Mike Reuther - Return to Dead City (18 page)

“Well. If it ain’t my old pal Crager.”

For the first time I was actually glad to hear that voice.

It was the cab driver from hell.

“Going my way?” he said.

“That’s my line,” I said, allowing myself to collapse into the seat behind him.

He was turned around in the seat and lighting up a fag. Through the screen separating us he gave me the once over. “Been playing hardball with the bad boys again I see.”

“Perceptive fellow you are. Ever consider becoming a private dick.”

“I’m already one,” he said. “At least, that’s what some people tell me.”

“Yeah. Do tell.”

“Honorable cabbie knows all the secrets of the naked city.”

“Sure. Tell me a few secrets honorable cabbie. I’m running out of ‘em.”

“Just sit back in your seat,” he said, as we started moving. “You might be interested in my next fare.”

It turned out I was more than interested. After winding through the streets around Ocyl College we pulled up to Hampton’s place.

“You’re aces cabbie,” I said.

He shut off the engine and took a drag on his cigarette. “It’s gonna cost you,” he said peering out the window.

And then Hampton was coming out the front door. It was more like stumbling really. He was having a losing battle with some luggage. With three suitcases - one in each hand, another tucked in his armpit and one of those carry-on bags over his back - he looked like a clown pulling off a comedy juggling act.

“Duty calls,” the cabbie said, exiting the car.

At the sight of the cabbie Hampton immediately dropped everything. Then he threw him a disdainful look and stepped away from the luggage as if he was avoiding dog shit. And so help me God, he reached into the pocket of his coat - one of those tweed jobs with single patches on the elbows - and unfolded a walking cane. For just a moment he leaned into the cane, grasping its plumed knob with both hands as he watched the cabbie gather up his things. Then he walked smartly on. Jesus, the guy was the snoot of all time.

Hampton didn’t give me even a glance as he tried mightily to settle his behind into the seat beside me. That done, he placed the cane upright between his knees. Perhaps he wanted to have the thing close by in case he found it necessary to flog the cabbie.

“I must say, one simply can no longer find adequate help,” he said.

“Yeah. It’s a funny thing,” I said. “No one knows his place these days.”

If Hampton even heard me he ignored it. He still wasn’t settled in the seat. He kept moving around his behind and brushing at some pesky lint from the shirt sleeves of his jacket.

“Going out of town?” I said.

The question brought no response from him so I repeated it, this time adding the word professor.

“I
beg
your pardon,” he said.

With an annoyed look he turned as if I was his most addle-brained student, his eyes peering over the top of his glasses. “Oh
…
it’s you.”

He seemed anything but happy to be sharing the back seat with me. For a few moments he looked me up and down. “And what
…
may I ask
…
happened
to you?”

He meant my bruised and battered appearance.

“Sometimes, things get rough in my line of work,” I said.

“I see.” Satisfied with my response, he turned away and stared straight ahead at the screen before him. But if the old boy thought class was now dismissed he had another thing coming.

“You still haven’t answered my question professor,” I said.

His teeth clenched, and he shut his eyes very tightly as if that would make me go away.

“I’ve accepted another teaching position, if you
must
know,” he said.

“Department head at the school of trucking?”

“My suggestion to you Mr. Crager would be to direct your sorry attempts at sarcasm to less formidable opponents. Actually, I am to assume my new duties at Oakdale College next week.”

“Oakdale College,” I said, letting out a shrill whistle. “Sounds like one of the Ivy League heavies.”

Hampton decided to let it go. The cabbie finished getting his luggage into the trunk then came around to get behind the wheel. For the next few minutes nobody spoke as we drove through the streets of Centre Town. Downtown was dead. No more than a few people could be seen walking the streets - the lonely, the crazy, the drug addicts and drunks hoping for a fix or a thrill. Soon, we were passing the stadium and the city limits sign where Market Street becomes Route 119. I figured we were headed for the airport. Why else would Hampton have his luggage? He seemed to be in a hurry. He kept looking from the passing scenery to his watch and fidgeting with his pockets and adjusting and readjusting his glasses. He reminded the cabbie that his flight was one he indeed meant to catch and that it was to leave promptly at midnight. I looked at my own watch. It was just past 11 o’clock. Time to find some answers. If nothing else, I had to keep the guy talking. Besides, the deathly silence of the cab was getting to me.

“Tsk. Tsk. I’m disappointed in you Hampton,” I said. “A gentleman of your breeding and sterling academic credentials. Why not Harvard or Yale?”

I thought he was going to let that one go too. He tapped the cane and shifted uneasily in his seat.

“There’s no question that the position I am now accepting is
…
shall we say
…
a step down from that of what I am accustomed.”

“So why take it?”

Hampton allowed himself to smile now for the first time. “Come now Mr. Crager. You’re aware of those incredibly ludicrous charges leveled against me.”

Actually, I wasn’t. But I nodded as if I was. He gazed out the window. “The idea of that committee
…
that blatantly biased committee proceeding with that grievance. And that charade of a hearing process I was forced to endure
….

“I never touched any of my students. At least not while they were formally studying under me. It was all politically motivated
…
an obvious and most flagrant politically motivated ploy.”

Scarface hadn’t been kidding. There was some sordid sexual laundry in the old boy’s past. At least enough to get him in some hot water with the college.

Hampton was clearly upset now. He fumbled more furiously with his coat pocket and pulled out a handkerchief which he used to wipe his brow. From another pocket he grabbed a vial. Out of it came two pills. He tossed them both into his mouth and choked them down his throat. Up front, I could see the cabbie stealing glances at us in his rear view mirror.

