Railroad Man (5 page)

The first thing that came to mind was a one-night-stand hotel two blocks up. “Well, I could set us up at the Peach Inn.”

“
Yeah, that sounds good. I’ve had enough of this joint.”

I slid the corked bottle under my coat. We grabbed each other against the gripping night wind. Flo staggered away from me and stepped out into the street forcing a Caddy to a dead stop. Flo threw her pretty head back, laughed. She stood in the car’s path while waving it away.

“
There you go, Hotshot! Go on! Git outta here!”

I pulled her from the busy street. I was feeling warm from the gin, but Flo was lit. She relaxed in my arms and cooed, “Hey, Big Boy! Whoa, ain’t you a looker?”

She danced away, grabbed the chilled gas light pole, and spun around like a kid on a playground. Flo didn’t feel the cold breeze that chilled us to the bone. Her devil-may-care way lifted my spirits. I watched her frolic and reel around, envying her carefree spirit.

I paid the clerk at the door for an hour in Room #7. Flo’s voice rose higher as we climbed the stairs of the low-end hotel. The room was dark and dank, lit only by the gaslight on the street. I planted a smacker on her lips just to hush her mouth. The kiss transformed Flo into the little kitten I sought. She became soft and demure, arousing my appetite.

Her lush mouth refreshed my senses like a mint julep on a hot Georgia day. Our lips locked and bodies pressed as if held by a vise. I grew hotter, obsessed by her fierce and addictive desire. Her hands moved over my body and fumbled with my clothes. Then, she threw her knickers aside. We moved fast and hard, no holding back. She let out a faint cry and squirmed underneath me. I felt a gush of fluid, thought she liked me, and I returned the favor. I opened my eyes and saw the fear in her eyes. Flo was a virgin.

I jumped off her, feeling duped and disgusted. “I thought you said you’d been around,” I said too loudly.

She began to whimper and pushed her skirt down bashfully. “I have. But not like that, you know.”

I lowered my voice and growled, “What do you think “been around” means, anyway?”

She stumbled off the bed. Her pale face glowed in the dim light, ghostlike. “I need a washroom.”

I slicked my hair back, pulling myself together. “Uh, I think I saw one at the end of the hall. Can I help you with anything?”

She shot me a cold look and walked out the door. I sat on the edge of the bed, angry with her and more so with myself. Flo stayed in the washroom a long time, long enough for me to come to my senses and regret what I had done to that poor little girl. She was so bewitching, so hot-blooded, I couldn’t resist and she didn’t stop me.

I dressed and peeked out the door several times wondering if I should go to her. But then, I hardly knew her. Feeling awkward and helpless, I looked at the soiled bed. The door hinges squeaked, and she was back in the room. She stood in front of the window and used the street light to find her knickers. Then she turned her back to me as she pulled them on.

“
I’ll get you a cab,” I mumbled.

Closing the door to Room #7, I wondered if seven was a lucky number.

We stood under the hazy gaslight in the winter night air. She looked cold now; dried tears streaked her face. Her eyes avoided mine. I hailed a cab and slipped her a sawbuck; the hot fire that burned between us was over. I walked seven blocks to the YMCA, clearing my head in the dry cold air. I stepped around a few sleeping bums and kept an eye out for pickpockets. I felt no better than the bums I skirted on the street or a thief in the night.

I started out looking for her to shake away the blues and wound up sick to my stomach over what I’d done. Remembering that unspoiled face, I wondered how old she was and if she had someone at home to comfort her. I remembered the hot-blooded kisses and thought, maybe she duped me, and maybe she didn’t. She was a juicy little piece, but I thought it would be best not to see her again.

***

One Friday in June, I picked up a telegram at the station. Jack wanted me to meet him in Decatur the next day after his shift at the Texaco. Tight as old Jack was, I knew he meant business to drop a nickel on a telegram.

The town was hopping on a Saturday afternoon. I circled around the courthouse square in Decatur to find a parking space on Ponce de Leon. The Five and Dime lunch counter had become Jack’s new campout since he met Maude. He welcomed me like it was home and introduced me to Maude. Watching her stoop-shouldered, shapeless body waddle away, I didn’t think too much of my buddy’s taste in women. We moved from the counter to a corner booth and ordered hamburger sandwiches.

Jack took a swig from his Coca-cola bottle and leaned across the table. “Hey, Mickey, you got some big trouble brewing.”

I stretched out in the booth, giving him a full view of my tailor-made silk suit and polished London Town shoes. I thumped my fingers on the table impatiently. “What do you mean, trouble? I’m a railroad man. I’ve got it made in the shade!”

Jack looked around, edgy, leaned in closer. “I mean it, Mickey. Some hard boiled eggs are on the lookout for you.”

My fingers stopped their drumming. I narrowed my eyes at him. “What are you saying, Old Buddy?”

Jack lowered his head and talked into his hands. “Some goons came by the station the other day looking for you. See, Mickey, they know that we’re friends. I told them that you were long gone, but they roughed the place up a bit and told me to find you or they would be back.”

I raised my palms in the air and waved the thought away. “That’s nuts! There must be some kind of mix up here. I’m a straight-up guy. I mind my own business, you know that.”

Jack squirmed in his seat; his eyes looked around for unseen enemies. “They say you knocked up Bert Smith’s sister. I don’t know if that’s what you call your business. But you ought to know, he’s a crumb, real bad news. I could lose my job if they come back, so I’m just lettin’ you in on the score.”

I sat there mulling over Jack’s story. I never knew Flo’s last name, but I knew it had to be her. The little kitten had me cornered. Now it was my turn to squirm.

“
Jack, old boy, I guess I’m in a tight spot, and I gotta see my way out.”

Jack relaxed a little and slicked back his hair. “Mick, these goons ain’t kidding around. How come you got mixed up with a broad like that?”

