The Railroad

by Neil Douglas Newton

  Dennis raised his glass to me as I sat down and took my first sip. “Do you want to tell us your story now or do it over dinner? Barbara told me you want to eat.”

  “I do. I want to go over to Sharp’s and have a hamburger, but I want to tell you what’s happened before we go. I’ll feel too exposed outside.”

  “Was it that bad?” Barbara asked, the color draining from her face.

  “Yes, and…well you’re not going to like some of it. I guess I should just tell you. Dennis has heard some of it.”

  I took another gulp and then launched into the story, fearing that I’d lose my nerve if I waited. Once it started to come out, it became easy. I spoke for close to an hour, leaving out very little. I winced as I described the nature of my relationship with Eileen, knowing that Barbara’s guts would be boiling. Whatever the result, I had to purge Bardstown from my soul.

  When I’d finished, I stood up and went to make myself another drink. There was silence in the room and I could feel their eyes on my back. I felt weak and drained. I sat down again, with my new drink, feeling somewhat vulnerable and embarrassed.

  Dennis blew out his cheeks. “That is really fucked up, Alfalfa.”

  I laughed. “Thank you for cheering me up.”

  Barbara grunted and we turned to her. “I thought I’d never hear Alfalfa again.”

  Our code had always driven Barbara crazy; it had been another thing she couldn’t control. After all I’d been through, her pettiness pissed me off. “Come on Barbara,” I said. “That’s the past.”

  She looked stricken. I’d just implied that we’d never have a relationship again, and I realized that that was exactly how I felt.

  Dennis changed the subject. “There isn’t much else to say, I guess. Except it’s good you’re out of there. What do you plan to do?”

  “Stay here for a while. Find myself a place to live. Then go back with some friends and a truck and get everything I own out of that house. I’ll let a realtor sell it then.” I paused; until that second I hadn’t know that those were my intentions. It seemed to make sense once I’d said it.

  “You’re coming back?” Barbara stammered.

  “It looks that way.”

  In the end we went to the City View; Sharp's seemed a little too high powered for my frayed nerves, as well as my dwindling bank account. I had a feeling it was my friends' way of letting me know that they knew my funds would be tight. Realistically, a dinner at any of our old favorites wouldn’t have killed me. But being back at the City View with friends was just like old times and much better for the soul than the expensive Duck Pad Thai at Fusion Palace or a $15 hamburger at Sharp's.

  I was home.

  Yet despite her controlling streak, Barbara turned out to be a big help. I spent the next day just relaxing in Dennis’s apartment and wandered around the City some more. But the next morning, she had me up and out at 7:00, armed with the New York Times real estate section. After seeing rents of $1700 for a one bedroom, I knew I’d have to think about what my budget would be for the next year or so. It wasn’t clear that I’d be able to find a job; things were tight in New York and they didn’t seem to show any signs of getting better. Queens was looking better and better, rent-wise, but it would take me out of my old comfortable neighborhood and it would add up to an hour a day in commuting. I’d been spoiled when I was riding high; now I had to think about practicalities.

  One thing that buoyed my spirits was the lack of scars from 9/11. I hadn’t gotten the nerve to go downtown yet, where I heard they were still cleaning up Ground Zero. But Chelsea and most of New York seemed to show no signs of wear.

  Well, almost no signs. Maybe it was my paranoia, but I seemed to notice something in people’s eyes. Not quite fear, but a sort of resignation and a bit of despair. There were times when I’d be standing at a light, waiting to cross, and I’d be sure I’d see it in the eyes of someone standing next to me, looking off across the street. Then I’d examine my reactions carefully, and it would fade away, making me wonder what I’d seen.

  Other people told me they’d seen it as well. Sometimes an odd jolt in the subway, or a loud sound on the street, would make people stop and jerk toward the source of the noise, their eyes glazed and filled with a kind of dread. One time I saw a woman who’d stumbled across an old ’Have you seen this person’ flyer, something that must have been stuck to the bottom of a park bench for months and just been freed by some stray gust of wind, crying and holding herself.

