Grand Central Noir

Meet Me at the Clock – by R. Narvaez

SNOW! AND LOTS OF IT.

Lew Conrad stared out the window and watched the feathery stuff descend onto the cars and the street and the sidewalk. Blankets. This could be bad. This could screw everything. He closed the curtains and dressed as quickly and quietly as he could in his bedroom. He didn’t want to wake his wife. They always got along better when she was asleep.

But, with an abrupt cease of her snoring, the great and powerful Magda stirred. Without lifting her head from the pillow or opening her eyes, she said, “Want coffee?”

Lew tied his tie right up to his neck. “No thanks,” he said. “You make me bitter enough.”

His wife mumbled, “Suit yourself.”

Then she went right back to sawing her way through a redwood.

Lew put on his best Brooks Brothers business suit pants – a little worn at the pants cuffs but only a busybody midget would notice – and then his shoes and then rubbers over his shoes. He took his old-fashioned gray fedora off the dresser and walked out of the bedroom. As far as the wife knew he was off to an imaginary office in midtown place. Let her keep dreaming. Only a nuke could get her out of bed anyway.

In the living room, he took out a videotape box of The Godfather Trilogy. He slid out the sleeve for Part III, which he’d thrown away a long while ago, and pulled out a fat envelope containing one hundred hundred dollar bills. He put the envelope in his inside jacket pocket.

He left the apartment building earlier than usual, and when he got outside he saw there was just one or two or maybe three inches on the ground, and so he decided, what the hell, he’d save what was left of his subway money and walk the thirty blocks to the 125th St. Metro-North Station in Harlem. How bad could it be? It was just a little snow. But the sky churned, as dark gray as a tunnel rat, and as he slogged his way uptown the snowfall grew heavier. And heavier. He slipped at a corner. And again a block later and almost lost his old hat. He really should have checked the weather. What a stupid thing to foul up.

When he got to the station, his pants wet to his thighs, he ran up the stairs and caught the 5:50 a.m. to Scarsdale just as its doors were about to close.

Lew felt it was only the first of many lucky breaks he was going to get that day.

Lew easily found a seat on his favorite side of the northbound train, so he could see the loveliness of the Hudson Valley. But a curtain of white hid all the good scenery.

“Some snow, eh?” the conductor said, suddenly hovering above Lew, but looking out of the window and not at Lew.

“Astonishing,” Lew said, showing his monthly pass quickly. It was a counterfeit, and he didn’t want the conductor examining it too closely. But for some reason the conductor gingerly took it and held it in his hands.

“It’s a blizzard. That’s going to screw us up and down the line up all day,” the conductor said.

“Absolutely,” Lew said, watching the man’s hands.

The conductor stood there, watching the snow like a child. Lew’s counterfeit pass couldn’t stand much scrutiny. It wasn’t even the right color for the month.

But the conductor only had eyes for the white fluff outside the window. He handed the pass back to Lew and then waddled away, looking past all the passengers as he went. “Yeah, some snow,” he said to himself.

The weather slowed the train down, made it sluggish. To pass the time, Lew tried drying his pants by opening and closing his legs like an accordion player on espresso.

The train pulled into Scarsdale at 6:45 a.m., a little late but leaving Lew with more than enough time to take his spot.

He bought a black coffee for $1.50 using change he found at the bottom of his pocket. Then he looked around – all the other passengers were bundled up, huddled in groups and with heads tucked down. Magda called people like that “Penguins in the Arctic.” He turned and bent into a deep trashcan for a copy of the Wall Street Journal that lay jammed into a corner. He pulled it out and stood up, looking around again. “Penguins.” The paper was slightly stained but usable.

At 7:01 Lew took in his usual spot on the crowded southbound platform, two cars from the back. He tapped the paper against his thigh, to all appearances a businessman with busy thoughts.

A few minutes behind his normal schedule, Warren Kiner stumbled through the crowd and took his own usual spot, right next to Lew. Kiner wore a heavy parka, galoshes, a winter hat with fur-lined earflaps, and the look of a sheep.

“Conrad. Good morning,” Kiner said, brushing snow off his shoulders.

“Warren. Good morning. Some snow, eh?”’

“Sure is, sure is. Listen, about today -.”

