Caught Stealing (2004) (23 page)

-Who was that? Anybody I know?

I get out of the car, walk around to Russ's side and start to help him out. The cop waves one of his buddies over to take control of the traffic and strolls toward us.

I have Russ out of the car and we're moving away. I'm counting seconds. I'm counting seconds until I get to thirty so I can look back and see if the cop has stuck his head in the car to gander at all the broken glass and the hot-wired ignition. I make it to twenty before I turn.

He's not looking in the car, he's got his back to the car. He's got his back to the car so he can talk to Roman, who has just pulled up in his now Russian gangster-free sedan and who is, no doubt, asking about the two guys in the beige Celica. I hustle Russ down the steps of the L train station at the end of the block.

Getting the fucking tokens takes for-fucking-ever. Russ leans against me while I dig out one of the twenties. The guy in the booth wants to know how many we need and I blank out for a second, trying to figure if I should get more than one token each, just in case. Then I get a grip on where I am and how close Roman and Bolo are and I tell him to just give me a couple and please hurry. He slides the tokens through the slot and starts counting out my seventeen dollars in change, all in singles. Then I feel the breeze from the tunnel that means the train is coming. The token guy stuffs the bills at me and I grab them and drag Russ to the turnstiles. It's another project just to get the two of us through and then down the next set of steps. The train is pulling in, but it's on the opposite track, heading into Brooklyn. I start moving Russ down the platform toward the far end, away from the entrance and the turnstiles.

-What do you say, Russ?

-Mmmm. I don't know, Hank.

We're moving along OK now. I'm on his left side, helping him, but he does seem to have some control over the left leg and all I really have to do is keep him balanced.

-You feelin' any better?

-Hank?

-Yeah?

-What the hell are you doin', man?

-Well, Russ, I'm trying to get us out of here.

-But, like, all those cops back there, man. Let's just. Mmmm. Let's just, man, just hand me over, cuz, like, I think I'm pretty fucked up.

We're getting close to the end of the platform and I can see the tunnel brightening ahead of us as a train approaches the station. I look back up the platform in the opposite direction. Still no Roman. We get to the end and I lean Russ against the wall. He has Bud's bag hanging from his neck and Bud is trying to squirm out. I push him back in and zip the bag all the way shut as the train comes rocketing into the station.

-The thing is, Russ, I thought we might go pick up the money. Then I thought we might go see a doctor and get you fixed up. Then I thought we might take off someplace and hide out. What do ya say, man, sound good?

-Yeah, that's, like, cool and all, but you, like, gave fucking Roman the key. Mmmm. You gave him the key, man.

I pull Russ to the edge of the platform as the train comes to a stop. The doors slide open with a little sound. Ding-dong! We stand aside while a load of young artist poseurs from Williamsburg pile off to go drinking in the East Village.

-I gave him the wrong key.

-Huh?

-I gave him the key to my storage unit, Russ. We still have the money.

As we step into the last car of the train, I catch some action at the other end of the platform: Roman and Bolo plunging down the stairs and through the crowd, trying to make it into the first car.

-We, like, still have the money?

-That's right, man, we still have it. So just relax and everything's gonna be OK.

Ding-dong! The doors slide halfway shut, stop, and slide back open the way they do when someone is blocking a door somewhere on the train. Ding-dong! They slide shut all the way. Me? I'd say Roman made it onto the train.

The train will make three stops before it reaches the end of the line at Eighth Avenue. I'm trying to figure how long it will take Roman and Bolo to work their way back through the whole train to us. The trains are eight cars long. Every other car has a locked door; they'll have to jump cars at each station to get around the locked doors. I'm thinking about the layout of the stations between here and the end of the line, thinking about where to make our break. We pull into the Third Avenue station.

