching me and must have figured I was a local because he took hold of my arm and turned me like a spindle. He had a strong grip for an old guy, and he made me jump coming up behind me like that. I twisted around and shook off his hand and gave him a look to show him he shouldn’t fool around with me. I had to raise my eyes to do it. I was tall for my age, but he was an inch or so taller than me. I didn’t show it, but my stomach twitched. Being stared at by a white man could go either way. We watched each other for a second while the passengers pushed past us, heading who knew where now, but not to Miss Lil’s.

Other than being tall, he wasn’t much to look at. He had on a dusty grey suit that didn’t fit well. He was carrying a beat-up leather satchel he set down next to his foot. It was hard to say how old he was—maybe fifty or so. His face was tanned like he’d spent time in the sun, but his cheeks and jaw hadn’t gone loose like the skin does on older folks. His face was round at the top and pointed at the chin, and a thick mustache dropped off the sides of it. He would have looked comical if it weren’t for his eyes. They were blue—not like summer skies—but pale and washed out. And the look behind them was hard.

“I’m lookin’ for a man,” he said. His voice was ragged, like a rusted saw. The way he talked sounded different from the way locals did.

“Sorry mister?”

“I need to find a man.” He put his hand on my shoulder again.

“Can’t help you there,” I said. “I like girls myself.” I knew what he meant, but I was annoyed. I pulled away.

“A particular man,” he said, not bothering with my insult. “Name’s Ryan.”

“Don’t know any Ryan.”

“About thirty or so. Short fella, sandy-colored hair. Wears a skinny mustache.” That sounded familiar but I wasn’t going to tell him that. “I’ll pay you a dollar to point him out.”

He wanted to find him pretty bad to pay that kind of money to an Indian. But I didn’t need his dollar.

“Don’t know him,” I said again and turned away.

“Might hang out with those ladies you work for.”

That stopped me. I turned around.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t smoke me, boy. You seen this man or not?”

“I told you I didn’t.”

“Maybe. Where’s your girls’ house at? I’ll ask the madam.”

I stared him down a bit before I answered. He just looked back at me, not frowning, not squinting like he thought I was lying, just looking. That wasn’t the stare I generally got when I was sassing whites.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, mister.”

He took a couple of steps toward me, so I added, “Try one of the hotels. Girls sometimes hang out in there.”

“Hotels?”

He looked to his left, toward the Iron Pier. Miss Lil’s place was right next to it, but I wasn’t about to direct him there. I pointed the other way.

“The Ocean House or the Breakwater. Down the beach just off the road into town.”

“Town? You mean Lewes?” He made it sound like loose, the way the Jersey tourists said it. Nobody from Delaware ever got it wrong.

“Lewes,” I said, pronouncing it loo-is. “There’re carriages that’ll take you in for a nickel. Or you can wait for the train.”

He looked at me like he thought I was being smart-mouthed, which I was. The train did come out there a couple times a week, but it wasn’t scheduled anytime soon.

“I’ll walk.”

He picked up his traveling bag, stepped around me and headed down the pier. He walked like he had a purpose, not going fast, just intent on getting where he was going. Two carriages for hire passed by him going into town, but he ignored them.

I looked around. I’d wasted too much time jawing with him. The pier had almost emptied and the fishing boats were already docking at the Iron Pier. No point in rushing over there now. It was almost a mile across beach sand. Tommy would be working them hard before I showed up. I had to let it go for the day.