NOT AN AMERICAN

by Stanley W Rogouski

  "Jesus Christ," Muffley said. "That old fucker was right."

  “Quiet," she said, putting her fingers up to her lips. "Be quiet."

  Cathy Chegoffgan unbuckled Muffley's belt and removed his pants, Avellanos keeping his arm locked around his neck. She took off Muffley's jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, which she threw to the ground next to the pants, and took off his underwear and socks before she nodded to Avellanos, who let Muffley go, and quickly dashed outside. He wrenched Muffley back into the headlock, and, together, he and Cathy Chegoffgan managed to shove him into the cell and slam the door behind him.

  "So which one of you killed Quinn?" he said, still disoriented, "or was it Sedgwick after all?"

  "I did," Avellanos said.

  "Don't listen to him," she said. "I did, but it was in self-defense. He was choking me."

  "He was choking her," Avellanos said, "but I surprised him."

  "Shut up and take off your orange jumpsuit," she said to Avellanos.

  Avellanos walked over and picked up Muffley's pants.

  "32 inseam, size 12 shoes," he said, dropping the pants and taking off the orange jumpsuit. "And it fits almost perfectly," he added, putting on Muffley's shirt.

  Cathy Chegoffgan pushed the orange jumpsuit and the prison shoes through the bars.

  "You're never going to get away," Muffley said. "You're only down here because I wanted you here. Michael told me to figure out whether or not you were really dead, and now I've done it. Now let's go upstairs and tell everybody the truth. I can help you. The mayor knows Steve Quinn was an unbalanced thug. I believe you. It was self-defense, whichever one of you did it. You went into a fugue state," he said to Avellanos. "It happens during moments of extreme stress. I don't think the mayor blames you for holding him hostage. Please, let me help you. It's your only chance."

  "You're a very snappy dresser," Avellanos said, slipping into Muffley's shoes after putting on his pants. "What would the odds be that we'd both be almost the same size?"

  Avellanos reached down, gathered up Muffley's sport jacket, put the cashmere scarf with the monogrammed initials "RC" in his pocket, then put on the jacket, pleased that it fit so well. He turned around. Cathy Chegoffgan put her arms around him. He picked her up off the ground as they hugged each other, and pressing their foreheads together when he set her back down.

  "Don't ever leave me like that again," she said.

  "I'll do whatever I have to do to save your life," he said.

  "That only left me wandering around alone with my guilt."

  "Do you see," Avellanos said, turning to Muffley. "If she had killed Steve Quinn, do you honestly believe she would have risked her life to scam her way inside this jail?"

  She took his chin in her hand and turned his head towards here.

  "Look at me," she said. "Don't look at him."

  "This isn't a movie," Muffley said. "Let me help both of you. Whichever one of you killed Steve Quinn, the worst either of you are going to get is manslaughter. A good lawyer will have you both out before you're 30. Neither of you is getting out of this building past two police officers. They'll shoot you dead. At best, you'll both be back down here in an hour."

  "No we won't," she said, taking out her keys and waving them in front of Muffley. "Remember these?"

  "You just heard me, didn't you?" he said. "Michael knows you're still alive. They have cops looking for you right now."

  "Don't listen to him," she said to Avellanos. "It's pure chaos outside."

  "Put the orange jump suit on," Avellanos said, turning to Muffley.

  "Or don't," Cathy Chegoffgan said. "I can lock you to the bars naked if you want."

  Muffley put on the jumpsuit.

  "Move to the left, my left your right of the cell," she said, pointing the gun at Muffley, "and hold your hands through the bars."

  Muffley held out his hands, so confident, it appeared that both of them were shortly going to be caught that he didn't think it was worth taking any risks. Cathy Chegoffgan handcuffed him to the bars and motioned for Avellanos to wait. She took Muffley's keys, crossed herself and tried each one until she found the one that worked. She walked up the stairs. A few minutes later, she came back down with Donahue at gunpoint, cursing at the top of his lungs. After she searched him, and relieved of his ID, cell phone, gun and handcuffs, she opened the door and Avellanos shoved him into the cell along with Muffley. She walked over and took off Muffley's handcuffs.

