The Day Steam Died Part 24

"Wow, I haven't heard that line since high school. Dan and Wil are my friends. I don't want you as a friend. I invested a lot of trust and hope for a future with you. I love you."

Rick leaned toward Candi with his arms outstretched, his heart breaking before her eyes. She backed away.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you. You helped me work out some of my hang-ups, and I thank you for that. Hurting you is the last thing I wanted to do. I honestly thought you understood I wasn't here for the long haul. It's better this way, trust me.

"I've got everything packed up and will be cleared out of the apartment when you get home this evening. I'll send you a postcard of me sitting on a water buffalo, and you can write me," she said trying to lighten the scene. "Take care of yourself. I hope you nail Tank. Then maybe your soul will be free to have a life. Goodbye, Rick."

Candi slung a loaded duffel bag over her shoulder and brushed by Rick, avoiding his eyes.

He stood by, motionless, fighting back tears and the urge to wrap his arms around her. Rather than be humiliated when she rejected his spontaneous impulse, he let her go. She left the office without a word to the other staffers.

Rick followed her to the front door.

He was left with only his confused thoughts swimming around in his head being sucked down into a vortex of despair. The only two women he ever loved had walked away from him with no warning. Beating back doubts that he could ever give of himself so completely again, Rick tried to shake off the reality of what had just happened. He forced himself to stop by Dan's office rather than run after Candi like some late night TV movie.

"I'm sorry, Rick. I couldn't tell you," Dan said before Rick could speak. "She made me promise not to say anything to you. I really had high hopes for you two.

"So did I," Rick admitted. "Down the road I even thought we might get married. She'd come a long way in trusting me. I thought we'd shared all our secrets, broken down the walls we'd built around our feelings. She shared her bad experience in college, the death of her parents, and that b.a.s.t.a.r.d shrink. He really messed her up for good. This is her way of dealing with it. I don't think she truly realizes what danger she is putting herself into in Africa. After Belgium turned over colonial rule in the Congo, the government failed. They're in the middle of a horrible civil war and famine that the U. N. won't get involved in. I hate the thought of seeing her in a headline someday as a murdered American photojournalist instead of a Pulitzer Prize winner."

The two friends sat across from each other at a loss for words. Dan finally said, "Tank is going to give the dedication speech at the old Coastline Railway Shops facility in your hometown as a future Steam History Museum in a few weeks. Take some time off and then pick up his trail again.

"Also, there's talk about a cigarette tax increase this session. He's been adamant against any tobacco taxes during this term. He may get careless. Check it out. Who knows, we may get lucky."

"Thanks, but I need to stay busy and not get depressed."

"Take a few days and start that book you're always talking about writing. That should keep your mind occupied. I want you to be one-hundred percent when you come back."

"I'll take the rest of today off to sort things out and be back tomorrow." Rick stood and nodded to Dan. "She really blindsided me, Dan. I never saw this coming," he said then left the building.

Chapter 54.

"The General a.s.sembly has gone to bat for you and wants you to succeed and prosper in the new world of technology."

The aftershock Rick left the office with a feeling of dej vu. He walked for blocks in shoes like lead weights. With no memory of how he got there, Rick found himself sitting on a bar stool in Wimpey's, a hangout he'd frequented as a student.

Tap beer was cheap with all the peanuts you could eat. Pool tables in back were barely visible through smoke that hung beneath green shades hanging over the tables. Unshaven faces of third-shift plant workers unwound with a game of pool. They inhaled from their cigarettes and pumped smoke out their nostrils as they stretched across the table, working their cue sticks over their left hand perches. Each shot was carefully laid out, a display of the mind games each player used against their opponent, just like Paul Newman in The Hustler.

Rick indulged in self-abuse of the thing he most disliked about Candi: cigarette smoke. His eyes burned until he had enough to drink, until he didn't notice the pain anymore. Rick knocked down boilermakers as fast as the bartender poured them until he couldn't even sit up straight.

"Hey, buddy, I'm cutting you off," the bartender said to a slumped-over-the-bar Rick. He shook Rick to make sure he was okay. "Do you have anybody that can take you home?"

Rick raised his head off the bar. "Whazzat you said?"

"Do you have somebody that can drive you home? You're too drunk to drive."

"Don't have my car. What time is it?"

"It's four thirty. You've been here all day and haven't eaten anything. Give me a number and I'll call somebody for you."

