Sucking on the joint, dropping ash on the ground, Johnny just stared. “Huh?”
Hard-boiled indirection wasn’t working. I cut to the chase.
“Why’d you steal my tape?”
“What tape?”
“And why’d you give it to Graus?”
Johnny just shook his head, perplexed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Speaking of trains, I suddenly began to fear I was on the wrong track.
“I’ve been trying to help you, Roy,” he said. “It’s not my fault that Graus is a temperamental old coot who’s hard to get information from. He’ll come through. Just relax.”
As always, he sounded sincere. And, as always, there was something belligerent in his tone. Johnny flicked the joint away.
“Just relax,” he said again. “And look at that view.”
It sounded like an order. Besides the stations we were passing, the only things visible outside the train were occasional houselights. Still, not knowing exactly why, I began turning to check it out.
That was when he pushed me.
“Whoops,” he said. “Sorry.”
The train had lurched; he had barreled into me. It was clearly true, yet how much of it had been planned?
He and I were now near one of the chains, as the train began straightening itself out. Johnny held on to my shoulder to keep from falling.
“Okay,” he said. “Crisis over.”
We both could stand on our own. Johnny made as if to walk to the other side.
Then he turned and pushed me again, with both hands, hard.
I FLEW ONTO THE CHAIN, SCRAPING MY PALMS, HOLDING ON. Johnny leaped at me, turned me completely around with one swift move. Then, holding on to my belt, he tried to pull me down under the chain and shove me off.
“Hey!” I said.
Using my entire torso, I pushed against him. He went sailing backward, onto his can, sliding toward the other side. Now it was his turn to clutch a chain to hold on.
I glanced through the glass train doors, saw only commuters reading, talking, and sleeping. There would be no help forthcoming.
I grabbed one of the doors, tried frantically to pull it open. In a second, Johnny had regained his feet. He sank a fully formed fist into my kidneys. Then, impossibly fast, he did it again. The impact—it was like being kicked by a mule—threw me off the door onto my knees, and then onto my back.
Johnny was kicking at me now, the train rolling crazily to and fro. Laying his boots into my feet, thighs, and shins, he was directing me to the side. Flat on my back, I could be sent off the edge now with no problem.
My hands came up, to block the blows and catch his feet. Johnny kicked at my hands, sending dizzying pain into my palms and fingers. Undaunted, I held on to one of his ankles and turned.
Johnny slammed into the steel wall of the train, a few inches from the door. As if in a cartoon, he started to slide down, a second after impact. Then he remained, hunched in a pile. There was silence for a time.
“The only thing missing is the crutch,” he murmured.
“What?”
“The crutch. You know. The guy’s crutch.”
I had a sudden flash. Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck. A moving train. Her husband had a crutch. They threw him off. Double Indemnity.
I was stunned. It was a new scene, or at least that’s what Johnny would claim. Was it true?
Then I looked down.
Johnny’s fall had sent the contents of his pockets onto the swiveling floor of the train gap. I saw a wallet, a pen, a ChapStick.
And the key to a car. A Honda.
The second I spied it, as if on cue, Johnny looked up at me. Still groggy, he was unaware of what he’d revealed. I bolted before he got wise.
With a great yank of the glass door, I barreled into the train. I ran through the rocking car, my crazy hair and sweaty face causing stares from the commuters.
Even pulling open our door didn’t awaken Katie. She was dead to the world as I came, chest heaving, into the compartment.
“Wake up,” I said.
After a second, she revealed her pretty blue eyes.
“What’s up?” she said, squirming. Then, fuzzily, she saw my condition. “Oh, right. Double Indemnity, Johnny said. Graus is working. Was it fun?”
