Chapter 2
Murder Watch.
That’s what Vinny called it and that’s what he had tried to get his big sister to consider. He had thought about ‘Shooter Watch’, ‘Loser Watch’, ‘Loner Watch’ and a few others, but he liked the sound of ‘murder’. More urgent, more punchy. He’d been talking about it for a long time. A watch list for the collection of brooding misfits on the security team to try and preempt violent behavior and come down hard in advance. Vinny saw the guards as so many enemies to be spied on. Rosy saw them as a family of old-timers and lonely under-achievers she needed to look after. Michael Keogh was one they agreed on though. He was harmless. The kind of guy who just liked to get by and mind his own business.
That’s what he had been doing earlier that morning on the No. 34 bus, going over the Charles River when a harsh voice drilled into his ears from behind. The bus was stuck in traffic on the bridge.
“And I said to him, ‘you just can’t do things this way!’ Know what I mean? And then I walked right outta there and straight into Jim’s office and I told that weasel the same thing I told Bob. ‘You just can’t do things this way, you gotta have procedures’. Like what a freakin’ concept. Then later on, the network goes down again, surprise, surprise. So Bob takes all of us out to lunch. Guess where? Yeah, you betcha. Same old dive, same shitty service, same lousy menu…”
On and on she went. Loudmouth. The quiet Mr. Keogh hated it, but he didn’t have a choice and somehow he just couldn’t block it out this morning. The words invaded his brain and drowned out his own thoughts. He waited as long as he could before turning around to see who the bigmouth was.
Nobody else lifted their eyes, not even the tiniest bit of concern.
What is wrong with these fucking sheep? He asked himself.
His eyes found the culprit and she was every bit as unpleasant as he had feared; cavernous dripping allergy prone nose, mounds of shapeless, colorless, big New England hair, and a body so laden with fat that only the bare outline of a human form could be seen beneath.
Keogh glared, his eyes narrowed, his nostrils and lips twisted in disgust.
“Shut the fuck up!” He just barely, timidly mumbled, not really intending to be heard.
The backlash was furious.
“Hah? What’s with this guy?” She said to the little male companion squeezed in next to her.
“Ya got me Suzy. You better ask him again.”
“Got something to say buddy? Do you care to repeat what you just said like a fuckin’ man? Or ain’t you got the balls?”
The volume rose and swelled with mounting aggression.
Most travelers on the bus hadn’t noticed the exchange yet and those who had weren’t interested, but Keogh was already mortified. He began to sweat. He was outraged at the lack of an apology for the loud annoying public conversation but stung into even deeper silence by the attack. In his imagination, the whole bus was a mocking audience, lapping up his shame. Was he going to just sit there and take it? What kind of a wimp was he anyway?
Stay cool Mikey, stay cool. Just let it slide.
The angry woman gave him a good look over; security guards’ uniform, fake-fur collar, tin badge, atrocious nylon slacks, plastic shoes.
“Heh, heh, hooooh! Looks like we got us a high achiever here. A regular big time security guard.”
The dirty look and mumbled words had been enough for her. She was ready for the slap down. If the whole bus wasn’t an audience yet, she would soon change that.
“Hey everybody, look what we got here. Hey you! Yeah you, security guard… security guaaaaaard!!!” She bellowed. “I’m talkin’ to you.”
She shouted the words into the back of Keogh’s head.
The weary morning travelers didn’t have an option anymore. Yes, like it or not, this was happening.
“What’s a matter with you? I thought I heard you say somethin’. You got somethin’ to say, say it loud and clear security guaaard. Don’t be shy now.”
The bus jerked forward a foot or so and stopped again.
Keogh suffered.
“I oughta go over there, tear off that fancy fur collar and shove it up yer ass security guard. Hah? How ‘bout that?”
Keogh bowed his head and said nothing.
“Hey buddy, could you move that shiny head of yours a couple a inches? The glare is hurtin’ my eyes over here.”
Keogh held on.
“Don’t make me get physical on you security guard, ‘cause I freakin’ will if I have to.”
“She will buddy. I seen her do it before.” The little man chimed.
Keogh had noticed in the last twelve months or so that stress like this made him breathless. He should have known better than to get involved, he wasn’t able for it. But somehow, he couldn’t let it go.
Turning around to face her, his eyes bulged, his face burned tomato red. He opened his mouth ready to shout her down and just as the words found his lips, the bus gave a great jerk forward, whiplashing Keogh in his seat and aborting his outburst.
The passengers gave a collective snort of pity and laughter.
“Haw, haw, haw! That all you got piss-boy? Hah?” The big lady mocked.
His chest got tighter, his breathing shorter. In the corner of his eye, a little boy was staring at him. He forced himself to stare at the ground.
Better to get off the bus and walk the rest of the way to work.
“That’s right piss-boy, you shut up and stay right where you are you fuckin’ loser.”
When the stop finally came, Keogh stood up and queued to get off.
“See ya now buddy. Take care of yourself Top Gun. And get a freakin’ hat for that dome a yours; I’m going blind over here.”