  But mostly, Manhattan, in its inevitable style, had covered up its scars and moved on. I had heard that Jerry Seinfeld had said that New York was the best place to take on a disaster like 9/11 because we “weren’t a bunch of candy-asses”. What I saw made me agree.

  I became lazy for a couple of weeks. I did my best to try to revive my old lifestyle: dinner out every night, going to my old bars, and on and on. Dennis kept up with me and he seemed happy that things were the way they were, at least for a while.

  I’d been stressed out for months and hadn’t realized it how bad it was until I spent a few days outside of Bardstown. Being back in the City felt like the end of a long nightmare; I was finally able to put the dream aside. Eventually I started to get tired of what I was beginning to consider a step backwards. A few more weeks of being Mike the Yuppie and I’d be just as bored and disgusted as I was months back. I couldn’t go home again.

  So about two and half weeks after I’d come home, I started looking for apartments in earnest. I started in Manhattan, but the rents had gotten worse, if anything. Near to where I used to live, there were at least six new luxury high-rises in what had been a mostly industrial loft neighborhood. I was looking at $3000 a month for a two bedroom. Despite the fact that I was still pretty well off, the prices stuck in my craw; I knew I’d go through my savings in no time.

  After two days of Manhattan, I finally bit the bullet and considered what every good Manhattan yuppie dreads: the idea of living out in the boroughs. Queens had always seemed a decent place to me: relatively near the City with some decent neighborhoods. I woke up one morning and looked in the paper, but found myself to be too lethargic to go out and look. The next day I got myself out to Queens only to find a bunch of roach-infested dives on one end of the spectrum, and overpriced condos on the other end.

  It went like that for a couple of more days. Then I took a four day vacation from looking. Dennis didn’t seem to mind.

  The fifth morning I went out to Queens again and looked at some more apartments. The first looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since before I left New York and cost a staggering $1400 per month. There was also mention of key money, an illegal greasing of palms that guaranteed you getting the apartment. I’d heard about such things before, but in my previous incarnation in Manhattan it had never come up; high rent properties like the kind I lived in never required key money. The landlords were always well-dressed and managed to steal their money with a smile.

  I found one possibility for $1200 a month, owned by the proverbial Queens old lady with an apartment she’d created in her house. She seemed to like me and I got the distinct impression that she was more interested in finding a good tenant than in gouging for the highest rent she could get. She told me she’d hold it for me for a couple of days and I assured her I’d let her know before then. I knew it would be gone if I wasn’t proactive, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to make the jump to Queens just then.

  I was walking into the lobby of Dennis’s apartment, feeling somewhat discouraged, when three men detached themselves from the crowd on the sidewalk and surrounded me. A badge was flashed and, with a sinking feeling, I recognized Wills as the one flashing the badge. I got the impression that the other two were City cops helping him arrest me out of his jurisdiction.

  I felt anger bubble up inside of me. “This had better be really good. If you think you can let Benoit’s influence extend here, you are really in trouble.”

  He blinked a moment, clearly uncomfortable. Then he spoke the
last words I would have ever considered hearing him say. “Michael Dobbs, you’re under arrest for the murder of Robert Benoit. You have the right to remain silent.”

  How odd to hear those familiar words spoken to me. It occurred to me in passing, that the Bardstown nightmare was following me back to my real home and that, somehow, once I’d tainted myself, it would never go away. Then it hit me that Bob Benoit was dead. After that I was too confused to think much. “Can I call my lawyer?” I asked.

  One of the City cops answered. “Once we get you to the precinct.”

  I just nodded, numbly, watching the passersby stare at me in open curiosity. Certainly, I thought through the sludge in my brain, they had seen enough arrests in Manhattan not to be shocked.

