

Murphy Blue

Published by Linda Hahn at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Linda Hahn

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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### Murphy Blue

by

Linda Hahn

### Chapter 1

Murphy remarked to me, "Take a look at that damned cat, will ya? Runs like a thief in the night." He laughed as we watched it go. The small black feline was torpedoing across my lawn, somersaulting and leaping as it went. I was not amused, nor did I find its behavior irresistible, as did its owner.

When it drew abreast of me, the devil's spawn paused to look me in the eye, arch its back, and hiss with an unmistakable malice. In return I merely looked at it thoughtfully.

Later that night I killed it. It was the principle of the thing that forced me to it. When a man lets his boundaries be broached, it is the beginning of his own undoing.

I prepared a simple sedative by mixing a small amount of sleeping medication with tuna. There was not a long wait; cats always go first where they are not wanted. The cat was at first suspicious when it located the treat in my back yard. I watched from an upstairs window as it sniffed carefully at the tuna. After circling it twice, it sat down for a moment's consideration. Finally it raised its head and looked about the yard, most likely looking to see if I was in hiding somewhere and waiting to leap out.

Wise cat, though not wise enough. A few minutes after the bait was taken, when it grew too drowsy to escape me, I went outside and snapped its foolhardy neck.

The next day I buried it under a rosebush that I planted by the back porch. There was a ring of eight now surrounding my porch. They were beautiful and healthy and when they bloomed, they did so magnificently. My neighbors, indeed all passersby, enjoyed them immensely, as did I.

### Chapter 2

Murphy was one of my neighbors and he always called me boss because I take it upon myself to police the area for garbage and strangers. He is the only ex-convict I have ever had occasion to meet. Certainly I have little in common with such a group; however, I could not help but like Murphy when I first met him.

Murphy himself was a squat muscular guy, full of suspicious sidelong glances and low-down opinions. As soon as I caught the whole effect, I invited him for supper right off. I'd had an inkling that the man would be a passable conversationalist if properly pushed; and indeed, he proved himself more than passable. Over the can of corned beef hash we shared, I was engrossed by his tales of senseless justice and by the splendors of graphic violence he was able to portray. And all this for my solitary amusement, I was duly impressed by his talent.

Particularly I had liked his lead-off story, a wild tale of rage and running. What happened was he'd just gotten out of the joint after a two year stretch, his longest stay so far, and he was still sucking down the clean air and springing off his toes. There he was, free and light, and ruined only by his flinching at any inconsequential noise.

It was a prison acquaintance that stopped him from further enjoying his freedom, a night guard with a hard reputation. This wheeler/dealer never stopped counting his money or scheming for his next eye of newt. Murphy said that he felt chills when he looked him right in the eye. Their earlier acquaintance at the prison had never brought them together to do business. Murphy added, thank God, prison had been hard enough without that happening.

As Murphy told it, he wanted no part of it, right from the start. Threatened and blackmailed he was. It was all a matter of doing the job as requested or being arrested, hauled off, and beaten cruelly. The cake's frosting being a weapon planted on him to violate his parole. I told him it was a tough choice and he agreed.

It was also this first night that Murphy told me he would never risk going back to prison. He held up his left thumb and forefinger to indicate how small the space had been between him and lifer status. He said never again and I could see he meant it. Reform comes about for many reasons and Murphy had his.

And I greatly admired the way he handled the telling of it, squaring up his brawny shoulders and maintaining his broken dignity. It was just another job he said. But from the way he looked, I knew better. There was the hint of danger in his story, enough to make us tense as if to defend ourselves. We both felt it.

His beady eyes followed the imaginary guard as he walked away, smug and powerful. He wanted to run up behind him and kill the guard all over again I knew. I saw him relive it then – holding back the killing rage, smothering it, then swallowing the proposition because he had to. He had already found out the unfairness in living, reminders were unwelcome.

It was no more than a dirty common robbery he was required to do and it was accomplished in a twinkling with minimal pain. So he said. It was merely a necessity of circumstance to put the security man out of the way with a gentle tap to the base of the skull. His eyes removed themselves from involvement as he told me this. Some things are as painful in memory as they were in fact.

Then, in a flash of humorous insight, Murphy allowed that the headache must have been a real ball-buster. That was Murphy in a nutshell, mixing violence, humanity, and merriment like a maniac chef. He was a morose, black-humored man, and as quick with a story as he was with his fists.

At the end of his story, I asked if he'd been able to square accounts with the rogue and he'd growled a deep dangerous not yet in reply. After a short lapse for vengeful contemplation, he let go with a hearty laugh and ruefully conceded that the big ones always got away. Just my luck, I guess. He thought some more and shook his head, negating whatever revenge might have been lurking in the shadows. I'm all through with that kind of trouble he swore.

With no more pause for thought, he went on to tell me a wicked tale involving the creative way a friend had punished his adulterous wife. If I remember correctly, the abused husband managed to get inside the trysting place ahead of time. He installed a few extra lights and invited friends and family to a surprise party for his loving wife.

It was the surprise of her life too. The shock of the lights and people during a tender bedded moment changed the woman's whole attitude. From then on she was a good wife. We laughed to the point of pain over that one.

