“I’m an eclectic kind of guy.” I handed him his drink.
“You a programmer?”
“Was. Actually more of an analyst”
“Gave it all up for this?” He gestured sarcastically around the ugly, broken-down, room.
“You’re a very pleasant guy.”
“No I’m not. Sorry. Okay, let’s get back to Eileen’s predicament. You think you can do something.”
“I figure it’s worth trying.”
“I’ll give you my legal opinion for free. You don’t get that from lawyers very often. Even a pro bono type like me. As long as Eileen was in the system, she was, tacitly, in support of it. Even if she was being litigious, it was still part of what’s considered acceptable. You have to understand that our judge thinks he’s a good man and he’s actually contributing to the common weal.
“So let’s consider how he feels if someone implies that he’s actually a hack, which he is, and that he is handling a very delicate matter like an old dog with an axe to grind, which he is. Now imagine that you’re our judge and people have to listen to you. You also have the law on your side so you’ve never really had to examine the morality of your decisions, at least not for years. Also imagine that you are near retirement and you’re sick of all the complexities of the systems that have conspired to make you doubt yourself over the years. So sick of it that you start to blame anyone who opposes you for simply being perverse. That pretty much describes our judge.”
“I appreciate your honesty. I’ve heard all this before. I hope you don’t mind if I pursue this on my own.”
“Not at all. It’s what I would do.”
He stood up. “I’ve got to go, but give me your number. You never know what might happen. Maybe there is something we can do. I’ll look into it, at least.”
“What makes you such a fighter for lost causes?”
“Let’s just say I had two older siblings who ran with a bad crowd. One day one of my sister’s boyfriends got into an argument with my mother. He pushed her down and kicked her in the ass. My shitty sister just stood there and laughed. It wasn’t the only shit that we had to deal with because of my sisters, but it was enough for me. I vowed that day I would never let anything happen to people I love if I can help it. There are some people who won’t listen to anything short of a gun pointed at them. They think they deserve to be able to do what they want to you, even if they wouldn’t want it done to them.”
I thought of my half hour in the subway. I saw the handbills on all the walls asking, Have you seen this person?
When he left I sat down and finished my drink. I was alone again and my final dreams of accomplishing something had just been dashed in a few minutes with Moskowitz, Esq. I stared into space looking for something to sustain me.
*
I was back in a funk. For the next few weeks I would stumble out of bed in the morning and pile down some artery-clogging new age anathema breakfast food which left me bloated and lethargic. This was usually followed by a nap in front of the TV. I had become very of fond of TV land because it was both mindless and allowed me to entertain the fantasy that I was a kid again. Occasionally I’d go out to dinner and, more often, I’d go to the bar at the Holiday Inn. I’d found that bar was a lot more anonymous then I’d originally thought and I could drink my few drinks there in relative peace. Usually that capped the day, except for those few nights where even alcohol wasn’t enough to put me to sleep. On those nights I’d dream strangely and wake up every hour or so with my body stiff from tension and my hangover doubled in intensity.
The most disturbing part of my new routine was the phone calls. They’d come at various parts of the day; a couple came in the middle of the night which lent more credence to the idea that Benoit had decided to simply harass me. Sometimes I wouldn’t get one for a few days; rather than calming down I’d become more agitated waiting for that particular “shoe” to drop. When the calls came, I’d be wired.
My one healthy ritual was to look at the pile of mail on the floor. Since my first postcard from Boston, I’d received two more. The first one was from Upstate New York, well north of Albany. It showed a picture of an old-fashioned apple doll and the caption read, “The Merkison Crafts Festival, August 1-August 19, 2002”.
The second postcard came from Vermont. This one was from the Selaquechie Inn. It showed a white clapboard building redolent of sap and good Yankee values. Both postcards were like the first; there was no message and my address was written in a strange handwriting. What was even more odd was the fact that the handwriting was different for each card. These last two didn’t have return addresses, unlike the first.
I didn’t know who my strange correspondent was, but it was the only personal mail I received, and I began to look forward to it like a special treat from the world outside. Then I would consider the possibility that it was Benoit sending them and I’d become irrationally angry.
Days went by with no improvement in my state, and I actually began to worry. Once when I was very drunk I heard a voice mumbling the words there’s no reason to get up in the morning. Obviously it was me; I had fallen so far that I was simply babbling, half asleep and half awake. It became hard to tell the difference between the two states.
*
It was a few weeks after my meeting with Moskowitz. I had learned to hate the stink of myself. Alone and in chez Moosehead or in a bar, I was becoming ugly, even to myself. So I went to a movie and, as much as I tried to prevent myself, I decided to have an after-movie nightcap at the bar in the Holiday Inn out on the turnpike. In the end, the night was capped with at least six scotches; when I drove home I was not sloshed, but definitely beyond buzzed.
I’d pulled into my driveway and put the keys in my pocket when the front passenger side window exploded. Instinctively, I covered my face, feeling the tiny pellets of glass rain down around me. A hand reached in, unlocked the door, and hit me in the jaw. Dazed, I heard the driver’s side door open and it seemed to me that someone was pulling me out of the car, none too carefully.
I had the presence of mind to get my feet under me as I stumbled out of the car. Someone lifted me up and pushed me against the side of the car. The door being open, part of me sagged back into the driver’s seat as my head was pushed at an unnatural angle against the roof of the car. I remained still in that position for what seemed like hours.
“I almost have to like you, Dobbs. You remind me of myself in some ways. Persistent, stubborn. I’ve always considered those my best traits.”
I wasn’t certain it was Benoit, but it seemed likely. What I found frightening was the fact that he sounded like he was a few feet away. Which meant that he’d brought help to subdue me and there were two of them. “My neighbors will hear this and come out,” I mumbled.
“Your neighbors aren’t going to do shit. I’ve been watching this block for weeks and I can see that no one comes out of their house unless they’re going somewhere. And besides, you’re in this little patch of woods and we’re too far away from the other houses for anyone to hear the little bit of noise we’re going to make.”
“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.
The Railroad Page 16