Nicolai had no ready reply. It could be true, he’d dreamed of the money platewhich he’d hoped was only a dreamand they’d found one, or so it would seem, little else in existence would stamp the Queen’s face. Criminals often spoke of memory lapses concerning their crimes, blackouts. Yes, but what would instigate him to kill a man he’d not spoken to in over five years? Good Lord, he was actually acknowledging the fact that he might have done it and well down the road to discovering a motive.
“I’m sorry, I think we’re losing this connection.” Nicolai made some crackling noises into the receiver.
“Vicoff, I recommend that you come and turn yourself in. It will go better for you that way.”
“What was that? Sorry, bad connection I think. Crackle crackle crackle. What say I call you back. Soon. We’ll have to talk again, really. Thank you. Good-bye.” He hung up, not very graceful, but it got him off the hook for the present. He stumbled and landed sitting on the bed. It made him nauseous. He lit a cigarette that made him more nauseous, holding it below him, smoke blowing in his face, the foggy unbreathable air of the moors, a stout dark wind blowing the hair back on his head. He dropped it and crushed it on the floor and dropped his head into his hands. He closed his eyes and tried to re-thread the dream into the projector where he’d left off, but there was nothing beyond that point. He was unable to view any of it in real time, only one frame, one moment, the instant where said plate left his handand this in freeze framecould he examine with leisure. That image was frozen in him: a tight focus on the money plate hanging in the air a foot or so from his hand, turned at an oblique angle to the floor, engravings clear, Elizabeth grinning, his hand extended a blur into the picture, only the nails of it in sharp focus, beyond that a wide blur of color subtly forming an impressionist view of the bed, sleeping Rooka (the blurriness of it almost made him seem in the process of opening an eye), the American looking back over his shoulder as though he’d been caught naked or with something other than a wooden stake in his hand. For a while he could look at that picture as though it were in front of him, but slowly a black iris began to encroach, taking away first just the edges of the thing, then Rooka’s head, then the American, concentrating, narrowing in on the money plate, then beyond its edges until only the right eye of Her Majesty was visible, this eye winked at him as if to let him in on the joke, and then too was engulfed in the blackness; he saw, before opening his eyes, the final credits of his life popping up on the screen, they only were crisp and well defined, a nice font by a reputable lab.
He began putting things into his bag, not everything, that would be too much to carry on the lamb (no, lam, he thought) and not his suitcase, too bulky, but an over the shoulder sort usually assigned to toiletry detail; a few days of clothes was all. He didn’t know where he was going, certainly not to England or anywhere else in Europe. America would be safe for a while, inland, but eventually, he reasoned, South America, Brazil, Chile, somewhere in the mountains. I’ll have to pick up a Spanish dictionary, something portable but complete. He budgeted that into the 1400 or so dollars he had left at about 5 dollars. Before that though he’d head out west, to the mountains, probably need to stay there for a year or more (survival handbook, $10-15) before it is safe to cross the border. And a good knife, $20, actually better get one with all the extras, compass, fork, needle and thread to stitch wounds: 75 dollars. Bus is the best way to travel, or rail. He hastily looked up both of these options in the phone book. Grand Central Station seems better, they offer both, I can decide when I get there, Forty-second and Lexington, no idea where that is, but I’ll find it. He checked his bag, took his wallet, cash, and cigarettes, and went into the bathroom. One more time, he crouched before the window and looked out. Her window was clear, unfogged, but the room beyond was empty. Good-bye, my love. Then suddenly there was movement, her bathroom door opened and a large man entered. He pulled down his pants and sat, then looked over through his own and into Nicolai’s window, but didn’t see a thing. Nicolai was already gone.
