The Railroad (19 page)

“Whatever you say.”

“Yeah. That’s right. Whatever I say. Now here’s what’s bothering me. You’ve already stolen my wife and child from me so I’m not happy with you. But I really think you’re taking it too far talking to that hippie lawyer she hired for the custody case bullshit she threw at me. I really don’t like Moskowitz and it makes me even madder that you and he are talking. I don’t want that fuck back in my life! I don’t know what you’re planning, no wait. I want to know! Why don’t you tell me what you’re planning?”

“Helping her out of her problems. Something you should be thinking about, if you had a brain.”

“That’s cute. Do you have a better answer? I’m not going to leave until I get one. And my friend here is impatient. He doesn’t want to wait either. So it would be in your best interest to answer my question.”

I felt my anger growing; I wanted to lash out. Unfortunately, there isn’t much you can do in the way of self-expression when you’re wedged up against a car. “You already know what I’m going to do, Benoit!” I hissed. “You know that she can’t charge you with anything and all that leaves is helping her out. You’re just having a tantrum.”

“But Mike, maybe I don’t want her to be helped out. Yes, I know, she’s done me sort of a favor by running, but basically I think she’s a bitch for taking my only daughter. So, I know she’s suffering out there with the freaks and do-gooders. I want her to go on suffering, number one, and I want her out of my hair, number two. And maybe Moskowitz has something up his sleeve, especially when he has
your
money.”

“What are you afraid of?”

There was a pause, after which a fist drove itself into my stomach. I would have doubled over had my head not been pushed up against the roof of the car. I sagged against the arm that was holding me and gasped for breath.

“That’s my friend’s specialty, Mike. And I think he’s good at it, don’t you?”“

“Fuck you.”

“A predictable answer and I thought I was the crude one. Well I don’t want to waste your time so I’ll repeat what I’d like to have happen. You will not interfere in my affairs, including having any contact with anyone that has anything to do with my wife. It’ll be hard enough for me to find her as it is.”

“She doesn’t want to be found. Why do you think she ran in the first place?”

I could see a smile on his face in the dim light. “Do you really think I care what she wants? When she married me, that priest said
for better or for worse
, didn’t he?”

I thought of a number of choice things to say, but I was getting tired and the pain in my stomach wasn’t making me any braver. Benoit was a pit bull and you don’t try to reason with pit bulls.

I said nothing. After a few seconds, my silence got Benoit’s attention. “I think I asked you a question, Mike.”

“I know you did.”

“And I don’t remember hearing an answer.”

“Why do you need me to agree with you? If you think you’re right, then why bother with this?”

I heard him breathing hard; he said nothing. As time went by, it seemed to me that somehow I’d confused him, like some 1960s SciFi computer that has just digested facts that don’t compute.

Just as I began to imagine that maybe he’d gotten tired of his game and would let me go, I heard him shuffle closer. Then there was a sudden explosion as my head was pulled up by the hair and then pushed down onto the roof of the car. There was a ringing in my ears and a rushing sound. I thought I heard some laughter and shouting, though I couldn’t be sure.

Some time must have gone by, or so my inner clock told me. The next thing I was pretty well aware of was the feeling of some liquid striking my face. It smelled like iced tea. Someone was poking me which triggered awareness of my surroundings.

“Don’t go to sleep on me, Mikey. I have some questions I want answered.”

My mind was sluggish. I was trying to formulate a response when the world lit up. I saw Benoit, his eyes wide, staring over my shoulder. I saw the outline of a man below me, obviously the person who was holding me up. I heard car doors slam and the sound of running feet. The flashing red of a police car washed over everything.

“Put him down on the ground, gently!”

I felt myself being lowered. “Now back away!” the voice continued. I saw shapes cross my field of vision. Benoit and his friend were hustled over to some trees on my property and searched. I saw the outline of guns. I sat on the ground, half in, half out of consciousness. In some distant corner of my mind I knew that Benoit and his friend were being taken away to a police car. I wondered if something was expected of me by the police; it seemed silly of me to just be sitting there for so long.

I finally pulled myself up with a lot of effort. Standing upright didn’t seem to be possible so I leaned heavily against the side of my car, much the way I had when Benoit was lecturing me. Then I decided that I had to get into my house so I began stumbling from one support to another on my way to the front door.

“Hey!” someone shouted. I flinched, expecting the worst, but in the end it was a cop calling me. I grasped the wall, barely keeping myself up.

“You need to go to a hospital. You might have a concussion.”

“I’m fine,” I mumbled.

“I’ve heard people who sounded that way before and they were never fine. I’m going to call another car to take you to the hospital. I don’t think you want to sit in back with those guys.” He put a hand under my arm.

“I don’t think so.”

He led me to the porch and sat me in one of my beat up lawn chairs. Then he went back to his cruiser and called for another car. I felt myself slip into a stupor while his words drifted around me. I felt warm and pleasant which made me wonder distantly if I had a concussion. Ten minutes later he was leading me down the driveway, slowly. We passed the car where Benoit was. He glared at me out of the window.

“You know that you need to keep quiet, Mike. Don’t you."

The cop leading me snorted. “We saw your friend smashing him up against a car. He’s got a big bruise on the side of his face. Do you think we need him to confirm what happened?”

Benoit’s face became crimson as he turned away.

*

I did have a mild concussion. They released me the next morning and I went over to the police station to make a statement. I asked for the policeman who had helped me the night before and, to my surprise, he didn’t seem hostile towards me at all. I would have bet that Wills would have filled him in about me.

I figured out why as I walked past Wills’ desk on my way to make my statement. He didn’t know anything about what had happened the night before and he looked shocked. I smirked at him and walked on.

