Arthur Hailey: Wheels

Wingate's skin prickled, his mind drawing parallels between the music and the reason for his presence here.

The music ended. As a thunder of applause swept through the Auditorium, Leonard Wingate hurried down an aisle, escorted by the usher. Word was passed quickly to Brett DeLosanto whom Wingate saw at once. Brett appeared surprised, but began moving out, followed by Barbara and the Trentons.

In the foyer, they held a hurried conference.

Without wasting time on details, Wingate revealed that his search for Brett had been because of Rollie Knight. And since they were still downtown, Wingate's intention was that the two of them go directly to Rollie and May Lou's apartment.

Brett agreed at once, but Barbara raised difficulties, wanting to go with them. They argued briefly, Leonard Wingate opposing the idea, and Brett supported him. In the end it was agreed that Adam would take Erica and Barbara to Brett's Country Club Manor apartment and await the others there. Neither Adam, Erica, nor Barbara felt like returning to the concert.

Outside, Wingate led Brett to his waiting car. The rain had stopped.

Brett, who was carrying a topcoat, threw it on the back seat, on top of one of Wingate's already there. As they pulled away, Leonard Wingate began a swift-paced explanation, knowing the journey would be short.

Brett listened, asking an occasional question. At the description of the murder-robbery, he whistled softly. Like countless others he had read published reports of the killing at the plant; also, there was a personal link since it seemed likely that events that night had hastened Matt Zaleski's stroke.

Yet Brett felt no enmity toward Rollie Knight. It was true that the young black worker was no innocent, but there were degrees of guilt, whether recognized in law or not. Wingate obviously believed - and Brett accepted - that Rollie had become enmeshed a little at a time, in part unwillingly, his freedom of choice diminishing like a weakening swimmer drawn toward a vortex. Nonetheless, for what Rollie Knight had done, there were debts he would have to pay. No one could, or should, help him escape them.

"The one thing we can't do," Brett said, "is help him get away from Detroit."

"I figured that, too." If the crime had been lesser, Wingate thought, they might have chanced it. But not with murder.

"What he needs is something he didn't have those other times - the best lawyer you can get with money."

"He doesn't have money."

"Then I'll raise it. I'll put some up myself, and there'll be others."

Brett was already thinking of people to approach - some, outside the usual ranks of charity bestowers, who felt strongly about social injustice and racial prejudice.

Wingate said, "He'll have to surrender to the police; I can't see any other way. But if we've a strong lawyer he can insist a protection in jail." He wondered - though not aloud - how effective the protection would be, lawyer or not.

"And with a good trial lawyer," Brett said, "he might, just might, get a break."

"Maybe."

"Will Knight do as we say?"

Wingate nodded. "He'll do it."

"Then we'll find a lawyer in the morning. He'll handle the surrender.

Tonight, the two of them - the girl as well - had better stay with Barbara and me."

The Personnel man shot a glance across the car's front seat. "You sure?"

"I'm sure. Unless you've a better idea."

Leonard Wingate shook his head. He was glad he had found Brett DeLosanto.

Though nothing the young designer had said or done so far was beyond Wingate's own powers of reasoning and decision, Brett's presence and clearheadedness was reassuring. He possessed an instinctive leadership, too, which Wingate, with his training, recognized. He wondered if Brett would be content to remain designing all his years.

They were at the 12th and Blaine intersection. Outside the rundown, paint-peeling apartment house, they got out of the car and Wingate locked it.

As usual, the odor of garbage was strong.

Ascending the worn wooden stairway to the apartment house third floor, Wingate remembered he had told Rollie and May Lou he would identify himself from outside by name and voice. He need not have bothered.

The door he warned them to keep locked was open. Part of the lock was hanging loose where some force - undoubtedly a violent blow - had splintered it.

Leonard Wingate and Brett went in. Only May Lou was inside. She was putting clothes into a cardboard suitcase.

Wingate asked, "Where's Rollie?"

Without looking up, she answered, "Gone."

"Gone where?"

"Some guys come. They took him."

"How long ago?"

"Right after you went, mister." She turned her head. They saw she had been crying.

"Listen," Brett said, "if we get descriptions we can warn the police."

Leonard Wingate shook his head. He knew it was too late. He had a feeling it had been too late from the beginning. He knew, too, what he and Brett DeLosanto were going to do now. They would walk away. As so many in Detroit walked away or, like the priest and Levite, crossed over on the other side.

Brett was silent.

Wingate asked May Lou, "What will you do?"

She closed the cardboard suitcase. "I'll make out."

Brett reached into a pocket. With a gesture, Wingate stopped him. "Let me."

Without counting them, he took what bills he had and pressed them into May Lou's hand. "I'm sorry," he, said. "I guess it doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry."

They went downstairs.

Outside, when they came to the car, its nearside door hung open. The window glass was broken. The two topcoats which had been on the car's back seat were gone.

Leonard Wingate cradled his head in his arms on the car roof. When he looked up, Brett saw his eyes were wet.

"Oh, God!" Wingate said. He raised his arms beseechingly to the black night sky. "Oh, God! This heartless city!"

Rollie Knight's body was never found. He simply disappeared.

"It's your life, not mine," Adam told Brett DeLosanto. "But I wouldn't be a friend if I didn't say that I think you're being hasty, and making an enormous mistake."

It was close to midnight, and the five of them - Adam and Erica, Barbara and Brett, and Leonard Wingate - were in the Country Club Manor apartment.

Brett and Wingate had joined the others half an hour ago, having driven from the inner city. The conversation had been gloomy. When they had exhausted all that could be said about Rollie Knight, Brett announced his intention to leave the automobile industry and to submit a letter of resignation tomorrow.

Adam persisted, "In another five years you could be heading up Design-Styling."

"There was a time," Brett said, "when that was the only dream I had - to be a Harley Earl, or a Bill Mitchell, or Gene Bordinat, or an Elwood Engel.

Don't misunderstand me - I think they've all been great; some are still. But it isn't for me, that's all."

Leonard Wingate said, "There are other reasons, though, aren't there?"

"Yes, there are. I don't think car manufacturers, who do so much long-range planning for themselves, have done more than a thimbleful of planning and service for the community they live in."

Adam objected, "That may have been true once; it isn't any more.

Everything's changed or changing fast. We see it every day - in management attitudes, community responsibility, the kind of cars we're building, relations with government, acknowledgment of consumers. This isn't the same business it was even two or three years ago."

"I'd like to believe it," Brett said, "if only because obviously you do.

But I can't, and I'm not alone. Anyway, from now on I'll be working on the outside."

Erica asked, "What will you do?"

"If you want the truth," Brett told her, "I'll be damned if I know."