The story
Oh, Lord, forgive me, please, what I’m going to say right now. And I want to say it loud. My wife, my only wife, is a bbbb… woman of shallow moral standards. She’s sleeping with Frank Johnson! The guy who drives the subway train. All right, I understand. I really do. He’s younger than me. Ten years, at least. He’s better-looking than me. Taller than me. Unlike me, he’s got hair. And flat belly with a six-pack. Even his car is more expensive than my old Toyota. I take that. There are people who have and people who wish they had.
But why him? Apart from those unimportant physical differences, he’s way stupider than me. The last thing he read was the title written on the cover of the book about Alice in Wonderland he saw in the bookstore display. Thirty years ago. I read every day. Since I learned how to read. This doesn’t count? On the other hand, I’m more of a solid-looking guy. I mean, solid like a big rock. Really big. Recently, on a sunny day, two people were hiding in the shadow I cast. So, what? Not everyone must be thin with swollen muscles that ripple like rolling hills. A solid rock means solid foundations. People can lean against me without fear of falling down. I like myself. I’m satisfied with myself. And I like my home. I cook. I clean the house. I mow the lawn. I even, surprise! put the toilet seat down. Does Frank do all this? My five cents, he doesn’t. The best meal he can offer is fast food, and I don’t want to mention what his toilet might look like. So, what the heck does she see in him?
The communicator beeps and tears my thoughts apart. I put the wet rag back to the bucket and stand up. The red light on the headset stand is blinking at me. This is the last drop to the glass of my bitterness. Oh, what a great day it could be!
I hesitate for a while but then I put the headset on and push the blue button.
“What!”
“Who am I speaking to?” The voice is low and trembles.
“Me. What do you want?” I’m really not in the mood.
Five seconds of silence. My wife is sleeping … I can’t help myself not to think about it.
“I stopped the train, and I have hostages here. Seventeen people,” the low, insecure voice says.
“So, what?!” People have nothing better to do nowadays. What a bloody hell! Go and get some hobby!
Another five seconds of silence.
“What, the heck, you mean so what?” The voice increases in intensity. “What you mean by that? Don’t you understand what’s happening, you moron?”
“I meant exactly what you heard. So, what?”
“You must be on the drugs or what. I’VE! GOT! HOSTAGES! Copy that? I demand ten million dollars in cash. Tell the mayor. This city owes me a lot. Otherwise…”
I jump into that, “Otherwise, what?”
“Otherwise, I will kill one hostage each minute the money won’t be here!” he says.
“And when it is starting and how long will it take?” I must clarify this at the beginning.
“Em, starting what?”
“Starting the period for delivering the money. You evidently forgot to mention a few important pieces. How much time do we have to deliver the money? Or when will you start to kill hostages one by one?” I really need to clarify that he’s an idiot.
“Oh, that. You’ve got one hour.” That’s changing the game, at least for me.
“One hour starting when?”
“Starting now, you moron!”
“All right. Let me go through it one more time. You stopped the train. You took some people as hostages. And you demand, let me see, ten million bucks. Otherwise, you kill them all, one by one, the one-hour period starting now. Is that right?”
“What a stupid question. Yes, it’s right, moron.”
“And do you wish a transport to the airport or somewhere else?”
“Am I ordering food or what? Go and call the mayor, or I kill someone!”
“Well, mate, I must tell you it’s impossible to do so.”
“Are you kidding? Of course, it is possible.” I think I hear another voice in the background sobbing — probably the motorman or one of the passengers.
“Look, mate, I understand what you are up to, but let me tell you this. You have the wrong guy. But don’t worry, I have written all your demands down on the paper, which I will leave right here on the desk.”
“Oh, no. No, no, no. Don’t try this on me. I have the right guy. I wanted exactly you, my dear.” Is it me, or his voice got sweeter? I will need to check my glucose after this.
“You don’t understand. I’m not a dispatcher. I’m a cleaner. And I don’t know how to call the mayor.” There you have it. Your plan to get money you didn’t work for sucks.
The silence now lasts longer.
“What you mean? A cleaner?”
