(For part 2, click http://thelovingcudgel.blogspot.com/2008/01/did-i-ever-tell-you-about-62-pro-bowl_31.html)
So I drove. I never took my eyes off the road ahead of me. Every few minutes Train would hiss out a “left, bitch” or “right, motherfucker,” and each time, I would turn the Ford without so much as a glance in his direction.
I drove to a part of L.A. I never knew existed. After twenty minutes or so, the road turned to dirt. The liquor stores and pawn shops dried up, along with the junkies and hopheads and the cheap, greasy whores. There was nothing out there but scrub brush and dead, leafless trees. The sight of the headlights dancing on those woods ran a tingle up my spine, one I hadn’t felt since the Imjin River in ’51. I remember looking up at those trees and down at the white knuckles of my hands on the wheel. And I felt fear, boy. Real fuckin’ fear.
Night Train rolled the window down and suddenly I could hear the distant sound of voices and music, rollicking negro horns and pianos blasting through the trees on top of the heavy boom of metal drums. It was faint at first but grew loud quickly—we could hear yelling and the crash of wood on wood and the sick thump of bodies against one another. Suddenly a POP! POP! POP! rang out. There were screams and the music began to build.
“Yeahhhhh,” Night Train said softly and he began tensing up, almost shivering in his seat. “We gon’ have some fun tonight, motherfuckers. Yeahhhh….”
There was a bend in the road up ahead and on the other side of the turn the night was glowing yellow and red as if on fire. Shadows danced in an out of the light as the car eased up to the turn.
POP! POP! POP!
“Uhhhhhhh,” the Train moaned with his eyes closed tight while stroking the thin stocking on his left leg. Daddy whimpered in the back seat and when I glanced in the mirror I saw the face of a terrified child.
The bend in the road was getting closer—whatever was on the other side was just
seconds away. The music was pounding now and the shadows writhed grotesquely on the trees in front of us. I looked left and saw an embankment down into the woods. In the light I couldn’t make out how steep it was or far it went down. Suddenly, the Train bolted upright, as stiff and rigid as a tackling sled. In one furious motion he pulled the razor and turned to face me. I don’t exactly know how to describe it, but the world outside seemed to freeze.
Let me tell you pissants something. I’ve seen things in my life. You understand me? I was at Yultong Bridge. I stormed Chosin Reservoir. I fought at goddamn Inchon. But I never saw anything as awful as Night Train Lane in that moment.
His face…it wasn’t human. His gauzy yellow eyes were rolled up in his head and his sinister grin was like something from the bad parts of the Bible. He threw his head back and opened his mouth wide, impossibly wide. He slid his pink tongue over his jagged teeth and drew the blade across it. His mouth filled w
ith blood. He shuddered and let it run out the corners of his mouth, down the front of his shirt. Daddy was moaning now “nonononononononono.” Train lifted that blade up again and it was like I snapped out of a trance. The car was hurtling towards the bend, the noise on the other side deafening. I threw open the door and lunged out of the moving Ford. I felt something graze the back of my neck, as soft and gentle as a Korean whore.
I hit the ground rolling. The embankment was steeper than I thought, and I crashed down through rotted trees and dank, poison-smelling mud. When I stopped rolling, I jumped up like a rabbit and ran. I had no idea where I was or which way I was headed, but I wasn’t resting until I got there. I just ran as hard and fast as I could. As I tore through those woods, I noticed a warm tickle
running down my backbone. I touched the back of my neck and suddenly felt a searing pain. Even in that moonless night I could see the blood on my hand. The cut on my neck was deep and wide, like the grin of a mean, black cat. As I ran and pulled my shirt off to staunch the bleeding, I swear heared the faint, distant sound of the Train laughing as the music faded into the dark of night.
I skipped practice the next day and the Dutchman benched me for the big game as punishment. I sleepwalked through two more seasons, and whenever we played the Lions I managed to sprain my ankle or pull my groin the week before. I’m not ashamed to admit it. In ’63, Big Daddy caught his devil dose and rode the mainline express to the sky. I didn’t bother showing up for his service.
I haven’t ever been back to Los Angeles and I never saw Night Train again. I watched his induction ceremony in ’73 on the TV in a little shitbox bar in Reno. I remember I shivered at the sight of him. When he crossed his legs and his plaid pants rode up over his ankles, I saw a slender but unmistakable bulge in his sock.