“Shhh. Prying ears,” Lew said. “Let’s talk about it on the train.”

“Sure, sure,” Kiner said, slightly embarrassed. “Sorry. Of course.”

Across the tracks and piling high, the snow fell in a steady thrum.

“Say, I was wondering,” Kiner said. “Do you live in the Tudor on Walworth Avenue? I passed it the other day, and I’m pretty sure you told me you live near Fox Meadow, but I saw workmen redoing it.”

“Yes, that’s ours. We’re having a little work done.”

“Wow, I don’t know that I would consider renovating a gable roof, and one as steep as that, minor work. And are you getting all your windows redone? How are you guys living in there while all that work is going on?”

“Oh wait a minute – you mean the Tudor right by Fox Meadow? No, we’re the Tudor a couple blocks over. You and Wilona should stop by sometime.”

“We’d love to. Where exactly – ”

“Oh, here we go.”

Parting the dense white curtain as if emerging from a fairy tale, the southbound train chugged into the station. The train was near to full, but the two men were lucky to find seats together.

“So, yes, everything is set,” Lew said. “Mr. Carswell can’t wait to meet you. Are you all set?”

“I have the check. And I can’t wait to meet Mr. Carswell.”

“Cash, Warren. You know I don’t trust banks.”

“Of course. Cash. Right. Sorry.”

“Magnificent. I love to help friends make friends.”

“So, where will it be? Did you finalize that?”

Lew took out his cell phone, which hadn’t worked since he stopped paying the bill two months earlier, and pretended to scroll around, making sure to keep Kiner from seeing the screen.

“Yes, of course, three days ago. Sorry, but my secretary only reminded me about it yesterday. She’s a hottie but not a smartie, like the kids say. Ah, here it is: We’ll meet at my regular suite at the Grand Hyatt, so it’s more convenient for everyone all around.”

“Oh that’s swell.”

When the train pulled into Grand Central, the two men walked together up the ramp. As they entered the main concourse, Lew pointed at the information booth in the center, topped with the shining golden clock.

“Soon, that will be all yours, my friend,” he said.

“I can’t wait.”

“Meet me at the clock at noon then. And we’ll go up to my suite and have lunch brought up. So bring your appetite.”

Kiner laughed and smiled and waved and then merged into the crowd queueing up the stairs.

Lew felt great. Screw the snow. Nothing could stop him now.

He hopped down the stairs to the food level, bouncing past dead-ahead-focused yuppies and turtle-slow tourists, and up to the coffee stand in the center. He looked above the queue and spotted a young cashier. Pimples. Headphones. Bored. Perfect. He lingered there, waiting for the line to dwindle. Just as a woman was leaving, he turned quickly to the cashier before the kid could close the register.

“Say,” Lew said. “Can you do me a big favor and give me a ten-dollar bill for ten singles?”

“Yeah, okay,” the cashier said, not even looking up. Classic.

Lew held out the bills. With the register open, the cashier picked up a ten and handed it to Lew. They exchanged bills at the same time. Then as the kid was trying to count, Lew said, “Oh, pardon me, I think I only gave you nine. You’d better check. I’ve got to tell you, I’m a cash user. I love using cash. All these fancy debit cards and Paypals, it’s just not the same, know what I mean? I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy.”

The cashier counted the bills. His lips moved as he did it. “Yeah, it’s only nine.” In a mumble.

“Well, here you go, here’s another single,” Lew said. “Wait, wait a minute. You know what? Might as well give me a twenty. I love twenty dollar bills.” He handed over his eleven dollars.

“Whatever.”

The cashier handed him a twenty.

“Thanks,” Lew said. “You’re great.”

Lew walked away from the stand, nine dollars richer. It was a simple trick, a silly trick, but he couldn’t help himself. He walked back upstairs, through the throngs, whistling.

Lew stood at a row of what he figured were some of the last remaining public phones in the civilized world and dialed Bernie.

“Bernie! The pineapple is sweet.”

“What?” Bernie sounded nasal. More than usual.

“It’s happening,” Lew said. “He’s ready to be picked.”

“Oh, Lew. Gosh, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What?”