Chapter 8
Actually, he thought while rushing down the street to the subway, I do know Grand Central Station. He remembered passing through there twice before. It is only four or five stops along the Lexington line. He moved quickly, dodging a woman perambulating lazily, and accidentally bumping into a woman with a too large posterior. The last time that he was so resolute was when he was coming to America, was he running from something then too? He still did not know, but was intent on continuing his present course before delving too deeply into the matter. First, at least, let me have a ticket in hand. Behind him he heard the soft clip-clop of a woman’s high heels. He turned but saw nothing and continued on his way. When he reached the corner of Third avenue and Ninth street (Tenth forks just after Second and a narrow lane brings you south to Ninth, then it’s just over Third and a half short block to the subway) he was forced to stop and wait for the traffic to pass. As he did the sound of high heels came up behind him and then stopped. Of course, they expected me to run away and yes, Lucille went to work, but her job today is to follow me. The heels clopped twice more and stopped beside him. It was not Lucille (thank God) just some other woman, nice legs though. Concentrate now, steady on boy.
The light changed and the woman charged on ahead of him, Nicolai went slower, she turned and went up Third avenue. Another day perhaps, but he couldn’t think about that yet, soon there would be a time for plans. Now, however, he must prioritize his tasks and right now his first priority was getting to the station. Nicolai knew he wouldn’t feel safe until the moment that he saw a tree over his head. He looked up and saw a tree over his head. Not yet, but soon. He reached the small island where the subway entrance was located and climbed down the steps, behind him he heard again the clip-clop, clip-clop of heels. He stopped and turned, the first pressed syllable of her name forming in his mouth, but there was nobody there. Echo, he satisfied himself, just the echo of my own footsteps. They wouldn’t have me followed, they wouldn’t suspect that I’d run away, they think that the money is too alluring, impossible to give up, that is where they are wrong and when they realize it it will be too late for them, hopefully not for me.
He bought a token, though he realized after that he already had one from sometime before. Oh well, it’ll be a token (audio: laughter) of my brief stay in New York. Nicolai began walking to the far end of the platform. There was one lone figure standing there, back to Nicolai. He was a tiny old man in a crumpled black coat. The old man looked scared or wary and was all but crouched behind a steel pole. As Nicolai came closer to himnot intentionally, he just wanted to get into the first car of the trainthe man saw him and a second later jumped onto the tracks and ran into the tunnel. Nicolai was surprised, but not too surprised and thought the man had an air of familiarity about him and then thought nothing more of it.
The train pulled into the station before he reached the end of the platform and he boarded in the third car. As he boarded, he saw out of the corner of his eye a fat man with a beard burst through the turnstile and rush onto the train. The doors closed. Shyster? Could it be? Does he still wear his beard? Perhaps there was more psychology to that than a trick to play on Nicolai. In any case, he could not travel easy knowing that Shyster was on the train, whether following him or not. He would confront him. The train was moving now and Nicolai began walking through the cars toward the rear, passing in turn through each pair of doors and the tiny vestibule (or anti-vestibule, it being outside) that joined the cars. He stopped just inside of the third car down (the sixth car of the train) because as he entered he saw a veryall toofamiliar man standing in the center aisle, halfway through the car.
He was packing up his timpani as Nicolai entered. Nicolai, for obvious reasons not wishing to be seen, began to slowly back up the way he’d come; too slowly, for just as he got the door open Chong shouted to him, “Hey you, you wait! You quit job, that no good! Ruin my reputation!” Nicolai made it through to the fifth car again before C
hong had even opened the door from the sixth and as he did the train pulled into the Union Square station. Nicolai jumped out onto the platform, Chong followed him three moments later (about). He growled at him (Chong at Nicolai), almost snarled, his face was flustered and growing red(der). Nicolai backed away slowly. “I gonna show you why they call me Chong the Terrible, even after I start using breath mints!” Nicolai had another idea in mind. He kept his eye on the doors and when the familiar ding-dong of their imminent closing came, he jumped back onto the train, Chong however was too slow, encumbered as he was by his soap box and large timpani case; his face, unheeded by the conductor, seemed a glowing red beacon fading into the distance as the train pulled into the tunnel, still visible even as the train rounded a bend and was gone.