### Chapter 3

After that first night, Murphy and I were regular friends. Going on five years now I guess. I hadn't been retired too long when I started taking more of an interest in the neighborhood. And one of the first things I noticed was Murphy, who had just moved in down the block. He is not exactly living down the street anymore, but I still think of him as being my neighbor.

The two of us happened to have equivalent warped views of the world around us. It's been many a time we stood together on the sidewalk, watching life swill its way by. It was from here, the walk in front of my house, that we watched the odd pulsing of our neighborhood. A life of its own is how it always felt to me.

And it was here, under the warm old oak tree, we stood just after Murphy had exchanged harsh words with the shrew who worked the corner grocery market. Evelyn Frome was her name. The old biddy had tried to slip him change for a ten instead of a twenty. It was his view that she must've thought he was bombed or otherwise out of kilter and he wasn't a regular anyway. Not that she needed a reason.

I couldn't help but laugh, she tried it on me fairly regular. But hell, I didn't get shook by it or anything. I just smiled real nice and kept my palm right where it was until she grinned and slapped down my ten. Didn't even apologize or call it a mistake after a while. We had attained understanding, at least for business purposes.

Murphy though doesn't have my tolerance for human nature and he was genuinely pissed about the situation. Told her off good he did. Told her he didn't like thieves or cheap hustlers. She yelled right back at him too. Let him have what for. I could hear the howling clear down at my house, but I couldn't quite make out what they were saying. Only the once, when the battleaxe shrieked – This is my store! Get out, you!

Murphy said he'd been hustled plenty of times before and by women, sure. But he just couldn't help hating it when he saw women pulling scams. Don't seem right somehow he said. Doesn't surprise me though, not one little bit.

Then we talked some about how women should behave themselves better and be more ladylike. I don't truthfully expect much that way anymore I have to admit, but Murphy does. In his mind he lives in the Garden of Eden I think, before the fall from grace. The way it all should be if it were a perfect world. I can understand that I suppose, sometimes it's just plain easier to get on that way.

That day he went on for some time about how pregnant women should stay tucked out of sight once they started to showing. He said the sight of the near-to-bursting ones about made him sick. I wouldn't go that far myself, but I surely do know what he means. There's something a wee bit queasy about a woman approaching her time.

Murphy was rolling along smoothly then. Like some unrepentant backslider shot straight from hallowed goodness to loud and joyous hell, he went on to say that if women were dropped like stones from the job market, then instantly all unemployment would cease. It would have to, right? I had no answer for this and he went on. There would be an abundance of good jobs. He smiled peacefully while thinking about it.

At this point I mildly interceded on behalf of women by saying that I'd always thought Murphy rather liked women. He did, he did, of course he did. Then he went on to tell a colorful prison break story. As usual, his usage of violence in storytelling was remarkable.

* * *

After Murphy left I got to thinking about Evelyn. I did know her a little better that I'd let on to Murphy. He would've been surprised to hear it; but back about fifteen years ago, she wasn't half bad. Back then the two of us had a romance.

It didn't last but a few months, the woman was too strong-willed for my taste. And there was that streak of greediness in her. Not that I minded greed in and of itself. A certain amount is healthy when it's kept in respectable bounds. Evelyn though sometimes had a look that reminded me of a starving wolf.

When she started eying up my assets, it was enough. The way she liked to run things, most men wouldn't have stood a chance at regaining any kind of freedom. I wasn't going for it though. I looked her straight in the eye and said no more. She knew what I meant right away, but insisted that I spell it out for her.

It wasn't pleasant but I let her know straight out that we were finished since that was the way that she wanted it. She didn't like it much, but we managed to remain cordial. For a long time that worked. Then I as well as everyone else doing business with her began to notice a distinct change. She stopped keeping herself up and began looking like a hag. That was bad enough.

Even worse though were the constant attempts to cheat her customers by shortchanging them. Very uncouth of her, and she became an amusement around the neighborhood and a horrible embarrassment to me. I came to regret our romance and began to hope she would move away.

When I was feeling particularly vengeful, I though that something should be done about her. However it's only wishful thinking when a person begins to believe that the world can be cleaned up. But no matter, it's all in the past now.

### Chapter 4

One fine summer day, as the beat cop moved away from us, we saw him suddenly freeze over about two houses from where we stood. On a regular basis we'd seen this man making his rounds, but never had we seen him react severely to anything. He had only just stopped to pass the time of day with us.

Murphy and I looked to each other for confirmation of unusual behavior. Simultaneously we began to walk in the direction of the cop. He had peered cautiously around him before moving on rapidly toward the corner. Seeing his rigidity and purposeful actions caused Murphy and I to step it up considerably.

The destination of our beat cop was the corner store. He peeked in a window with extreme care, drew his gun, and slinked sideways to the door. He appeared to be in a state of high tension and rigorous listening. Then, of a sudden, he burst his way in.

When Murphy and I pulled up, we looked cautiously inside and saw the officer moving quickly around, searching those places large enough to conceal a person. Once satisfied that no one was hiding, he moved to the body on the floor and knelt beside it. We could see by the angle of the neck that there was no need for first aid. Then pulling out his radio, he requested an ambulance and assistance.

I called to him from the doorway. "Bob, who is it? Is it Evelyn? What's happened?"

