Stories From The 6 Train

by Alexis Angel

  It's time to clear the air and set the record straight.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," I say, clearing my throat and speaking into the microphone with a wide and confident smile, "This has certainly been a rollercoaster ride, hasn't it? I'm sure you're all sick of the nauseating ups and downs, just as much as I am."

  I can hear a smattering of murmurs, and hushed whispers, but I can't make out exactly what's being said, so I continue on.

  "I'm here today to tell you that everything you've heard is true."

  Now the sound coming from the crowd is growing louder than a murmur. I can hear people gasping, and confused conversations are circulating between the reporters. I'm sure they're already formulating tomorrow's headlines. They're looking at me as if I'm some sort of monster, and wondering what exactly I'm even doing here today.

  "But," I say, holding up one hand to get everyone's attention, and to reign them in before this gets out of control, "it's important that you know the whole story. Yes, it's true. I've been carrying on a relationship with my stepdaughter, Amy."

  More gasps erupt from the crowd, and I can see cameras flashing.

  Each snap is blinding.

  All eyes are on me. But that's fine; I'm used to the spotlight—the intense scrutiny of it all, and now, just as I said, I'm on a mission.

  The room has grown so silent I swear you could her a pin drop. The reporters are waiting to hang on my next words.

  I continue on with the press conference. "But you must also know that everything that Governor Meelios has said has been a lie. Amy has done nothing wrong. She is not a sex trafficker. That is not something that her, or I, have ever, or would ever condone. To say that we are morally inept couldn't be farther from the truth. I swear that to each and every one of you standing in front of me today."

  I look around the room full of reporters, looking to see if they're following me, and I can see some heads nodding. I seem to be regaining their trust, albeit slowly, and I take that as a good sign.

  "All my life, I have struggled to find that perfect woman—a woman who I could love and be loved by in return. A woman who I could picture spending the rest of my life with. There was even a time when I thought this might never be possible for me. That maybe I would never find this woman. But now I can honestly stand here in front of each and every one of you and say that I've found her," I remark, making eye contact with the crowd to emphasize the truth of it all. I also look over at Amy. She's standing to the side of the stage, and we lock eyes. I give her a smile and continue, "And I can say that I love her—I love Amy—with all my heart."

  With that statement, the tension in the room seems to lift. It's like a dark cloud dissipates, and I feel a huge weight lifted from my shoulders.

  I guess it's true what they say—the truth does free you.

  One reporter starts to clap, and then another, and another, and another, until finally, the entire room is erupting into applause.

  Instead of confused, frowning faces, I'm now seeing a sea of smiles, and that does it.

  Cameras begin flashing again, and they don't stop for what seems like forever.

  "From this day forward," I say, "I promise that there won't be anymore secrets. I'm proud of who I am; I'm proud of the life that Amy and I are building together."

  Reporters are still clapping, and now I hear them begin to cheer.

  "I'm also proud to call myself your Mayor, and look forward to taking my enthusiasm for public service, as well as my resolve, into my bid for US Senate. If you're willing to follow me on that journey, I urge each and every one of you to vote for me in this year's Congressional election."

  The applause coming from the room is now palpable. It almost feels like a slow rumble beneath my feet, like a herd of buffalo migrating to greener pastures.

  I'm back, I think to myself.

  For the first time in weeks, I feel like I'm really back in this political race, and that try as hard as she might, Governor Kate Meelios can't touch us.

  She can't take us down.

  This feeling is sealed when I hear the crowd erupt into a familiar chant.

  "Just ask Trask! Just ask Trask! Just as Trask!"

  I smile again and wave to crowd.

  Yes, I'm back.

  And it feels so good.

  Amy

  This is it, the final showdown, I think to myself, forehead pressed against the limo’s window as we roll down the deserted streets. The National Guard is already on their way to my company’s offices, and Parker and I are heading there to stop them. Or, well, try to. I don’t really see what we can do, but Parker seems confident enough to give me just a sliver of hope.

  The NYPD has already closed off the streets and evacuated the block where I have my offices, all to try and stop this from turning into a bloodbath. There’s an eerie feeling in the air, and I can’t help but feel anxious about the whole thing. It's show time, but I’m not sure if I’m ready for it.

  “We’re here, sir,” the limo driver tells us politely, halting the limo right in front of the building where just weeks ago we had a standoff with the state troopers.

  “Let’s go,” Parker tells me, squeezing my hand in his and opening the door on his side of the limo. He steps outside into the cold New York morning sun and I follow after him, straightening the front of my dress nervously.

  There are at least twenty NYPD cars parked in the street in front of my building, each of them carrying at least five police officers. And that’s just the regular force—aside from them, there are also two SWAT teams and a full platoon of NYPD officers in riot gear.

  “She’ll be here anytime now,” Parker tells me and, as if to compliment his words, the sound of helicopters closing in on us echoes throughout the street. I look up at the sky, anxiety gripping my heart, and then two helicopters come into view, their rotary blades raising a wind that lashes at my hair. Ignoring the battalion of NYPD officers, they land right in the middle of the street, and camouflaged soldiers start pouring out in a rush, clutching their heavy rifles to their chests.

