Locomotive to the Past, George Schultz [snow like ashes series txt] 📗

“Five-hundred dollars? They charge you that much? For that flea-trap?”

“Five seventy-five! Every goddam month!”

“For that shit-hole? And you’re telling me . . . that you have all of seventy-five bucks?”

“Well… a little more! But, I do need to eat too, y’know.”

“Eat? How well . . . do you need to eat? Filet Mignon costs the well-known arm-and-a-leg, these days!”

“I’m not talkin’ Filet Mignon, Deb! And you know it! Listen! I… Stosh! My brother . . . my own brother . . . he won’t even talk to me, goddam it!”

“Did you ever stop to think? Stop to reason that out? Sheel? Sheel, you don’t have one friend… not one friend . . . in the whole damn world! Not one! Have you ever paused . . . ever paused… to wonder, the hell, why?”

“Look, Debbie! I don’t need a goddam lecture!”

“No! No… you don’t need a lecture! You need money! Which is the only reason you’re even calling! As damn usual!”

“Debbie! Deb… look! I don’t know what I’m gonna do! If you can’t… if you won’t . . . won’t help me, I don’t know what I’m gonna do!”

“How about getting off your lazy butt? How about, maybe… just maybe . . . getting what’s known as a… are you ready . . . getting a thing called a job?”

“I… well, who would hire me?”

“That’s true! Oh! I just heard about your friend Manny! Another source of income! And it is ka-put! Shot to hell! My sympathies!”

“Where’d you hear that? God knows… I’ve been trying to get my hands around that rumor, for…”

“It’s not a rumor, Sheila! One of my better friends is a woman who’s a waitress… named Lorna! Do you know her? Remember her? She’s a waitress! Used to work… with your, run-away, son! Remember him! I’m still not harboring him… by the bye! Not screwing him!”

“Debbie! Please!”

“Anyway, I’m sure you must remember Lorna! She’s the one… the lady, who you threw coffee, in her face! Is all of this… is it coming back to you, now? She told me! Told me about poor, dear, sweet, lovable, ol’ Manny! Happened… she thinks… the night before last! She heard it, from the creep! The schmuck… that owns the joint!”

“Is she sure? I just tried to call the coffee shop! And… whoever it was, who answered the phone… she didn’t seem to know what the hell was going on!”

“I think it was, probably, Mrs. Clarkson! Wife of Leonard… the owner! From what Lorna told me, there were two cops, in the place! In the coffee shop! They’d been there, I guess… for a couple, or three, hours! After they left, Len was, apparently, white as a sheet! He was very close-mouthed… according to Lorna. Really closed-mouth… about it! About the whole thing! He split, I understand… right after the cops did! Lorna says she’s not seen him since!”

“Why would she call you? Why not me?”

“Well, for openers, you did give her… a puss full of coffee! Not a real friendly gesture, y’know! For another, she was very close to Jason! You do remember him… do you not? Oh, and she wasn’t screwing him either! Let’s just say that she was never too thrilled . . . with the way you’d been treating him! Treating him… for years! So, you see? You never really made her, first-to-call, list! Quite a common occurrence, I would imagine!”

“Debbie… listen!”

“No! You listen! I have no idea… why none of this has ever hit the newspapers! Or the damn radio! There’s something . . . something in all of this! Something that… Lorna thinks… the cops want covered up! And Manny! He was such a bastard! Such an out and out schmuck! That anything that the son of a bitch would be involved in… well, it would have to stink! Stink to high heaven!”

“Debbie, listen to me! I need you to help me out! They’re fixin’ to throw my ass out! I need to…”

“Sheel, you shouldn’t be that short of money! Even without Jason’s so-called pittance! Why aren’t you… ?”

“All I have… is my pension! My settlement . . . from the accident!”

“Oh, yeah! That!:

“Don’t give me a rough time about that, Debbie! Listen! It’s been stopped! They told me that the money was on… an ‘unexplained delay’! But, I think they’re fixin’, to cut me off! Gonna try to, anyway! It probably has to do with that goddam Buick! That . . . and the goddam license plate! My trial . . . that doesn’t come up! Not till next year! Not till… goddam January!”

“Look, Sheel! I’ll bail you out this time! But, after this, you’re on your own! Strictly . . . on your own! If you think I’m kidding . . . try making this same call, next month!”

“But… Debbie! What am I gonna do? Jason’s not here to…”

“Not there… for the money? That figures! Listen, Sheila, I’ll get you a check, over there… later today! But… from this point on… you’re on your own! Period! Paragraph!”

“Debbie! What am I gonna do?”

“I don’t know! But, what-ever it is… I’d recommend that you set about doing it! And doing it… pronto! Damn pronto!”

That same evening—at 5:45PM—Ella Mahoney was led, from her cell, to a Dearborn Police sedan. She was ushered in—to the back seat, of the cruiser. Waiting inside—seated directly behind the driver’s position—was Detective Lieutenant Phillip Phipps! The driver—was Patrolman Dallas Schwartz!

“What… what is all this?” asked the starkly confused woman—as soon as her door was closed, by one of the expressionless, uniformed, monitors, assigned to the courthouse.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Mahoney,” said Officer Schwartz—smiling, over his shoulder. He was smiling—broadly.

The former prisoner—still unmistakably troubled—turned her semi-tear-filled gaze, upon her fellow backseat passenger.

“You’re a free woman,” he announced. His grin was not quite as broad as his uniformed partner, But, close.

“I… I don’t understand!”

“Well,” he answered, “they’ve dropped the charges! All of ’em! Or, at least, they will have… in the next hour or two!”

“Dropped . . . dropped the… dropped the… the charges? Dropped the charges? All the… the charges? But… but how? How can that be? I did shoot the… did shoot the scumbag!”

“I didn’t hear a thing,” laughed Schwartz—from the front seat.

“Well,” augmented Phipps, “my friend… the officer, behind the wheel… he and I, we’d had to… ah…