Someone’s Out There
I had never seen anyone look as stressed as Tom did skulking into the warehouse that day. He looked like a rat in a corner staring at a great big cat and nowhere to run. I was hauling a pallet down for the guys on the dock and couldn’t help my surprise. I had never seen Tom scared. It gave me a kick. But mostly I was mad at him for showing up here where everyone could see us together when he knew damned well I had gone straight. I hustled him out back and we stood watching snow drip off the roof. I tried to make him leave but he wouldn’t. He just kept staring around the parking lot almost like a crazy man.
“Glad to see me?” He sounded like a crazy man too. He kept grabbing my collar the way he used to when he bossed me around, and then letting go because, after all, he was the one asking a favor. “Put me up a few nights, pal? I need a place to crash – bad.”
When I said no he shoved me against the dumpster so hard I slammed my head.
“Okay, okay!” I gave in on the spot. You can’t change the mind of a lug like Tom once it’s set. “Thing is, don’t hang around here. That can only get me in trouble and I won’t go back to the pen for anyone. What are you so scared of anyway?”
All he said was, “Somebody’s following me.” Which wasn’t much of an answer.
“Who?” I asked.
“I dunno. Some man. A crook, a cop, a devil maybe. I dunno.” And all of a sudden that fear was back on his face.
His ugly face. Yeah, Tom had the ugliest mug I’ve ever seen. But I’m prejudiced. Chicks thought it was cute, usually, and especially with that corduroy cap he always wore. His hair would spill out from underneath all curly. It was a face a chick could love. Even if his hands didn’t know the meaning of the word gentle. I never met a girlfriend of his that didn’t have at least one black eye. Chicks, they’re tough to figure.
“Aw, you’re seeing things,” I told him.
“I’m telling you there’s someone following me around. Some man in a huge, heavy coat. I’ve seen him a dozen places.”
“Take it easy,” I said. “Nobody’s here but us. You can see that.” He peered around with eyes that almost popped from his head. Winter isn’t Chicago’s choice season. Some cars, dead weeds, and snow melting, that was all there was. “There’s a bar down the street. Why don’t you wait there till I get off?”
He didn’t like the idea but didn’t see much choice. He made me give him money. Took all I had except some change. Same old Tom, such a polite guy. I was glad nobody at the plant had noticed us together. The last thing I needed was to get my nose dirty. I didn’t need anyone wrecking my freedom. Which was why I didn’t stay at the bar, just picked him up and split.
We were just leaving the parking lot, the sun fading rapidly, when all of a sudden Tom started screaming and pointing. “That’s him! That’s the guy!”
“What guy?” I was playing dumb, see.
“The guy that’s been following me, you idiot! Two cars behind. Driving that red Ferrari with that same big coat on.”
I had to admit I saw the guy, although he looked pretty ordinary. Zillionaires from Barrington commuted here all the time. There was nothing shady about him except maybe his sunglasses. But what the hell, what kind of a spy would be lacking those? Tom didn’t like the way I joked. He kept prattling on about how weird it was, because every time he saw the guy he was doing something different like buying a paper from a vending box, or walking out of a store, or driving a different car. He’d just pop out of nowhere, then vanish just as quickly. He looked like Dirty Harry out to make his day, and Tom couldn’t seem more scared if he’d been a zombie. Like zombies made a habit of driving red Ferraris. After awhile Tom got pissed at my wisecracking.
“You think I’m nuts, don’t you, you bastard! You think I’m psycho or something.”
“I didn’t say that.” He started begging me to lose the guy, to keep him from learning where we were going. But swerve as I might backstreets stayed confusing, so I tried to keep him distracted with small talk. Could be coincidence. Or blather. But their alternative kept him craning to peer out the back. “Why don’t you just talk to him?” I asked. “Catch him off guard and ask him why he’s following you?”
Tom’s voice shook. “I’ve tried. One really cold night I slept at the shelter and he took a bed on the other side of the room like some destitute bum. Played cards till late. There was always someone around and I wanted our talk to be private. Besides, I wasn’t sure at the time he really was dogging me. So I waited till a few hours after lights-out and went over to his bed. It was empty.”
“Must’ve known you were onto him,” I said.
“Yeah. There were other times too,” Tom went on. “I saw him once at a crosswalk. He was a little ahead and by the time I recognized him he was already halfway across the street and there was too much traffic to chase him. He even got onto a bus with me once and flashed the smuggest glare walking past. I bailed a mile from Ma’s and walking home I saw him drive by in a Jaguar. Now it’s a Ferrari. Always something flashy. If he finds where we’re going I’m sunk. Lose him, for Christ’s sake!”
“What do you think I’m trying to do?” I answered.
All of a sudden Tom lunged for the wheel and we squealed into a one-way street going the wrong way. I fought him off. The trick hadn’t worked and the Ferrari’s headlights stabbed the mirror right into my eyes. I had to slam my brakes or crash. I veered at the next street, expecting those lights to follow but they had fixed their slip and swung back. When Tom saw he heaved a sigh of relief.
“We’ve lost him,” I said. “Satisfied?”
Tom seemed edgy. “No. Too easy. Whenever he disappears like that he always turns up again later.”
“Well, you want to head to my place or not?” I asked. “I can’t cruise around much longer. I’m almost out of gas.”
So we wound up at my place. My dumpy apartment. Tom looked around the parking lot, and looked and looked. When a cat jumped off a windowsill I thought he’d shit bricks. The first thing he wanted when we went in was a drink. I might have known. That dude was always pouring something down his craw. His favorite drink was rum and I happened to have a brand-new bottle.
“Almost like you knew I was coming,” Tom raved, holding it up to admire. “Oh, man, even my brand!”