The door began to open and seeing freedom, Keogh’s pride rose again.
“Why don’t you just shut up?”
He should have known better.
“Did all of you hear that? Hah? Did you? You should of just got off the bus security guaaard. You should a just got off the frickin’ bus.”
Keogh didn’t know what to do: jump and run, or try to save face by taking her on. His decision came too late anyway. She thundered down the aisle in a heartbeat, wrenched the clip on fur collar from around his neck and waved it over her head like a trophy.
“Come on piss-boy, why don’t you get your collar back?”
Keogh reached but she was tall as well as fat. He would have to jump. Or he would have had to if she hadn’t shoved him out onto the street, sloshing up to his ankles in a filthy sidewalk puddle.
“Here, stick it on your head and keep your brain warm.”
She flung the collar out of the bus as far as she could. Keogh stumbled to catch it. By the time he had it in his hands, soiled and sopping wet, the bus had moved on.
The traffic was slow and the next stop wasn’t that far away.
That bitch will laugh out of the other side of her face when she sees me waiting for her at the next stop with a steak knife aimed at her throat.
He paused. Stared into the rain.
She fucking deserves it. God knows.
But what about that kid on the bus? Would he deserve to see that? Of course not.
He wrung out his collar and clipped it back on to his jacket.
There was always an excuse, wasn’t there? A good reason to do nothing at all.
Turning south, he headed towards the Boston Monitor. After all, he didn’t want to be late for the guard he was going to relieve from last night’s shift. Today was his tenth anniversary of immigrating to Boston from Ireland. ‘Count your blessings’ his mother had always told him.
I should call her, he thought.
It had taken McManus six long months to regain the position of night supervisor. A full half year in the solitude of the underground parking lot, mired in perpetual disgrace, surrounded by the bad smell of printers ink, car oil, natural gas, and of course his own ever-present body-odor infused into the synthetic fibers of his uniform. Rosy re-instated him because unlike poor old Bugle Boy and a dozen others still employed, McManus actually did have a pulse and as such, was generally an asset to the South Boston Security Company and in particular to the moribund Boston Monitor security team.
He was sitting, basking once again in the glow of his supervisory power, surveying the front-lobby of the Monitor when he saw the bedraggled, dripping-wet figure of Michael Keogh arrive for work.
“You made it Keogh, you fuckin’ bum. Jesus fuckin’ Christ! I thought you fucked up again Irish. Got me waitin’ here like always. You ready to go or what?”
The obese guard had already emerged from behind the lobby desk and impatiently waited for Keogh to accept the post. Every day they worked together McManus subjected him to a barrage of complaints, insinuations, accusations and insults. Today, as always, the punctual Keogh was on schedule, if cutting it a little fine.
“It’s 7:55 McManus. I’m on time.”
“On that fuckin’ Irish time Paddy. On that fuckin’ Irish time. Here, sign the goddamn book and let me get outta here. I worked enough Goddamn time for your sorry Mick ass today already. I ain’t here so as you can lie in bed all day pickin’ yer ass Danny Boy. Know what I mean?”
Keogh’s black stare into the fat guard’s face spoke for him.
“Hey, I’d love to stay here and chat all day long Mr. Freakin’ Sunshine, but strange as it may seem I actually got some better things with my time I can do than stand around here talkin’ my jaw off with some steamin’ wet Mick as just dragged his ass in outta the rain. So long Keogh, see ya later.”
He turned one more time to Keogh as he left.
“Say, you seen the new guy yet?”
“What new guy?”
“Wait ‘till you see what we got workin’ for us now. Freakin’ Kunta Kinte, straight outta the freakin’ jungle. Calls himself ‘Moses’! Jesus Christ. Fuckin’ Moses, like he’s got ten commandments up his ass for us. Just wait, you’ll see. So long Keogh. Don’t fuck up too much today, OK. You hear me?”
Keogh packed his things under the lobby desk and stood half in a dream, only slightly aware of the world around him, his soaked collar dripping down onto his jacket and pants. He thought about the things he could do to McManus if he had him tied in a basement somewhere. None of them seemed sadistic enough. He promised himself, all talk aside, to really, no to really, really and truly do something this time to get revenge on the loudmouth jackass. No backing down, no chickening out.
Something would have to change. Keogh needed help, needed someone to hear him, needed to hear the words of someone around him who might bring him back from the edge of his personal abyss.
The cruel voice of the big fat bully on the bus resounded in his mind and he fully expected to see her time and again on his way to work every day.
I’ll stab his fucking balls off with a steak knife the next time he falls asleep with his fat legs open. I’ll fucking do it this time.
It was a promise Keogh had made before and he even had a blade ready for the job. Just buying it had made him feel one step closer to redemption, to actually just maybe really and truly doing something for once in his life. It was in his bag right then and there. He could have taken it out on the bus. He could take it out right now as McManus limped away.
He reached into his bag and closed his fingers around the ultra-sharp blade.
Easy as fucking pie. Right in the back of his fat fucking head.
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