I shrugged my shoulders, avoided Jack’s questioning stare. “She’s a looker and a sweet dish.”

Maude brought our food. Jack watched her as she waddled away. “Mickey, a fine woman ain’t always in what you see. It’s more about what you can’t see that counts. There’s a lot more to a good woman than a pretty face.”

I wolfed down the sandwich and threw a five-spot on the table. “Well, thanks for the tip, Old Buddy. I’ll be seein’ ya.”

I left Jack with his homely girl at the Five and Dime. I didn’t have time for his judgment. That would come soon enough when Mother and the girls found out about Flo. Flo’s condition would be a hard pill for them to swallow and a stain on the family’s reputation. Women in our family didn’t get in the family way outside marriage. And the men in our family didn’t get young women in the family way outside marriage. I was taught to accept responsibility for my actions, no matter what price I had to pay.

The situation called for fast thinking. I came from a gentle life where rough play was jumping off trestles and roping cows. I had never been in a fight in my life and didn’t look forward to fighting now. Tough guys like that sleazy Bert conjured up trouble at the drop of a hat. I figured that the bartender was using Flo’s condition to weasel some cash out of me.

Knowing that I was no match for the group of thugs Jack described, I fell back on the street smarts I’d picked up during nights prowling the city. I drove down to a ragged pawn shop on the east side of town. The building was a makeshift, a holdover thrown up after the Great Fire. A hand printed sign said, The Golden Gun.

A rumpled old man chewed a dead cigar behind a slab of wood piled with ammunition. The room and the crude table felt too small to hold so many guns. I took two more steps and could smell the man’s odor. He gave me a slight, cautious nod. I rummaged through the stack of worn-out guns from the Great War, a few Tommy guns, loose shells, nightsticks and clubs laid out on the rough slab of wood. The old pump action sawed-off shotgun had seen better days, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t planning to use it anyway. A leather covered blackjack caught my eye. I picked it up and liked the feel of it.

He chewed the butt of the dead cigar. “Can I fix you up with some shells?”

“
No thanks. How much?” I answered, flipping out a sawbuck.

“
At-a-do,” The old man replied and snatched the bill from my hand.

He secured my purchase in a brown paper wrapper marked “American Beauty Roses.” The brown paper wrapper turned my illegal buy into something romantic and heroic just like a James Cagney movie. I gunned the engine and headed for a safer side of town at sunset.

I stashed my car under a shelter near the new administrative building at the station. I wound my way around the parked engines until I faced a wooded area behind the tracks. Life rustled quietly. The smell of some unknown meat cooking on a campfire hung in the thick air. I stood just outside the thicket until one of the hobos appeared.

Most bums moved from camp to camp. I knew the hard, husky man who stepped forward as a permanent resident, a leader, in the camp. A thin, scrappy fellow straggled up behind him, looking meaner than a junkyard bitch and just what I was looking for. They clutched two-by-fours in their right hands. I thought about the old man at the pawn shop and said to myself, ‘At-a-do’.

“
Evening. You know who I am?” I asked.

I felt the invisible eyes of twenty others in the brush behind them. The dark-haired husky one replied with a slight nod, his rheumy eyes fixed on me, wary and uncertain. I spoke loudly to the hidden faces.

“
I need a little help in town. There’s a five spot for any four of you looking for a little adventure.”

Two desperate looking teenagers stepped out from the brush. I tossed the brown paper wrapper to the first Joe because he was the oldest and least likely to turn on me.

“
It ain’t loaded, and it’s yours to keep when we’re done.”

I moved in closer and laid out my plan. Angry, hungry and bored, the men were ready for action. My comrades and I slipped through the dark alleyways to the lowdown speakeasy. A slow summer rain drizzled on our faces and added to the steamy city heat. I feared the brown paper wrapper would wither in the dampness. I feared that we would be spotted by the night patrol. I feared that the bums would turn on me or back out. I feared that Bert would have a loaded gun and a quick trigger finger. Most of all, I feared that Flo wouldn’t be there, and the whole plan would turn to nothing.

We huddled together on the steps leading down to the speakeasy, unable to see through the frosted pane. I relaxed a little knowing that the hobos had to be in it all the way. The dark husky one and mean scrappy one stepped ahead of me. They punched the door in with ragged army boots. The others followed with lifted two-by-fours. I stepped in behind them, holding the blackjack, protected by my small army. Looking mean and ready for trouble, Bert jumped up and tipped over the game table. He made a move toward the bar.

My comrade pointed the brown paper wrapper at Bert and growled, “Not so fast, Buddy.”

Bert stopped cold. My eyes found Flo behind the makeshift bar. I drew strength from the hungry men at my side and said, “I’m here for Flo.”

Bert stepped closer, pointed a finger in my face and spat the words. “Look here, you son-of-a-bitch. You ain’t gettin’ Flo without paying me off first. I had plans for her ’til you put her out of commission.”

I swung the blackjack and whacked the side of Bert’s head. He staggered back and the few crumbs hanging around him fell away. It wasn’t what he said as much as that I never liked him anyway and I was itching to get some use out of the leather-bound blackjack.

Flo’s eyes locked on mine. She moved toward the door wearing the same red dress I saw the night I met her. The dress hiked up to make room for the small lump in front. I clutched her shoulder with my free hand, and we backed out of the door and up the concrete steps. When the hobos cleared the steps, we ran like hell five blocks to the train station. Flo was barefoot, and her agile, young body kept a good pace with the rest of us.

I handed out a five-spot to each of my comrades. They disappeared back into the hobo jungle carrying the shotgun and blackjack with them.

Flo huffed and tried to catch her breath. “They took the gun. We’d better get it back fast before Bert and his gang find us.”