Bob rose at once from the floor and came to us at the door. "Don't touch anything." he said. He motioned us away from the area and informed us that there was nothing he could tell us at this time. Then he pulled out a small notebook and asked us if we had heard or seen anything unusual during the morning. We hadn't, of course, it was awfully early in the day, so he told us to stay back and not interfere with the scene of the crime. He walked away from us reciting under his breath some sort of emergency checklist.

Soon came the sirens, then the emergency vehicles rushing onto our quiet street. The last time we'd had any excitement on our block was when Mrs. Orloff accidently set her kitchen to fire. She'd been cooking a horrible mixture of meat and cabbage and everyone within smelling distance was fully aware of her kitchen that day. First the cabbage odor, then the ungodly stench of burning cabbage, and finally the smoke came, black and malodorous.

It turned out later that fifteen people called the fire in. One of the firemen I was talking with had joked that she should be cited for releasing pollutants into a residential neighborhood. Personally I favored a somewhat harsher punishment for the old girl since I firmly believed in keeping the neighborhood up.

Well, that incident was a small bit of excitement for us and acceptable, but this, a woman on our very street bludgeoned, this was jarring. Murphy and I stood there for hours watching the police swooping in and around the tiny store. A crowd had gathered and they too watched the hoopla with rapt attention.

Minute bits of information rippled wildly throughout the crowd on an irregular basis. Most of these tidbits were dead wrong and covered ground from butchery to suicide. It didn't matter; humans are a creative lot, chock-full of conjecture and suppressed fantasy. All of us watched in silence as the body was taken away. It was then that I allowed myself to think of the feisty thieving shopkeeper.

The woman had been no prize and probably wouldn't even be missed. I certainly wouldn't much notice the loss. A slovenly type, she'd actually been somewhat of a blight. She'd never mixed much with the neighbors, hell, who did? Her personality certainly didn't lend itself to friendships either. There was no family to speak of, at least none in public awareness. And she'd had no mate, not even the comfort of a pet. I was forced to conclude, as I was sure the police would, that she'd gotten in the way during a robbery. I never did go much for murder as a thrill sport.

I asked Murphy what he thought and he too said robbery. "That would be my bet." he said. After a minute he laughed, "You remember how she argued with me that time I accused her of stealing? I don't think she'd take to robbery very kindly; bet she fought like a banshee. That might be why she looked so twisted." he added.

As it was, I was inclined to agree with him. Then it struck me and my skin crawled. I'd read on several occasions that criminals often liked to watch the ruckus they'd raised. If a man liked to start fires, the theory said there was a good chance he'd stick around to watch it burn. Then something too about needing to see the reactions he'd caused. A sense of power . . . I can't remember all of it.

Suddenly I was very chilled, light-headed, and even physically sickened for a moment. I pulled Murphy away from the rest of the crowd and speaking very softly, told him what I'd been thinking. As he understood me, his eyes quickly shifted from mine and began to study the twenty or so people we'd recently been standing with.

For the next two hours we observed the observers. Their eyes darted and pranced. Crime theories swung wildly and joyously among them. I was amazed to see the high feelings this incident had elicited. Murphy wasn't though; he said that the only thing that would make them happier than a murder was a public hanging. He looked gloomy when he said this and seemed to believe what he was saying.

I thought on this awhile, it seemed a harsh assessment to me, particularly since I knew so many of them. But there was no denying the festive atmosphere and the bloodlust that had fueled it. Later, when they were told to move along, they didn't move right away. It ended with the whole bunch of them being disbursed by the police.

It all started breaking up then. The last of the police cars were pulling away when we finally caught up with Bob again. He looked more tired out than I'd ever seen him. The three of us stood looking at the yellow barricade tape while we talked.

Bob was stunned that a major crime had been committed in his sector. Once he relaxed a minute and thought about it, he said it was awful hard for him to take and he sure as hell was sorry about Miss Frome getting beaten to death. And not a damned thing to go on he said. And no murder weapon either, the assailant had taken it.

### Chapter 5

The day after Evelyn's death, I had a visit from two detectives working the case. They didn't beat around the bush at all. They were right up front with me and said that they'd heard that I dated her some time back. This I agreed to immediately. It would have been a foolish move on my part to lie, no matter my discomfort over the fact. Nothing would have looked more suspicious.

They also wanted to know the nature of our relationship, how long it had lasted, and why we broke it off. After I'd filled them in on the meager details, they wanted to know how we'd gotten along afterwards. I let them know that Evelyn and I had stayed friendly and even continued doing business, although she'd changed drastically in the last few years.

The detectives nodded and one of them asked, "You mean her scam attempts?", as though he already knew the answer. Apparently they'd heard of this from other people. It was public knowledge around our way after all.

I didn't like being associated with that woman, and certainly not in front of strange cops. I guess they sensed my embarrassment for one of them said, "Women, huh? You never know when they're going to turn on you." Quickly I nodded and pointed out that it had been fifteen years ago. And I told them that in recent years it felt like our brief affair had never even happened.

It was then they asked where I'd been on the previous morning. Of course I told them that I'd been in bed until my usual rising time, about six thirty this time of year, depending on first light. I also informed the detectives of my usual morning routine, up until the time I met Murphy and shortly thereafter, Bob Milhaus. And being a bachelor, I had no witness to my activities.

They seemed satisfied with our interview and before leaving, asked me if I knew of anyone else they should talk with. I could think of no one and told them so. As they were leaving, they passed Murphy on his way in. He stepped aside for them quickly I noticed.