Nicolai relaxed a little, but then remembered Shyster. Well, he cannot be following me from ten cars behind. I could have gotten off of the train at the last stop and he would never have known. Perhaps I won’t bother him, just take a peek to see if it is him. He continued on and had traveled through two more cars when suddenly the train lurched and then stopped. The passengers all moaned and an announcement came over the loudspeaker, it was a man’s voice, “Sorry for the inconvenience, but we will be momentarily delayed due to a sick passenger.” Nicolai looked through a window and could see that they were already halfway into the station. Passengers-to-be waiting there had their heads turned, some were forming a queue at the attendant’s booth. Nicolai resumed the hunt. Two further cars down (so that’s two since Chong, plus two more, having begun originally in the third, exited in the fifth and re-boarded in the sixth) he stopped, it being the last car and still no sign of Shyster. Could have missed him, might have deboarded; hope the latter, suspect the former. He began to work his way back to the front of the train, concentrating this time on every face that he passed, when another announcement was made, “Ladies and gentlemen, we will be moving again in a moment. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
Nicolai soon arrived again in the sixth car, where he’d narrowly escaped the wrath of Chong, and found there the man he sought (and missed in the previous excitement) and found also that he happily was not Shyster; it was Stinky. Well, well, well he thought, this is a day of many meetings. At least I know now that Stinky was not one of Shyster’s personages (a suspicion to which he’d given some credence due to recent events). There was, for reasons that Nicolai knew all too well, a seat free on either side of the large (but he looked good, well fed and groomed; what a difference a day makeshad it been only a day? No, two) man. Nicolai sat next to him, on his right side, and felt safe there (the hostage who has become fast friends with his captor) a force-field of scent protecting him. “Hello, Stinky.” Stinky turned, apparently angry at the unappealing epitaph.
“Hey, BubNicolai!” A wide grin creased his face. “You look very good.”
“Thank you. I see they haven’t put you away again.”
“Uh-uh, I am an actor now. Those bad people are never going to find me. I am a man of respect and always get a seat on the bus.”
“And the subway, no doubt.”
“Yeah, there too.”
Nicolai was dying to ask, “And the others?”
Franz shook his head, “They said they’re going back. They are not very smart, but I don’t know if they made it. What are you doing?”
“Things have not been going so well for me. I’m leaving. I was thinking of going out west, or perhaps to South America.”
“That is sad, but they have good burritos down there.” He kept smiling. He fartedstill the same old Stinky. “I know! You can come live with me and we can be roommates again. It is a small room in a hotel, but I don’t mind. I am all alone because my girlfriend left me yesterday. She said that I wasn’t fat enough and I said that I was plenty fat but then she said that she didn’t mean fat but meant smart and I said ‘oh’.”
“That is very sad.”
“Yeah.” For a long moment they said no more, and Stinky sat smiling broadly at him. The train then began to move again. “I have to get off here, but maybe you will come and live with me, huh?”
“I’m sorry, but I really have to leave. I am in some danger. Tell you what though, perhaps we can play chess again sometime, when times are better.”
“That sounds good, but no cheating this time. I am going to keep my eye on you, OK?”
“That sounds very appealing. I hope we get the chance, but how will I find you?”
“You will find me. Just use your head, especially the nose part.” The doors opened. They were at Twenty-third street. “Good-bye!”
“See you soon.” Stinky got off of the train and disappeared (almost) into the crowd. Nicolai sighed and the train got on its way.
Quite a lot of the passengers had gotten off and the car was now almost empty. Nicolai looked up and saw that across from him sat (yes) a beautiful young woman. Christ, I have neither the time, nor energy, nor mental composition for that now. He stood and walked to the front of the train. He arrived there just as it was pulling from the next station (Twenty-eighth street) and looked out of the front window. There was now a large red blot staining the lower center of it; a small piece of black fabric caught on a rivet flapped in the wind.
The tracks approached regularly, steadily and each individual cross-beam came faster. Nicolai looked out and didn’t know if he was approaching safety or doom.
