Andrew Vachss - Two Trains Running

“Ah, Brian, how many times is it I’m to be telling you the same thing? Now, just drive, boyo. You be the pilot; I’ll be the navigator,” Shalare said.

“Not to drive the bloody car, Mickey. I mean that other thing you said.”

“All you have to do is use your eyes, Big Brian. Make them into little cameras. Whatever you see, it’s gold for us. I don’t know if they’re going to let you in, keep you outside, stash you someplace else… but it doesn’t matter. Wherever they take you, wherever they let you be, it’s going to be someplace we’ve not ever seen before.”

“Why is that so important, then?”

“Because we may have to come back someday, Brian. Only without the invite.”

1959 October 06 Tuesday 14:16

“Why?” Ruth demanded.

“Why what?” Sherman said. Knowing he was evading her question; knowing she knew.

“Why can’t you trust me the way you say you do?”

“I do trust you, Ruth. You know my… you know things about me nobody else does.”

“That’s not trusting, Sherman. That’s trusting not to tell. There’s a big difference.”

“What would be trusting you?” the detective asked. A wave of depersonalization washed over him. He could see himself, seated across from Ruth. Lean back to invite a confidence; lean forward to intimidate; work the middle distance to assure the suspect that whatever he’s about to say is going to stay between us. His shoulders trembled as he shook off the wave. Sherman Layne knew how to do that. He had been practicing since he was a child.

“Building me what I asked you for would be a start.”

“Ruth, I don’t think of you like that.”

“But you said… I mean, when I said I’d do anything for you, I meant it. And when you asked me out here, I thought…”

“You don’t understand,” he said, in the hushed tone used for sharing secrets. “What you… think I do… out at your place? You’re wrong.”

“But I don’t care what you-”

“Just listen, okay?” Sherman said. “Please?”

1959 October 06 Tuesday 14:55

“Damn, I’d hate to find this place after dark, Mickey. Are you sure we’re going right?”

“If the directions he gave us are true, we are,” Shalare said.

“Are you thinking…?”

“Ambush? No, Brian. I’m not saying Beaumont’s not capable of it, mind. But he’s too smart for such a stunt now.”

“Now?”

“He’ll be wanting to hear what we’ve got to say first,” Shalare said. “That’s what I’d be doing myself.”

1959 October 06 Tuesday 15:03

“You got a call, Rufe. On the pay phone, down in the kitchen. Man say you should call home. Hope nothing’s wrong, bro.”

“Thanks, Earl. Probably just one of my dumb-fuck cousins. Got a couple of them staying at my crib. Probably can’t figure out how to turn on the stove or something. Country boys, you know?”

1959 October 06 Tuesday 15:41

“There it is,” Shalare said, pointing at the black boulder. “The perfect landmark, isn’t it? Looks like God himself tossed a giant lump of coal into those birch trees.”

“Aye,” the prizefighter said, steering carefully. “And here comes the… curves, just like he said.”

“Remember what I told you, Big Brian.”

“Eyes like a camera.”

“Yes. And ears like a pair of tape recorders.”

“I doubt they’re going to be talking to me, Mick. They’ll probably just put me in some-”

“Lymon’s been good for more than helping us see the future, Brian. He’s told us a bit about some of Beaumont’s boys, too. And if luck smiles on us today…”

1959 October 06 Tuesday 15:49

“What?” Rufus said.

“You know that boy, Preacher? He’s the head of the-”

“I know. Come on, man. I’m at work.”

“He’s been around,” Darryl said. “Wants to buy something. Thought we might have it.”

“We?”

“At the yard. Look, I told him, come back tonight.”

“Why you do that?”

“When you come by, I tell you, brother. But, hear me, this is a decision we got to make. Tonight.”

1959 October 06 Tuesday 15:51

Seth emerged from the guard cottage and walked slowly over to Shalare’s Chrysler, a shotgun in his right hand.

“Help you folks?” he said, as the driver’s-side window descended.

“I’ve got Mr. Shalare here,” Brian said, “to see Mr. Beaumont.”

“Right on time, too,” Seth said, glancing at his wristwatch. “Hey!” he said, suddenly. “You’re not Brian O’Sullivan, the fighter, are you? I could swear-”

“That’s me, for true,” Brian said, grinning broadly. “Hard to mistake a mug like mine, once you’ve laid eyes on it, I’ll bet.” He extended his hand.

Without taking his eyes off the men in the car, Seth tossed the shotgun from his right hand to his left, and used the gentle momentum to bring his open hand up to take Brian’s offered grip. “I was at the Paladium in Akron the night you fought Buster Blaine,” he said. “You’ve got one of iron and the other of steel, just like people say.”

“I sure needed both that night. Fighting Buster was like punching smoke.”

“That’s right! I told my pals he could dance all night but sooner or later Brian O’Sullivan would land one. And that was all it took.”

“Did you bet on me, then?”

“Didn’t I? A double sawbuck, I went for. The odds were… well, they were pretty good,” Seth said, embarrassed.

“Well, they should have been,” Brian assured him. “Buster Blaine is a better boxer in his sleep than I ever was awake.”

“Faster, maybe,” Seth said, stoutly. “But sure not better. You were never a man to get a break from the judges. I thought you got jobbed when you fought John Henry Jefferson. By rights, they’re supposed to give you points for being aggressive.”

“Nah, he won that one,” Brian said. “My own mother would have scored it for him. If I could have caught him, even one time, maybe it would have ended otherwise, but-”

“No ‘maybe’ about it,” Seth said, conviction ringing through his voice. “If you’d of ever caught him, it would have ended, all right!”

1959 October 06 Tuesday 15:59

“Oh! I’m sorry,” Tussy said, belatedly covering her mouth as she yawned. “I didn’t realize how tired I am.”

“Are you sure you still want to go out tonight?”

“I am absolutely sure. All I need is a little nap.”

“All right. Should I come back in-?”

“Just a catnap. Only an hour or so,” she said. “I’d rather you stayed… if you want.”

1959 October 06 Tuesday 16:02

Seth walked beside Shalare’s Chrysler as it slowly crept along the curved drive.

“You can leave it right here,” Seth told Brian. Directing his voice to Shalare, he continued, “And you, you can go right in the front door. Just give a knock, and Luther will take care of you from there on.”

“Many thanks,” Shalare said, opening his door.

“We’ll have a wait,” Seth said to Brian. “If you like, you can come back and share my guard duty with me. Or I could get you a-”

“Ah, it isn’t every day that I meet a man I can talk boxing with,” Brian said. “That little house of yours, it wouldn’t by any chance have a little refrigerator in it?”

The door opened before Shalare could knock. The slack-mouthed man on the other side of the threshold stared blankly, as if waiting for someone to throw his switch.

Good sweet Jesus, Shalare thought. The man’s a blessed dummy.

“Come on,” Luther said, turning and walking away.

Doesn’t search me, lets me walk behind him-what kind of people does Beaumont have working for him, anyway?

It took almost a full minute for Luther to wend his way through the house to their destination. Like a bloody damn museum, Shalare thought. “Beautiful place, this is,” he said aloud.