  "I'm sorry Pete," Donahue said to Muffley. "She got the drop on me. Who the hell are you?" he added to Cathy Chegoffgan.

  "That is Miss Cathleen Mary Chegoffgan," Muffley said. "You've seen her photo all over Poison Springs."

  "Oh shit," Donahue said.

  "You might be here for a while," she said. "Just to let both of you know. I only killed Quinn in self-defense."

  "She's lying," Avellanos said.

  "I killed him because he had his hands around my neck. He was choking me," she said. "If I were a big strong guy like this," she added, walking over to Avellanos. "I could have thrown him off me. I only killed him because I'm a weak little girl and I couldn't throw him off. Don't believe anything he says."

  "She's lying," Avellanos said. "I caught Steve Quinn choking the woman I love. I pulled him off and spun him around but he started choking me. I couldn't push him off so I had to stab him in the neck."

  "So you did it?" Muffley said.

  "I did it,' Avellanos said.

  "I did it," Cathy Chegoffgan said. "You know Steve Quinn. Who do you think he'd pin down to her own bed?"

  "She's lying," Avellanos said.

  "I'm Spartacus. I'm Spartacus. I'm Spartacus," Muffley said. "This is all so fucking noble, but it's still not going to get you and your boyfriend off the hook. Let's talk. Play ball with me and I put you both into witness protection. You'll both get new identities."

  Avellanos laughed bitterly.

  "Nobody's ever taking my real name away, ever again," he said.

  "I can very easily set it up to make it look like Sedgwick did it," Muffley said. "Both of you go into witness protection to protect you from his friends. You're going to go upstairs and get shot. Look. The fact that you were able to scam your way past my security arrangements confirms to me that you're too valuable to waste," he said to Cathy Chegoffgan. "Only a genius could have done that. Put yourself in my care, and you both go free. I can use you. I can get you jobs. I make you both very comfortable. Play ball with me. You can get married and live happily ever after."

  "Honestly Peter. The only reason I was able to scam my way past your guards is because you're a fucking idiot."

  "That's true," Avellanos said. "We're both free because of your incompetence. Do you expect either of us to stake our freedom on your competence?"

  Cathy Chegoffgan reached into her pocket and took out a bag of trail mix and two candy bars. She put them inside the cell. Then looked at Donahue.

  "Officer Donahue," she said. "Here's some food. You both may be here awhile. I apologize for holding you at gunpoint. You're an innocent man. You could have grabbed my arm. There was no chance I would have shot you. He's a bad guy," she added, looking over at Muffley and raising her voice to a scream. "All I wanted to do was age out of community service and get on with my life. That's all I wanted to do. But this fucking bastard wouldn't let me. He threatened to put my mother in jail. Now I have to wait until I get out of town to tell her I'm still alive. He tried to frame me as some kind of terrorist. But I don't want you to starve. You didn't do anything to me. I have no right to lock you up. You could be my father. I'm sorry."

  Avellanos put his arm around her.

  "Let's go," he said. "George Kozlowski will tell your mom you're still alive."

  "I hope so," she said. "I'm pretty sure George hates us both by now."

  They opened the door, and walked up the first flight of stairs to the security desk.

  "You're never going to get away," Muffley said, shouting out after them when they were g
one. "You'll never get away."

  "Peter," Donahue said. "Just shut the fuck up."

  Chapter 54 - J’accuse

  George Kozlowski pushed his way through the crowd in front of City Hall to the media trucks on Reagan Plaza West. Not able to find anybody who would listen to his story, and told that most of the reporters were at a press conference, he pushed his way across the west lawn, past the pump house and the war memorial, getting repeatedly bumped and jostled as he walked. Along the way he noticed brutal caricatures of Elizabeth Felton, who, though largely forgotten in the cacophony of hate directed against her cousin, was still present as an object of derision. There was a group of men in a circle, pissing on a poster of John Avellanos. Michael Catalinelli fared little better. Kozlowski noticed one of his campaign posters leaning up against a tree with the words "pussy, faggot, appeaser" scrawled over his face with a magic marker. Even a few of the posters of the 11 year old Cathy Chegoffgan, in most cases so carefully and so reverentially displayed, had been kicked through or mutilated.

