Train to Anywhere

by David George Howard

  ***

  Eddie wanted—needed—to trust Herman, but he felt an instinct to leave his present life without a trace. For a few seconds, he watched the people milling around in the drug store he was in, looking at sundries and sitting at the soda fountain. After getting off the train, he had walked around the small town for a few minutes and bought a paper. The news of the collapse was all over, with reports of businessmen in New York being wiped out, even a few suicides. A few of the people in the store were looking at him as he walked around deciding if he needed to buy anything. He needed to call Harris but wanted to think through what he was going to say. It all felt wrong, the conversation with Herman and the thought of calling Harris. Herman was going to tell Harris he had called, and Harris would start trying to figure out what to do next. Eddie left the pharmacy, thinking that his picture might be in the post office and that it was best if his face was not seen by a great many people.

  After slipping out, he went to the grocery, where he bought a few things he could carry with him that would keep. Beans, crackers, a can of milk, some dried meat. Around the back, he found a canvas bag that may have been used to carry potatoes, and he put all his items in it and slung it over his shoulder. When he walked back onto the street, he shifted the bag to be under his arm. Hobos had a habit of getting picked up by the cops, and this was a problem he was not wanting to deal with. The motel was on the edge of town and was going to cost a dollar for a night's stay. He needed a hot shower and a place to sleep for a night before moving on. The fifty was not going to last long, and paying for a place to sleep was going to cost. But he needed to stop for a few hours, get some food in him and a good night's sleep. Eddie decided he needed to call O'Connor instead. O'Connor had given him his private number when he had Eddie sent away, and now Eddie knew this was probably his only chance.

  Eddie dialed the number he had memorized since he had met with O'Connor on what seemed to be years ago rather than a week or so. For O'Connor to go to such trouble to get and protect Eddie meant he wanted McBride bad. Likewise, McBride would be thinking of a way to get Eddie as well. He was turning this possibility around in his mind when the phone was picked up on the other end. Eddie introduced himself and the phone was immediately handed to O'Connor.

  "Where are you, boy?" O'Connor said in his elderly but authoritative voice.

  "I'm not sure I want to say," Eddie began. There was doubt in his mind since talking to Herman about telling anyone where he was. "I don't want to be found."

  "That's understandable," O'Connor said. "Your mug is all over the papers. Seems every edition features you and that lawyer Harris. I'm tired of hearing about it."

  "Exactly. I can't walk down the street without worrying about somebody taking a shot at me." Eddie was aware of being a stranger in a small town.

  "Let me ask you a question," O'Connor said. "Think about this for a moment. What would have happened if I hadn't pulled you in and hidden you away?"

  "I wouldn't be wanted for robbing two banks, or been drug around by a madman with a gun. That Mike guy came after me," Eddie said. He realized what had happened the last couple of days was probably not known by O'Connor.

  "Mike? What's he doing there?" O'Connor said, clearing his throat. To Eddie he sounded like he was talking through a gurgling tube.

  "He must be working for McBride. Trying to get me. I got away but I think he got Nelson." Eddie was not sure of this, but he had seen them barreling down the roads looking for him.

  "Mike works for himself, one job at a time," O'Connor said, as if stating a known fact. "Back to my question. We both know you would have been in jail by now. With your record, that would have been the end. I don't care how innocent you think you are."

  O'Connor had a point, and Eddie had to admit to himself that he had considered this over the last few days. "What happened with Nelson?"

  "Shit, I thought I had him under control," O'Connor said. "Men like him can get carried away." Eddie guessed that was as close to an apology as O'Connor could give.

  "How bad does McBride want me?" Eddie asked.

  "To send Mike all the way out there, he wants you real bad," O'Connor said. "I wish I would have hired him before McBride picked him up for this job."

  That last statement made Eddie feel queasy. Law enforcement, local and national, and a hit man were all looking for him. Two gangsters wanted him. Eddie laughed for a reason he did not fully understand, even though he knew his chance for any kind of escape was low. Any tipoff would lead to forces coming in from all directions, and they would not be looking to take him back to stand trial. Whoever was leading the charge would decide the case himself, collect whatever reward was being offered, and go on.

  O'Connor continued. "If McBride doesn't think he is in control, he gets mean and starts killing. He's a good thinker, but it's as plain as that. Stay out there and get shot at if you want, or you have a chance with me."

  The straight hard logic of O'Connor had sense. "I'm in Brookville, Pennsylvania, Morton's Motel, Room 10," Eddie said.

  "I'll have a man there tomorrow. Don't leave your room." O'Connor then added, "In case you wondered, Nelson got away and caused both of us too much trouble. But you know I don't make the same mistake twice. Call if you need to."

  The line went dead and Eddie slipped out of the phone booth.

  50

  Patrick was not sure why he was not able to talk. He moved his tongue around in his mouth and felt the gap where teeth should have been. The taste of blood made him realize they had been forcibly removed. There was a question being asked, but the voice was all garbled, and besides, the ability to form words was not there. There was a sharp sting on the side of his face, and the voice came nearer.

  "You idiot, you knocked him cold. He'll be here in a minute, better hope this puke doesn't die on you."

  The last part of this sentence came through, and Patrick ran this through his mind several times and tried to see who said it. One eye opened, but the other complained by throbbing and staying shut. The sting to the side of his face came again and a hand grabbed his chin.

  "Hey!" the disembodied voice yelled. "Hey, wake up, you fuck!" Patrick felt a spray of spit hit his face. The slap came again and this time Patrick's one eye fluttered open. The other was helplessly swollen shut. The man who was standing in front of him wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. "There."