“I feel lousy. I mean, Lew, I think I’ve come down with the flu. Must have been from that dogface kid nex -”

“Flu? We’ve been setting this up for months. Not to mention how long it took to build the roll.”

“I understand that, Lew, but -”

“Men in our business don’t call in sick.”

Bernie blew his nose loudly, then sniffled. “That seems a bit extreme, Lew, I think. Don’t you -”

“Why didn’t you tell you felt sick last night at the bar?”

“I wasn’t so bad then, and -”

“Well, you have to get here.”

“Lew, I’m sorry. But I really feel like crap. And with this weather, I could catch pneumo -”

“I’m not kidding, Bern. The trick doesn’t work without you. He needs to see it. I can’t do this alone, if I postpone at all he might cool off. And I need this deal now.”

“You know my dad always said you should always have a little sta -”

“With Magda, Queen of the Shoppers, chained to me? I have exactly twenty bucks to bequeath to my heirs, should I pass yonder this very moment.” Lew did half a genuflection. “Besides the good faith roll. But that’s investment money.”

“Listen, I worked it out. I called Pete and he can be there. He’ll be -”

“Pete, your college-kid cousin from Red Hook? He’s no slouch. He’ll be smoother at Carswell than you.”

“Oh, and about the Hyatt. All the rooms -”

“What about the Hyatt?”

“That’s a no-go. I checked with Jose. All the rooms are booked on account of -”

“So it’ll have to be in here some place. Gotta think. Nothing’s going to stop this deal, Bernie. Certainly not the flu. The Queen needs a shopping spree, and she’s gonna get it. She’s a pain in the ass, but it’s my ass.”

“That’s funny, Lew. Hey, listen, so, Pete says he’ll meet you at eleven at the clock thing in -”

“In the center, yeah. Got it.”

“I’m really sorry, Lew. I -”

Lew slammed the phone onto the receiver so hard it made his hand sting. He looked up to see a cop watching him. The stink eye. Glaring. Lew gave him a weak smile and moved on.

Lew went back to the food concourse and walked around a few times to find a seat. The only one was in a sea of empty tables radiating ten feet in all directions from a very large homeless man sitting at a table in the center. Reek. Lew had smelled worse. He sat down.

He opened up a Metro that lay on the table next to his and began working on the Sudoku puzzle. He idly wrote in the numbers and thought back to how he had roped in Kiner. Someone had told Bernie that Kiner was a businessman looking for a way to the big time. Warren Kiner, King of the Kiosks.

Lew had started his routine of commuting up to Scarsdale to catch Kiner on the way down. He started standing near him, getting on the train with him, and then chatting him up. Eventually, the topic of business came up.

“I had a line on a big deal today,” Lew had told him, “but the investor dropped out. Tens of millions to be had.”

“Oh yeah. What was the deal?” Kiner said, his eyes taking on a shine.

“Well, it’s very hush hush, kind of a backdoor deal to avoid too many, um, civic complications. Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course.”

“You know the big clock in the middle of Grand Central?”

“Sure, I pass it every day.”

“Well, the world has passed it by. Everything’s going digital, as you well know. So the GCRIC – that’s the Grand Central Radical Improvement Corporation – is replacing the info booth with an app – and leasing that booth to one lucky company.”

“What are they looking to put in there?”

“The usual. A Dunkin’ Donuts, Starbucks, Quiznos, something like that.”

“That would be horrible. Vulgar, even.”

“Wouldn’t it? It would be a stain on the great character of the terminal.”

“Agreed.”

“Now, what I’ve proposed is that the space be used as – get this – a digital tourism kiosk. A set of terminals with maps of the city, restaurant recommendations, the works. But with a classy look, you understand. I was working with a great company, and I was going to make the introduction – for a finder’s fee, of course – but they dropped.”

“Well, you know, my business is kiosks.”

“Is it?”

“Sure, we make info kiosks, news kiosks, you name it, we do it.”

“Well, that’s interesting.

“What kind of your finder’s fee are we talking about?”

“Ten grand. Cash. Too steep?”

“Oh, I think I can handle that.”

And that was how Lew hooked the big fish. Now he just had to reel him in.

Magda would be proud of him. If she only knew what he was up to. He’d just say he got a big bonus at work. She wasn’t the type to ask questions. She hadn’t been that type in a long time.