  When he cleared the west gate and walked back onto the north to south traverse, Kozlowski shoved himself the rest of the way to the fountain circle, where noticed a group of newspaper and TV reporters breaking down their equipment, putting away their cameras, and preparing to leave. He immediately recognized Mary Chegoffgan, who was standing next to Dan Grossinger. Mary, who leaned her head against Grossinger's arm, still had the American flag draped over her shoulders from the day before, her thick reddish blond hair falling down onto the red and white stripes. She looked composed and focused, a strikingly attractive figure who looked remarkably like a 40-something version of the "murdered" little girl on the posters. Kozlowski, seeing his best chance to spread the truth about Cathy Chegoffgan, desperately shoved his way through the crowd in order to reach the fountain circle before all of the newspaper and TV reporters left, but he was brutally pushed back.

  "Don't fucking shove me asshole," a man in the crowd said, "or I'll fucking drop you."

  "Excuse me asshole," Kozlowski said, looking around for another opening, finding one and attempting to dash through before it too closed up.

  "Get back faggot," he was told.

  Dan Grossinger, who held a bullhorn by his side, paused to look around. Three America's Guard members, all large men in their late 20s or early 30s, noticed his hesitation. They started to clear more space around him and Mary Chegoffgan, shoving the people in the first row further back into the crowd. They, in turn, shoved people behind them, who, in turn, shoved people even further back, including Kozlowski, who just became angrier.

  "You'd better watch it," Kozlowski said, punching the man in front of him in the kidney.

  The man, swinging around violently, simultaneously hit Kozlowski in the face with his elbow pointed to the holster strapped to his chest.

  "You're lucky you're still alive asshole."

  "You're lucky you're still alive," Kozlowski said, pounding the side of his body, then lifting up his jacket to show his own gun, before taking another swing.

  The man blocked the punch but made no move for his gun. Kozlowski felt another punch glance off the back of his head from behind, then another, then another. He wisely decided to fade into the crowd and continue his quest to get closer to Mary Chegoffgan.

  "Jesus Christ get out of the fucking way," he growled as he shoved his way further into the crowd. "I've been robbed and that woman's daughter did it."

  Finally, through sheer tenacity and what seemed the willingness to anger everybody in the whole crowd, Kozlowski found a coveted spot in the first row. Everybody behind him seethed. At that moment, in that little part of the crowd, he was probably more hated than John Avellanos, but he didn't care. He waived to Mary Chegoffgan, more out of a need to get her to notice him than out of any sense that he was happy to see her, but she did not acknowledge his salutation. After a sufficient amount of room had been cleared around them, Grossinger raised the bullhorn to his mouth.

  "I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America," he began, putting his right hand on his heart, "and to the republic for which it stands, one nation, under God," he continued, shouting the word God at the top of his lungs, "with liberty and justice for all."

  After he finished saying "the pledge," Grossinger paused to let the cheers subside. Then he introduced Mary Chegoffgan, and put his hand on her shoulder. Kozlowski was struck by the change. The unhappy, socially isolated woman was now the center of attention. With her tall stature and her pale skin, she almost appeared to be a grief stricken marble statue. The clumsy manner of her speech seemed to add, rather than distract from her striking appearance. 10 years before, in the aftermath of her husband's death, Mary Chegoffgan had never spoke to the press. Whether she had stewed for 10 years in her regret for not having spoken publicly, or whether her outrage over the idea that she had now lost her daughter as well as her husband had awakened in her the will, finally, to be heard. Even though she was a poor speaker, Mary Chegoffgan seemed to hold the crowd spellbound.

  "My daughter was never given a chance to live," she said to the appalled cheers of the people around her. "My daughter was a blossom that was chopped off before she got a chance to open up and bloom. My daughter was the kindest, most trusting, most naive girl in the world," she continued, still wrapped in the flag, pulling it tighter around her shoulders with Grossinger looking on at her side. "My daughter was only a small town girl. She was no match for the clever fiend who charmed her, who took her, who seduced her, and who killed her. Whatever you want to say about Michael Catalinelli, he warned us. He told us what would happen if we didn't love our country and defend our borders. He told us we were being invaded."