The first thing he said to me was "Cops, right? I can smell 'em a mile away." We both laughed and he asked if they were on the Frome case. I told him all about it, although I downplayed the romantic angle quite a bit.

Still, Murphy was a sharpie and he said her? with evident disbelief. I was uncomfortable with it but still managed to smile and shrug. You should've seen her fifteen years ago I told him. She was really something then. He grinned and said I'll take your word for it.

### Chapter 6

I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me when Murphy was arrested for murdering the shopkeeper. But I hadn't expected it at all and the breath went right out of me when I heard the news. I put my hand to my chest to shore up my heart. It was old Mr. Nailor that told me. That old man is more of a gossip than ten old women.

I'd been working in my garage that morning. I was calculating the best way to keep a table from wobbling when I first heard him wheezing his way down the street. I could tell by the way he was beating on his tired old body that it was something big. Something on the murder was my first thought, two days ago it happened, now something was shaking. And, although I usually avoid old man Nailor and his endless comment on trivia, this time I found myself all ears.

"Nicholas! What! You here!" He shouted all this directly in my face. I waited patiently for him to get a running start. "You heard what happened I suppose?" Tapering off the excitement I noticed, then eyeballing me to test audience receptivity. His performance would be a waste if I'd already heard the news. I kept waiting patiently until he spilled it.

"Nicholas! Do you know who was arrested this morning for killin' that poor woman?" He waited until I said no, I didn't know. We went through more careful eyeballing as regards audience response. Then he said, "Your friend, Murphy, Jimmy Murphy."

Murphy! It couldn't be. He didn't do it. I tried to think through the cold shock battering my head. My breath shortened and the pain came into my chest but I willed it away.

Murphy would never do anything like that anyway. Then suddenly I knew why and it cleared my head. Murphy's an ex-con, that's why. They're always first to be suspected when there's trouble. I felt better knowing it and opened my eyes.

He was right there waiting too and continued with my full attention. "I was there when they took him away, Nicky . . . I saw everything. It was Bob Milhaus, our regular fella, and somebody I didn't know that done it. Well sir, it's a shock."

"That boy Murphy, I surely do feel sorry for him. He took it awful hard young Murphy did. Yessir. Purely looked like death walkin' the earth he did."

"They wouldn't even say where they was takin' him and I've known that Milhaus brat for years. I might say a word or so to his pappy. Teach that boy some manners."

Suddenly sad and disheartened, he told me would you believe I witnessed that boy take his first step. I didn't know what to say to him, so continued to stare at him. I was still full shocked at Murphy's arrest.

Finally he meandered away, still muttering about young puppies and respect for elders. I was left in the silence with the thought of Murphy taking it awful hard.

### Chapter 7

I never considered for a moment that Murphy was in serious difficulties. Not at the first and not after I thought about it. He'd had nothing to do with it. It was after all simply a mistake that a finger had been pointed at him. And it was unfortunate that he had no plausible alibi. If only he'd gone to work that day is what I thought.

Embarrassment for him would be the result. It did cross my mind briefly that Murphy might be forced to prove his innocence. In which case, would it matter if the true culprit never came to light? It was a disquieting thought. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. As God is my witness, I nearly shook when I thought how unlucky Murphy was.

Rather than circling in confusion, I decided to take action on the matter. Right away I went to offer whatever assistance I could to him. Finally I reached him huddled and forlorn in an interview room I guess it was within the city jail. Windows all around that I assumed were two way mirrors. I had no doubt there was someone on the other side seeking to gain information. That alone would explain my ability to get into the lockup so easily.

"Murphy." I said it very quietly so as not to unsettle him. Slowly he moved himself to face me, all of his usual zest gone from him. He looked to me with tears in his eyes and I swear I had trouble containing my own tears. His spirit was broken and I thought so soon? What's happened to bring it so soon?

We talked then for awhile and he was a different man that the one I'd known. I soon found that he'd given up. He was sure he'd be convicted of this crime by virtue of set-up. And he swore to me with the only strength I saw in him that he did not do it.

I assured him that I believed him and that the truth would come to light. But no, he was having none of it and clung to his knowledge of doom. I tried to make him fight for himself then and he looked bitterly at me. "You've never known the score." he said.

I was deeply shaken when I left him. For the first time I realized how tightly bound the two of us had been. Friends were few with me; I hardly knew what to think. If it was this much of a shock for me then I couldn't even imagine how it was for Murphy. What he must be thinking I couldn't begin to fathom. The man was newly cast into hell. And for no reason that he knew.

It crossed my mind that Murphy was badly rattled; if I could get him out right away the damage would be stopped. He would surely improve on his own after a time. God only knew what would happen if he were forced to remain there in his condition. I remembered that he'd told me he'd never go back to prison. I remembered the wild unseeing horror in his eyes when he said it. He had a deep terror of it, I knew that.

Accordingly I sought out the bureaucrat in charge of making bail. Only to find out that I had to wait until the hearing on the following morning. That's when Murphy would be formally charged. Those words formally charged gave me chills. Somehow it seemed even more serious with legalese like that being bandied about. The witch trials jumped into the forefront of my mind without bidding and I shuddered. Not possible in this day and age I thought and pushed the thought away from me. Rational thought was what was needed here.