He had hooked her ten years ago, yanking her out of the hands of a bad, bad man. She was a thick, blousy gal who could make you feel like a king one minute and throw a rock glass at your head the next. But Lew loved a woman with spirit, and Magda had that in triplicate. Sure, things had gone sour in the last couple of years, but that was because his luck had caught the wrong train and had been delayed. But now it was coming in.

When he looked again at the Sudoku puzzle, he realized he had got too many 7s in one row. He folded up the paper and slid it off the table.

At 11 a.m. Lew waited by the golden clock. The storm had turned into a blizzard, and the station was packed more than usual with tourists and yuppies. Penguins. Milling around, waiting for their trains to budge.

Pete would be taking the subway, which could also be royally bollixed by any turn of weather. It was already two minutes past. Lew checked his watch and looked up at the big clock and then back out at the crowd – and there Pete was, emerging from the thickly coated crowd.

Lew saw right away that Pete wore a sleek businessman’s winter coat and underneath a suit. He was a doughy-faced, rangy guy, but the clothes gave him the right look.

“Your cousin Bernie always has a problem dressing the part,” Lew said. “But you’re smarter. You should be my partner.”

“Thanks, Lew. That means a lot coming from you. You’re the best.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

“Where do we meet him?”

“Right here. In about an hour. We’ll go to the Campbell bar, make the deal there. You know the script.”

Pete stuck out his hand. “Thomas. Thomas Carswell. Grand Central Radical Improvement Corporation. How do you do?”

“Awe-inspiring. I got you the paper, by the way.”

Lew handed Pete a folded up copy of the Daily News. Inside was the fat envelope with $10,000.

When Kiner showed at noon, goofy smile on, wide, hungry eyes, Lew met him and told him there had been a small change of plans. “Storm’s playing havoc with the city. But Mr. Carswell is waiting for us in the Campbell Apartment at the spot they always reserve for him,” Lew said, hoping that Pete had been able to get a good spot in the last forty-five minutes.

They walked up the stairs to the bar. When they turned into the main vestibule, the city and decades faded away. Inside it was dark, high ceilinged. It smelled rich to Lew.

He spotted Pete in a corner spot by the back. Good man. Unless a waitress peeked over, no one would know what they were doing.

Lew did the introductions and the dance went as scheduled. The two men chatted. Kiner talked about his company, opportunity, potential, synergy, etc. Pete as “Carswell” nodded at the right parts like the proper patrician. It was going great.

But something was off. Lew felt there was something about Kiner, something in his face. He was losing the bright, shiny look of a woman passing a shoe store. His eyes were sharper, focused.

Sooner than Lew expected, the deal was done. Pete slid the good faith money to Lew across the table. It was just there to show the deal was legit and equal on both sides. Kiner didn’t touch it, which was fine. All the cash had to be in there, anyway, and real, just in case. Lew had tried a wad of one dollar bills sandwiched between two hundreds once. He’d had a rib broken because of it.

Kiner took out an envelope from his pocket and slid it to Lew. Fish. Reeled.

“It has been my pleasure to introduce you two gentlemen,” Lew said, pretending that he wasn’t checking the weight and feel of the envelope. Now he wanted Pete to gab for a few minutes while he took a quick look inside. “I hope you two make beautiful business together.”

“There’s just one more thing,” Kiner said, and again there was something off about the way he said that. “There’s someone I need you to meet. He’s waiting downstairs.”

“Why don’t you have him come up here for a drink?” Lew felt flush now. The cash in his pocket made him feel fifty feet tall. But this felt like the wrong play.

“No,” Kiner said, in a way that didn’t leave room for argument. “We should all go see him.”

“Down here?” Lew said.

“Yes,” Kiner said, casual as ice. “He should just be getting off his train.”

They were on a Main Concourse level but in an area without stores – a dark and surprisingly quiet area for the terminal. Kiner led them way down the darkened end of the boarding entrances.

“Are there any trains this way?” Lew said.

“Must be,” Pete said.

Lew saw where they were headed and suddenly knew the train his luck was taking had just been derailed.

