Train to Anywhere

by David George Howard

  ***

  Harris closed the folder. Standard procedure from there. Sam got five years and Eddie three. Eddie served two years and then left Buffalo for Providence at the first opportunity. Either way, he had a considerable record behind him, a pattern of trouble, and this did not bode well for his prospects. Perhaps Harris had been wrong about Eddie. Maybe he really did do the crimes. He shook his head. There was no hope for him at this point. Any jury would look at that record and the evidence that put Eddie at the both murder scenes, and they would convict him in an instant.

  Harris felt the weight of his job press in around him as he questioned Eddie's innocence. Harris opened the folder again for a second and realized Eddie was going to wind up on death row, and there was nothing to be done about it. There were too many details standing out there, and he had to consider that maybe he had been wrong about Eddie and should have pulled him in right from the start. Gloria might still be alive if he had. But the singer saw her, alive, right after he left. The deli was closing down in a few minutes, and he was the only customer in there. It just did not make sense. No sense at all. He closed the folder, put it back into his briefcase, and tried to go back to his dinner. After one more bite, though, there was no use in trying to finish. He left the food on the table and walked out, knowing he was going to have another sleepless night.

  23

  Eddie stepped off the trolley and began to walk down the sidewalk towards his apartment. He was in a hell of fix, with two men wanting to pull him one way or another. His choices seemed to be go to jail or wind up dead. He felt Harris would look at the problem and the facts as well as he could, but the odds were stacked against him. Eddie had been through this before, and he knew how a jury would look at a suspect with a questionable background who happened to be in the wrong place. Harris would somehow be forced to throw him in jail. The other choice was that if he went against McBride, he would end up dead before he had a chance to do anything.

  He came to a trolley stop and sat on a bench to think through this. Once again, he had gotten himself into a problem. The problems with Sam started innocently enough, and he wound up in jail for two years. This time he happened to be working late, putting his life back together, and two people were dead. Two people he did not really know, but now were somehow knit into his life. He put his head in his hands and squeezed his eyes shut. What a messed up life from the start. Life was good until his father disappeared in a storm. Even after that, his mother did a decent job raising him, and life began to return to normal. Then she died, and he was cast out with the other unwanted children. Any time things started to get better, they quickly became worse than before. Even now, when he was doing everything right—job, school, good friends—he was going to end up right where he was a few years back.

  Eddie put his hands on his knees, pushed himself up from the bench, and started walking back to the apartment. Then it occurred to him that there was a third choice that he had been considering but had not taken seriously. He could run. That's what Gloria told him. He turned this over in his mind and wondered if this might be his only real choice. Of course, Harris would have no alternative but to pursue him, and if he were caught, he would certainly be convicted. But how was that any worse than where he was now? At least this gave him a chance. And McBride—what would he care if he disappeared into thin air? Eddie had heard of people heading out west and changing their names, starting a new life. Many men were riding the rails as anonymous people hoping to blend into the landscape. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut about where he came from and no one would know. Just another jobless man in a crowd of jobless men. Maybe he would go out west. He could get a job on a ranch where people never asked questions as long as you did the work you were supposed to. Eddie saw all this in his mind and wondered how long before he would convince himself that this was the only real choice he had.

  When Eddie came to his apartment building, a young man about his age that he had never seen there before was sitting on the front step. As he approached, Eddie did not give him any notice, but the man stood up and asked, "Are you Eddie Griffin?"

  The hair on the back of Eddie's neck stood up for a moment, as he had been through too many of these moments in the past month. "Who wants to know?" Eddie said, setting his feet as best as he could.

  "My name is Patrick, and my grandfather is Larry O'Connor. Have you heard of him?" Patrick asked. The young man was quiet, for some reason not what Eddie had been expecting.

  "I've heard the name, but that's about it." Eddie said. He looked at Patrick for a moment, trying to sense if there was any danger in his appearance, or if he might be a distraction for someone else.

  "He's an enemy of Clarence McBride's. He knows the trouble you're in, and how Harris will probably need to arrest you," Patrick said, his voice steady and level.