Seeing that it was impossible to give Murphy respite at once, my next stop was the public defender's office. Reassurance that Murphy would have proper defense was what I wanted. And I still wanted to get the problem of bail out of the way ahead of time. I needed to impress upon his attorney how important it was that Murphy be released until this sorrowful error was corrected. How very important it was to his health and state of mind. And being a civilized man, I was sure I could make the public defender see this.

But I was wrong in thinking in terms of rights. Once the accusation is unleashed, the rights are minimized. And I had forgotten that one of the peculiarities of civilization is that it never quite extends to all citizens.

I left the attorney's officer with a feeling of dread. I hadn't fully realized how bad it was for Murphy. Now I was beginning to see it all very clearly. With his record and no other discernable suspects, they'd be after him like a pack of wolves. Even though he didn't do it, my friend Murphy had grave trouble.

* * *

It was my poor luck that old man Nailor stopped by again that same day. I hadn't been home but a few minutes when I heard the wheezing of his approach. He wanted to know if I'd gone to see Murphy and I told him that I had. Being a sage old man, he remarked that Murphy wasn't taking it too well and I had to agree that he wasn't taking it well. He waited for me to add something to that but I didn't oblige him. Let him feed his own gossip train and leave me out of it.

"Well," he said, "we'll be findin' out somethin' tomorrow. You're goin' down there, ain't ya?"

I wanted to punch him for his damnable nosiness but I knew there would be no percentage in it. Instead, oh so wearily I agreed that I would be at Murphy's hearing. He hinted about what I might know regarding the case and I sidestepped him with smooth dexterity until I remembered that there was some information I wanted. Accordingly I inquired as to his whereabouts on the day of the crime, saying I didn't remember seeing him around there. It was indeed highly unusual for him not to be present during a stimulating occurrence.

At once he looked faintly disgruntled and disappointed all over again. He grabbed himself a deep breath and admitted that family obligations had interfered. Clear across town he was, at his granddaughter's house all day. Every once in a while he spent the day there. He added that his great-grandchildren were little bastards and if it weren't for the sake of his granddaughter, he would never go anywhere near them. You don't know how lucky you are he said to me.

I laughed and admitted that I had problems too. Then I came right out and asked him if he'd told the cops to come to me because I used to go out with Evelyn. This time I was the one doing the eyeballing, but I was careful to be very casual about it.

There was no hesitation in him, he was very quick to answer. "Sure, Nicky, sure I did. In the first place it's common knowledge. And second, you want somethin' like that out in the open. Right from the get go. Looks bad otherwise. Somebody might think you was tryin' to hide somethin'."

When I nodded at this bit of sagacity, he went on. "Take it from me, Nicky, you wouldn't want that comin' out later." When I thought about it after he left, I could see where he might be right.

### Chapter 8

I slept badly that night, worse than I had in a long time. The courthouse loomed before me and I couldn't remember having walked there or even having gotten myself dressed. But no matter, once I shook the fog off I saw that there was plenty of time to see Murphy before court, so I headed over there.

In short order the jailor let me know that there would be no visits that morning. It seemed that the state was in full possession of Murphy's body and soul until he could be proved innocent of the crime. I was so angry that I demanded to know if the man had no rights at all. The jailor was happy to agree that an imprisoned man had very few rights. He grinned coldly before he went on to inform me that these rights did not include haphazard visits. Although I was furious and sickened both, what amazed me was that this man enjoyed his power over me, over the prisoners. It glinted in his eyes like a new penny.

In front of the courthouse again, I breathed deeply to cleanse myself of the filthy sticky feeling that law enforcement was leaving me with. It didn't help much, the air around the courthouse and jail tasted foul to me. It was an alien atmosphere. I'd always had great toleration for the police in the past, sometimes even respect, no reason not to. Now I felt smothered and sickened by the structure they pandered for. This legal business was beginning to assume monstrous proportions.

During the preliminary hearing I sat in the front row, just behind Murphy and as close as I could get. They brought him in with handcuffs and chains on his ankles, like he was some dangerous animal trying to escape and regain its freedom. When he got a look at me sitting there the corners of his mouth jerked slightly upward. It was an effort for him, I could see that.

I had a good long look at him, what I could see anyway. His head was bowed clear to his chest. Didn't look like he had the gumption to lift it even. And no color to him either. Murphy looked like he was sick at heart. His attorney tried to get him talking a couple of times, but Murphy was lost in himself.

The whole process didn't even take a full hour. Murphy was charged with premeditated homicide and robbery by the court. He didn't respond to the hearing of it at all, didn't even blink. It was his attorney who entered the not guilty plea. I saw Murphy's head lift a few degrees when he heard that and I felt better. So he did have some fight left to him. I was pretty sure there was still a chance to fix everything and set it right.

After some other legal mumbo jumbo, the judge put the trial off for two months. Then he, the prosecutor, and Murphy's attorney dickered back and forth over the amount of the bail. When the judge declared no bail and slammed down his gavel, I was so scandalized my head positively reeled from the shock of it. It was a possibility I hadn't considered, not even on an off-chance.

I jumped right up and yelled no. He didn't do it. I shouted that it was wrong to keep him locked up like an animal. It would kill him. The bailiffs grabbed me by the arms. They were trying to shut me up, but I just got louder to make sure the judge could hear me. I told them all. They didn't have an ounce of proof. Murphy was being railroaded for something he hadn't even done.

