The Lovely Chocolate Mob

by Richard J. Bennett

“The sewer!” he yelled. “Look, see the manhole, go down the drain and disappear! Here, catch!” With his free hand, he had reached back into the compartment and tossed me some sort of a giant key, a manhole cover key. “Get going! Move!”

  I stood there under the bridge with the key in my hand, and could see Walter was walking toward the opening, the way we had come in. He was moving into an offensive position.

  I ran to where he was. “What are you going to do?” I said.

  “I’m not going back! Get out of here!”

  The bright light had bounced around on both sides of the bridge, and we could hear the helicopter coming back our direction, but Walter was in complete charge. This was his situation. The light and helicopter had been looking for a large object, the RV, and had searched the far end of the bridge. It was probably hovering about 70 feet high, and seemed to be circling.

  The light hit me at that point, and I froze in place, staring at the big white spot. However, it then moved off me, and so I was in semi-darkness once again. The helicopter must have thought a big vehicle carried many passengers and was looking to round them all up.

  “What about you?” I said.

  “I’ll be all right! Move!”

  That was all I needed. I ran to the man-hole cover, and, feeling around, located the hole where the big key was supposed to fit. I put the key in and gave it a heave and the cover came up. Laying the heavy lid to one side, I went down into the hole, hoping that Walter would soon follow. I heard him yell, “Pull the cover back!”

  “What?”

  “Pull the cover back over the hole! I’m going to make a run for it!”

  “You can’t outrun a helicopter!”

  “I don’t have to!” and with that Walter lifted the bazooka to his shoulder and took aim. I saw the bright light hit Walter, lighting him up for the FBI.

  I dragged the manhole cover back over me and found myself completely in the dark. I was fumbling around on the wet concrete, knowing that I had to get away from this entry point as soon as possible. I didn’t know which way to go and didn’t care; I just wanted to put space between me and that flying spotlight. I leaned over and walked quickly, to the north I thought. Soon I found I had to crawl on all fours; these drains weren’t as big as they used to be when I was a kid. After about 30 yards, I took my shoes off and tied the laces together and hung them over the back of my neck, and took my socks off and tied them around my knees; at least this would give them some protection. I couldn’t hear the helicopter anymore, but oh-my-gosh Walter was a billionaire who just shot a helicopter out of the sky. Would this make him a murderer, too? And not only an anybody murderer, a cop-killer, on the scale of the FBI, which is a federal crime, for sure! The type to whom the courts show no mercy. I was crawling on my knees in the sewer, and Walter had blood on his hands. But I had been with him, which made me an accomplice. How low had we sunk?

  The Tunnel

  It was dark, and it stank. I was wet all over, especially my hands and feet. Good thing I had decided to wear jeans; any regular pants would have been ruined in no time. I estimated I had crawled the length of nineteen football fields, or 5,700 feet, or well over a mile. I’d been counting my knees; every time they touched concrete that was considered to be a foot. I was somewhere around 5,700, but I’m sure I had skipped a number or two. We hadn’t been too far from my part of town, in the RV, so if I had picked the right tunnels, perhaps I’d make it back to my own bed sometime in the next 24 hours. I was tired, it was slow progress, and I didn’t like being underground, not one bit. I wondered if it was the next day already, and decided to check the time, so I pulled my new cell phone off my belt to view, and it lit up the whole tunnel! I should have thought of it earlier; I’d use the telephone for light, shining a green glow ahead of me every now and then, because there were bound to be other creatures down there. Fortunately, I hadn’t run into anything bad yet. I supposed they scattered when they heard me coming. I was hoping I wouldn’t run into any alligators; if I yelled there’d be no one else down there to help; I was completely on my own. Isolated. And lonely.

  It had been hours since I’d left Walter upstairs, and while crawling at a pace I could handle, I was hoping my nerves would settle down, giving me a chance to think clearly.

