"What kind of things?" Chester asked while he groped in his pocket for a dime to buy their freedom. Adriann turned her back on them both.
"Things that live in the earth," the bum said and smiled blearily, pressing a grimy finger to his lips. "People who know never talk about it. Don't want to frighten the tourists away, no they don't. Scales, claws, down here, in the subway darkness."
"Give him some money — get rid of him — this is terrible!" Adriann said shrilly.
Chester dropped two nickels into the cupped hand, carefully, from a few inches above so he wouldn't have to touch the stained skin.
"What do these things do?" he asked, not because he really cared what the man had to say, but to annoy Adriann, a touch of the old sadist nudging him on.
The bum rubbed the nickels together in his palm. "They live here, hiding, looking out, that's what they do. You should give them something when you're alone, late at night like this, staying near the end of the platform. Pennies are good, just put them down there, at the edge where they can reach up and get them. Dimes good too, but no nickels like you gave me."
"You're hearing a very fancy panhandle story," Adriann said, angry now that her first fright had gone. "Now get away from that old tramp."
"Why only pennies and dimes?" Chester asked, interested in spite of himself. It was very black over the edge of the platform: anything could be hiding there.
"Pennies because they like peanuts, they work the machines with pennies when no one is around. And dimes for the Coke machines, they drink that sometimes instead of water. I've seen them…"
"I'm going for a policeman," Adriann snorted and click-clacked away, but stopped after she had gone about ten yards. Both men ignored her.
"Come on now," Chester smiled at the bum, who was running trembling fingers through his matted hair, "you can't expect me to believe that. If these things eat only peanuts, there is no reason to buy them off—"
"I didn't say that was all they ate!" The grimy hand locked on Chester's sleeve before he could move away, and he recoiled from the man's Breath as he leaned close to whisper.
"What they really like to eat is people, but they won't bother you as long as you leave them a little something. Would you like to see one?"
"After this buildup I certainly would."
The bum tottered over to the wastepaper receptacle, big as a truck on end, olive drab metal with two flap doors in the hatlike cover.
"Now you just gotta take a quick look, because they don't like to be looked at.” the man said and gave one of the flaps a push in and let go.
Chester stepped back, startled. He had had only a glimpse, had he really seen two glowing red spots in there, a foot apart, monstrous eyes? Could there be — no the whole thing was just too damn silly. There was the distant rumble of a train.
"Great show, Dad," he said, and dropped some pennies near the edge of the platform. "That'll keep them in peanuts for a while." He walked quickly down to Adriann. "The spiel got better after you left; the old buzzard swears that one of the things is hiding there in the trash can. So I left a bribe — just in case."
"How can you be so stupid—"
"You're tired, dear — and your claws are showing. And you're being repetitive as well."
The train rattled closer, sweeping a cloud of dead air before it. Musty air, almost like the smell of an animal… he had never noticed that before.
"You are stupid — and superstitious." She had to raise her voice above the roar of the approaching train. "You're the kind of person who knocks on wood and won't step on cracks and worries about black cats."
"I sure am, because it doesn't hurt. There's enough bad luck around as it is without looking for any more. There probably isn't a thing in that trash can — but I'm not going to put my arm in there to find out."
"You're a simple-minded child."
"Oh, am I!" They were both shouting now to be heard above the train that was rocking by next to them, brakes squealing to a stop. "Well let's see you put your arm in there if you are so damn smart."
"Childish!"
It was late and Chester was tired and his temper was frayed. The train shuddered to a halt behind him. He ran toward the end of the platform, digging in his pocket and pulling out all of his loose change.
"Here," he shouted, pushing the flap of the waste bin in an inch and pouring the coins through the gap. "Money. Plenty dimes, pennies. Plenty Cokes, peanuts. You grab and eat next person who comes here." Behind him Adriann was laughing. The train doors shooshed open and the old bum shuffled into the car.
"That's your Queens train.” Adriann said, still laughing. "Better take it before the things get you. I'm waiting for the uptown local."
"Take this.” he said, still angry, holding out his newspaper to her. "This is so funny, you're not superstitious — let's see you put this in the basket." He jumped for the train doors, catching them just as they closed.
"Of course, darling.” she called, her face red from laughing. "And I'll tell the office about it tomorrow—" The doors slid shut cutting off the rest of her words.
The train shuddered a bit and started to move. Through the dirt-stained glass he saw her walk to the waste container and shove the paper in through the flap. One of the pillars came between them as the train picked up speed.
The he saw her again and she still had her hand to the lid — or had she poked her arm in up to the elbow? — it was hard to tell through the dirty glass. Then another pillar, they were beginning to flicker by. Another glimpse and with the blurred window and the bad light he couldn't be sure but it looked as if she was bent over and had poked her head into the opening.
This window was no good. He ran the few steps to the rear of the car where a larger — and somewhat cleaner — window was set into the rear door. The train was halfway down the platform now, swaying as it picked up speed and he had a last glimpse of her before the row of pillars merged into a blur that cut off vision completely.
She couldn't possibly be halfway into that container, the flapped opening certainly wasn't big enough for a person to get through. Yet how else to explain that he had seen just her skirt and legs sticking out, wiggling wildly in the air?
Of course it had been only a blurred glimpse and he was mistaken. He turned back to the empty car — no, not empty. The bum slumped in a seat, already asleep.
The ragged man looked up at Chester, gave him a quick, secretive grin, then closed his eyes again. Chester went to the other end of the car and sat down. He yawned and scrunched lower.
He could doze until they reached his station, he always woke up in time.
It would be nice if the copy chief's job was still open; he could use the extra money.
SQUARE PEGS IN ROUND HOLES
And then there were the rest When I was putting together this collection I found that it was falling nicely into categories Which was a good thing to have happen since I could then organize this volume into some comprehensive form But there were a good many stories that just defied classification These were the head-scratchers, the undefinable, the works of fiction that just did not fit into any simple category.
I guess the only thing to call them are the one-offs Not a bad thing Upon rereading them I find that this difference makes them, many times, the best of the lot May you, gentle reader, agree.
Portrait of the Artist
"11 A.M.!!!" the note blared at him, pinned to the upper right corner of his drawing board. "MARTIN'S OFFICE!!" He had lettered it himself with a number 7 brush, funereal India ink on harsh yellow paper, big letters, big words.