Ding-dong! The doors open and a few people get on and off. I've got Russ parked in a seat. I go to the door and stick my head out. At the far end of the train, in the second car, Bolo is doing the same thing. He sees me. I duck back into the car. Ding-dong! And we're off again. Next stop: Union Square. When the train pulls in we'll be near the stairs at the back of the platform. We can make a run for it, hope they don't see us get off, and catch another train or hit the street.

I grab Russ's arm and start to lift him off the seat, but he's just deadweight. I look around the car. No one is paying the slightest attention to us. New Yorkers: God forbid you should look up, you might see something. I sit next to him and feel his wrist. There's a pulse. Hopefully he's just blacked out and not in a coma. We're hitting Union Square.

-Russ, come on, man. Time to go. Let's go.

No response. The train is stopping. I can leave him here. There is no reason not to leave him here. Except, of course, that Roman and Bolo will kill him if they find him.

-Russ.

I slap his cheek lightly. Nothing. In his lap, the bag shifts slightly as Bud moves around. Ding-dong! People are pouring off the train, on the train. I step to the door and look out. Bolo is there, still in the second car. He waves. I wave back and step off the train. He says something to someone inside the train and he and Roman both step off. I step back on. They step on. I step back off. Roman stays on the train. Bolo jumps onto the platform and starts heading toward me. Ding-dong! I dive back on as the doors slide shut. The doors stop and slide back open. Ding-dong! They close all the way. He made it back on. But it was worth it to watch him dance. Next stop: Sixth Avenue.

Russ won't come around. We pull into the Sixth Avenue station. Ding-dong! I look out the door again. Bolo and Roman duck out of the second car and into the first door of the third car. They're gone from view for a moment. I pray for the doors to close before they can get any closer. No luck. They pop out the doors at the near end of the fourth car and jump into the fifth car. Ding-dong! They'll hit another locked door between the six and seven cars. That's as close as they can get until we pull into Eighth Avenue. The end of the line. I sit on the seat next to Russ and take his hand as we start to move.

-Wow.

I look at Russ.

-Wow, man, I just, like, went out there.

He shakes his head and looks around.

-So yeah, man, let's, like, get that money.

We pull in at Eighth Avenue, standing in front of the door, waiting for it to open. It takes forever. Ding-dong! The stairs are right in front of us. Russ holds on to me and we rush ahead of the other passengers and up the stairs into the station proper. Two cars behind us, Roman and Bolo get pinned in the thick of the crowd trying to cram up the one stairway.

We hit the top of the ramp that leads into the heart of the station and I pause to look back. Roman and Bolo are at the bottom of the ramp. They're moving quickly through the crowd, Bolo cutting a path for them. I look at the turnstiles, but Russ is just moving too slow for us to make a break for it on the street. I turn right, deeper into the station, heading for the A train platform.

We pass two down staircases, both closed for repairs. Russ has his left arm draped over my shoulder and is doing a little hop-skip to keep up. I hear a train pulling into the station on the A-C-E tracks, but I can't tell if it's on the uptown or downtown platform. I make a guess and drag Russ to the left and down the stairs to the downtown platform, with Roman and Bolo breathing down our necks. If there's no train we'll be pinned down here.

There's a C local right there, doors open, and an A express that's just pulling to a stop on the other side of the same platform. At the bottom of the stairs, I look back. They're at the top, looking right at us and coming down fast. The A stops. Ding-dong! People dash back and forth across the platform, transferring from train to train. I take us to the right toward the A train, making sure Roman and Bolo see us heading that way before we disappear from their line of sight. The crowd is thick and I use my elbow to make some room for us as we loop around the backside of the staircase Roman and Bolo are on. Around and toward the C train.

We circle the stairs and, as we come around the other side, I see the back of Bolo's head towering above the crowd. He and Roman stand at the foot of the stairs for a second, looking for us on the A. Ding-dong! The doors of the C train are closing just ahead of us. I kick out with my right foot and the doors smash against it. Ding-dong! They pop back open and we jump inside onto the C. And so do Roman and Bolo, ducking in through the next door in the car, about ten yards away. Bolo holds up his scratched thumb and gives a little grin like he's the fucking Fonz.