Even while I was doing it I saw how pointless my actions were. They arrested me then, while at the same time others were hustling Murphy back to the lockup. But it was mostly for show. Once the courtroom was emptied and the legal show was all over, they let me go. I was warned not to pull any more such stunts in the future. But if I was so anxious to see the inside of a jail cell, they would be happy to arrange it for me. I had calmed myself immediately after I was subdued by the bailiffs and I assured them that I would be no more trouble. It wouldn't do to have me as well as Murphy locked away.

At the end of it, Murphy's attorney was waiting to tell me that making waves was no help to his client. He asked instead that I try to enlist Murphy's cooperation. It would be a greater help than antagonizing the judge he said.

* * *

Old man Nailor was loitering in front of my garage when I returned home. The first words out of his mouth were, "So you got yourself arrested, boy." I looked him over sharply and noted that the pace of his breathing was unpressured. Meaning he'd had a fair amount of minutes to rest. Since my arrest had taken place within the past hour, the old man's sources were rapid-fire. I should have known the old coot wouldn't miss a beat, he never did.

I nodded to indicate that I had gotten myself arrested. You must have had a friend in the courtroom, Mr. Nailor I told him. He blustered proudly that he knew the court reporter. I believe he expected me to admire the cleverness of his source, but I only thought how sneaky and underhanded he was. However, since it was directly in front of me, I thought to do some information gathering myself and asked him what his friend had heard about Murphy's chances.

While he hesitated it occurred to me how eager I was for another opinion. And that damned old man with his theatrical buildups was making me nervous. You'd think he was on a stage or better yet, directing the production. So I tried to work my face into acceptable bounds for him. Weariness is what worked.

He gave it to me abruptly once he decided to get on with it. After holding out for a good five minutes. "Nicky, it don't look good from what I hear."

He paused for a moment to shake his head mournfully. I saw though that it didn't stop him from keeping a sharp eye on me. Noticing that he seemed truly hesitant to tell what he knew, I pressed him to continue and he did. "Once in a while they got to make an example of someone. Might just be that Murphy draws that lot."

I decided to ignore that comment because I didn't like it. I asked if there was anything else. There was. Old Nailor happened to know that the judge was harsh on repeat offenders. For some reason this didn't surprise me. I did however feel suddenly snappish and retorted that in this country the defendant must be proven guilty before sentencing, hanging judge or no.

Although he readily agreed, old man Nailor decided the time had come to go and he prepared to move on, but couldn't resist one more comment in the face of my anger. Or maybe because of it. "No bail, huh?" is what he said. I offered no response to this and opened the door for his leave-taking.

### Chapter 9

After that preliminary hearing I couldn't get in to see Murphy for two more days. Visiting was only allowed twice a week, Tuesday and Friday. I could only wait and hope that Murphy was well. His attorney saw him once during that time and reported to me that his condition was unchanged. Very unresponsive he added and sighed deeply.

During this time I heard plenty of scuttle around the neighborhood. Most of the folks swallowed it whole. If he was arrested he must have done it, that was their thinking. Simpletons they were, unable to understand the mildest complexity. Some of them even said right out they'd seen it coming. Murphy was becoming something of a criminal legend around our way. The stories about him were far bigger than he was.

Admittedly there were a few that said give the man his due, he was innocent until the courts proved otherwise. Bob Milhaus was one of these. He told me that there was no solid evidence against Murphy that he knew of. It was that public spat with the storekeeper raising questions and causing suspicions. Made no difference that it happened a year ago. Then too, even though Murphy was only a petty thief , he was an ex-con and that made people nervous.

So the general tide of public opinion was negative. His landlord packed up all his belongings the day of the hearing. I was momentarily shocked that the landlord could be so cold-blooded. He did have enough common decency left in him to send someone around to ask if I'd like to hold Murphy's things in the meantime. Of course I took his possessions in. There were few enough of them. Then too I felt a great deal of responsibility for the whole mess.

Murphy lost his job at about the same time he lost his apartment. It was the day after the hearing that Murphy's boss at the garment factory got wind of the news. He sent Murphy at letter at the jail saying that Murphy's services were no longer required. Also they wanted his security guard uniform back. So now the poor man had no job and no place to live. He was back to square one and facing all the problems of just getting out of prison. A road he had successfully walked before was in front of him again.

Off and on I heard suggestions as to the kind of punishment Murphy was deserving of. I was shaken by some of the atrocities I heard, they wanted to publicly tear him apart. To torture him. I could only conclude that their viciousness was a direct result of their proximity to the crime. It had become personal to these people because it had happened in their own neighborhood. Their cause, although misdirected, was to see Murphy pay for Evelyn Frome's murder.

* * *

When I saw Murphy next he was in the recreation room with several other prisoners. I was able to see into this room through heavy glass windows laced with wire. Through this window I noticed that Murphy was actually conversing with the other prisoners. Thank God I thought, he's coming out of it now. Soon he'll be his own self again.

I saw too that Murphy was as relaxed as he'd been while standing on the sidewalk in front of my garage. He even laughed a time or two while I stood there observing. It hit me like a blow that he was one of them. After only three days of imprisonment. One of a select group, the only problem being the private club was prison.