  She wasn’t kidding; she really brought the National Guard into this.

  I look down the street as the roar of heavy engines reach my ears, and I do it just in time to see a parade of armored vehicles heading toward the blockade the NYPD has set up. More soldiers pour from the armored trucks, a few of them barking orders and bringing everyone into formation.

  Okay, this is seriously getting out of hand.

  One of the soldiers that came on the helicopter starts walking toward Parker, his rifle slung over his shoulder, and stops just a few feet away from him.

  “Sir, we’re going to shut down your… stepdaughter’s business,” he says with a harsh edge, the seniority of his rank coming through his voice, and then waves at the apparatus surrounding us. “You know there isn’t a happy ending to be had from pitting the NYPD against the National Guard, sir, so it’s my duty to ask you to stand down. Let us do our job.”

  “I know where you’re coming from, soldier,” Parker responds stoically, standing his ground. “But it’s also my duty to stand up to sociopathic politicians. Which is what I’m doing here. It’s high time someone stops this so-called governor.”

  “Sir, this is --”

  “I’m not getting out of the way, soldier, so if you want to shoot me just do it already,” Parker cuts him short, lowering his voice and balling his hands into fists. The soldier stares at him for a few seconds, the air around them crackling with electric tension, and then he just snaps his heels together and turns around, walking back to the helicopters.

  “I think you better head home, Amy,” Parker whispers, looking at me with concerned eyes. “This might get ugly.”

  “No, I’ll stay with you. Always,” I tell him, grabbing his arm and pressing my body against his. Whatever happens, I’ll be standing by his side, and I’ll do it to the very end.

  Keeping his silence, Parker just nods at me, and then lays a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Look, here she c
omes,” he whispers then, pointing with his head at the end of the street. Emerging from between the National Guard trucks, a stretch limo rolls all the way up to the blockade. It stops a few inches away from the NYPD officers manning a blockade, and then the driver leaves his seat and walks around the limo, opening one of the doors.

  Two high heels touch the road, and then my mother rises from inside the limo, a vibrant red dress clinging to her curves. True to herself, she came in dressed for a celebration; she thinks victory is just at arm’s reach. Which isn’t too far from the truth: if she orders the National Guard to start shooting, it’s a done deal. Except I’m betting she’ll only do that as a last resort. Despite having the public’s support, it’d be a huge risk to paint the streets of New York in crimson.

  “Get out of my way,” I hear her hiss at the NYPD officers, and she strolls past them without a care in the world, ignoring the guns in their hands. She walks toward Parker and I with a victorious grin on her face, the click of her heels on the concrete like a bad omen.

  “Time to lay down, Parker,” she tells him, stopping right in front of him. “Or do you want a bloodbath in your beloved streets?”

  “Fuck off, Kate,” he growls, his hands once again balled into fists. “You should be the one laying down.”

  “Me?” she laughs, the sound of her voice vibrant and cheery. “I’m not the one with a noose around my neck.”

  “The tides turn fast, Kate… Faster than you’ll know,” Parker responds, and my mother just laughs again.

  “Oh, that’s funny. You’ve always had a poetic streak to you, Parker. Too bad it won’t do you any good. You’re done. The only question remaining is… Are you sure you want to order these men to their death?” she asks him, looking around at the dozens of NYPD officers encircling us. “Because that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t get out of the way.”

  “I’m not ordering anyone, Kate,” Parker says out loud, his lips slowly curling into a smile. “They all volunteered. Right, boys?” he asks, louder this time, his voice echoing throughout the street.

  “FUCKING-A!” One of the NYPD officers shouts, and the others shout in agreement. “We have your back, mayor,” the officer continues, and Parker’s smile widens.

  “They’re here because they’re loyal, Kate. Which is something you’ll never be able to understand. You managed to pull the National Guard into this, but do you really want to see how far they’ll go? How loyal they are to you? Just tell them to point their guns at their fellow Americans and see what happens. I fucking dare you,” he growls.

  I watch the whole scene in silence, looking from Parker to my mother. Should Parker even be this confident? My mother’s insane enough to follow his advice and order the National Guard to start shooting.

  “You’re fucking insane, Parker,” she tells him, that shit-eating grin still on her face. “And that’s going to cost you. Perhaps your life,” she whispers, turning on her heels and walking straight toward the senior National Guard soldier.

  “Get these two out of the way!” she barks, and the moment she says it the NYPD close in on Parker and I, forming a human barrier between us and the National Guard.

  “Over our dead bodies!” they shout, taking their guns out of their holsters. The first row of officers begin to kneel on the floor, offering the second row a clear shot.

  “Stand down, boys,” Parker suddenly says, letting go of me and walking past the NYPD barrier. “No bullets will be fired today.”

  “What now, Parker? Want to be the first one in line to have your brains blown out?” my mother snaps at him, visibly annoyed. “Shoot him!” she barks at one of the soldiers but, even though he raises his rifle and points it at Parker, he hesitates.

  And then Parker speaks.

  “This ends now, Kate.”

  Parker

  Yeah, this ends here.

