Locomotive to the Past by George Schultz (iphone ebook reader .TXT) 📕

“Look, Mrs. Rutkowski,” explained the unflappable inspector, “we’ve been watching that car! Watching it… off and on… for three days now! This is the third day! We even followed you… yesterday! Followed you to the grocery store! Followed you… all the way, to Farmer Jack’s! Followed you there… and then, back again!”

“You… you followed me? Yesterday? You police… you don’t have anything better to do? But, three of you? To be following . . . a crippled old lady?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” answered the unflappable inspector. He withdrew a small Spiral notebook—from the same, inside-the-coat, pocket—and flipped it open. “We’ve established, that the ninety-nine Buick LeSabre… that it was stolen,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Stolen… on September the eighteenth. From Ronald… and Dolores… Sweeney.”

“Listen! The keys . . . they were…”

“The license plates… the ones, now on the car,” droned on the inspector, “were taken off a vehicle! Taken from a vehicle… owned by Clarence Webber! Removed from his vehicle… at Sacred Heart Catholic Church, over, on Michigan Avenue. We, pretty well, have all our ducks in a row, Mrs. Rutkowski. So, I’d recommend… that you don’t complicate matters! I’d recommend… that you get yourself dressed! And then, come with us!”

Three-and-a-half hours later, the phone, at the home of Stanley Piepczyk, rang. It was answered—on the first ring, which seemed always to be routine procedure—by Mrs. Piepczyk.

“Wanda!” screeched her sister-in-law. “I need to talk to ‘Stosh’! I need to get him to… ’

“He’s not here, Sheila! He’s at work! You should know that! He never . . .”

“Wanda… listen! I’m in trouble! Bad trouble. I’m down at… down at… at Police Headquarters!”

“Police? Police headquarters? Holy shit, Sheila! What… what, what… what happened?”

“Long story, Wanda! Look! I only get this one call! You gotta get ahold of ‘Stosh’! Get him to come on down here! Down… to Police headquarters! He’s gotta come down… and bail me out! Get me the hell outta here! You can’t imagine . . . !”

“What did you do, Sheila? What’re they… what’re they charging you with?”

“It’s serious, Wanda! Fucking serious!”

“I’m sure . . . if you’re using that kind of language! But, what . . . specifically… what are they charging you with?”

“Wanda? Wanda… why do you always have to be so goddam efficient? Always! Why do you… always . . . have to fill in all the goddam blanks!? That’s always! Always… from good ol’ Wanda!”

“Well, look. Lookie here, Sheila! If Stanley’s gonna have to bail your rear end out . . . bail it, out of jail . . . then, he’s jolly well gonna want to know! Know what they’re gonna charge you with! And so… listen… I just wanna be able to tell him!”

“God damn it! It’s… it’s… well, they’re charging me with… with, with… well, with Grand Theft . . . Auto!”

“Holy shit! Grand Theft . . . Auto? Is that the… ?”

“And Possession of Stolen Property,” prompted the uniformed officer—who’d been assigned, to “monitor” the call.

“And fucking Possession of Stolen fucking property,” the prisoner (more or less) repeated.

“Stolen Property? Holy shit! Sheila? Sheila… tell me! Is this . . . does this have to do, with that car? The one… the one, we saw you drive away in?”

“Yes, goddam it,” hissed the potential jailbird. “And the ‘Stolen Property’ bullshit has to do . . . with some goddam plates! The goddam license plates… that’re on the goddam car!”

“You… you stole license plates? Stole them too? Stole plates? And then, put ’em? Put ’em… put ’em, on the car?”

“You catch on quick!”

“Aw, Sheila! Stanley’s not gonna like that!”

“Yeah? Well, I’m not really thrilled! Not thrilled, at all . . . the way the goddam thing’s turned out, don’tcha know! Tell ‘Stosh’ he needs to get his young ass, on down here! And bail me the hell… outta this fucking place!”

“I dunno, Sheila! He was, you know, awfully pissed off… when he saw you! Saw you… drive away! When he saw you, get into that beautiful car! And then, to drive away in it! And now! To find… that you went and stole it! I… I, listen Sheila… I just don’t know!”

“You look, Wanda! The goddam keys! The goddam keys . . . they were in the goddam car! What was I supposed to do? If they’d have taken the goddam keys . . . taken ’em, out of the goddam car . . . then, there wouldn’t-a been a goddam problem! No problem… at all! Hell, Wanda! I didn’t have any goddam money! It would of been a long walk home! And with my gimpy leg, and all…”

“Yeah, I know,” responded her sister-in-law—cryptically. “I know all about your gimpy leg… and all! All right, I’ll call Stanley! And I’ll tell him! Tell him, that…”

“Listen, Wanda! I’m only allowed the one call! And this one… this here one… is it! I had to make it… make it count! Wanda! You gotta help me! You gotta do right by me! Otherwise… I’m screwed! I’m fucking out of luck! You gotta help me! Gotta do my bidding! You’ve got to! Got to… to get my ass, the hell, out of here!”

“I dunno, Sheila. Your brother, y’know… he’s kind of…”

“Wanda! You’ve got to understand! I have this one call! Then, they’re gonna… they’re gonna… gonna fucking lock me up! I’ll be… in fucking jail! Fucking jail, Wanda! In fucking jail! You can’t…”

“I’ll do my best,” replied Stanley’s spouse. “I’ll do my level best! I just don’t know . . . if that’ll be good enough! If it’s gonna be good enough!”

They were, Sheila supposed, to have come, and gotten her—shortly after her one allowed phone call. But, the prisoner had sat there—in a small anteroom—with a guard, seated directly across a small, battle-scarred, round, wooden, table. Had sat there—both of them—for what had seemed like hours

The uniformed policeman had remained there—with her—for the entire time. He’d been the individual, who had “sat in”—on his charge’s entire phone conversation, with her sister-in-law. Now the actual quota-filled call had taken place, a “mere” half-hour, in the past. And there the pair of them still remained—in the, almost-stifling. little enclosure. Despite her impatience, their location was—in