“Track 13,” he said, more to himself than the other men. “Masterful.” Then he looked into Kiner’s face. The shiny sheep eyes were completely gone. There was nothing now but a smug smile. Pete’s face was blank. Lew made a note never to play poker with Pete. If he ever got the chance. And then he saw the gun, a small caliber pistol in Pete’s hand.

“Sorry, Lew.”

“Let’s hurry now,” said Kiner. “Business can’t stand still.”

They walked down a small flight of steps. There were two tracks off the platform: Track 13, which sat empty, and across, a Track 11, where a train waited, looking like it had been waiting a very long time. Blocking the view from other tracks was a high wall of refuse, metal containers, tarps.

“Exceptional,” Lew said. “Where’s your friend?”

There was no one down there. The concourse was just a hundred or so feet up and back, packed with penguins bumping into each other to get around. But that world might as well have been miles away.

With Kiner in front and Pete behind him, Lew walked halfway down the platform.

And then from behind a column an old man walked out. He wore a thick wool coat and a dark blue old-fashioned fedora, cocked amiably to the side. But his face was as friendly as a brick.

Lew recognized him immediately.

“Hiya, Lew. Long time.”

“If it isn’t Stew Zultanski.”

The old man also had a gun, but he kept it in his hand, pointed at the ground. “Long time. You look good.”

“You look peaches,” Lew said.

Stew smiled. “First thing I’ll do is I’ll take your stash.”

Lew handed over the envelope and all of the good faith money.

Stew took it and gave them to Kiner. “Hold on to this, Juan,” Stew said.

“You sure you don’t want us to stay,” Pete said.

“Nah. Lew’s not a man of violence. Get on back to Queens. I’ll meet you guys at that diner tonight. We’ll have lobster.”

Warren – or Juan – took the cash and left with a smile wide enough to cut his head in half.

Lew must have had a headlights look on his face.

“Poor Juan had to commute every morning for months,” Stew said. “Waiting for you to make a move. You sure took your time. We thought you’d lost your con legs.”

Pete and Kiner walked off, their steps getting quiet in the distance.

“Outrageo – ”

“We were a great team once, Lew.”

“Lew and Stew.”

“Stew and Lew.”

“Fine. If this is about Magda, I – ”

“Magda, Magda, Magda. She’s as slippery as a salmon, that one. I don’t blame you for stealing her, not very much. But Chicago – Chicago hurt.”

“I needed to get out of town, you – ”

“I taught you everything you know. And you took my money. You ruined my rep. And I got ten years.”

“What are going to do? You can’t do anything – ”

“No one cares, Lew.”

“I could yell. I could – ”

“They’re all stuck with their heads up their asses up there, taking pictures and sending dirty messages to each other. We’re far away from them. And this thing isn’t loud – it’ll sound like a firecracker. If anybody hears it.”

Stew was right. Underground, the station thrummed with the constant sound of machinery, trains moving in and out. Still, Stew hadn’t raised the gun up. Old.

“No, you’re not going to shoot me here, Stew. There are camera every – ”

“Not here. Not now.”

“Stop interrupting me! You bastard. You’ve always been so incons – ”

“Aw, Lew, is this necessa – ”

It was life or death. Lew went for Stew’s gun hand and squeezed and yank. They both grappled for control of the gun. The older man pounded on Lew’s back, but Lew kept up the pressure until they both heard something snap. The gun fell from Stew’s broken wrist.

“Ah, you bastard – ”

Ten years of living with Magda had taught him more than one way to defend himself.

He punched at Stew’s throat, once, then again. Fedoras flew. Stew fell back, his naked head knocking on the concrete. The fever was in Lew’s veins now. He kicked Stew again and again till he was sure the man was dead.

“Lew and Stew,” Lew said.

Lew looked around. The platform looked as lonely and abandoned as it had before. No one had heard a thing.

He dragged Stew’s body to the train on Track 11 and slid him into a space between two cars. Stew got stuck halfway. Lew had to stand back and kick and push to shove Stew down.

“Garbage.”

The body fell down onto the tracks. Somebody passing by would have to look twice to see it.

Of all the lousy days. He had to get out of this business. Now he just wanted to get home, get back to Magda. The great and powerful. The Queen. He longed to see, cover her knifesharp face with kisses and cringe at her snarky putdowns.