  I allowed myself to be handcuffed and put in a police car. Just like in the movies, they pushed my head down before I sat. Wills refused to look at me during the whole ride. I wondered if he had been forced to make this arrest when he must have thought that I was clearly innocent. In the precinct, I had my possessions taken; I was processed and brought to a room for questioning. I had enough presence of mind to tell them that they should let me contact my lawyer immediately. Dennis told me he’d come down as soon as he could, dropping whatever important work he was in the middle of. There was a pang of guilt as I realized that it could cause him some trouble at his job.

  All that became secondary. Wills walked in and gestured for me to get up. “We’re leaving.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “This crime was in my jurisdiction.”

  “So we’re going back there?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “You have no right to hustle me around like that. I’ve just called a lawyer. It’s my right to have a lawyer present at questioning.”

  He shrugged. “You can leave him a message and he can come up to Targersville. We’ll question you there.”

  I felt helpless and I didn’t care who I pissed off. “I’m going to sue the shit out of you, your department and the whole county!”

  He shrugged again. “I’m doing what I’m told.”

  “This is disgusting.”

  “We’re going whether you like it or not.”

  They let me stop to call Dennis one more time. I knew he’d get to the precinct in Manhattan and find me gone. All I got was his voicemail; I only hoped he’d call his office for messages.

  As they hustled me out, I saw the NYPD cops who’d helped arrest me; they were looking the other way and looking decidedly uncomfortable. A car was waiting for us out on the street. Wills nodded at the driver and then repeated the whole holding the head ritual. I sat, steaming, in the back, for an hour and a half, planning the types of trouble I’d be causing.

  I felt like I was in a bad dream, the type where you get to go on summer vacation and for some unspoken reason, they make you come back to school. I had escaped and now I was being dragged back into their muck, their sickness.

  They left me alone in a room for about forty minutes. I figured it was stock police tactics to make me sweat. Alone with my thoughts, I was able to focus on something beyond my anger. I had to admit that a dead Bob Benoit made me very happy. A horrible thought, but that was how I felt. Yet his death opened up a whole new collection of unpleasant possibilities. If he was dead, who had killed him? Was that person interested in me? None of this seemed simple enough for me to take at face value; there was always some dark corner where I hadn’t looked.

  Wills finally came back with another man. It took me a second to recognize him. “You know Lieutenant Chasen."

  To my eyes, Chasen seemed downright nervous. “Why was I brought all the way up here?” I asked, blustering.

  Chasen eyed me as if he was sizing up a possible opponent. “The crime was committed in this jurisdiction. This is where you’ll be processed.”

  We sat in uncomfortable silence for a while. I had expected them to go into the movie version of interrogation; firing questions at me. “I hope my lawyer knows where I am,” I prodded.

  “You left a message,” Wills said and then the two sat down on the opposite side of the table from me. “Can you tell us where you were two nights ago, about 10:00?"

  “In the Shamrock bar on 23rd Street.”

  “Can anyone prove that you were there?”

  “No. I didn’t talk to anyone. Though the bartender will probably remember me.”

  “And when did you get back to your friend’s apartment?”

  “Around 11.”

  “Where were you before the bar?”

  “The City View Diner. In that case, I can give you witnesses to say I was there till around 9:30.

  “So you got back to your friend’s apartment around 11?”

  “I told you that. Dennis can tell you I was there at 11. I remember we watched the news.”

  The two looked at each other. “I guess we’ll have everyone’s statements.”

  “You guess? You should have gotten them when we were in New York.”

  “That’s not the way we do things,” Chasen chimed in.

  I gaped at them. “I think I’ll wait for my lawyer.”

  Wills looked at the table. Chasen seemed to wind up suddenly. “You can do that. But I know for a fact that you could have driven up here in 45 minutes at that time of night and driven back by 11.”

  “Very good! Maybe I could have sent him poison through the mail.”

  Wills looked pained. “He was shot,” he told me.

  “Oh so I shot him?”

  “It’s easy to get a throw away gun in New York.”