  "How do you know this?" Eddie asked.

  "Not much happens that he isn't aware of." Patrick held out an envelope that Eddie took. Inside was a slip of paper with a phone number on it. "He's prepared to help you out, if you want him to."

  "What's in it for him?" Eddie said. O'Connor and his type never offered help unless there was payment or obligation in return.

  "I have no idea. Call the number and talk to him yourself. There's no commitment on your part if you call." Patrick stayed there for a moment, and then added, "That's all I have. I encourage you to at least call him. He might be able to help you out. I think you're in a bad position right now and could use whatever help was provided."

  Patrick walked by Eddie, leaving him standing on the first step holding the envelope. Eddie watched him disappear around the corner of the building. He looked at the slip of paper again. The idea of a person offering him a way out was appealing, but at what cost? After all that had happened in the past few weeks, Eddie was not surprised at the offer. He went into his apartment and left the slip of paper on the table while he did his best to fix some beans and a small piece of meat for his dinner.

  The apartment was mostly quiet as he ate. By that time of the day, he always heard numerous people come in and out of the building. Radios would be turned on to catch to the news; kids would be told to go out and play while mother fixed dinner. These were the sounds he was used to, but today he wondered if he would be hearing them for much longer. O'Connor must have had a plan for him to go to this kind of measure. Calling and talking to him would not do any harm. Patrick was right, and it only confirmed what Eddie knew: the deck was stacked against him at that point, and there would only be one result.

  There was really no choice. Eddie knew that if he did not call, he would always wonder what this option was. Besides, he knew, having been down this road before, that it was only a matter of time before Harris and Thomas pulled him in and locked him up to await trial.

  Eddie dialed the number and on the third ring, an older man answered.

  "Are you Mr. O'Connor?" Eddie guessed.

  The person on the other end cleared his throat. "Yes I am. I'm assuming this is Eddie Griffin?" he said in a slight Irish brogue.

  "Yes," Eddie replied. He had the sudden thought that he should have prepared a few questions before he called to try to find out what this was all about.

  "I take it you have been told of my offer," O'Connor said.

  Eddie thought for a moment, and wondered if he should simply hang up. Maybe this would all go away. He thought better of it. "I'm not accepting anything. I want to know what your real plan is."

  O'Connor laughed quietly. "Maybe we should meet in person."

  "No," Eddie said. "Not before you tell me what my obligation is in this. I know you don't want to do this just to take care of me."

  "You're correct. I had a feeling you would want to know these things. Briefly, I want to trap McBride, and you're part of that. You saw him kill this LaRue, or you at least have valuable information concerning that matter." Eddie could hear O'Conno
r take a deep breath. He continued, "I'm going to try to be legitimate about this, and I know Harris can't protect you. I'm the only person in the city who can."

  "Protect me? Do you really think they can get McBride to stand trial?" Eddie had never heard of a crime boss being stopped by legalities.

  "I don't know, but let's talk about this in private."

  They stayed like that for several moments, but Eddie knew O'Connor was right. "Tell me where, and I'll be there tomorrow morning."

  "You need to make a decision now. You don't have time. Come out this evening."

  Eddie wondered how come he had not already been arrested. O'Connor was right. He had to do this right away. "I'll be there are soon as I can."

  After getting directions, Eddie left on the next trolley, and then he caught a bus to get to the part of town where O'Connor lived. He had to walk the last half mile through a quiet, deserted neighborhood of large, stately homes. As he had been told to do, he knocked on the front door, and after a few moments, someone inside let him in. The man who led him through house said nothing as they passed through a few rooms to a small library, where another man, presumably O'Connor, was sitting before a fireplace, reading a newspaper.

  "Mr. O'Connor?" Eddie asked.

  "Please have a seat," O'Connor said, indicating to a chair across from him. "Excuse me for not getting up. My knees are very painful today. Can I get you anything?"

  Eddie had not come there for food, drink, and pleasant conversation. His patience with this entire ordeal had come to an end, and he had no further need to dance around the questions. "What do you want with me?" he asked.