  I look to my side. Amy is standing there next to me and the NYPD officers are fanning out. The mother of my child is standing in a potential war zone. They're not just protecting us in rows of human shields, but they're taking defensive positions behind cars and in the doorways of buildings.

  They're getting ready for a war.

  We cannot fucking have this. Despite the fact that I've taken it this far, I'm not going to be known as the Mayor who started a civil war in his own fucking city.

  I pick up the phone in my pocket and dial the speed dial button.

  I don't need to say anything.

  On the other side of the line, she gets the call and knows to set things in motion.

  "Mayor Trask," the National Guard commander says through a bullhorn. "Please leave the premises."

  I'm not moving one goddamn inch.

  A government far away that has no idea what the people of this city care for is not going to dictate to me what is and isn't fucking moral.

  The National Guard soldiers train their scopes on my NYPD and I can see the red laser beams pointed on their kevlar vests.

  Several things happen at that point simultaneously and it's important I tell you what happens in order so that you're able to follow along, because I don't know if I believe it myself.

  The first of the aerial news helicopters starts coming into view and circling overhead.

  Right. I expected that. That's what the fucking phone call was for. I can't tell you who yet.

  But the news vans arrive too.

  They're coming through the side streets - through the sections of the city that the NYPD didn't close down.

  Specifically for this event.

  See, I didn't ask the police to close shit down to make dying easier for me.

  I had them close streets down so the news crews could get here sooner.

  And they line up now, training an even more powerful weapon on the National Guard than the AK-47 rifles the NYPD SWAT teams have - the fucking camera.

  You can hear the whir of the helicopters overhead.

  The boom mikes are being extended. They want to capture every last shot.

  Good.

  This is what I intended.

  That's when the first protester runs past the barricades that were set up.

  Holy fucking shit.

  This throws everything into chaos. I can't risk the lives of ordinary New Yorkers. Not for Amy and me.

  "Let me through," I say through clenched teeth and I can feel Amy squeeze onto my arm. She's fucking worried. Makes sense. "Let me out."

  The NYPD Commander looks at me. He's wearing at least two layers of kevlar. He could get hit with a bullet form a 9mm and be okay. A bit winded.

  I'm wearing a suit and tie.

  "Sir, it's not safe," he says to me. "The situation is tense. They could take you out without cover."

  He's right.

  National Guard snipers operating under orders from Kate would have a clear shot to my head. Be able to take me the fuck out. Call me an enemy combatant. Be absolutely justified.

  But that's when the second protester rushes through.

  I know, the police did everything they could to detain the crowds. They put up pickets. Chain link fences on streets. Barricades.

  But give me a break.

  This is Times Square. In New York fucking City. 8 million fucking people.

  "You're gonna have to kill me too, motherfucker!" the protester yells and I can see tension ripple through the National Guardsmen.

  What the fuck is Kate doing letting them still maintain battle readiness? This is the most fucking irresponsible thing I've ever seen. They're so wired up they could snap at any moment now.

  Start something tragic. And Amy. Caught right in the middle.

  No.

  This is my fucking city.

  I'm not gonna let that happen.

  "Outta my fucking way," I say to the officer and push my way past.

  I can see the soldiers twitch. I can see Kate standing there.

  "There!" she yells, and a National Guard Commander trains his gun.

  I look down at
my chest.

  Yep.

  The red dot of the laser pointer. Right on my heart.

  Whatever. Do I look like I care?

  I keep walking, one step in front of another. Guns trained on me.

  I get to a car parked on the curb and get on top of it.

  I need to do something now. Before more protesters come.

  "Put me on," I say into my phone and there's a whine of a microphone to my right.

  Soldiers, protesters, even NYPD look to my right.

  "Susan?" Kate says, puzzled and angry. "What are you doing here."

  "She's holding a speaker, Kate," I say into the phone and hear my voice echo through the wireless loudspeaker that Susan Duran is setting up on the sidewalk.

  That's right.

  Thought I'd forgotten about her, didn't you?

  Thought I'd cast her aside.

  You thought she was a traitor.

  What can I say?

  In the game of politics, sometimes you gotta play your fucking cards close to the fucking vest.

  I couldn't risk you telling anyone. I don't know who. I just couldn't.

  And I couldn't risk Amy finding out just yet.

  Which I can tell she's figuring out as her eyes widen, seeing Susan.

  For the first time, Kate looks like she's a bit off balance. She hasn't expected this.

  The soliders are confused. They're starting to see the light a bit. A good thing too. There are now at least a hundred protesters who are starting to swarm past the barricades and into the restricted area next to the building entrance of Kinky Amy's.

  "People of New York," I say into the phone and hear my voice come out commandingly through the loudspeaker. "Hear me out."

  The protesters stop their chants and listen to me. NYPD officers are already paying attention.

  The National Guardsmen with their scopes on my chest were always watching too, I guess.

  Well, fuck. Here goes nothing. By the end of this, either Kate is gonna be done for, or I'm gonna be dead. We'll see.

  "My name is Parker Trask, and I've had the honor of being the Mayor of New York City," I begin and I quickly begin to fall into my comfort zone. "I've lived in this city since birth. I love every damn block."