by Linda Hahn
For my part I enjoyed seeing Murphy so lighthearted for a change. Ever since he was arrested he hadn’t been able to enjoy life proper. Just looking around the place for a minute reminded me why. Loss of freedom meant loss of comfort and light. Gloomy dark and close it was and I started feeling tight and closed in. No room to move or breathe.
I swallowed hard and tried to get a few deep breaths. But I couldn’t make it work, so I told Murphy I had to go. He looked surprised, unaware at first that I was taken ill. My voice sounded as if all the air was squeezed out of it.
He looked me over close and I knew he could see my tension and the sweat breaking out on my forehead and lip. I could feel my face turn cold and white. The room was assuming a sharp clarity that I didn’t like.
Close to my ear I heard Murphy say, “I know what you mean, boss.” Then he helped me rise from my chair and pushed me through the door. He patted my shoulder and from a great distance I heard him tell the guard that I needed to get outside fast.
* * *
Sometime later I came to myself sitting on a bench in front of the jailhouse. The sun was warm on me and the air was sweet and fresh. I felt sickened and sore from the attack I’d had, but the panic was blessedly gone from me.
After awhile I pulled myself together enough to get on home. When I got there I sat at the kitchen table and looked out the window for quite some time. My mind was as blank and drained as my body.
Later on I bestirred myself to get some supper. I didn’t have much appetite for it though. Finally I gave it up and went off to bed without washing up my supper dishes.
Chapter 16
For the next couple of days I felt shaky, so kept to myself and stayed inside. I hadn’t the wherewithal to do much of anything around the house beyond the basics, but took comfort in being tucked away from the frenzy of the world. Coddling myself is what it amounted to.
During the time I was down the damned neighbor cat became bolder. It wandered freely when and where it pleased and soon began to sleep in the doorway that I always used. I could see it from a window. That was an unbelievable intrusion. It was as though it had moved in on me. At times it went so far as to sit on the window sills and peer inside as though searching for me.
I observed all this but hadn’t the incentive to take any defensive action. I drifted through these days with a sadness too deep to describe. Things had gone far beyond my poor control. Once old man Nailor came and pounded at my door, I could hear the gasping and wheezing from my chair. But I never made a move to let him in. His exuberance for living was more than I could bear.
It wasn’t until the morning of my next visit with Murphy that I ventured outside my house. It had been fully three days since I’d been out. I wanted to look around for a bit to ascertain the damnable cat’s damage to my property. It didn’t take long to prove I was right either; there were scratch marks on the porch. Actually there were a couple of times I’d thought I’d heard scratching during the last few days. Knowing I was right made me feel no better.
I walked around the yard and found a vast array of holes. Enough to turn an unwary ankle or two. The beast had done some digging. Almost an excavation. Each of these holes I catalogued somewhat absent-mindedly. And although I was distracted, it was then that I noticed something amiss in the neighborhood.
At first I couldn’t locate the source of the disturbance, so had to carefully examine my surroundings in order to spot the sore point. Then I saw it. Across the street and down aways there was a long black coat. The man wearing it was a vagrant. I remarked on that and noticed that he was just biding his time, leaning against the lamppost. He seemed to be soaking in the sun and was noticeably more relaxed than most of the workaday types that I usually saw. No one stopped to enjoy the sun anymore. A vagabond from the look and feel of him.
I put it off for the time being but made a mental note to speak to Bob Milhaus about moving him along. I wouldn’t tolerate beggars in the neighborhood. Also I would hope that old Nailor would tell Bob about the long black coat without my prodding. It was high time the police had something more to stew on.
Once decided on a general plan of action, I felt much cheerier that in past days. I went off to see Murphy as it was again visiting day. I kept my wits about me through the whole visit but I saw that Murphy eyed me curiously during the entire proceeding. Finally he asked me if I had those spells often.
His tone was careful; he didn’t like admitting to illness or disability in himself so he was thoughtful enough to extend the courtesy to me. After I told him that this ailment was a rare thing for me, and was intensely disturbing as well, he nodded as if in sympathy. It was settled between us.
Then he meandered through several jail stories involving prisoners who’d had similar problems. Some of these stories were amusing and some merely terrifying. He ended by saying that I wouldn’t last too long in his shoes. I had to agree with him.
* * *
I walked onto my own street just in time to catch Bob Milhaus going off duty. Once I told him my concern about vagrants moving in on us, he allowed that he’d been a little soft on the poor man. He said that he’d been hoping that the vagrant would move along on his own steam after a day or two.
We agreed to let it go another day as the man seemed harmless enough. More an eyesore than anything else. Bob promised that if he was still loitering the next day, Bob would roust him and send him packing. When I walked on home I thought well, there’s one problem solved, now if I could just get rid of the damned cat so easily.
While I was standing on my porch thinking about my property value, I espied old Nailor resting his bones on the corner. He saw me at the same time and was soon chugging up the street to meet me. I was disgusted to realize that I’d become one of his regular stops. Still, I stayed where I was until he reached me.
Once he’d gotten control of his breathing, he nodded his head in the direction of the vagabond and asked me what I thought about that. I frowned to express my disapproval and told him that I’d just a minute ago talked to Bob about it.