  "Hm," O'Connor said, sizing Eddie up. "We're going to need to work together. I don't want to start out improperly."

  O'Connor's position in the local crime community came back to Eddie. "I'm sorry to be impolite, but this has been a long difficult time."

  "I understand. I'll be brief." O'Connor shifted around in his seat, grimacing as he did so. Eddie guessed that more than his knees were hurting. "I hate McBride. He's an arrogant bastard who's pushing in on my territory. He's unnecessarily violent. I believe the only reason you're still alive is so he can manipulate Harris. If it wasn't for that, you'd be dead."

  Eddie had not thought about McBride using him to pull down Harris. It made sense. "All true. How does my being with you change this?"

  "There are many ways to stop a man. You can kill him, injure him, cause him to be his own worst enemy, anything. I have a chance to take care of this through the law." O'Connor put his long, heavy fingers of both hands together in front of his face. "I can be the law if I want to be. If I have a chance to parade McBride in front of the public, I'm going to do it. It's very simple. Given enough time, Harris may find enough evidence eventually to tie these two murders to McBride. I don't think he has that much time. But I can buy him time, and you're the key to this."

  "I was there at both. If Harris needs me, can't he provide protection?"

  O'Connor laughed the same laugh Eddie had heard over the phone. "The cops in this town can only do so much. Besides, once they drag you into jail, you won't stand a chance."

  "Have you talked to Harris about your plan?" Eddie guessed there must have been some cooperation.

  "Absolutely not. A good, hard-working man, but he has no idea how this city works." O'Connor leaned forward. "I run it and will continue to do so. I need to get rid of McBride and control Harris. You're my best bargaining chip."

  "How would this work? Where would you keep me?" There was no denying he was intrigued—plus a chance to sit out while the dust settled was appealing.

  "I have places. You'll be safe and anonymous. You'll be safe, basically working for me."

  Eddie watched the old man, certainly battered by years of running a criminal organization, yet still alert. "You're a long ways from convicting anybody. What happens to me if this doesn't work?"

  O'Connor moved his hands away from his face and leaned forward in the chair. This time he did not grimace. "You have to understand. If I need evidence, I can produce whatever is needed. As for you, if this doesn't work, you're on your own, which is better than what you're facing right now, conviction and prison. Death row."

  "You can do that?" Eddie asked, though he already knew the answer. O'Connor leaned back and smiled, answering the question without saying a word. Eddie gave this a few more seconds thought. "What's to keep me from just running away?"

  "Then you'll be a fugitive. Everyone will be looking for you," O'Connor said. "I'll tell them where to look. You won't have a chance."

  "Won't I look like I ran anyway?" Eddie asked.

  "I'll talk to Harris and the mayor. They'll be under pressure to pull you in, but I can hold them off for a few weeks until we get what we need."

  "Okay, let's do it. Can I get a few things from my apartment?"

  "We'll drive you back. Take what you need, but pack light."

  24

  After a quick visit to Eddie's apartment, Charlie, one of O'Connor's men, drove into the early evening, not saying much. Charlie drove quickly, but not fast enough to attract attention. Eddie settled in as best as he could under the circumstances. The car was nice and comfortable; at least that was a relief.

  "Where we going?" Eddie asked.

  Charlie moved his hands on the wheel a bit. "Don't worry about it."

  There was nothing else for Eddie to think about, so of course he worried. A few hours ago, he was going to run away completely, and now he might be in deeper than before. He had to find a way to contact Herman or Harris—or someone. But for now, he was trapped where he was, with a problem he could do little about.

  They drove through the night, not saying much other than occasionally talking sports. Long periods of silence fell in between. Eddie only learned that Charlie, a well-dressed man probably in his late 30s, did things for O'Connor. Eddie tried to find out what these things were, but he only received vague, uncomfortable answers, and he guessed there was occasional violence involved. Eddie had met a few men like him when he was doing time. Most used a plain exterior and could be friendly in normal conversation. However, there always seemed to be a point at which they would turn, and the open smile and banter would drop away. During most of his incarceration, Eddie kept to himself and stayed out of trouble. Things happened—fights, disagreements, guards pushing people around—but he was good at laying low and not being noticed. This was another case where he had to use that skill.

