One Desperate Life: A gripping thriller, page 6
“I just came from Mayor Brown’s office. You know him, right? We had an interesting discussion. I learned a bit more about you.” Michael watches him for some type of reaction. There isn’t one. “The only problem was, we couldn’t agree on what to call you. The mayor preferred Ernest Johns, while I liked Richard Amhurst. Which name is your favorite?”
For the first time, a slight smile appears on his lips.
“Of course, I don’t think either of those names are real. I think your name is Thomas Slater, and you’re from Colorado Springs. Do you mind if I call you Tommy?”
Rather than grow angry at Michael’s flippant attitude, the smile grows broader. The blue eyes dance with amusement. He leans back and folds his hands, but he still says nothing.
“Oh, come on? It’s just us. They’ve got you dead to rights on the fraud charges. They know you went by different names. What does talking to me hurt?”
No response.
“Do you like Texas?”
The question catches him off guard, and the prisoner frowns.
“I’ve never been. I’m planning to go. I’m going to talk with this Carl Fredricks fella. The mayor recommended it. Said he might be able to help me. The thing is, I really don’t want to go. I didn’t really love coming here. Texas is even farther from home. I’m a Rocky Mountains guy. You get me too far away from the mountains and my happiness drops. You know what I mean?”
The prisoner still says nothing.
Michael leans back in his chair and looks at the ceiling. “Come on, Johns or Amhurst or whatever you want to be called. Save me the trip. Have you ever been to Denver? Colorado Springs? Does the name Helen Covington mean anything to you? Maybe Helen Slater?”
Michael watches his eyes, hoping to see the pupils dilate. Nothing.
“You’re going to make me go to Texas, aren’t you?”
Michael leans forward in his chair and grabs the armrests, preparing to push himself up, but stops. His face inches from the prisoner. When he speaks, it’s in a whisper.
“What other bodies am I going to find there? What other women did you kill?”
The prisoner smiles a smug smile. It’s everything Michael can do not to pull out his gun and shoot him in the head. He would too, except he’s still not sure this is the man he’s looking for. It might be he’s simply a fraudster. Maybe he’s killed no one. It’s that doubt that keeps Michael from exacting the revenge he so desperately craves.
Michael straightens, looks down at him, then walks to the door. Before he exits, he stops and speaks without turning around. “I did learn one very interesting nugget from the mayor. He said you were married in Austin. You and your wife had a child. A boy. I wonder where they are now. Maybe I can find them.”
Chapter 15
Louise
After dinner, Barbara and I went on a walk. I considered telling her what I was planning, but knew she’d never be able to keep the secret and abandoned the idea. Maybe she’d even try to talk me out of it. When we returned home, as was our custom, we all separated into the corners of the house. Father to his study, Mother to her craft room, Barbara and I to our bedrooms. Most days, I wouldn’t see them again until the next morning; however, knowing tonight would be my last, I wished them all a good night before bed. I went to Barbara first. She was sketching in a notebook and seemed annoyed by the interruption. Father was next. He was sipping whiskey and poring over some business papers. He barely looked up as I wished him a pleasant sleep. Finally, I went to Mother. She was reading in her craft room. I never understood how she could read while swaying back and forth in her rocking chair. The motion would make me sick. She eyed me suspiciously as I said good night, and I thought she might ask me what was going on, but she didn’t. Instead, she responded with a good night of her own, and I walked out. I could feel her eyes on me as I left.
Last was Nibbles. When I went into his room, he sat on his perch looking out the window. The sun hadn’t set yet, but the room was engulfed in shadow. He looked at me and squawked. I extended my finger to him, and he climbed on, turning so he could face me. It was silly, but in a way, he was the most difficult to say goodbye to. I could be honest with him. I held him on my finger, talking to him about my plans. He would move and sway, occasionally squawking. After a few minutes, I put him in his cage and covered it.
For the next three hours, I lay in bed, waiting. I ran over my plans again and again, anticipating every possible scenario. Finally, at two a.m., I rose from my bed and changed my clothes. After leaving the park, Emma and I had gone around town gathering my wardrobe. At the secondhand store, I bought an old sundress, an old pair of shoes with no heel, and a blond wig. I stuffed my long, dark hair under the wig, then placed a sunbonnet over the top. I checked myself in the mirror, happy to see how different I looked. Grabbing the prepacked luggage piece I had taken to New York City, I crept to the door, aware of any slight creak in the flooring.
The hallway was quiet and dark. Holding my bag against my chest, I walked down the hall and reached the staircase. I took extra care, wincing at any groan in the wood. When I finally reached the bottom, I entered Father’s study and went to the small safe behind his liquor cabinet. It was difficult to see with so little light, but I felt my way along the wall, stubbing my toe on a chair in the process. I held my breath and tugged on the door, praying I wouldn’t need to resort to my backup plan. Thankfully, it opened. I’d always wondered why my father had a safe. Never had I seen it locked. I always thought it would make more sense to hide his money somewhere else if he didn’t bother locking it. As I opened the door and reached inside, a wave of guilt rolled over me, and I considered leaving the money, but I knew I couldn’t. Without the money, I couldn’t make it out of Chicago.