“Yep.” He agreed, “Things ain’t what they usta be. Back in my day we’d a shot him fulla buckshot and run him outa town.” In disgust old man Nailor shook his head. He told me, “And they wonder why the crime rate’s aclimbin’ and the property values afallin’.”
He studied on me a mite. “Well, boy, you been ailin’ or what?” He took the time to look me over with expertise. If I was dying, he wanted to be the first to know I thought bitterly. He went on, “So you wasn’t around for the last coupla days. Was ya feelin’ poorly?”
When I assured him that I was feeling fine, he seemed to have a fresh run of oxygen and related to me his conversation with Bob Milhaus. “And you see that long black coat, sonny boy. We had a murder hereabouts not long back by somebody in a coat like that. That’s just what I told Bob too. And he wrote it all down. Now that’s out in the open and high time.” To that I though yes indeed.
After a short space he asked me how Murphy was doing and if he was looking healthy enough to stand trial. I gathered he meant the bruises. When I said not yet, he shook his head mournfully and said, “That’ll go against him.”
When Nailor left, I though for awhile about Murphy and his trial coming up in just about a week. There were two visits left to us. His bruises had been worse today that they were before. Now his whole face was a mass of yellow and blue discoloration. The only improvement was that the swelling had gone down. He told me he was taking the vitamins even though he sorely hated swallowing pills.
The cat crossed my line of vision then. While musing on the damned cantankerous beast and its boldness, I noticed the drifter again. First the cat, then the drifter. Not to mention old Nailor. The evening was ruined for me from then on so I went in to an early supper. Plenty to do the next day.
Chapter 17
My first order of business on the new day was to see the
cat’s owners. As a property owner I could take no more. They’d been told about their responsibilities more times than I cared to count. It was time something was done. I was no longer willing to be put off. I made this clear to them immediately.
I escorted these people on a damage tour. And I left no scratch or hole unidentified. They were contrite for a change, perhaps due to the severity of my expression. At the end of this disgraceful tour detailing their neglect of their pet’s actions, a solemn promise was made to me. If the cat could not be properly trained to avoid my property in one week’s time, it was to be destroyed. The suggestion was not mine thankfully; I hadn’t wanted to be the one to bring it up. Although I certainly would have if it had come to that.
I happily agreed to the terms offered. I knew they hadn’t a chance of winning that particular wager. As I watched them walking away it occurred to me that one week away was Murphy’s trial date. I sighed at the thought of it, then turned away only to run across another order of business. Bob Milhaus was approaching me from the front of my property.
He didn’t waste any time getting to the point. Said, “Nicholas, I had to take that vagrant in. Seems he matched the description for the shopkeeper’s assailant. You never know when something new is going to come up in a homicide investigation. Just to be safe, we’re making inquiries as to his past whereabouts.”
We talked some. The weather and such, Bob didn’t have the gift of gab like some folks I know, then Bob said he had to get on with his beat. I joked with him some that he sure had a busy route lately and he laughed. Before he walked away he mentioned how much he missed Murphy when he walked his beat. Always one with a story Murphy was. I agreed with his observation and watched as he cleverly made his escape before old man Nailor could corner him.
“That boy surely can’t hold a candle to his pappy.” remarked old man Nailor about Bob. “Now his pappy can tell a story. Never seen him too busy to sit and talk for a minute or two.” Old Nailor was feeling his oats, I could tell by the way his eyes snapped and pranced. At first I thought he was pleased with himself over the vagrant getting arrested. But no, he didn’t seem to have the time for that.
I put out a few feelers, but to no avail. That old man wouldn’t be pushed. Not that old mule. He was feeling boastful and full of himself. I could tell from his stories and the frequent allusions to acquaintances of wealth and pull. So I pretty much figured that he’d scooped some major story on the gossip circuit.
While I listened to his bragging I half wondered what the story was, whether wife-beating, job loss, or death by dismemberment. These days there was no telling. The new age is one of unrest and desolation, pain and horror. However I had no real interest in these things and was growing bored, so turned in preparation to walking away from the eternally talkative old man.
But no, he was having none of that and grabbed my arm. Then he rushed himself into his performance, perhaps for once seeing that my patience had its limits. “Nicky, you’re not gong to like this.” he gasped, so I set myself to listening. I had to admit it was an art form the way that old man managed to read his audience. Then manipulate them into doing his bidding. Precisely and effectively.
“They caught up to Murphy again.” I heard this in shock, but he went on anyway. “Shortly after your visit yesterday, Nicky. He didn’t get hurt none. The guards was watchin’ for something to happen so they was right there. They hauled the bums away then and there and put ‘em in maximum security. They’ll get extra time for that. Probly don’t matter much to a life sentence. Still, they got to be punished.”
He paused then and gazed at me with his bright sharp eyes. I guess to ascertain the damage he’d caused. He was meticulous about his survey. That old bastard. I wasn‘t even breathing easy yet when he spilled the rest on me.