“Yes, a cleaner.”
“So, give me one of the dispatchers.”
I wait. “Not possible. No one’s here. You must wait till the morning when the shift comes.”
“How can no one be there?! It’s a dispatching center room, for god’s sake!”
“Everything is automatic nowadays. AI, and I don’t know what else. People left an hour ago, and now, I’m cleaning the mess they left behind. I’m a cleaner, you know?”
I literally can hear him thinking. Some cracking and tapping. It’s the same when you shake a walnut shell with a loose nut. His brain must be too small for his head.
“Look, I don’t care if you’re a cleaner. It’s your problem. Get someone now, or I’ll kill the motorman!” he says.
“What’s his name?”
A whispering echoes back to the communicator. “Frank Johnson.”
Oh, heavens, is it true? Is my life turning to the bright side again? I have to pinch my lips together. Otherwise, I would sing Always look at the bright side of life.
“I don’t care. Go on, kill him.”
“Are you out of your mind?!” He seems to be a little distracted.
I’m firm. “Why? I don’t know him. I don’t know any of those people. It’s not my business.”
“Aaaaaa…” A sharp boom cuts through the headphones, almost tearing my ear drums. Does my dream come true? I imagine how I will torture my wife playing this dialog in front of her over and over again. There you have what you deserve. No more morning coffee to the bed. No more tickling your ear bolts. Forget! I will speak these sentences every morning. Except Sunday. I like to sleep longer on Sundays.
“Did you shoot him?” I wonder if I can make him talk about that in detail.
“No, you moron, I didn’t! Why would I shoot someone? I want my money! It’s all shit!” I can’t express how he disappointed me. Some stupid idiot watched the movie with John Travolta and Denzel Washington, and now, he thinks he made it through some special collage for villains, while he’s not able to kill the bastard who’s sleeping with my wife!
“You’re a moron! Why did you get on that train when you have no balls to shoot someone?!” My blood pressure is reaching the red zone. I need a sugar. Desperately.
“Because I thought it would be easy! I didn’t know it was all automatic.” I can’t believe my ears. He sobs. What a coward.
“You watched that movie, didn’t you?”
He says nothing. It must be awkward for him. How does he feel right now?
I’m pushing on him. “So, it’s over?” No, mate, don’t give up so quickly. Don’t do that. You have one person to kill. The sooner, the better.
Now he cries. Literally. “Yes, I think it’s over.” Crap.
I’m trying to hide the traces of hope in my voice. “Do you think you can change your mind and finish what you’ve started?”
Sobbing.
I increase the pressure. “What’s your answer?”
“No. I’m… I think I’m going home. I think I can catch the bus.”
The sorrow resonates in my voice. I’m giving up. I have no energy for this. Not today. “Okay, then. Have a nice day.”
“Nice day. And…”
“Yeah?”
“Sorry for bothering you.”
“That’s all right. Bye.” I release the blue button and sight, crossing my hands on my chest. The lights on the board indicate Pelham 321 is on the move again. This went quite fine. I deserve a cup of coffee.
“Everything all right there, Jerry?” the chief dispatcher says.
“Yes, chief. Pelham 321 got rats under the control panel, but it’s been fixed. A small delay, nothing to worry about.” I smile and pull the headphones off my head.
“Yeah, such things happen all the time.” My boss is a well of wisdom.
“Maybe we should order that company which cleaned all the trains a year ago. They did a good job.” I’m trying to be useful.
“Yeah, maybe we should. Speaking of cleaning, did you wipe the coffee you have spilled?” He doesn’t like a sticky floor.
“Sure, I did. I’m going to have another cup if it’s all right with you.”
“Okay, Jeff. Enjoy. Jake will take your lines for a while,” the chief says.
“All right, chief,” Jake says. “Jeff, don’t be too long, please.”
I nod, smiling at him, and head to the kitchen. My god, that went quite smoothly. Even better than the last time. That last idiot shot himself in the leg. The motorman who drove the train had to undergo psychological therapy. Not on my watch, bastards. Oh, I almost forgot. Next time, Frank! Next time.