Rick searched his pockets. Finally pulled out a pen and notepad he always carried. He had difficulty holding the pen steady enough to scribble Wil's office number. Fifteen minutes later, Wil was shaking Rick awake.

"Hey, big brother, what's going on? Come on, I'll take you to the house and get you fixed up."

"Shezzz, gone," Rick mumbled.

"You can tell me all about it when I get you home. Help me out here. Put your arm around my neck."

Rick's arm slid off Wil's shoulder when he tried to lift him off the bar stool.

"Come on, you've got to stand up. I can't carry you."

Rick managed to get his feet under him and stagger-stepped out of the bar with Wil's help. Loaded into Wil's car, Rick wretched, putting his hand to his mouth before Wil could start the engine.

"Don't you dare puke in my car!"

Rick just sat there, unable to move his convulsing body. Wil reached across Rick and, opened the door, and shoved his head outside. He grabbed him by the back of his shirt just as Rick threw up a day's worth of bourbon, beer, and roasted peanuts onto the curb.

"d.a.m.n, Rick! You must have been trying to drink the bar dry."

Wil pulled him back into the car, closed the door, and then drove off.

At Wil's house, which he and Ginger had just moved into, he propped Rick up in a straight-back chair in the kitchen-next to the sink, just in case. Wil poured half a pot of black coffee c.o.c.ktails mixed with Bufferin tablets down Rick until he was finally coherent enough to carry on a conversation.

"Are you ready to tell me what in h.e.l.l this is about?"

"Candi left for Africa today," Rick said, his voice barely a murmur.

"What's she going to do in Africa?"

"She wants to photograph the genocide and starvation and win a Pulitzer," he said, his voice stronger.

"That's a pretty drastic move. When did this all come about?"

"She mentioned it a couple of times when we first started dating. I just didn't think she was serious," Rick confessed, holding his head with both hands. "I need to lie down. My head is killing me."

The front door opened and in walked Ginger. When she saw Rick, she smiled and came over.

"Hi, Rick, good to see you." She leaned in to give Rick a hug but pulled back when she saw the front of his shirt covered in vomit.

"Ugh, what happened to you-bad day at the office?"

"It's a long story," Wil said, getting out of his chair to help Rick to the bathroom. "I'll fill you in later. Right now I have to get him out of those clothes and into bed to sleep it off."

Chapter 55.

"An appropriations bill in the a.s.sembly sponsored by yours truly has granted funds to establish a technical curriculum in Bankstowne High School."

Tank's condo Sam paced in front of the fireplace like he always did. This time of year, the gas fire logs weren't lit and Tank had already warned him not to spit his tobacco juice on the fake logs.

The General a.s.sembly was in short session considering raising the tax on cigarettes. The cigarette tax bill was mired in the Appropriations Committee and would likely die there like it had every session it was introduced.

"Have you pulled in all your chips on this one?"

"Come on, Pop, they're only talking about a nickel a pack. Even if it's pa.s.sed, which it won't, how much can that hurt your profit margin?"

Sam shot him a stern glare. "Enough to make me worry. You should be worried, too."

"They aren't going to raise any taxes in an election year, especially on tobacco. That bill will never make it out of committee."

Sam merely grumbled in response.

"It's a pretty neat thing you did," Tank said, "pulling strings to off-load the tax liability of the Shops property onto the state to house a new Steam History Museum. Pretty ironic, don't you think?"

"What do you mean?" Sam stopped pacing and turned a quizzical face toward his son.

"You closed it down and I'm going to open it back up. Truth is, my first term as state senator is almost over, thank G.o.d. We both know I'm not going to get re-elected. The Grad School a.s.semblyman has lost his appeal with the people. For once I can to do something I feel good about."

"You're giving up too soon. I need you here for another term, and then we can retire rich men. The folks in Bankstowne are excited about the idea of a museum. It means tourist dollars and could save the town. A nostalgic speech about the good old days at the dedication could give you a boost to get re-elected."

Tank sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I'm tired, Pop, really tired. Playing football was never this hard. I really don't want another term. I want my life back."

"To do what? Sit behind a desk in some law firm in Raleigh? Take advantage of the weekend in Bankstowne to rest up at the house. You just need a break. You'll think differently when you've rested up a bit."

"We'll see."