“Murphy’s in isolation for his own protection, but it don’t matter none. With these guys, they’re looking for a fella see, then they find him. If they can’t get to him, they’ll hire someone who can. Maybe even for a pack of cigarettes. Maybe a little slug of moonshine. It’s just a matter of time. Yep, it’s their pride at stake now.”
He mused on it awhile and so did I. Murphy seemed to get in deeper all the time. He was nigh over his head by this time.
Chapter 18
I spent a good share of the rest of the day trying to track Canfield down. He wasn’t easy to locate. I couldn’t find him in his office, so I left several messages. I was finally informed that he was in court for the day.
In the midst of not reaching Canfield, I thought to try someone nearer at hand to Murphy. Truthfully I wasn’t expecting to have much luck along these lines, but I was pleased to find this was not so. It proved to be easier to gain access to the jail authorities than to the lawyer. Certainly none of them put me off.
In fact, as a whole they expressed concern over Murphy’s dilemma. It seems that it looks bad when a prisoner is killed, so it wasn’t so much a moral concern, but rather the avoiding of a black mark on their records. I cared nothing about their reasons and allowed them to explain the situation at length, then to reassure me of Murphy’s continued safety.
I was told that he had as many guards as it was possible to fit around him. Also that the authorities were doing all that they could to crush gangs such as these out of existence. It was an affront to the system to contain them. And I was assured, and rather strongly at that, that this sort of behavior wouldn’t be condoned.
The supervisor of Murphy’s compound sticks most in my mind. His investment in his job far surpassed common sense and leaped headlong into obsession. He referred to the prisoners as his children and vowed vengeance on those who threatened their safety. His fingers jabbed into the air as he emphasized the responsibility and the gravity of this task.
There was a mad gleam to his eyes, but I ignored it and pressed on with a request to see Murphy immediately. First there was blankness on his part; it was something that didn’t pertain to him. That was followed by astonishment that led to outrage. He squeaked at me visits only on visiting days. I swallowed my reply to this and left him. Apparently he was a severe, structuring type of parent, not on the lenient side at all. How many nut jobs can one penal system contain? I wondered. Apparently there is no cap on the numbers.
Well into the evening Canfield finally called me back. He sounded in a rush and while apologizing said he hadn’t had a minute to himself all day. By that time I was very irritated at his sloppy business practices. So I interrupted his effusions and remarked that he should get himself right to bed.
Before he had time to answer this, I said I’d be happy to see him first thing in the morning. He agreed to this, however reluctantly, and we set a time. Before ringing off he said that he wanted to assure me of Murphy’s continued safety. I agreed that I was concerned but didn’t let on any more than that.
First thing in the morning I was waiting at Canfield’s office. I was early enough that I had to wait outside until the building was unlocked. Canfield arrived soon after. I could see right away that he wasn’t resentful of being forced into this meeting. He’d decided to make some use of the time, most likely for a review to prepare his case. Good man I thought and again raised my estimation of him.
The two of us sat in his cold stingy office and Canfield mentioned that we’d soon have hot coffee. I didn’t wait for that but stated flat out, so I hear Murphy’s got a gang of maniac thugs after him. Although Canfield winced, still he was quick to jump right in and say “Oh, it’s not that bad. Anyway, he’s got protection. I’ve seen to that. There are extra guards on duty.”
I’d already figured that there was nothing to be done about it anyway; they certainly weren’t going to turn him loose. So I moved right on to what was being done for Murphy. We were coming up on the trial fast I remarked. “Yes, yes.” said Canfield. “You heard about the drifter I suppose? He’s our best shot.”
And if
that goes bad? I asked. I didn’t want to ask and held my breath for the answer. “It isn’t good.” said Canfield bluntly. “We need that vagrant as a spoiler if nothing else.” He assured me then that more information would be forthcoming in a day or so. And he promised to call me immediately when he heard the results of the background check.
I remarked that I didn’t think Murphy’s face would be completely healed in time for the trial. Instantly Canfield had a look of despair. He admitted that he was very concerned about that. He said it didn’t really matter if Murphy was the innocent victim of an attack; the problem was that the jury would associate bruises with violence. And most likely not in Murphy’s favor.
I pondered on that for a minute, while he gazed off sadly. Perhaps running over the odds in his mind. Finally he said “Being an ex-con is the worst stigma this society has to offer. I hope Murphy’s got some luck going for him next week.”
Chapter 19
When I saw Murphy two days later his bruises were yet more livid than before. His initial excitement over the fight had subsided drastically. He’d slipped back into his state of melancholia. And he looked sort of yellow to me, sunk into himself, and morose. No life to his eyes. Not healthy at all.
We talked some about the vagabond Bob Milhaus hauled in. Murphy didn’t seem to think much of it. “Hell,” he said, “the guy’s a vagrant. He moves around all the time. Besides he’d be stupid to go back to where he pulled something. Unless he’s too damn crazy to remember straight. No boss, it’s no help to me.”
I didn’t argue with him. I let that go and proceeded to tell him about the cat for lack of anything better. Get his mind away from his troubles. He laughed about the cat being trained. Said I’d sure like to see that. Then, being Murphy, he jumped right to the heart of the matter. “How they gonna kill it?”