I removed one hundred dollars and stuffed the money into the bottom of my bag. I walked out of the study, through the kitchen, and to the back door. As I opened the door, I heard a sound behind me. I turned, expecting to see Mother, but saw nothing. I stood still, looking back, listening in the dark. After a minute, I was satisfied I was alone and stepped out of the house. I softly closed the door, walked around the house to the street, and began my three-mile journey to the train station.
As I walked, I took several deep breaths, knowing I had crossed my first test but also that the most difficult was still to come. I had to find Charles, but where and how? When my father had introduced us in the theater, he had said, “Charles Watson of Houston, Texas.” Having no reason to doubt, I believed that was his home. But when I had met Charles in the park, he told me he had only asked to court Barbara because that’s what my father wanted. It made me wonder how much of anything he told me was true. Then, when I was with him in his private compartment on the train, I noticed a train ticket on his bedstand. It was old and wrinkled, but I could clearly see it was a ticket from Austin, Texas, to Kansas City. I knew he had to be in one of those three cities. I just didn’t know which.
As I walked, I noticed how different my hometown was at night. I’d never been out this late. The streets were deserted, and other than an occasional dog barking, silent. Chicago had been my home since birth. Other than my freshman year at South Bend, it was all I knew. Whenever I traveled, it was with my parents. I could never remember feeling alone, and now I was. I was headed to a city I didn’t know, looking for a man I barely knew, and carrying his baby. I was running away from the mistakes I had made and the consequences that would follow.
When I reached the train station, the night sky had given way to the first signs of sunrise. Shadows had appeared, and the clear sky above morphed from black to blue. I walked into the station and looked around, hoping to find someone who could direct me. A large train sat on the rails, and people occupied benches all around. Most looked dirty and hungry. Many stretched across the benches, sleeping. I saw a man wearing a uniform and hat, like those that had been on the train to New York.
I approached him and asked, “Sir, where might I buy a ticket?”
He glanced at me with disdain, looking away and pointing to his right.
“Thank you,” I told him and walked in the direction he showed.
As I walked, I wondered about his reaction. The attendants on the train from weeks ago were so pleasant and happy to help. This man acted like I was a bother. I looked down and noticed the holes in my clothes and the plain, dirty shoes. I realized I looked similar to all those people lying on the benches in the station. I was like them in his eyes. After several paces, I saw a sign that said, “Ticket Office.” I entered, and an attendant stood behind a counter.
“Can I have a train ticket, please?”
“Where?”
“Pardon?”
He rolls his eyes. “Where are you going?”
“Oh…Austin, Texas, please.”
He shakes his head. “No trains are going to Austin. You’ll have to connect through Kansas City.”
“Oh, okay. That’s fine.”
“Three dollars.”
I reached into my bag and pulled out the stack of money I had stolen from my father. I separated three dollars and handed them to him. He eyed me suspiciously, then handed back a ticket. I gripped the ticket and walked out to the platform. I looked at the clock and saw I had thirty minutes until boarding. I looked around for a seat, but all the benches were taken. Having no other choice, I stood on the platform with my bag at my feet. After fifteen minutes, smoke filled the air. The smell made my stomach roll, and I looked around for a garbage can. I picked up my bag and walked to one, then wretched into it. When I pulled back, the smell from the can made me wretch again. I had no kerchief or tissue and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I looked around and saw people forming lines in front of the train doors.
I walked over and got in line. After ten minutes, a man came by and opened the doors. The big man standing behind me pushed forward and caused me to run into the woman standing in front of me. She turned around and glared at me. The smell of body odor filled my nostrils, and my stomach rolled again. I stepped out of line and raced to the garbage, fighting the vomit rising in my throat. I reached it just in time and wretched into the can. I stepped back and took a deep breath, wiping my mouth. When I looked back at the line, it was mostly gone. Only a few people remained. I walked back and stepped up on the stairs. My bag was wide, and I had to fight to squeeze it through the doors.
When I finally reached the top, I was exhausted and panting. I stood in the car’s hallway and breathed deeply. An attendant came by, and I called out to him, showing my ticket.
“Sir, where is my compartment?”
He gave me a curious look, then took the ticket from me, examining it. He waved his arm and said, “You’re in it.” He saw my confusion and explained. “Sorry, Your Majesty, this ticket is for a seat on the train. Any seat. Find one and sit down.”
I took my ticket from him and walked into the large room with rows of occupied seats. The noise was deafening with crying babies, loud conversation, and laughter. The smell was a concoction of body odor, cigarette smoke, and alcohol. I scanned the seats and found only one unoccupied. It was between two large men. I walked to the row and tapped the nearest man on the shoulder.
“Can I sit there?”
He looked at me, then stood and allowed me past. I sat in the seat, and he returned to his, squishing into me. The man to my right glanced away from the window, looked me up and down, then looked back out the window.
There I sat, between two large, strange men. All my possessions were on my lap. It was smelly, loud, crowded. Staring at the seat in front of me, tears filled my eyes.