  "I'll wait and see where we end up, I guess."

  Charlie let out a sigh, and repeated, "Don't worry about it." This was the last word said for the next two hours.

  Through the rest of the drive, Eddie had made up his mind that he would go along with whatever game O'Connor and McBride were playing, with the thought that he was more valuable to them alive than dead. This would buy him some time until that value went away for any reason. Eddie had to think about that. This was probably his only advantage at this point.

  They had driven west for three or four hours, but the roads were still decent. As near as Eddie could guess, they were somewhere in central Connecticut, maybe north of Hartford. Charlie had stopped for gas once.

  "You know there aren't any more filling stations open this late," Eddie said. They had been silent for the last hour, and the statement just kind of came out without him thinking about it.

  "We're almost there," Charlie said.

  "Where's that?" Eddie asked stretching his legs as best as he could. "And what are you planning to do with me for the next few weeks?"

  "Let me answer the first question. I'm taking you to a friend's house, who'll keep an eye on you while you're gone. He's a good friend of mine. As for the second question, I don't know. Once I drop you off, that's all I have to do."

  "So what happens if I just run away? What if I call Harris and tell him what happened?"

  "If you run, you won't get fa
r. If you do run, everyone'll be after you. Us, McBride, the cops. I imagine you can call Harris if you want, but that might be even worse. Maybe he'll believe you, maybe not. Doesn't really matter. Think about it. O'Connor rewards loyalty, and he's doing you favor. Don't screw it up." Charlie slowed the car down and pulled into a driveway that was on the edge of a small town. The drive went up a hill and eventually broke into a clearing where a house was. The place looked fairly nice, as much as he could make out in the dark. Charlie pulled around behind the house, where there appeared to be at least three more cars. He stopped behind them and said, "Time to get out. This is where you're staying for a few days."

  Eddie took the suitcase out of the back seat and proceeded to the door. Charlie was behind him, preventing any sort of escape. From inside he heard some men talking, followed by laughter. Then there was a lady's voice. She sounded older. Eddie stopped at the door, not sure if he should knock or walk in. Charlie solved the dilemma by reaching around and opening the door for him.

  When they walked into the house, all conversation stopped and everyone looked at them. There was a pause, then a general acknowledgement of recognition. Everyone seemed to know Charlie, but Eddie noticed there was as a chill in the banter from a moment before. They invited them to sit down at the dinner table in the main room.

  Once they were settled, the other men in the room went back to joking and smoking cigars, though they all seemed to be stealing sidelong glances in his direction. After a few minutes, an older woman came into the room.

  "Hey Margie, look what Charlie brought in," one of them said. "Looks like we're babysitting some shitkicker now."

  A round of laughter went through the room, though Charlie only smiled weakly. "You know the rules, Nelson. No swearing in my house," Margie said, glaring across the room. The laughter quickly subsided, and Eddie immediately knew who was in control. "You use that language in here again, and I'll have you thrown out. I feed men like you; give you a place to stay now and then." She turned to Eddie and Charlie. "You two gentlemen need a bite to eat?"

  Eddie had not been hungry all day, despite the fact they had not stopped to eat. Still, he felt he would need something.

  "Sure," Charlie said. "Whatever you got will be fine." Margie disappeared into the kitchen.

  "So, looks like you're doing well for yourself," Nelson said, getting up and leaning against a doorjamb.

  "Not bad. Can't complain," Charlie said. The room was fairly quiet as the other four men began paying attention to what they were saying.

  "I mean, you got some mighty fine clothes there, and you're drivin' what? Something with a big motor? That's what I heard drive up."

  "Hey Nelson, take it easy. He's just here to drop him off," another man said.

  "Don't worry about it," Charlie said. "I do what I have to do. You know that."

  There was a general stiff nodding of heads in the room when Charlie said that. Eddie could guess there was a tinge of fear and envy. Charlie looked to be much smoother than the others in the room; his clothes were nicer, his hair was trimmed, and his hands were clean.