  Maybe we shouldn’t have gotten involved in Helen and Franklin’s situation; after all, who were we to try to solve their problems? We could barely solve our own problems! We weren’t God, nor the church, nor the courts, nor the marriage counselor, nor their family; how could we fix what man decided to destroy?

  While reflecting on this, I decided that the courts didn’t really fix anything either; that wasn’t their role. They just divided assets in a fair and equitable manner, or gave the appearance of it, when there were differences in divorce court. I supposed the judges tried to make sure a deserted wife and kids didn’t go without some support, or income, but why the heck was there so much divorce in our country, anyhow? It’s almost as though we’re children; we start something and somehow find that we’re not able to carry it on to completion. And it wasn’t a both/and situation anymore; all it took was for one person to act up, as Franklin was doing, to destroy a marriage.

  My mind had plenty of time to wander while being buried underground. I considered this problem further, thinking that if we were to just sit back and let things play out, how would I feel about myself whenever I looked into the mirror to shave, brush my teeth, or comb my hair? Who would be looking back from the mirror? That’s something I’d have to live with. Would it be some coward who didn’t lift a finger to help preserve a family, to help keep some stability to the community, to keep a home for some kids? If so, then there would be another ruined marriage on the trash heap of romance, thanks to any non-involvement on my part. No, I’m not sorry I scared Franklin! He needed scaring! He deserved a whole lot more than that, but violence is something I considered unprofessional. It’s messy, and there’s just no excuse for it. I started talking to myself, muttering, “No, I’m not sorry; I’m glad I did it!” and after a while, started yelling it. I listened for an echo, but there wasn’t much of that down there. The tunnel probably needed to be bigger. It was just me talking out loud in a concrete tube underground. It wouldn’t help thinking too much about my situation, since I didn’t want to risk getting claustrophobic. I hoped the ground wouldn’t cave in on me.

  I could have married Helen, but that possibility slipped through my fingers; those children could also have been mine. I had dreamed of a quiet, peaceful, tranquil family life, with a beautiful wife who loved me and children who were all honor roll students with blond hair and blue eyes and straight teeth. Maybe I could have had a happy life. Maybe I could have been one of the beautiful people, and if not that, then perhaps one of the socially approved types. There was a lot of “coulda, shoulda, woulda” in that underground tunnel. I thought about it some more and decided my children wouldn’t have been as handsome as Franklin’s; obviously he had the superior “pretty-boy” gene to pass along to his children.

  Life was like this tunnel, in that I had no choice but to keep crawling forward. I could have gone backwards, I supposed, but I knew what was back there. I kept going forward even after Helen dumped me for Franklin, and here I was still stuck in a fix. Maybe it was better for Helen to marry Franklin instead of me; he could probably handle things better. If she had married me, she’d have to keep her expectation levels down, and not push me too hard to be successful and acquire stuff so she could live the life she wanted. I’m not sure I could be “out there” too much in the public eye. I’ve never been good at selling myself.

  Those kids. They were all genetic wonders. I know my family, and we’re not picture-perfect. The kids that Helen and I would have had would have been a watered-down version of what she had now; perhaps they’d all come with my character flaws as well.

  Those kids! What beautiful kids. I could never have done as well. Maybe it was better that I’d never married; I could never have sired s
uch great-looking kids like that. And they were all bright, too, and seemed happy. It sure would be a terrible thing for their family to break up; this would shatter their little worlds.

  “I’m glad I did it!” I yelled, again.

  That felt better. The only good thing about being down there was that it wasn’t winter, and I wasn’t freezing my tail off. I was in a cramped space, but at least I wasn’t shivering. I could be thankful for that. “Thank you, Lord,” I said. “Now please get me out of here.”

  I had gone through all the thinking I could do on my own, and decided to ask for wisdom, since I was on my knees, anyway. “I’m sorry, Lord,” I started. “Please give me guidance. I deserve this. I know I’ve earned it. We scared Franklin and stole money and stuck our noses in other people’s business. Maybe. I led the group; the fault is all mine. Please don’t punish Walter and David; I talked them into it. You’re good. Thank you for being good. Help me to be good.”