We pull out of the station. Russ is spent and leans against me, resting his head on my chest while I lean on one of the floor-to-ceiling poles. Behind me, I hear the voices of bridge and tunnel teens whispering, calling us faggots. Roman and Bolo just stand there at the other end of the car, watching us, close enough to have a conversation if we raised our voices a bit. They seem happy to be close to us and to stay close until we get away from the crowds. The Jersey boys behind us are getting brave, talking louder.

-Fucking faggots.

-Yeah, fucking ass-fucking faggots.

-Look at them. They have AIDS and they still act like faggots.

Their voices are loud enough to be heard by most of the people in the car and I can feel tension building. Bolo is trying not to laugh and Roman is shooting little laser beams out of his eyes into mine.

-Ass-fucking, disease-spreading, sick, fucking faggots.

I take Russ's arm from my shoulder, lean him against the pole and turn toward the voices. People observe this out of the deliberate corners of their eyes and the tension in the car jumps. Everyone is watching and listening now, but pretending not to. I stare down at the five boys on the bench seat.

-Hey, faggot's a toughguy.

The train is slowing as it approaches the station.

-Got a problem, butt stuffer?

They all look the same. They all have the same too short hair, too big muscles, too small eyes, the same pin-fucking-heads. This will be easy. This will almost be fun. The biggest one gets up as we pull into the station.

-What about it, shit-dick, you got something to say?

The train is coming to a stop. I look over at Roman, smile at him, then turn back to the boy. He's still talking.

-Come on, you fucking child molester. Say what's on your fucking mind.

The train stops and I pucker up and make a little kissy face at the boy. We're two feet from each other. He grabs at me and I kick him hard in the shin. He yelps and I swing my right elbow up and into the hollow just below his chin. He falls back gasping as his friends jump up off the bench and come at me. And all the queers on this train in the heart of the West Village just a few blocks from the Stonewall Inn, where the gay rights movement was born in a transvestite riot, go batshit. Ding-dong!

The doors open. I grab Russ as we are pulled with the tide of the brawl pouring out of the train. The A express we saw at Eighth Avenue is on the other side of the platform. Ding-dong! We plow through the small riot and safely into the A train. The doors don't close. I watch as Roman and Bolo brutally force their way through the melee toward our train. The doors don't close. They step aboard at the far end of the car again. Across the platform, the C train still hasn't moved. I hold Russ tight against me and duck out the door and right back onto the A train. Roman and Bolo don't bite. I do it again. They don't bite. The C is still there, across the platform. The fight is still there, going strong as the city works out a little of its sexual tension. We dodge out the door again and keep going this time. They don't bite. Ding-dong! And I drag us through the closing doors of the C train.

Roman and Bolo jump off the A. Ding-dong! And back onto the A as the doors slide shut and their train pulls out. Right behind ours.

The trains run on parallel tracks. For a while our C local has a bit of a lead. But then the A express carrying Roman and Bolo picks up speed and soon it's running right alongside us. I watch through the scratched Plexiglas window while, just a few feet away on the other train Bolo mouths curses at us and Roman shakes his head. Then they are speeding away, ahead of us on the express track, racing toward Canal Street, as we slow to make our first local stop at Spring Street. I ease Russ down into a seat and try to remember how to breathe.

Russ sits there slumped against me. Bud rustles around in the bag and I unzip it a bit to see how he is. He sticks his head out through the hole and forces it open so he can stretch up and rub his head against Russ's chin. The train is entering the station.

-Let's go, guys.

I take Russ's arm and it's deadweight. He's blacked out again. I sit back down. The car is quiet, almost empty, just the few people who didn't get off to join or watch the fight. There's a little drool at the corner of Russ's mouth and Bud is licking at it. I feel his wrist, then alongside his throat and then I put my ear against his chest.