  Nelson smiled. A display of poor dentistry showed itself. "You always were the one to take care of people. I guess that pays well."

  A few moments later, Margie came back into the room with two plates with what appeared to be pot roast and assorted cooked vegetables, and a couple of rolls. "I had this left over from earlier. You two eat up. There's more if you need it; just help yourself. I'm turning in for the night." A general chorus of good-nights came from around the room as she left.

  Charlie positioned the plate of food in front of him, placed a napkin in his lap, and began to eat in small, measured bites. Eddie, to his surprise, found the food was tasty and well prepared. Nelson joined the other men in the sitting area, leaving Charlie and Eddie at the table. A few seconds later, they were joined by the man had stopped the conversation between Nelson and Charlie.

  "So who's your friend?" he asked Charlie while looking at Eddie.

  "Name's," Charlie said, and then paused. "Ed? What do you call yourself?"

  "Eddie. I go by Eddie."

  The other man stretched his hand across the table. "Carl. Carl Nickels." They shook hands, then he asked, "So why you traveling with Charlie? You working for O'Connor?"

  Eddie was not sure how to answer that, but Charlie spoke for him. "This is who we're supposed to watch."

  "Oh, him. I wasn't expecting him for a few days."

  Charlie kind of lowered his head and continued eating. He looked at Eddie and said, just loud enough for the three of them to hear, "Remember what he said. We keep him out of sight for now, but that's it. We'll let you know what to do after a while."

  "What's up? He do something we need to know?" Carl asked.

  Charlie took a few more bites of the pot roast. He leisurely chewed then swallowed. "Don't ask me that."

  Carl moved in his seat. Eddie knew Charlie was much more dangerous than his demeanor would indicate. Carl put his hands on the table in front of him. "Ok. I'll just have to take him with us wherever we go. He might see a few things, you know. We got booze coming in from Canada tomorrow."

  Charlie thought about this. "That's fine. Keep him out of sight. Put somebody on him so he doesn't get away."

  Carl went back to the sitting area and Eddie and Charlie finished their dinner in silence. When the food was gone, Eddie asked, "So, what happens now?"

  "Hell if I know," Charlie said. He leaned in towards Eddie. "Look, you're in a mess. You upset the wrong man—McBride—but for some reason, you're alive. In my book, you're one lucky son of a bitch. I'd do what O'Connor says and stay with them. They're not as selective as I am. Nelson'll shoot you on the spot if you tie your shoes wrong, assuming he knows what wrong is." With that, no goodbye or a word from anyone in the house, Charlie left. Eddie stood by the door for a moment, and then turned around.

  "I'm glad he's gone," one of the men said.

  Eddie came back to the dining table and sat down. He was not sure what to do or why he was really there. The others seemed to be ignoring him as he twisted a napkin around his finger. He thought back to what Charlie had just said about him being lucky, and thought it was, in fact, just the opposite. This had all started long before LaRue was shot, or even before he met Sam. The day he was told his father had gone down in a shipwreck was when all this began. He had been sitting on the front porch of their house when a strange man had come up the sidewalk and stopped by him. "Your mother home?" he asked. Even at age ten, Eddie had known the tone of the man was one of sadness. Eddie had said she was inside. He had patted Eddie on the head as he had gone up the steps and knocked on the door. His mother had apparently recognized him when she had come to the door; Eddie had seen the look on her face when she let him in. These types of visits had happened before to others, and she had known who the man was. A few minutes later, Eddie had heard her crying and trying to talk around the dissolve of her composure. The man had come back out and left without saying a word to Eddie. His life had changed dramatically that day. Since then, he had seen one batch of trouble follow another. His mother would be gone a few years later in the influenza outbreak. From there, he had spent his growing up years in the orphanage. The events following from there had led him directly to where he was at that moment. Some people had done well. Many had bet on the stock market and done amazingly well. Eddie had worked late one night for extra money and now was a hostage of some gangster.

  "So what's your story, anyway?"