"I'll be there representing Coastline along with a contingent of other officials. I doubt if my presence will be very welcome, but you don't say no to the major stock holder and president of Coastline Railway, even if he is younger than me.

"How is Mom doing these days, anyway?"

"You could call once in a while and find out for yourself, you know. She finally made a couple of friends to play Bridge with. Otherwise, she hates it in D.C. The few friends she had down here dropped her after the strike. Now she wants me to retire so we can travel."

"You have all the money you need. Why not get out while you're ahead and make her happy for once?"

"I hate to fly, there aren't many pa.s.senger trains anymore, and driving tires me out too much. But I think I might enjoy having more time to play golf. I play a couple of times a week at Kenwood Country Club in Bethesda. I could get used to playing there every day. There are usually a few congressmen and senators being schmoozed by lobbyist. I've joined them on occasion and do a little politicking myself. Railroads are suffering and we need a strong presence on Capitol Hill.

"There you go, thinking about business even in retirement."

"Your mother has taken up tennis and plays Bridge twice a week while I'm on the golf course. So what if I do some work on the side? I'd go crazy if I left work completely."

"Not me," Tank said, wistfully crossing his arms behind his head. "I'm going to enjoy my eventual retirement. And you should give more thought to sucking it up and getting on a plane, if only for Mom's sake."

"You realize that would be contributing to the compet.i.tion? That wouldn't set well with young Thaddeus Banks"

"Sure Pop, give it some thought, like you always do about things she would enjoy doing in retirement. Are you staying over tonight? I'll fix the guest room for you."

"I have to get back for a big board meeting tomorrow. I can sleep on the way back. Henry is a safe driver and that Cadillac limo rides like you're floating on air."

"Relax about the cigarette tax, too. It isn't going to happen, so you can keep all that New York tax money."

"Don't say things like that out loud. This house might be bugged . . .

"Because of that money you speak so derisively of, you won't have to worry about a job if you don't get re-elected. Just keep that in mind. We aren't doing anything more than hundreds of little operators are doing running a truck load at a time, just on a bigger scale."

"Pop, it doesn't matter whether somebody loads up the trunk of his car or you load up a freight car. I'm a lawyer and member of the General a.s.sembly. I'm tired of walking through a minefield every day, worried someone like that newspaper reporter will discover our business operation. Do you have any idea how uncomfortable I feel? If this thing blows up, we'll both go to prison."

"Every one of those politicians has a game of their own and use their office to promote or protect it. And as far as being a lawyer goes, they defend their clients-it isn't their job to decide guilt or innocence. I'm your client, so don't go getting a conscience on me. Tell you what, I'll make a deal with you. If you continue to protect our enterprise for the rest of your term, I'll get out of the business and you can get out of politics if you don't get re-elected. You're right, we'll have enough money to live comfortably for the rest of our lives. Deal?"

"Deal, but I think I could have made just as much money playing in the NFL and had a h.e.l.l of a lot more fun."

"You would be aging out about now if you were lucky enough not to get injured." Sam scoffed. "Be grateful for what you have, son. You can afford to make a run for the U.S. Senate if you want to."

"No way. We just made a deal. I've had enough politics. I'm thinking about maybe coaching. Carolina hasn't won a bowl game in two years and that's too long. I think I could do a better job coaching a football team than running the state."

"My G.o.d, son, you can't be serious? College coaches don't make any money."

"I already have enough money. You said so yourself. I want to do something I'll enjoy. A waterfront beach house on Nags Head sounds appealing. I could do some serious thinking there.

"I'm tired, Pop. Bone weary. I just might go to our house in Bankstowne and sleep for a week," he joked. "But right now, I need to start work on my speech for the dedication. I'll walk you out."

Standing in the doorway, Tank waved to his dad climbing into a sleek limousine. "Give Mom my love."

"Call and tell her yourself," Sam responded as the chauffeur closed the door.

The limousine pulled away. Maybe I'll do that, he thought. She's coming down a few days before the dedication ceremony to open the house. We could do a lot of catching up.

Chapter 56.

"This funding will allow your children to be trained in the latest technical fields as electricians, mechanics, and drafters."

Ann gets a break Ann tried to look busy waiting on a phone call from Officer Cartier. The coffee vendor restocked supplies for the next week. Her monthly payments to all other bills were caught up. She'd finished going through Marie's desk and file cabinet and found nothing usable in either one.