Railroad Man Read online

  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 g
un 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.”

  I surveyed the empty rail yard. Murmurs from the brush were the only sounds that hovered over the steamy night.

  “You don’t have to worry about those guys. They can’t hurt you now. Come on.”

  Flo doubled over, exhausted and planted to the ground. I scooped her up and skirted the engines back to the car. She snuggled into my shoulder like a small child. “This is so romantic, just like Cinderella and the handsome prince.”

  I slid Flo across the seat and got in behind her. I pulled the choke and pressed the starter button. “We’ll go somewhere safe to talk.”

  Flo bobbed her head. Her deep, heavy breaths filled the car. My heart reached out for the little kitten in the worn out dress that barely covered her body. I parked the car behind the Texaco station. She jumped when I reached for her arm.

  I held her chin and spoke into her big blue eyes. “You don’t have to be afraid. If that baby is mine, then I will take care of both of you.”

  Flo nodded, running a thin hand over her belly. “It’s yours. I never did that with anybody else. I guess the giggle juice made me do it.”

  I patted her shoulder. “We both got a little carried away. But we’ll make it work. You’ll come live with me. We’ll get married and raise our child. What do you say to that?”

  “You really mean it? You mean you really want me? Bert said you didn’t want me, that nobody would ever want me.”

  The tough act vanished. Flo laid her head near my heart. “You are my prince! Rescuing me from Bert and carrying me away in this fancy car! Oh, Mick, it’s so romantic! I’ll remember this night for the rest of my life!”

  Her body felt soft next to mine. Flo made me feel strong and sure of myself like the gallant prince she wanted me to be. She was pretty as a peach and just as sweet. I breathed a sigh of relief, and compassion for her replaced my regrets. I felt like everything I’d done was for the good and worth it because she was safe with me. It was the way I liked to feel and Flo helped me feel it. I cradled her slight body with the bump between us that made her mine.

  “Sorry I hit your brother.”

  Flo’s heart beat rapidly against my chest. “That’s okay, makes up for all the times he hit me. I hope he don’t come looking for me.”

  “Don’t you worry about that. He can’t get to you now.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “First, we’ll stop by your place and pick up whatever you want to take with you. Then we’ll go to my home in Lawrenceville.”

  Flo’s body snapped to attention. “Where’s that?”

  “It’s about thirty miles from here.”

  “Do you drive one of the big trains with the loud whistles?”

  I smiled at the child disguised in a woman’s body. “I do. I’m away from home on one those trains most of the week. But you’ll be in fine hands with my mother and my sisters while I’m away. Now, how do we get to your place?”

  “I live in Cabbagetown. D’ya know where it is?”

  I nodded. I knew of the mill village past the pawn shop, farther into the slum than I had ever been.

  “Are your parents there?”

  “Naw. Pop lost his job at the mill three years back. He and Ma loaded most of the furniture on the back of Pa’s old truck and left for California. I don’t know if they ever made it, never heard, really.”

  “You mean they left you by yourself?”

  “Yeah, well, Bert, he’s got his own place in town with electric lights and a radio. I guess they figured he’d look after me. The house being rundown and all, nobody bothers with me.”

  “Were you at Bert’s the night I rang you?”

  “Yeah, I like listening to swing on the radio,” she said sheepishly, as if remembering a blissful moment. Then the moment was switched off. “But I don’t stay there. Bert gets mean when he drinks which is about all the time now.”

  She directed me southeast on Decatur Street. The cobblestone streets gave way to the rutted paths in Cabbagetown. The headlights barely made a dent in the dark night. A sour odor seeped from the ground. Two-story houses lead down to one-story shotgun houses. They were lined up like pegs on a board crammed into the narrow lanes. I turned the wheel this way and that way, taking care not to ruin my white walled tires in the mire. My new Chevrolet stuck out like a sore thumb where no one owned a car and most barely had enough to eat.

  Flo pointed the way. “I live in the very back where the rent man don’t go.”

  I drove further into the darkness until the houses became more ramshackled and scattered. Most of the old shacks looked empty. The headlights lit up a dark weatherboard house tilting unevenly on concrete slabs.

  Flo pointed. “Here it is. Just let me take up my things.”

  She struck a match to the kerosene lamp outside the screen door. The flame lit her naturally golden hair that glowed in the lamplight, and I saw again how pretty she was.

  She stepped up into the house. “Mind your step here. It’s just a rock I found. It wobbles.”

  Flo stepped lightly around broken floorboards. “Just follow me, and you won’t fall through.”

  The floor moved beneath my feet. The lamp revealed a coal stove, floor pallet, and scattered crates from the rail yard in one furnished room. I couldn’t imagine anyone living in such a place. Flo moved quickly, gathering flimsies and women’s toiletries in a blackened pillowcase.

  Flo toted the pillowcase from one empty room to the next as if looking for something that wasn’t there. She picked at the school girl polka dot dress she wore that night. “I never could get this one clean. I guess I’ll just leave it.”

  “Don’t worry too much about packing. We can pick up whatever you need later.”

  Flo looked at me, confused. “Oh, yeah?”

  I pulled her to me, wanting nothing more than to get her out of that falling down shack.

  “Yeah, let’s go, Little Kitten. You’re too pretty for this place.”

  Flo ran her hand over the cowhide seat in the car. “I never seen a nice flivver like
this.”

  I couldn’t shake the memory of the rundown shack and lowdown speakeasy. I wondered if Flo would be able to outlive her past, having been abandoned by her parents and left with a no-good crumb like Bert. We sped away from Atlanta’s eastside, and I promised myself the little kitten would never have to live like that again.

  Flo snuggled under my arm. “Mick, tell me how you did it. Tell me how you rescued me.”

  Feeling my oats, I elaborated here and there as I told the adventure she was looking for. Flo curled closer in as I spun my tale of chivalry. She clung to every word hearing the tale of the most exciting night in her life, still young enough to believe in heroes and fairy tales. In Flo’s mind, I was the hero and she was the damsel in distress. Giving the idea some thought, I found that it wasn’t so far from the truth.