Although, in retrospect, the train did all the work and we were merely willing accomplices.
Up and down the train went, rocketing through the night, in and out of tunnels the train went, racketing through the night, side to side the train rocked, rattling through the night, up and down, in and out, side to side, the train thrust against the night, tattering the darkness with a single searing eye, scattering all before it helter-skelter. Helpless in the grip of this relentless fucking machine, we screamed at last aloud and together, waking the hall porter in the corridor, who screamed himself as though he'd heard shrieks of bloody murder.
And then we lay enfolded in each other's arms and talked. We scarcely knew each other, except intimately, and had never really talked seriously. So now we talked about things that were enormously important to us. Like our favorite colors. Or our favorite times of the year. Or our favorite ice-cream flavors. Or our favorite songs and movies. Our dreams. Our ambitions.
I told her I loved her.
I told her I would do anything in the world for her.
"Would you kill someone for me?" she asked.
"Yes," I said at once.
She nodded.
"I knew you were watching me undress," she said. "I knew you were looking at my reflection in the window. I found that very exciting."
"So did I."
"And getting bounced all around while you were inside me, that was very exciting too."
"Yes."
"I wish you were inside me now," she said.
"Yes."
"Bouncing around inside me."
"Yes."
"That big thing inside me again," she said, and leaned over me and kissed me on the mouth.
Vinnie had bad news when I called home that Saturday. On Friday afternoon, while Dominique and I were on the train heading south, two men accosted my grandmother as she came out of her Fourteenth Street shop.
"In the car, Grandma," the skinny one said.
He was the one with the crazy eyes.
That's the way my grandmother later described him to Vinnie.
"He had crazy eyes," she said. "And a knife." The fat one was behind the wheel of the car. My grandmother described the car as a two-door blue Jewett coach. All three of them sat up front. The fat one driving, my grandmother in the middle, and the skinny one on her right. What the skinny one did, he put the knife under her chin and told her if You-Know-Who did not come back to face the music, the next time he would be looking in at her tonsils, did she catch his drift? My grandmother caught his drift, all right. They let her out of the car on Avenue B and East Fourth Street, right near the Most Holy Redeemer Catholic Church. She ran in terror all the way home. Vinnie grabbed a baseball bat and went looking for Fat and Skinny in the streets. He could not find them, nor did he see a single Jewett coach anywhere in the entire 9th Precinct.
"So what do you think?" he asked me on the phone.
"I think I'll have to kill him," I said.
"Who?"
"Legs Diamond."
There was a long silence.
"Vinnie," I said, "did you hear me?"
"I heard you," he said. "I don't think that's such a good idea, Richie."
The wires between us crackled; we were a long way away from each other.
"Vinnie," I said, "I can't hide from this man forever." "He'll grow tired of hounding you," he said.
"No, I don't think so. He has a lot of people who can do the hounding for him. It's no trouble at all for him, really."
"Richie, listen to me."
"Yes, Vinnie, I'm listening."
"What do you want from life, Richie?"
"I want to marry Dominique," I said. "And I want to have children with her."
"Ah," he said.
"And I want to live in a house with a white picket fence around it."
"Yes," he said. "And that's why you mustn't kill this man."
"No," I said, "that's why I must kill this man. Because otherwise…"
"Richie, it's not easy to kill someone."
"I've seen a lot of people killing a lot of people, Vinnie. It looked easy to me."
"In a war, yes. But unless you're in a war, it's not so easy to kill someone. Have you ever killed anyone, Richie?"
"No."
"In a war, it's easy," he said. "Everyone is shooting at everyone else, so if your bullet doesn't happen to kill anyone, it doesn't matter. Someone else's bullet will. But killing somebody in a war isn't murder, Richie. That's the first thing a soldier learns: killing someone in a war isn't murder. Because when everyone is killing someone, then no one is killing anyone."
"Well…"
"Don't 'well' me, just listen to me. Killing Legs Diamond will be murder. Are you ready to do murder, Richie?"
"Yes," I said.
"Why?"
"Because I love Dominique. And if I don't kill him, he'll hurt her."
"Look… let me ask around, okay?" Vinnie said.
"Ask around?"
"Here and there. Meanwhile, don't do anything foolish." "Vinnie?" I said. "I know where he is. It's in all the newspapers."
I heard a sigh on the other end of the line. "He's in Troy, New York. They're putting him on trial for kidnapping some kid up there." "Richie…"
"I think I'd better go up to Troy, Vinnie." "No, Richie," he said. "Don't." There was another long silence on the line. "I didn't think it would end this way, Vinnie," I said. "It doesn't have to end this way." "I thought…" "What did you think, Richie?"
"I never thought it would get down to killing him. Running from him was one thing, but killing him…" "It doesn't have to get down to that," Vinnie said. "It does," I said. "It does."
Five hours and thirty-one minutes after the jury began deliberating the case, Legs Diamond was found innocent of all charges against him.
When he and his entourage came out of the courthouse that night, Dominique and I were waiting in a car parked across the street. We were both dressed identically. Long black men's overcoats, black gloves, pearl-gray fedoras. It was bitterly cold.
Diamond and his family got into a taxi he had hired to chauffeur him to and from the courthouse during the trial. The rest of his party got into cars behind him. In our own car, a maroon sedan, Dominique and I followed them into Albany and then to a speakeasy at 518 Broadway. We did not go into the club. We sat in the car and waited. We did not talk at all. It was even colder now. The windows became rimed with frost. I kept rubbing at the windshield with my gloved hand.
At a little after one in the morning, Diamond and his wife Alice came out of the club. Diamond was wearing a brown chinchilla coat and a brown fedora. Alice was wearing a dress, high-heeled shoes, no coat. The driver came out of the club a moment later. From where we were parked, we could not hear the conversation between Alice and Diamond, but as he walked with his driver toward where the taxi was parked, he yelled over his shoulder, "Stick around till I get back!" The driver got in behind the wheel. Diamond climbed into the backseat. Alice stood on the sidewalk a moment longer, plumes of vapor trailing from her mouth, and then went back into the club. We gave the taxi a reasonable lead and then pulled out after them.
The taxi took Diamond to a rooming house on the corner of Clinton Avenue and Tenbroeck Street. Diamond got out, said something to the driver, closed the door, and went into the building. We drove past, turned the corner, went completely around the block, and then parked halfway up the street. The cab was still parked right in front of the building. We could not have got by the driver without being seen.
Diamond came out at 4:30 A.M.
I nudged Dominique awake.
We began following the taxi again.
Ten days ago, a man and a woman named "Mr. and Mrs. Kelly" had rented three rooms in a rooming house on Dove Street -for themselves and their relatives, a sister-in-law and her ten-year-old son. I learned this from the owner of the rooming house, a woman named Laura Wood, who gave me the information after she identified some newspaper photographs I showed her. She seemed surprised that Mr. Kelly was in fact the big gangster Legs Diamond who was being tried "over in Troy." She told me he was a respectable gentleman, quiet and well behaved, and she had no real cause for complaint. I gave her fifty dollars and asked her not to mention that a reporter had been there.