“I won’t mislead you Mr. Crager. This recent episode has left me in a most vulnerable state in recent months.”

“Who had it in for you?” I asked innocently enough.

“Several of whom I once considered colleagues, even allies, if you will. Bloody buggers turned against me.”

“How so?”

Hampton shook his head slowly. “The fields of academic play reek of politics Mr. Crager. Make no mistake about it. So many of my brethren like to see themselves as above the pettiness, the skullduggery and subterfuge that is rampant elsewhere in the world. Those in my discipline who, at rather tender ages, launched academic careers did so for noble reasons. The study of literature, they envisioned, indeed as we all envisioned, put us on a quest for truth and knowledge
…
and yes
…
even freedom. Believe me, no one embraced those ideals more fiercely than Giles Hampton.”

“So what happened?”

“The world of academia has been a big letdown,” he sighed. “Believe me when I tell you Mr. Crager, the rewards in my world are few. Earnings are modest
,
and the occasional recognition one gets for scholarly research rarely makes much of an impression on the outside world. That quite often leaves the jockeying for position, for power within the confines of a university as a more lofty goal. And that quest for power can be brutal, one akin to combat. Oh it’s a bloody and ferocious playing field.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the idea of brutal warfare among academics. The thought of tweedy, bearded professor
s
decked out in camouflaged military garb tossing grenades at each other from behind their ivy-covered walls was just too much.

But Hampton was hardly through.

“Those of you out there like to think of universities as think tanks for liberalism. From a strictly political ideological standpoint I suppose that’s true. But more broadly defined, liberalism stands for the autonomy of the individual and the protection of political and civil liberties.” Hampton paused. “That’s
Webster’s
definition, not mine. The point is Mr. Crager, I have interpreted literature in a way that reflects
my
personal background, biases, struggles etc. Not surprisingly, my viewpoints have not always been popular ones, the ones commonly embraced by my peers. As a result, I was branded a radical, a pariah in the university community.”

“You’re breaking my heart big guy.”

“Scoff it you will Mr. Crager. However, my career, despite my well-earned credentials and no small number of laurels of which have been bestowed upon me, is clearly now in shambles.”

“Whoa. Save
The Fall of the House of Academia
course for freshmen literature students. Just tell me this, was Lance Miller an acquaintance of yours?”

“And what does
that
have to do with my faltering academic career?”

“Just answer the question.” I said.

Hampton threw me a quizzical look.

“He is. That is
…
he was.” Hampton eyed me now with no small bit of suspicion.

“Surely, Mr. Crager you don’t continue to grasp that ill-conceived notion that
I
had something to do with his unfortunate demise?
”

“Maybe. You couldn’t have been happy with him around?”

Hampton let out a sigh. “Mr. Crager. My personal affairs are hardly of your concern.”

“Look Hampton. I wouldn’t normally give a flying fart about your personal life. But the fact is, you were involved with a little lady that was once married to a ballplayer, a ballplayer who was found murdered at the Spinelli Hotel.”

Hampton seemed to give this some thought.

“Fair enough,” he said finally.

“So what was the deal with you and Jeannette?”

“Deal? It was hardly a deal. Jeannette and I were involved romantically
… at least … our relationship had some of the, shall we say, common components of a romantic entanglement.”

“Things weren’t so good between the two of you?”

“I tried to make things work with Jeannette,” he said sadly.

“Some women aren’t worth it.”

The remark caused Hampton to peer over his glasses at me. “Alas. Jeannette carried a torch for Lance. They
had,
of course, been married at one time. Complicating matters was their son.”

“A son?”

“He lives with his grandparents in some dreadful backwater town in Ohio. Jeannette, you see, could hardly support him on her wages as a waitress.”

“And you did the noble thing and took her in?”

Hampton glared at me.

“I never claimed sainthood Mr. Crager. I was more than a little smitten with Jeannette, it’s true. That, despite her being the product of a horribly deficient background and upbringing.”

“Come off it Hampton. What did you see in her, other than a pretty face and a body gorgeous enough to kill for?”

“Don’t be crude Mr. Crager. Jeannette has admirable intangible qualities. She’s not without her charms. Most of all, she’s tenacious with the instincts of a gutter fighter. Put simply, Jeannette’s nobody’s fool.”

“Smart huh?”

“Really quite clever would be a more appropriate description.”

“Yeah?”

Hampton turned to stare out the window at a farm silo. We still had about five miles to go. Between the airport and Centre Town there was little to see but the rolling farmland caught in moonlight. As we moved along up the road, the shadowy images of trees, hills, and road signs would loom before us before vanishing.

“You must understand Mr. Crager. Our relationship was hardly a conventional one. There existed a vast disparity in our backgrounds and educations. I should have been aware of her intentions.”

“Yeah?” I said.

“She used me.” he said, staring hard at me.

“How’s that?”

Hampton leaned back in his seat. He closed his eyes for a few moments.

“In a sense I did, as you put it Mr. Crager, take Jeannette in. She was working nights at that dreadful pickup bar. The poor woman could barely pay her rent. Lance was hardly coming through with alimony. But that mattered little to Jeannette. She was determined to get back with him. In hindsight that has become quite clear to me. At the time I blinded myself to that cold fact. Jeannette played me for a fool. I removed her from her dreary, pitiful existence and introduced her to my own world. I not only showered her with affection, but I surrounded her with books and squired her to academic functions. I opened up entire new possibilities to this girl.”