He bent down to pick up his hat then arched his back with a crack. There was a smear of blood on the floor, and lying there was the gun. Lew picked it up. He’d have to dump it outside of the station. The Homeland Security cops probably checked every bit of trash in the station, and they could find human DNA on an ant’s ass hair.

There was an exit sign way on the other end of the platform. Lew made for that, walking quickly.

The exit led up three short staircases and then suddenly Lew was in the back end of a long tunnel lined with boarding entrances.

Here, the crowd returned. The tourists. The commuters. The homeless. And the cops. Where had they been the whole time he was almost killed and then had to kill a man? He walked slowly, as casually as possible. He didn’t need their help now.

He weaved through the crowd, getting hot and humid in his coat, weaved through the long tunnel that was clogged with the smell of sweat and feet and urine.

“How the hell do you get out of here?”

He took one set of stairs, then walked up an escalator that wasn’t working.

And then, finally, he was back in the Main Concourse. He decided he needed a drink of water, even an overpriced one. He went to the Hudson News stand and stood in line. It took a moment, but then he realized the chubby guy in front of him holding a pack of gum and an issue of Entertainment Weekly was Bernie.

“Bernie?”

His partner turned and his eyes went to saucers – and then did a dance to look at something behind Lew.

Lew turned. There was Magda. A glance down at the luggage at her feet told him the story.

She spoke first. “I’m leaving you, Lew.”

“But, Baby.”

“Lew, I’ve known about you for years. You can’t con everybody Lew. Not a woman who loves you anyway. Or used to.”

“Magda, I – ”

“You’re sweet, Lew. But I’m tired of TV dinners and having to wring twenty bucks out of you for a new blouse.”

“Fair enough,” Lew said. “So you came here where – ”

“We were going to drive to my mother’s in Danbury, but Bernie couldn’t move his car.”

Bernie spoke up. “It’s snowed in. It would’ve taken hours to dig out, and Maggles here was in a – ”

“Extraordinary.”

Lew felt the weight of the gun in his pocket. Tons.

“I’m sorry Lew I thought you’d be gone – ”

“Was it you that set me up?” Lew said, but as soon as he did he looked into the dull eyes of his partner and knew that the sap had been used.

“What set – ”

“You don’t have the flu, do you? What was it, Pete wanted to try a big score?”

“Yeah, Lew, that’s what he – ”

“That’s a lie. You don’t have the brains – ”

He stopped and looked into Bernie’s dull eyes. And then he looked at his wife’s bored-as-usual face and understood. And then he saw the two giant Homeland Security soldiers right outside the stand. Gun.

“Never mind,” Lew said. His luck had completely and righteously come in all wrong. Boxcars. He nodded at Bernie, gave Magda a half smile. “You deserve better than both of us, Baby.”

“Don’t I know it,” she said.

“Mazel tov.” Lew forgot the water and waved at them as he left. His wife looked at him with pity, his partner like a sheep.

So. Magda. That was over. All that he had worked toward for ten years. Done. She had made great pancakes. That one time. Magda.

Well, he was still alive. And something that had been itching in the back of his mind for years had been scratched. He’d have start a new life now. First, he needed a drink. No, first, he had to ditch the heavy, heavy gun. Then he’d have to use his last few bills to get out of town, go to Port Authority, get to Jersey then parts beyond. He’d had enough of Grand Central. He went up the Lexington Passage and stopped near the exit to button his coat. He watched the snow outside turn the city into a pretty postcard outside, knowing it would only be a while before it turned gray and black with soot and decay.

He was thinking he should go to an exit closer to the East River when he heard someone yell, “That’s the guy.” Then again, “Yeah, that guy. The guy with the old hat.”

He didn’t want to turn, but he wasn’t sure he should run, and before he could make up his mind he felt a tap on his shoulder and, sure enough, there was a police officer – if Lew wasn’t mistaken, the same one who caught him slamming down the pay phone – and behind him the pimply faced kid from the coffee stand. Classic.

“That’s the guy,” the pimples said. “That’s him.”

“I need to talk to you, sir. Please step to the side,” the cop said. Glare.

“Stupendous,” Lew said. “Stupendous.”