  "What?" Eddie said, looking up. He had dropped into such a state he had not noticed Nelson had sat down at the table across from him.

  "Why's O'Connor want us to watch you?" Nelson said.

  Nelson had a look about him that was not altogether focused. Eddie knew he was the type that might be talking, smiling, and laughing, but would always seem to be looking at a place beyond you. To sa
y men like Nelson were crazy would be too simple, but Eddie had few other words to describe it. They seemed to believe they had control over those tendencies that got them into trouble, but they kept leaking out. Eddie saw no reason to lie. "I saw McBride kill a man."

  "Shit that," Nelson said, pushing back from the table. "Everybody in this room seen that, or heard of it."

  "I wasn't supposed to see it," Eddie said. Nelson displayed the broken discolored teeth again.

  "So what do you do? You supposed to be running with us?" Nelson asked.

  "I was working late one night and McBride come in. They shot a man, and I saw it. He's been after me ever since."

  Nelson took one of rolls left on the table and took a bite. He chewed it with the seriousness of a man who occasionally did not have enough to eat. "Aw, McBride, he ain't nothin'. So what. You had a real job?"

  Eddie thought about this for a moment, and struck upon an idea. "I was working as a janitor. It's hard to find a job when you've done time."

  Nelson stopped chewing on the roll. His big brown eyes lit up. "What the hell for? A clean shit like you?" He turned around to the other men in the room. "Hey, come on over and hear this."

  The other three men gathered around the table. Eddie looked each man in the face. "Armed robbery. Did two years." He recounted the story about him and Sam. Eddie embellished in a few places to make it look like he had more of a hand in the robbery. "I've been straight ever since I got out," he said finishing the story. If it was possible to get respect from these men, Eddie guessed he had gotten some.

  "I'll be goddamned," Nelson said.

  The other three returned to the sitting room. "So tell me," Eddie asked, "what's the story with Charlie?"

  "Charlie," Nelson began. His face dropped and he seemed to grit his teeth. "He's what you call an arranger. O'Connor asks him to take care of his problems. If he needs to talk to somebody, he talks to them. If he needs to make them disappear, they disappear."

  "Don't like him much?" Eddie asked. He should have read Nelson better than he had.

  He placed both hands on the table and practically spat the words out. "He runs errands, and can afford nice clothes and a fast car. Me and these boys," he said, with an exaggerated sweep of his hand, "we're out here doing the real work. Charlie's back in Providence, driving fast cars and paying to keep his dick busy."

  Eddie was not sure if he should change the subject. Instead, he decided to make a neutral comment. "We didn't talk much on the way out."

  As fast as the anger came on, it was gone. Nelson stood up and said in a loud voice, "I'm turning in." He went up the stairs.

  After Nelson had left the room, Carl came over to the table. "Now what do I do?" Eddie asked him.

  "Well, I got a strange problem with you. O'Connor said to keep an eye open and not let you get away. But, on the other hand, he wants you taken care of like the rest of the boys here." Carl pulled a pouch of tobacco out of his pocket and started rolling a cigarette. "You wanna smoke?"

  "No, thank you. So what's this mean? I just travel around with you?" Eddie asked.

  "That's the way I see it. Don't try anything funny or Nelson will have his fun. There's a room up the stairs to the left. When you're ready to go to sleep, we're going to lock you in. We're waitin' here to meet some people in a few days." Carl finished rolling the cigarette and lit it with a match he ignited with his thumbnail. He blew a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling.

  Eddie studied Carl for a moment. He appeared to be the man in control of whatever this operation was. "You don't like having me around, do you?"

  "No, I don't. I don't need another person to keep track of, especially if I'm having to baby-sit his ass. Unless…"

  Eddie waited for him to complete the thought. He had a feeling Carl would want him to pull his weight with the group. He had already gained a certain respect from them. If he could earn their respect, he might have a chance to get on better. "I can help out. No use just driving me around."

  "Got any special skills?" Carl asked. He appeared to be interested. "You act like you got some education."

  "Not much really. I have about a two semesters' worth of business school."