  “Ow! Sh**!!” My palm found a pebble. I remembered I was in the middle of a prayer. “Sorry, Lord. I know I cuss too much. I’m working on that. But this is like a sewer down here and I was probably thinking on that.” I had no business cussing around the Almighty, although He knows I have a quick temper at times. That’s no excuse, just an explanation.

  The mind switched gears quickly while placed under duress. “Lord, why did Helen leave me? I tried to be good to her. Since you’re sovereign, I guess you knew what you were doing when you let her leave me. I guess you were making me into something besides a husband. But why did it have to hurt so much? Lord, sometimes I think it would be nice to have been married, but you know what you’re doing. On the other hand, I do have a quiet and peaceful life. It is a bit lonely at times, though. Maybe I should get out more, be involved more. That may be how I got down here. Thank you, Lord. Your will be done.”

  Well, I felt as though I were at peace, for a little while anyway. I liked being at peace; it sure beat being worried, scared, or wanting something unnecessary, which happened to me often, probably more often than I’d like to admit.

  I was getting sick of crawling, and decided to go up the next manhole I saw; I thought I had gone far enough. Hopefully there weren’t too many policemen around when they arrested Walter. I know he wouldn’t talk; he’d keep his mouth shut; he’s not one to crack under pressure. I’ll have to find a good lawyer for him. I’m sure there are a few who went to school with us; one of them will remember Walter. We’ve all done favors for each other during our days away from school; maybe they’ll help out pro-bono for old time’s sake. Maybe he won’t have to spend all his life in the big house.

  Murder! He’d be charged with murder! Oh, this would be all over the television, with the whole nation watching. The general population wouldn’t take kindly to shooting an FBI helicopter out of the sky; neither would any federal judge.

  I could feel fresh air and decided I was near an opening. Using the cell phone, I looked down the tunnel and could see that it opened into a small area, probably near a street curb drain. I put the phone back on my belt, not wanting anybody spotting a green light coming up out of a storm drain if they happened to be wandering around this time of night; people really ought to be home in bed; that’s what homes were for. So what was I doing down there?

  At the tunnel’s end, there was enough room to stand up. I had to take my time doing that, though, since my joints weren’t as flexible as they used to be. It took a little time to get my feet under me to manage myself, to reach the manhole cover directly above. I put my ear as close to the little keyhole as possible and listened. There wasn’t any traffic noise; that was good. It was late, or early, and maybe I wouldn’t cause a wreck. Hopefully this manhole was part of the sidewalk and not on the street. If that was the case, there ought to be a drain nearby, but I didn’t see an opening, even though I felt and smelled the fresh air. I decided to risk using my cell phone light, hoping there would be nobody outside to see it. I opened the cell phone, and the little room turned from pitch black to bright green, and fortunately, there was a drain opening right next to me, so this manhole cover ought to be next to the sidewalk, and not in the middle of traffic, somewhere. It’s a good thing I had a little knowledge of drain systems, and even though I designed them, I didn’t get to see them from the inside very often.

  I stood and pushed the heavy lid up. It was stuck; eventually I gave up and lay down on the little floor area. Maybe I should have just gone to sleep there, which would have been easy to do. I might have, but the thought of some creature coming along and taking a bite out of me would keep me from sleeping. I got back up and pushed again, until I felt the cover give. I rested for a minute before starting to push a third time; I didn’t want to throw my back out. I couldn’t have that, not while down in a drain. The thought of being hurt and stuck in a drain was frightening; I’d have to call for help, and if help did arrive I’d have to explain what I was doing in a drain. Maybe I could say I was doing research for my job, but that would be stretching it a bit. I pushed the lid, and it gave way.

  Getting Home

  It was a little bit lighter outside than in the drain. Once I got my head above the lid level, I could see a sidewalk, and there was no movement in the area, at least not from my side; nobody was walking around in front, and I didn’t hear anything from behind. At least there wouldn’t be any talk or reports about a strange man who came up out of a drain after midnight.