I handed him a glass, ice, and Coke from the fridge, and grabbed myself a brew. I don’t go for the hard stuff much, nothing like Tom. Then I tossed some leftovers into the oven.
“Well, I figured you were out of the slammer,” I admitted. “That bank holdup’s been making big news. Sounded like you. And that crashed getaway car and the corpse they found inside had your signature all over it. Yeah, I figured you were back to your old tricks. Said to myself, ‘I bet old Tom Parker’s out. Nobody but Tom could screw up that bad.’”
I was only joking, trying to have some fun. But Tom got mad and came at me with that mean look on his face. It had been so long I’d forgotten he had no sense of humor – nor the humility to deny my charges. He started shoving me around and calling me names like he’d done in the old days and reminding me he hadn’t told the cops on me after our last job, the one that sent him to prison.
“I could still send you up the river, buddy,” he warned me, polishing off his drink and wiping his mouth with a disgusting grunt. “Yep, I’ll bet the cops would love to know who pulled the trigger on that poor, defenseless clerk. Poor guy was only about thirty, had a house and family and a station wagon with a dog in back, the whole bit. Now he’ll spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair all because Y-O-U got trigger-happy. That’s one hell of a rap for me to take, pal!”
“Now wait a minute.” I stopped. It’s no use trying to reason with Tom when he starts making up stuff, especially when he’s drinking. That rum never stood a chance. Luckily I’d got it on sale. Truth is Tom preferred to pull jobs alone, and if he dragged anyone else along it was just to drive the car. Or ride in it. Half the time he’d decide to rob a joint on the spur of the moment. He’d just stroll in like any customer and get back in the car calm as a cucumber and you wouldn’t find out he’d robbed the place till twenty miles down the road. He took it pretty casual. There’s a rumor that he robbed a gas station on the way to church with his mother but I don’t know if it’s true. I don’t doubt it.
“You pulled the trigger, baby!” Tom wagged a finger. “You owe me! If I told the goddamn cops you wouldn’t see daylight for the next eight years at least. Just like I didn’t.”
One thing about Tom. He could talk himself into believing anything. He had imagined people shadowing him before and right then I’m sure he could have passed any lie detector test, even though he knows I’ve never shot a gun in my life, let alone paralyzed anyone. I’m a tame dude except when riled but even then I keep my cool. When I’m mad I react logically even if things take longer.
“Too bad you don’t like cards,” said Tom.
I plucked a deck from a drawer and started shuffling them in the fancy way I had seen Tom do. About the only thing I know Tom was good at was shuffling cards. He was a master. But I could tell by his frown that he was surprised to see me shuffling as good as I did.
“You used to say cards were boring,” he marveled.
“People change.” Sometimes.
Pretty soon we were into a serious poker game, not even stopping for dinner but just stuffing the reheated pizza slices into our mouths while we played. Even though we were just playing for cigarettes I could tell Tom was sorry he’d brought up the idea and I didn’t bother to explain I’d developed a professional knack. I scrounged some stale Winstons, having stopped smoking the damned things years ago. No point mentioning the loot I’d stashed from my Vegas wins. I had plans for that. Like a baby, Tom snatched half the cigarettes from my pile.
“You steal more cigs than that damn Debbie!” he whined.
“Doesn’t killing a girl bother you?” I asked.
“No. That was an accident.”
I followed an idea. “You know, Tom, maybe that guy who’s following you is trying to take revenge for her death. I mean, sure she was a loser to hang around you but nobody is completely alone in the world. Maybe it’s her father. Maybe some boyfriend or husband from years ago. A close friend? A co-worker at her job?”
“Naw!” Tom laughed. “She was useless.”
“Maybe some cheater’s mistress?”
“I’m no suspect. I wore gloves the whole time, and the cops say no fingerprints were found. Bad crash, but I barely got scratched.”
“Do you have a better explanation?”
“Look here!” Tom jumped up. “It ain’t Sunday. I don’t need no sermon.”
“No, you look.” Ordinarily I wouldn’t have badmouthed him so bad but he was too drunk to throw a straight punch and I was furious. “I’m gonna tell the truth. I don’t like you, and I never did. Now just because you’ve killed your girlfriend and your mom threw you out, don’t think you can bully me into letting you stay here. You can’t. But here’s a tip. There’s a building near here that the city’s gonna tear down in the spring with a joke for a fence where nobody’s living but some vagabonds. It’s a roof at least.”
“You want me to squat in some rat hole?”
“Perfect place.” I couldn’t get much blunter.
I didn’t blow up when Tom stuffed my winnings into his coat, threw cards all over the room, then tipped the table with a crash that probably got my neighbors steamed. But it was the last straw. If any doubt stuck in my mind what to do it disappeared now. I locked my bedroom door, unable to even force a healthy hatred. The guy was a pathetic nuisance like a cockroach. He had no redeeming qualities at all.
In the morning he wasn’t any happier about my kicking him out but he’d started to like the idea of having a whole building largely to himself. He’d stopped arguing. When pests like Tom see they can’t push you around they slink off. After he left I grabbed my phone.
“He’ll be camping at those condemned apartments,” I said.
And that clinched it. The reason that the dude dogging Tom owned a lot of fancy cars was that he whacked people for dough. He’s worth the outlay. Never slips nor leaves a trail. Taunts his prey for tips but gets frustrated if they’re never alone, so when he saw us together he probably guessed I would arrange things. When Debbie told me she had gotten mixed up with Tom I had warned her she was headed for trouble. Sure hadn’t taken long to prove me right. I feel better now. Tom never felt remorse for any of the people he hurt. But when he killed Deb slamming his stolen car into a tree running from the cops he should have guessed she might be somebody’s sister.