  “Why do you think I killed him anyway?”

  Chasen puffed up, ready to kill. “Now we have that covered. You hated him and you were harassing him. You accused him of horrible things and you have reason to believe that he broke into your house.”

  “Oh, you admit that he might have done that? Why didn’t you investigate him?”

  He glared at me. “It was your claim that he broke into your house.”

  “Whatever. You don’t have any reason to believe I would have killed Benoit. I consider this harassment.”

  “Well, irregardless-” He looked at me strangely. “Why did you just wince?”

  “I don’t think you want to know.”

  “Well I do.”

  “Is this part of the interrogation?”

  “I’m trained to take note of every reaction from a suspect. Why did you wince?”

  “Because the word irregardless isn’t really a word.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s get on with this. In fact, where is my lawyer?”

  He went on like he hadn’t heard me. “He also tried to attack you on your front porch.”

  “Which you did nothing about.”

  “You have a clear motive.”

  “I’ll admit that. Can you arrest me on that?”

  “Don’t get smart with me! I can arrest anyone I want if I think they killed someone.”

  “I’m waiting for my lawyer.”

  “It’ll be a lot easier if you simply tell us what you did. I have all day, and all night if necessary.”

  We spent the next four and a half hours going over the same ground. Where was I two nights ago? Where did I get a gun? Why did I kill Benoit? Did I know where Eileen and Megan were?

  I’ll admit that I was starting to get a little antsy and I started wondering how long I’d be able to put up with it. I had expressed my desire to go to the bathroom three times and had been ignored. Both men had upped the ante by bringing in drinks and making a show of slowly sipping them. I was thirsty, agitated, and I had to pee. A couple of times I felt myself starting to slip. At one point I lashed out, telling them that I would have loved to have seen Benoit dead, but I didn’t kill him. Silently I admonished myself and told myself I couldn’t let them win for both my sake and Eileen’s.

  I was mindlessly mouthing the details of my activities that evening for perhaps the twentieth time when there was a knock on the door. Both cops we
nt to the door; Wills opened it and they both looked out into the hall. For a moment I suspected that they were bringing in some real goons to scare me, but the confused look on the two policemen’s faces convinced me otherwise.

  Chasen opened the a little bit wider and I heard someone say, “His lawyer’s here.” This brought another round of confused looks. I began to wonder if anyone had really told Dennis where I was.

  The last person I’d expected to see walked in.

  Moskowitz smiled his patented 200 watt smile at me and then turned to do his magic on Targersville’s finest. “Hello Gentlemen. I heard that my client is here. So I came for the party.”

  Wills gritted his teeth. “You’re not his lawyer. His lawyer is in Manhattan."

  “Technically,yes. Actually, Mike has consulted me a number of times on legal matters. Isn’t that true, Mike?”

  I eyed him suspiciously. “True,” was all I said.

  “Okay,” Moskowitz said, rubbing his hands. “You have no murder weapon to start with. You have nothing placing my client at the scene of the crime. From what I hear he was in Manhattan for the past four days. Now how do we have a case here?”

  Chasen bounced up. “We’re going to get a warrant to search his place to see about his gun. In fact I think it’s about to be delivered here.”

  Moskowitz shook his head. “I’ve looked at the police report. Now you can do what you want, but I can save you the trouble. Benoit was killed with a 9 millimeter. Mike doesn’t own a gun.”

  “So he could have bought one.”

  “As I said, go ahead if you want to, but you won’t find any gun there. Now what makes you think he committed this crime?”

  “He’s been harassing Benoit. He thinks that Benoit is one of the Chapter and Verse Killers. He has lots of motive.”

  “I’ve said that I wanted to kill a lot of people when I’ve been drunk. Not conclusive enough.”

  “He had more than enough time to drive up here and shoot Benoit and then get back to the City in time to meet his friend.”

  “Uh…what car did he use?”

  “He has a car. We found out he drove it to Manhattan.”