The guard approached Murphy and was met with a stone face. Murphy listened to him without nodding or speaking then summarily followed the guard to the visiting area. His expression never changed when he saw me. "Nicholas" he said.

After a few heartbeats he remembered who I was, an old friend, and he became warmer to me. He laughed and I knew what he was going to say. "Yesterday, boss I enjoyed that. You sure told 'em. Don't think I ever saw anything like that before. They arrested you, didn't they? Well, looks like you got out of it okay."

He sat down with me then, my old friend. We looked straight at each other and it came back to us. A level we could meet on. It was good to see him again and I told him so. It was the best I've felt since this whole unfortunate incident got started. Unburdened for the first time since Murphy was arrested on Tuesday.

We talked for quite a few minutes before he remembered the state of his life. And it happened so sudden that I was startled by it. The look he gave me then was beyond my grasp. Although I'm sure I'll never be able to forget it.

He said, "Boss, I have things to tell you. You need to understand what's happened here."

He stood up though he was still looking into my eyes. Then, almost in the tone of one lecturing, "It's over for me now, Boss. No," he stopped me, "I don't want to argue with you about this. I just want you to know how it is with me."

There were tears in his eyes suddenly, but I only saw them for an instant. Murphy was a blur moving out of the room. I sat there alone for awhile. Thinking. I just kept right on thinking. The apple cart's not completely upset. Just has a real bad lean to it.

### Chapter 10

The day after that unsettling visit with Murphy I woke up with a start. A strong feeling of clarity is what I had. And in combination with fresh morning light it was a powerful and heady sensation. It was so obvious. The solution was in front of me all the time. I'd been so rattled myself that I hadn't seen it. Until now.

In a bemused state of mind I followed the usual routine of my morning. I was so relieved to have the answer that it took a while to see the mistake in my thinking. If I did call the police anonymously and tell them they were holding the wrong man, they would want to know how I came by this information.

And a fair question, no doubt about it. It was one with no logical answer as well. I pondered a letter giving them fresh information in exchange for Murphy and wondered if it would be taken seriously. Somehow I doubted it.

Over and over I turned the problem in my mind, toying with thoughts of acts and consequences. I walked out to the garage and stopped on my way to consider the rosebush at the corner of the house. It was only two months ago I'd planted it. Retirement hobby. Then too, landscaping would certainly help to increase the property value. In case I decided to leave the area, sell the house, and start over in another place. And look at it now. Damned neighbor cat had eaten most of it.

For a few minutes I thought about that damned cat. I'd been seeing it on occasion for the last couple of months, since it was a kitten. A little hell raiser it was, always running and jumping. Until it started visiting my yard that was fine. It was a playful little devil and tried to make up to me a time or two but I let it know I wasn't interested. I would have been happier to see the beast in a cage. Animals shouldn't run free in residential areas.

It truly was a blight on the neighborhood and I couldn't abide anything of the sort. A man only has what he can see around him. Since the rosebush already looked fairly well dead, I dumped a couple of handfuls of lime on it and turned it over with a shovel. When I finished smoothing it out the small mound looked like a grave to me.

After remarking on that, I went back to thinking about the problem of Murphy. As I was thinking earlier, the police needed to be set on another trail. And before much more time had passed. And knowing how dogmatic the police tended to be at the best of times, a certain amount of truth best be dangled before them. Something they would be able to prove, or at least see in a concrete way. Perhaps even a revelation to change the course of their thinking.

Just then I heard wheezing. Immediately I resigned myself to a bout of long-winded monologue and prying. Because as surely as the sun shines in the daytime, it was old Mr. Nailor. I motioned him to a chair right away. The way that old man pushed himself I was afraid he might just keel over on me someday. Besides that, he was very old and should probably be dead already. I'd hate to have to be the one that witnessed his life's departure.

He hunkered down over his breathing, all the time studying me with his small bright eyes. I'd had more association with this old man lately that I cared to count, twice the day Murphy was arrested and once the next day after the hearing. Now here he was on my doorstep again. I hadn't seen old Nailor in the last couple of days though. He'd surely had plenty of interesting gossip to keep himself busy since then. My guess was that he was running a little low on half-truths and was looking to me for fresh ammunition.

I knew it was a lost cause to struggle against the old man's wiles. I couldn't stop speculation about Murphy any more that I could keep him from being arrested. I truly did not want to participate in this game but somehow felt that I had to. It was just a matter of choosing which tidbit might satisfy old man Nailor and at the same time, leave me feeling unsullied by the local grapevine. Yet I daren't go the other way and give too much, for the last thing I needed was such an alliance.

I tossed it over for a minute or two longer. Old man Nailor wasn't about to let me get off too easily. He had to have the time to make his pitch. That was all part of it – the gossip round with its close friendly ties and an ever attentive audience for his antics. I knew it all meant a great deal to the old man so I didn't quite have the heart for snubbing him outright. And I sure didn't want him for an enemy. Gossip can get a person killed with its wildfire uncontrollable growth. A small piece of information can escalate into an inferno.

He talked, I listened. On he went about the activities of the neighborhood. Slowly. He kept to his own pace. Then, at his leisure, he started in on Murphy's case. I'd grown sleepy by that time. The trial was three and a half weeks away I heard him say and I began to wake up some. I agreed on that point. Things were bad for Murphy he said. I just looked at him and waited for the rest of it.