  She paused to listen to the applause but, instead, heard Kozlowski, who, after hearing that the young woman who had just robbed him of 35,000 worth of gold was a "the kindest, most trusting, most naive girl in the word," started to heckle her.

  "Liar," he said. "Liar."

  Grossinger took the bullhorn from Mary Chegoffgan and addressed Kozlowski.

  "It seems we have a dissenting opinion," he said. "Well sir, I disagree with everything you say but I will defend to the death your right to say it."

  Grossinger handed Kozlowski the bullhorn.

  "Sir," he said. "Speak. Hold forth. Let us confront your skepticism. We are not afraid."

  Chapter 55 - The Overground Railroad

  Cathy Chegoffgan and John Avellanos walked up the second staircase, made a left turn in front of the Archives, and continued on to the heavy reinforced steel door that led outside to Reagan Plaza South. A worried look came over Avellanos as he noticed how thick and how securely locked it was. She pulled out the keys that Muffley had given her and crossed herself. She took a deep breath. Then she put the key inside the lock and turned it to the right, almost fainting into his arms when the door opened and there was no alarm. She took his hand in hers, and they walked up the long, curved winding staircase made out of stone, looking at the light above, pausing for a kiss before they pushed on to the top, almost certain, it seemed, to judge by the expression on their faces, that they would meet a phalanx of police officers at the very top. When they emerged out onto the sidewalk alongside Reagan Plaza South, however, they could hardly believe their eyes. All they saw were a few scattered America's Guard members and a few dozen people who were very obviously not police officers, and they were greeted, not with a hail of gunfire, but with a few brief stares before they quickly faded into the crowd.

  The tall, well dressed young man and the beautiful young nun made their way up Reagan Plaza West through the surging mass of people around city hall, which was growing ever thicker with a seemingly endless supply of right wing demonstrators. They crossed Reagan Plaza North and continued for three blocks until they came to the comparatively empty street that ran alongside the Amtrak line. They looked around. Seeing nobody, the young woman stripped off her habit and robe, revealing herself to be, not a beautiful young nun, but a beautiful
young woman with short brown hair wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that displayed, on the front, an anarchy symbol, and, on the back, the slogan "stitches for snitches." She took the watery blue contact lenses out of her eyes and put them in a small plastic case, revealing the natural color of her eyes to be brown. All at once she seemed to regain her youth and sexuality. She threw her arms around the young man's neck and her legs around his waist. He swung her around several times in a circle, and let her drop back down to the sidewalk. For a moment, they seemed confused, almost paralyzed by their escape, not knowing what to do next. She noticed a dumpster.

  "I ditched the blue eyes. Let's ditch the rest."

  "Your blond roots are showing."

  "I'm going to shave it tonight."

  Avellanos pointed up.

  "You're 23," he said. "You may reach the next century and never see the sun again."

  "It's getting cloudy," she said.

  "Fuck you Peter Muffley," he said, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting at the sky. "Fuck you Peter Muffley."

  "Quiet," she said. "Quiet"

  Cathy Chegoffgan spread out the nun's robe on the ground, then reached into Avellanos's pocket and took out Muffley's cell phone. She took out the battery then dropped both, along with her own gun and Donahue's onto the nun's robe, putting up her hand to indicate that he wanted to keep the handcuffs, the badge and Muffley's gun. She folded the robe over and over until she had made a bundle, and threw it into the dumpster, then grabbed his arm, and moved him along. They started to discuss their plans as they continued to walk east towards Scahentoarrhonon Station, wincing slightly when a westbound Amtrak roared by overhead.

  "We need to get out of town," he said.

  "No shit captain obvious," she said, smiling.

  "But how?"

  "Amtrak."

  "They require ID on Amtrak."

  "Not for a cop," she said, tossing him Muffley's wallet, "and his prisoner."