Ed Gorman - Murder on the Aisle

Tuesday: 5:35 P.M.

You see em, dont you? the cabbie asked.

Yeah, I see them.

Around the block again?

Yeah, around the block again, Tobin said.

He sat back in the cab and tried to prepare himself for the confrontation he had been avoiding all day.

The cabbie, glancing in his rearview mirror, said, I always liked you better anyway.

Im sorry, Tobin said, coming up through his thoughts as if from deep water. I wasnt listening.

I said I always liked you better anyway.

Me?

Yeah. You. I mean better than that partner of yours, that Dunphy guy. Hes kind of a snob. Youre more like the average man. Like me. Thats why I always liked you better.

Well, thank you.

My wife always watches you guys, too. She loves it when you get to arguing about a movie. She even tries to predict which ones youll like and which ones you wont. You know its like handicapping horses or something.

Im glad you enjoy the show.

Im gonna tell her you were one of my fares today and shell tell everybody she knows. Shes like that. He nodded ahead to the Emory Communications Building. Theyre still there.

Yeah. I see em.

They must really want you bad.

They do.

Mind if I ask why?

Tobin sighed. Well, my partner and I had a little disagreement last night.

The cabbie laughed. Hey, thats great. Then he said, I think theyve figured it out.

Figured out what?

That youre in the cab.

Why?

Theyre pointing at it.

Shits.

Why dont you duck down? Ive had a lot of people duck down in my cabs.

Great idea. Thanks. Tobin ducked down. He wondered if Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel ever had to duck down this way.

So you want me to slow down?

How about one more time around the block?

Fine with me.

Tell me when I can sit up.

Were going past now.

Are they looking?

Yeah, theyre looking and pointing.

Shit.

Were past em now.

You sure?

Sure Sure Im sure. You can sit up.

So he sat up. Now, at dusk, Manhattan was alive with Christmas decorations swinging in the chill winds. There were plastic Santa Clauses with light bulbs inside their bellies and little elves with big hammers and reindeer who looked realistic enough to do everything except take a dump.

Then they were around the block again.

You better duck down again.

Tobin sighed. The hell with it.

Huh?

May as well just get it over with.

Really?

Yeah. Ive got to be inside there anyway in the next twenty minutes to tape a segment. Theyre going to catch me one way or the other. Why dont you just pull up to the curb?

Sure. If you say so.

They parked about a hundred yards down the street from Emory Communications.

Then the reporters started approaching.

Actually, it was only one of them, and the closer the man got, the more obvious it became who he was: Carmichael, from one of Rupert Murdochs rags. Carmichael, though essentially a gossip columnist, always wore designer combat fatigues. Its a jungle out there.

Tobin sank back and waited.

Carmichael came up with a microphone pack slung over his right shoulder. It might have been a Geiger counter checking for radioactivity. He came up to the rear window and looked in. Hows it going, Tobin?

Carmichael waited a decent time for a response all the while locked in a stare-down with Tobin then rapped his knuckles on the window.

Might as well get it over with, Tobin. And you might as well talk it over with somebody who likes you instead of

He nodded over his shoulder and rolled his eyes as if lepers had just strolled by. Instead of them.

Tobin sighed, hit the button for the window to descend. When the electric whirring stopped, Tobin said, It wasnt a big thing.

Well, Carmichael said. It was in a very fashionable restaurant.

It still wasnt a big thing.

Tobin, Christ, you decked him.

See! Tobin half-shouted. See! I knew this thing would get blown out of all proportion!

Carmichael looked embarrassed.

Tobin slumped in the seat. He was wondering how long it took to become autistic. Autism sure would come in handy right now.

Tobin? Carmichael said after a bit.

Tobin kept his chin on his chest. What?

You did hit him, right? I mean, youre not trying to deny that, are you?

Mhjrygmj. He spoke directly into the woolen scarf he had wrapped around his neck to keep Mr. December from biting him on the ass and all those other delicate places.

What?

Tobin raised his chin slightly from the muff of his scarf and said, I hit him but I didnt deck him.

You sure?

Whats the first joke people make about me?

Carmichael thought a moment. That youre cheap?

Tobin grew impatient. Besides the fact that Im cheap.

That youve been married four times?

Besides the fact that Ive been married four times.

Carmichael looked stumped. Hell, Tobin, what?

God, man, how tall am I?

Oh, right. Your height.

Yes, my height. How tall am I?

Say, thats right. Youre just a little ba... bugger. Five-four?

Five-five.

Five-five, Carmichael repeated.

So how tall is Dunphy?

Carmichael shrugged. How the hell would I know?

His drivers license says hes six-two.

So?

So how could somebody whos five-five deck somebody whos six-two unless he was standing on a chair, which the restaurant didnt provide me last night, at least not to stand on so I could punch somebodys lights out. You see, Carmichael?

But you do admit you hit him?

As I already said, I do agree I hit him.

And you do agree that you two havent gotten along for quite a while.

Ill let Dunphy speak to that.

And its also true that Dunphy is thinking of not signing on again when his contract runs out after tonights show, isnt that right?

Gee, Carmichael, I dont even need to respond. You seem to have all the answers.

Carmichael said, You two were roomies in college, werent you?

I believe those were his feet I always smelled, yes.

And you were the best man at his wedding, werent you?

Yes, and he was best man at three out of my four weddings, too. He would have been at my fourth but he came down with appendicitis, the lucky bastard.

He was lucky to have appendicitis?

I should have been so lucky, Tobin said. If Id had some sort of affliction at the time, then I couldnt have married my fourth: the woman who proved that Vassar girls are, in fact, descended from a strain of the hunter shark.

So maybe youll patch it up?

Tobin leaned forward, eyes scanning the pinkish dying sky alight with scattered stars. A traffic chopper did figure eights or some goddamn thing above the silhouettes of office buildings.

Then his eyes lowered to street level again and he noticed that the crowd of reporters was beginning to inch closer.

Tell me, Tobin said, how the hell did you convince them to let you come up here first?

I just told them the truth.

About what?

About your temper.

What about my temper?

Tobin, no offense, but when you drink youre an animal.

I like a little fun with my drinks.

Does throwing somebody through a window constitute a little fun?

Depends on whom you ask, I suppose.

I mean, you know your nickname.

I hate that goddamn thing.

Well, if the shoe fits and all that shit.

Just drop it about my nickname, all right?

Then Tobin looked at the reporters again. Now that theyd seen that Carmichael was having no trouble, they had apparently decided there was no reason to let him have the scoop.