Grand Central Station arrived suddenly. He hadn’t been paying attention and didn’t notice the stop at Thirty-third street. He had to run to get off of the train in time. The architecture there, even on the subway platform, was far more grand than, but just as run down as, other stations he’d been in. He had noticed on the train that the chipped cement walls and flat ceilings of the tunnel changed slowly, becoming more and more decorative, rounded, planned, as they came closer and closer to Grand Central. He used the exit closest and it took him out of the station and onto street level. Not where I wanted to be, but the station’s probably just around the corner. It was across the street actually, and he realized this a moment later.
Bloody hell! Something in the air I think. Nicolai hid his face, for just to his right, staring into the window of a jeweler’s, stood Simon and Elizabeth. They were being most lovey-dovey and considering what should have been their most recent loss (tragedy) they were giggling and hugging and kissing; and quite obviously picking out an engagement ring. They smooched again and seemed to agree on something and then went into the store. And did not see Nicolai.
Phew. In the air, or water.
Nicolai crossed the street and entered the station. The ticket office was not easy to find, but he did eventually find it, and when the attendant asked, “Where to today, sir?” he could only answer, “I don’t know.” She recommended nicely that he take a look at their schedule and gave him one. He stood in a corridor reading it and recognized very few of the places they offered to bring one to. There were a few Californian destinations, and he knew that California was west, but being so near a coast did not appeal to him. Colorado was what he wanted, the land of mountains. As he pondered this delicate and important decision, he saw yet another familiar face running toward him in the dim light, well, familiar head; a familiar bald, dark scalp to be exact. The man rushed past him, almost knocking him over. Suddenly, there was a terrible screech, and turning, Nicolai saw the man kneeling on the ground before a tall hooded figure (also quite familiar) some distance away. The old man (the one standing) relieved the other of some valuables, and as the first man was running off, a third (unfamiliar) man came up behind. He spoke with Tom (oh yes it was) and the two headed off together into a small bar.
Nicolai followed and watched from a discreet distance. The front of the bar was open as is typical of those in airports and train and bus stations, and a pay phone just outside offered a convenient place for Nicolai to covertly observe them. Tom sat immediately and the other man (fortyish, naive looking) purchased two drinks at the bar, and giving one to Tom, sat with hi
m. Tom nuzzled up close to him and they fiddled about for a bit, chitting and chatting, and then Nicolai saw Tom flash something. The other man reached for it and his hand was slapped away. Tom talked for a few minutes more, referring seemingly always to the glittering object in his hand. He then gave something to the other man and rose and entered the restroom. The other man waited for a while, but almost immediately a young woman (leave out pretty, but pretty enough for youth’s sake) approached him and they left together. Nicolai, in what he felt was a moment of brilliance, dashed into the bar and sat in the seat which the other man had recently vacated.
Ten minutes later, Tom poked his head from the bathroom and then sauntered out, a spring in his step. As he passed by, Nicolai yelled out to him. “Hello there!”
Tom stopped. “Still here are we. That thing ring didn’t work for you yet? Son, you’ve go to work it.”
“Oh it’s worked fine. A bit too well, or else my luck’s off.”
“Well, I’ll be, it’s you. What a day it has been, running into all sorts of people that I know. How are you, boy?”
“Just fine, just fine. You must be quite surprised to see me.”
“Surprised? No, we all heard about your little riverboat tour. Wished I could have done it myself, but river no more for me, nor sea. Had the place in a hell of an uproar though. Ha ha, stealing old Doc’s woman and all. Now though sorry I can’t stay but I got to run. Old Tom’s got bush to water and flower to bloom.”
“But we’ve so much to discuss, surely your garden can wait just a minute or two. I insist.”
“For a minute maybe.” He sat, this time as far from Nicolai as possible and tentatively on the edge of his chair.
“Let’s talk true, shall we? How do you run this scam of yours, what do you get out of it and what’s in this ring that makes bad things happen?”
I Thought My Uncle Was A Vampire, But He Was Just A Creep Page 19