  "Really," Carl said. This seemed to perk him up. He had appeared like he was ready to fall asleep, but now his eyes opened wide.

  "Accounting, really. I can keep the books for you. Other than that, I don't know, I can load trucks, drive a car." Eddie could see that he had struck an interest with Carl. He had not dreamed that he might be able to help the mob by using his accounting skills, though one of his professors said a college education would pay off in ways he could never imagine.

  "You know, none of the other boys got a lick of book smarts. They're good boys. Nelson's a wild one, but sometimes.... Let's just say they're not always the swiftest." Carl laughed. "Freddie over there once drove a truck of Canadian into a pond. We met back on this dirt road to make the exchange. He tried to turn the truck around on the road and got the one of the back wheels off the side. He gets to panicking, screams and jumps out and the truck slowly slides over the edge. We 'bout pissed our pants, it was so funny. Took us all day to get it out and back on the road."

  The pleasant manner Carl was portraying put Eddie at ease for a few moments. He did his best to laugh at the story. "I don't know if you want me driving a truck, but whatever you need."

  Carl smiled and exhaled at the same time. He stretched and yawned. "Margie makes a good pot roast. This is a good place to hang out until we need to move on. Go to bed. We'll talk in the morning."

  Eddie picked up his small suitcase and went up the stairs to the room Carl had described. He went in and turned on the light. What he found was a small yet comfortable bedroom, with a nicely made bed and a small dresser with a washbowl on it. He was there for a few seconds when Carl came up, closed the door behind him, and locked it. There was a window in the room with the curtain closed. He opened the curtain and found that the window was bolted shut. He truly was locked in. After a moment's contemplation, he realized his best chance was to play this out for a few days before trying anything. He could not remember for sure, but he thought there did not appear to be a telephone in the house. Eddie turned off the light, took his clothes off, and got into the bed. Margie also kept a tidy house, since the bed linens felt clean and ironed. After some rolling around, he eventually fell asleep thinking he might actually be able to figure a way out of this.

  25

  After talking to Mr. Aron, it only took Harris a few seconds to suspect Eddie had left town. When he arrived at the shirt factory, he had a difficult time stopping Mr. Aron long enough to find out if Eddie had even shown up. As it turned out, he was running around trying to cover for the work Eddie would have been doing. Mr. Aron was none too happy to see the authorities in his factory, and he spared no time blaming them for Eddie's absence. On the ride over to Eddie's apartment, Harris could only imagine the reaction he would receive when the Mayor learned of Eddie's disappearance.

  Harris was alone when he went into the apartment building. Considering all that transpired, Harris wondered if he needed to call in some help. After all, McBride would not hesitate to have Eddie taken out, since he was now an inconvenience. Harris balanced that with the thought of someone inside, dying, or recently killed. In an attempt to be safe, he stepped to the side of the door and knocked. He waited a moment, and then knocked again.

  "Eddie, you in there?" he said. There was no sound or indication that there was anyone inside. He tried the door and found that it was unlocked. He stepped in.

  What he expected was to find a person dead, or at least a sign of commotion. Instead, he found relatively nothing. He stood in the living room a moment to give it a good examination. There was nothing but the usual clutter of a man living a bachelor life. This would cause considerable problems. The mayor, and the general public for that matter, would assume Edd
ie was guilty, since he had run, yet there was still a possibility he had been taken by force. A suspect who runs automatically has the guilty label attached to him. It was not fair, but that was how juries looked at these cases. McBride was surely behind this. Harris had to give him credit: the man was smart. He had been outmaneuvered by him at every turn so far and was probably not done yet. McBride was likely threatened by having Harris investigating him and would not stop until he was removed from office.

  He went into the bedroom and saw that some of the drawers looked empty. Harris was careful to touch as few of the surfaces as he could, since there was likely a person other than Eddie in the room in the last day or so. There could be a match with the strange fingerprints they lifted from Gloria's apartment, though she had been known to have a constant stream of visitors. Harris left the apartment to call Thomas. A formal investigation of the scene was needed.