  I gave it one last heave, and the lid opened wide enough for me to escape. I slowly climbed out of the hole, then slowly lowered the lid back into place, taking care so there would be no clanging sound. I thought about leaving fingerprints on this manhole cover, but at the moment was too tired to do anything about them.

  Looking around to see my location, I sat down to put my socks and shoes back on, not wanting to attract attention on the way home. I searched the sky for the North Star, trying to figure out which direction to start walking in order to get home; it was cloudy. We were still south of my house when the helicopter spotted us; I’m sure I had crawled over a mile, but because of a few turns in the drain I may have gone east or west, or even back in the direction I had started from. Thinking on this, north was still my destination, and I started walking, looking for street signs on each corner; maybe I could at least figure out which neighborhood I was in.

  Fatigue was setting in, but if all my estimations were right, at least I wouldn’t have to walk too far. I came up to a readable street sign, and got my bearings. Good thing I knew this town like the back of my hand; I had played on many of these streets as a child, having classmates in different sections of the city. Janet Field, the neighborhood baseball field, was near; it had been named after a little cheerleader who passed away from cancer. Maybe I could find a working water faucet and wash up a bit. All parks were closed at night; gates to the roads leading in were shut and locked to traffic, but since I was on foot, that wouldn’t be a hindrance.

  I walked in the direction of the park and thought about what I had just done. I’d emerged from the belly of the beast, like Jonah from the big fish, although I hadn’t been down there for three days, thank goodness. If I had, I probably wouldn’t have had the energy to push the lid up, or to even crawl to an easier exit point. I wondered if Jonah had survived on seaweed. The only thing I saw growing in the drain was mushrooms, and I didn’t know enough about them to know if they were safe to eat. I should be grateful I got out when I did, or else they might have started looking good to me.

  Arriving at Janet Field, I found a working faucet and washed up the best I could; I drank and drank until I couldn’t hold anymore. Who would have thought warm water could taste so good? I ran water over my shoes and the lower parts of my blue jeans; they were wet already, but I would rather be wet with clean water than stagnate drain water.

  Home and bed were the destination now. I headed to the north side of the park and walked down Finley Street. Good thing there was no traffic; I’d look like a wandering vagrant, and in t
he age of cell phones someone could call the cops on me. I could just see myself answering questions to a policeman. Who am I? Where do I live? What am I doing out in the middle of the night? Why do I smell like a wet rat? Were you part of the FBI murders? Don’t I have better things to be doing than being out for a walk in the middle of the night? I hoped I would be able to answer questions without making a policeman mad. I’m sure I looked like a criminal.

  It was quiet for a short while, then a backyard dog noticed me and started barking. This in turn got all the dogs in the neighborhood stirred up, and I was greeted by barking, fenced-in dogs as I moved down the street. You could gauge the sizes of the dogs by their barks: the deeper the growl, the bigger the dog. Some were louder than others; thank goodness for leash laws. A pet was supposed to be under control by its owner, but I’ve seen times when that wasn’t always the case. My front yard seemed to be a favorite visiting spot for loose dogs. At least, I hoped they were loose. I didn’t like to think neighbors who walked their dogs would intentionally stop at my yard for pets to do their thing.

  Ignoring the barks, I kept walking; I had picked up the stride a bit and soon would be home. It would be daylight in a few hours; perhaps I could get a little sleep. There would be no way I could go to work; I’d have to call in sick to get some shut-eye. I’d catch up on any projects by working late, tomorrow, or even later today.

  There was my house, but a light was on in the kitchen. Perhaps I had left it on before walking off to be picked up by Walter. Perhaps Walter had talked to the police, and they were waiting to arrest me? No, Walter wouldn’t crack so soon. I must have left it on.

  I waited outside for a number of minutes before deciding to go on in. If it were the FBI, then they’d found me; there’s no place else I could run. If I forgot and left the light on, I’d have to improve at that. The good part was, at least I had a night-light.