I stood up, paid my tab and walked quickly out into the light of day.
I drove to a part of L.A. I never knew existed. After twenty minutes or so, the road turned to dirt. The liquor stores and pawn shops dried up, along with the junkies and hopheads and the cheap, greasy whores. There was nothing out there but scrub brush and dead, leafless trees. The sight of the headlights dancing on those woods ran a tingle up my spine, one I hadn’t felt since the Imjin River in ’51. I remember looking up at those trees and down at the white knuckles of my hands on the wheel. And I felt fear, boy. Real fuckin’ fear.Night Train rolled the window down and suddenly I could hear the distant sound of voices and music, rollicking negro horns and pianos blasting through the trees on top of the heavy boom of metal drums. It was faint at first but grew loud quickly—we could hear yelling and the crash of wood on wood and the sick thump of bodies against one another. Suddenly a POP! POP! POP! rang out. There were screams and the music began to build.
“Yeahhhhh,” Night Train said softly and he began tensing up, almost shivering in his seat. “We gon’ have some fun tonight, motherfuckers. Yeahhhh….”
There was a bend in the road up ahead and on the other side of the turn the night was glowing yellow and red as if on fire. Shadows danced in an out of the light as the car eased up to the turn.
POP! POP! POP!
“Uhhhhhhh,” the Train moaned with his eyes closed tight while stroking the thin stocking on his left leg. Daddy whimpered in the back seat and when I glanced in the mirror I saw the face of a terrified child.
The bend in the road was getting closer—whatever was on the other side was just
seconds away. The music was pounding now and the shadows writhed grotesquely on the trees in front of us. I looked left and saw an embankment down into the woods. In the light I couldn’t make out how steep it was or far it went down. Suddenly, the Train bolted upright, as stiff and rigid as a tackling sled. In one furious motion he pulled the razor and turned to face me. I don’t exactly know how to describe it, but the world outside seemed to freeze.
Let me tell you pissants something. I’ve seen things in my life. You understand me? I was at Yultong Bridge. I stormed Chosin Reservoir. I fought at goddamn Inchon. But I never saw anything as awful as Night Train Lane in that moment.His face…it wasn’t human. His gauzy yellow eyes were rolled up in his head and his sinister grin was like something from the bad parts of the Bible. He threw his head back and opened his mouth wide, impossibly wide. He slid his pink tongue over his jagged teeth and drew the blade across it. His mouth filled w
ith blood. He shuddered and let it run out the corners of his mouth, down the front of his shirt. Daddy was moaning now “nonononononononono.” Train lifted that blade up again and it was like I snapped out of a trance. The car was hurtling towards the bend, the noise on the other side deafening. I threw open the door and lunged out of the moving Ford. I felt something graze the back of my neck, as soft and gentle as a Korean whore.I hit the ground rolling. The embankment was steeper than I thought, and I crashed down through rotted trees and dank, poison-smelling mud. When I stopped rolling, I jumped up like a rabbit and ran. I had no idea where I was or which way I was headed, but I wasn’t resting until I got there. I just ran as hard and fast as I could. As I tore through those woods, I noticed a warm tickle
running down my backbone. I touched the back of my neck and suddenly felt a searing pain. Even in that moonless night I could see the blood on my hand. The cut on my neck was deep and wide, like the grin of a mean, black cat. As I ran and pulled my shirt off to staunch the bleeding, I swear heared the faint, distant sound of the Train laughing as the music faded into the dark of night.I skipped practice the next day and the Dutchman benched me for the big game as punishment. I sleepwalked through two more seasons, and whenever we played the Lions I managed to sprain my ankle or pull my groin the week before. I’m not ashamed to admit it. In ’63, Big Daddy caught his devil dose and rode the mainline express to the sky. I didn’t bother showing up for his service.
I haven’t ever been back to Los Angeles and I never saw Night Train again. I watched his induction ceremony in ’73 on the TV in a little shitbox bar in Reno. I remember I shivered at the sight of him. When he crossed his legs and his plaid pants rode up over his ankles, I saw a slender but unmistakable bulge in his sock.
I stood up, paid my tab and walked quickly out into the light of day.
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