I felt queasy and a little disoriented from the pain pills they’d given me. I stopped at a diner thinking that food would do me some good. I ordered chicken soup and a couple of English muffins and ate very slowly waiting for my stomach to complain and make me more nauseated. In the end I felt slightly better.

I drove back through the Sunday morning traffic, filled with church-goers and parents taking their kids to their ball games or perhaps on some kind of family outing. I felt strangely focused and took in all of that close family feeling. I thought briefly of my disgust at suburbia my first day in my new life in Bardstown and I felt ashamed. I was lonely and here was the answer, far out of my grasp.

It was about 1:00 when I drove down my block. On the way I noticed a few of my neighbors standing around and talking. They stared at me as I drove by and their eyes told me that I’d become a local celebrity in a short time.

One of them came up to me as I locked the car. I’d seen him a few times and we had gotten to the point where we’d nod to each other if we happened to meet. I doubted he’d ever been over to my house for all the years I’d been coming up on the weekends.

“Hi,” he said lamely.

I nodded my hello as I tried to size up his intentions. It was obvious that he was a little leery of me with all my bruises and the blood on my shirt. I thought for a second that he might have come to see me representing the neighborhood morality squad with a strong suggestion that I move out. At the moment it seemed to make sense; I don’t think I’d ever been popular in the neighborhood and my little dance with Benoit could have been the excuse they needed.

He paused, not sure how to go on. “I just wanted to see how you were after last night. We were worried.” He gestured at the neighborhood posse who were watching us from his lawn. “That was horrible. I don’t think anything like that has ever happened on this block. It’s pretty quiet here.”

His eyes searched me; the implication was clear:
you never fit in from the first. We never really trusted you and now you’re doing what we expected you’d be doing sooner or later. Bringing us trouble.

I nodded briskly. “That’s why I moved here. Working on Wall Street for years I needed some quiet.”

“I can see that,” he answered. I figured he was wondering if I was in the mob or something similar. “Well we just wanted to know if you’re okay.”

“I appreciate the concern, and thanks to whichever of you called the police.”

“Well, actually we were wondering about that. No one on this block called the cops.”

“I figured it was you or the Gracellis. No one else can really see my front lawn.”

“Sorry. It’s a small dead end block. Everyone knows everyone else here. We asked around. No one here called the cops.”

“Okay. Well, thanks for your concern.”

“Sure thing. We’ll be watching. Just in case something happens again. Wouldn’t want to have anything happen to you.”

I got his meaning:
If you’re not going to tell us what happened and why, we’ll be watching you to see that you behave.

I pretended I didn’t get it. “Well thanks. I didn’t expect to be mugged in this neighborhood. I guess we all have to look out for each other.”

His eyes told me he didn’t believe me. “Okay. You be careful.”

“I will.”

*

Felice Hammon is watching Bambi with her son, Jeffrey. In the past few minutes, she has come to regret her choice of movie. It’s been years since she’s seen the movie and had rented it only because she thought that it didn’t contain any upsetting topics, something her son doesn’t need at the moment.

Now she remembers that Bambi is full of tragedy and she wonders if Jeffrey will react badly. There was a time when she could take him to see the worst horror film and he would simply laugh. Now, it didn’t take much to upset him.

Felice sips wine as she watches. Living on a farm in an isolated stretch of woods has always gotten on her nerves, but tonight she is especially on edge. She hopes the speed of her drinking won’t set of any alarm bells in her son’s head.

As she is pouring yet another glass, she hears a pop. As she turns, she is graced by the horrifying sight of her back door being pushed open. She jumps up from the couch, brandishing the wine bottle. Wine slops from the open bottle and splashes the couch and her son.

A man walks in through the open door and stares quizzically at the bottle. Then he shakes his head and smiles thinly. Felice and the man study each other for a few moments. Then the man walks forward.

“Time to go,” he tells her.

Jeffrey has been watching them, hands clenched on the back of the white leather couch they’ve been sitting on. “Who is he, Mommy?”

“No one, honey. Everything will be fine.”

The boy continues to stare, but remains silent. The man moves forward again and grabs Felice’s wrist. He guides her firmly to the couch, prompting Jeffrey to slide to the floor. “What is he doing, Mommy?” he shrieks.

“It’s okay!” Felice answers, trying to keep her voice even as she’s pulled forward.

The man pulls a scalpel from his pocket and neatly slices the end of Felice’s index finger. She gasps, staring dumbly at the blood that begins to drip from her finger. After a few seconds the man pulls her down to her knees and begins to write in blood on the back of the white couch.

When he’s done he pulls Felice up to her feet. Another man enters the room and begins to guide Jeffrey out of the house. She pulls away from her captor and goes to her son.

“Let me take him!” she tells the man who holds Jeffrey. He grunts and lets go of the boy.

Jeffrey leans towards his mother as they leave the house. Through his terror, he notices what’s been written on the back of the couch:4-5-1.

*

I mulled over the mystery of my unknown benefactor for a couple of hours. Someone had called the police, but no one but the people on my block could have seen or heard what had happened. My house was set back in some trees at the end of the block and no one had a good view of my property.

I shrugged it off in the end; someone might have made it their hobby to watch me; there were a lot of bored people on that block. Obviously someone had called the cops so somehow someone must have been able to see what happened. Not worth the effort of wondering about it.

A couple of days later, the doorbell rang. It was about 2:15 and I’d only been up for a couple of hours, which wasn't quite true either, because I was taking my first nap of the day. I still wasn’t feeling quite stellar after my workout with Benoit and company.