  Patrick looked around the room he was in and did not recognize anything about it. And as he looked, what happened began to come back. His grandfather had received a phone call from Eddie and told Patrick to get Charlie and take a train to the location Eddie had told him. Patrick drove out of the gate, and when he stopped at the first street, one car blocked him at front and one at back. Three men bolted out of the front car and dragged him out into the street, and that was the last he remembered before opening his eye a few moments ago.

  "Got a man who wants to talk to you real bad," another man behind him said. "You tell him what he wants to hear and this will be real easy. Otherwise...." He stepped around to where Patrick could see him. He was holding in one hand, loose at his side, a big kitchen knife. There was movement behind him as somebody else entered.

  "Back off, Fingers. Let me talk to him." This person came around and despite Patrick's impaired vision, he recognized McBride right away. "He's right. You talk to us, and a loose tooth and black eye is all you'll get."

  "What do you want to know?" Patrick asked, his question coming out slurred but clear enough.

  "Don't be silly," McBride said. He then put one hand on Patrick's bruised eye and the other on the back of his head and squeezed. Patrick felt loose bones moving around as he let out a yell.

  McBride let up and after a few moments, he caught his breath. "Understand? You lie to us, and that will be the least of what you'll get. Now, let me be clear. We don't have much time, and I'm not a patient man. Where's Eddie Griffin?"
>
  "I don't know," Patrick said. The blow was so sudden that, again, Patrick had not known what had happened until he began to wake up. More blood was running down his face as the wound over his eye had been reopened. As he managed to open the one eye, everyone in the room was standing around him, not moving or making a sound. They were simply watching. There was the rough sound of a table being dragged across the room, and then his left hand was slammed down onto the surface. Whoever was holding him down was using all their weight to flatten the hand out.

  "Let's try this again," McBride said. "We can only knock you out so many times before you're gone, so we have a different game."

  Fingers stepped forward with the knife still in his hand, pulled Patrick's small finger out to the side at an impossible angle and set the blade onto the first knuckle.

  "You have ten fingers and ten toes. We can work our way all the way through them and start on other body parts if you want, or you can tell us what we want to hear," McBride said.

  Fingers pressed the blade tight enough to the skin to feel it start to cut through. "Ain't never seen anyone get past three, but I'm willing take as many as you want,"

  "We are very short on time," McBride said. "Where's Eddie Griffin?"

  "I don't know him," Patrick said.

  McBride nodded to Fingers. He slowly leaned on the knife. This time Patrick screamed, as the blade severed the skin, was rocked back and forth on the bone, and broke through. The small digit popped off and rolled across the table as blood flooded out around it. The knife was moved to the next knuckle.

  "Where's Eddie Griffin?"

  All Patrick could think about was how he was going to disappoint his grandfather. The blade began to cut through the skin. "Brookville Pennsylvania, Morton's, Room 10." The blade stopped.

  The hand was released, and Patrick immediately pulled his shirttail out and wrapped it up as best as he could. McBride bent down in front of him. "We're going to take you home now, young man. Be sure to tell your grandfather again to stay out of my business. He's too old, can't even leave his house. This is my town now, and he should retire to a nice comfortable slum down south. Can you tell him that?"

  Patrick, stunned, pain running through all parts of his body, could only mumble his agreement to pass the warning along. A smelly cloth bag was put over his head and his body was hoisted out of the chair and dragged through the house to a car waiting outside. There was too much for him to figure out where he was. After what seemed to be about twenty minutes of driving, the car was stopped and the bag was removed. The door was opened and a foot literally shoved him out of the car and onto the side of the road. He instantly recognized his grandfather's house. The car sped away, and he struggled to his feet to go inside and relay the message.

  51

  Eddie walked back to the motel. As he did, other people in the town went by going about their business. He listened to people talk about their lives with the occasional burst of laughter added in. They had normal lives. Maybe that was what Gloria meant by normal, being able to sit in a diner with friends all around, laughing and talking about what they did that day.

  He had already eaten, and he began to feel sleepy and comfortable. It occurred to him that what was Eddie Griffin was no more. His old life, or remnants of it, had to end, and he had to start from there. Maybe it was the odd conversations with Herman and O'Connor. Reaching back to Herman was probably one last try to stay Eddie Griffin, who had a life in Providence. Eddie concluded that calling Harris was only going to make it worse. After all, what proof did Harris have to believe him? By now, he probably had seen the news about him and Nelson robbing the banks. Run, was what Gloria had told him to do. He was going to go her one better: he was going to disappear.

  The motel would subtract a precious amount of money he had, but he felt he needed a fresh start to what was going to be a difficult trip. He had eaten a good meal, taken a shower, and was about to enjoy a nights sleep in a clean bed. When his head hit the pillow, he was asleep in a matter of moments.

  There was no clock in the room, but he guessed it was about 2:00am when he bolted straight up in bed and had a thought that he needed to get out. All he could think was that he had told O'Connor the room number he was in. He put his clothes on and picked up his sack, but before walking out of the door a plan came to mind. If he really was not being followed, he might never know and could be running for no reason. Using the pillows, he arranged the bed like he was still sleeping in it, then left and went into an alley across the road. There, he sat down in the dark behind a trash can and began to wait for whatever might happen. Again, though, he began falling asleep and was soon out, only to be awakened by a car pulling in and stopping a few doors down from where his room was.