Chapter 16
Louise
I felt the shudder of brakes and looked out the window, expecting to see a city. Instead, I saw nothing. Beyond the train tracks, it looked as if man didn’t exist. Maybe ever. There were no buildings, telephone poles, or roads. I stood and leaned my head out the window to get a better look. In front of the train, in the distance, I saw a shack. Beyond it, nothing but fields and trees. I looked at my watch. According to the train schedule, we should have been arriving in Austin. I wondered if something was wrong. Maybe we were making an unscheduled stop.
A minute later, the train attendant came down the aisle, announcing, “Taylor Station, Austin, Texas.”
I looked back outside. Where?
The train came to a stop, and I carried my bag past several passengers, squeezing it down the aisle. The attendant stood by the door.
“This is Austin?” I asked.
“No, this is Taylor. Austin is thirty miles away.”
“Oh, so should I stay on?”
“For Austin?”
“Yes.”
“Not on this train. This is the closest you’ll get to Austin. The next stop is Houston.”
I opened my mouth to ask another question, but he cut me off by pointing to the two people behind me, then asked, “Are you getting off?”
I sighed and left the train. I cleared the bottom of the steps and set down my bag, wondering how this was even a station. It was one small building that looked like a toolshed. I looked around for some symbol of civilization but didn’t see any.
The two men who were behind me had cleared the station, and the whistle sounded on the train. I considered jumping back on board but decided there was little point. I picked up my bag and walked to the entrance of the “station” as the train pulled out.
A man stood leaning on the building, an enormous hat on his head. He was of average height, with a lean build and a dark mustache that curled at the ends, a pipe sticking out of the corner of his mouth. He was a handsome man, but quite a few years older than me. Probably in his forties.
He looked at me and tipped his hat. “Ma’am.”
Although I was still wearing old clothing, I looked more like myself. In Kansas City, I got rid of my blond wig and cleaned myself up. I searched the town for Charles but found no leads and came down here to Austin.
“Is this Austin?”
“Nope. Austin’s that way.”
He turned and pointed in a direction that I assumed was south.
“How far?”
“Half day’s ride.”
I turned and looked toward the point as he puffed on his pipe. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. Some sign of civilization, I guess.
“How would one get to Austin from here?”
He removed the pipe from the side of his mouth and smiled. “Arrange for transportation before you come.”
I nodded. “And what if you didn’t? What alternatives might someone have?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know what to tell you.”
Panic rose in my chest. He looked at me and took a drag on his pipe. “Where in Austin?”
“I’m looking for the Thorn Hotel.”
He shook his head. “Haven’t heard of it.”
“It’s on Brazos Street?” I said, hoping there was such a street in the town. There wasn’t one in Kansas City.
He chewed on his lip. “I know Brazos. Right downtown. Don’t know the hotel, though.”
His reply filled me with excitement. Not only was there a Brazos Street but there was a downtown.
He looked around and puffed on his pipe, blowing out smoke. “You have money?”
“Some.”
He sighed. “Been thinkin’ ’bout goin’ to Austin. Got some business there.” He looked me up and down. “You know how to ride?”
“A horse?”
“No, an airplane. Yes…a horse.”
I shook my head.
He blew out a lungful of air. “I could take my buggy. But it’s going to cost you.”
“How much?”
“Ten dollars.”
If someone had said a month before, I would have been standing in the middle of Texas eager to jump in a buggy with a man I had never met. I’d have laughed until my sides hurt. Instead, I smiled and agreed.
“It’s going to be a few minutes. You’ll have to wait here,” he said and walked away. He climbed on his horse and left.
I picked up my bag and walked under what little shade the small building offered. As I watched him ride away, I worried he might not come back. Within seconds, I could no longer see him. I surveyed the area and saw what I already knew—I was completely alone. It was late morning, and the sun was blistering hot. Summers in Chicago could get warm, but nothing like this. I looked around, seeing lots of trees, and wondered how they could survive in such heat.
As I stood, baking in air that felt like the inside of an oven, my thirst grew. When I was a little girl, my mother used to tell me to suck on my tongue when I was thirsty and she had nothing to give me. I hadn’t tried it in several years, but now I was desperate. I stood, trying to suck my tongue, hopelessly searching for relief.
After thirty minutes, I saw a small horse and buggy coming my way in the distance. When it reached me, the man jumped down and grabbed my bag.
“Sorry about the wait. It took longer than expected.”
“It’s fine,” I said, grateful he came back.
I climbed up into the buggy. He sat next to me and handed me a canteen.
“Water?”
I thanked him and took it as he whipped the reins and we jostled down the dirt path. The water was warm, but I didn’t care. It tasted like the most delicious thing that had ever touched my lips. After drinking half the bottle, I put the cap back on and handed it to him.
“Where you from?”
I hesitated before answering. “Kansas City.”
“Nope,” he said, eyeing me.
“Yes.”
“Nope,” he said, smiling.
I turned away, looking out across the never-ending fields of green and brown.
“Chicago or New York?”
I turned back to him. “What?”
“You’re a city girl, clear as the mustache on my face. So, which city? New York or Chicago?”