He asked me then what I thought Murphy would get out of it and I wasn't expecting it. I'd forgotten how good that old man was once he took a notion to move. And he was right too. If Murphy was somehow convicted, he'd either get a long prison sentence or something far worse. Something I wasn't prepared to think about, the death penalty. Hard to conceive such a thing in today's world.

Instead of opening myself up for a telling reaction on my part, I looked Mr. Nailor right in the face and asked him what he thought. After all, the best defense is a sharp offense. Being a good player, he didn't even have to think the proposition over. And he kept his eyes sharply on my face as he told me he thought Murphy would get the death penalty. I was braced for it and I noticed that his voice had taken on sepulchral overtones for this pronouncement. I wasn't surprised though. That old man was always on a stage.

I lost my patience for the game at this point and prepared to send him packing. He saw what I was about and hurried to fend off my helpful shooing motions. "Nicholas." he said, with an air of authority to his voice. "I heard somethin' that might help Murphy."

This had the air of truth about it, so I assumed a listening posture again and told him to go on. With his audience so tenuously secured, Mr. Nailor suddenly felt the need to reconfirm his reputation and so proceeded to run through his list of references. He meticulously catalogued his wide circle of friends and acquaintances, mentioned the distances traveled on his daily rounds, and particularly noted his sharp memory and the strictest adherence to detail.

All of this I suffered through and agreed with before he was willing to tell me what he knew. "After all," he said, "you useta go with Evelyn." I didn't bother to dispute this charge, it would only serve to further slow Nailor's story. But I sure didn't like it and I was fairly certain he knew it.

What he told me was that someone in a long black coat had been seen leaving the store not long before the murder was discovered. This person was said to be much larger than Murphy, although his hat had kept him well disguised. So no one knew who it was.

When pressed about this story, Mr. Nailor said that the lady across the street was the informant. "Mrs. Byrd." he whispered. He confided to me that she had not gone to the police yet, as she was somewhat leery of them. But the old man thought that her conscience would get the better of her sooner or later and then she'd talk to the police. I was inclined to agree with him.

I remembered some work that needed doing and told Nailor I'd have to get busy soon. He acted like he wanted to stay but I wasn't having it. Finally I was able to disentangle him and escort him out of my garage. Still, he wasn't willing to go until satisfied that his job was complete. All that remained of the exchange was my giving him something in return. And he intended to go nowhere until he had received his end.

I'd been tossing it around in the back of my mind and whimsically decided to give him something substantial, something that would set the whole neighborhood on ear. An experiment it was. I knew that he'd eat up anything of a sensational nature and there was a small chance that Murphy could benefit from the fringe shocks.

In a hesitating voice I said Mr. Nailor, I don't know what to think about it, but you know it's funny that the woman on the corner is suddenly spouting stories this way. It's almost as if she's trying to keep things stirred up. But whether to be deliberately misleading or to cover something else, I really couldn't say.

"But why?" he wanted to know. "I don't think she killed that old woman." He was bewildered but I could see that he was running over all the options in his mind.

I took a long pause and a deep breath to demonstrate my great reluctance over the matter. No, she's up to something else I agreed. But I swear I'd never tell any tales on her or anybody else in that position. It's up to her to make her peace with her husband and her God. That's not something I'd like to be involved in. It's a sad thing when a family has problems like that. I shook my head when I was finished and embarrassed, looked off to the distance. Then I mumbled that I was sorry I'd said anything.

The old man nodded thoughtfully at this apologetic posturing and told me goodbye. It was a cordial leave-taking on both parts. I watched him shuffle away, while noticing out of the corner of my eye the damned neighbor cat still digging at my dead rosebush. It had lime all over its paws and occasionally licked at them. Briefly I wondered if the lime would kill the cat. I sincerely hoped that it would.

By evening it was everywhere but on the evening news. Mrs. Byrd was said to be having an illicit love affair with her neighbor. And her husband was off getting dead drunk as a result.

### Chapter 11

Ultimately I was sorry about the trouble I'd stirred up. The whole neighborhood was in an uproar for weeks. After awhile even I believed that Mrs. Byrd was having an affair with her neighbor. Even so I felt very contrite when I heard that she'd been seen with a black eye.

She'd been buying groceries and tried to conceal her face, but to no avail. Several people saw it clearly. They repeated this news over and over until it was common knowledge. Old Nailor must have some truly spectacular connections I thought bitterly when I first realized the distance the tale had traveled. It was a regular spider web of news, electrical charges rushing madly in all directions and then coming back to the source empowered and far bigger than when they first went out.

The fighting and arguing of the Byrds rapidly became item number one around our way. He had become hysterical when he heard the news about his wife and next door neighbor. He felt bitterly betrayed by both. Already prone to the evils of strong drink, he at once immersed himself in acts of drunkenness and cruelty. When at home, he cursed, ranted, and accused his wife of all manner of heinous crimes. And when he was out, he boasted of vengeance and murder to anyone who dared to listen to his ravings. Soon he was shouting his unhappiness to uncaring strangers.

Shocked and appalled by the accusations regarding her virtue, Mrs. Byrd initially protested her innocence in mere choked whispers. Eventually however, as her friends drew away to less contagious regions, she became infuriated and screamed at the lies told about her. Overnight it seemed the woman had become a shrew, startling the unwary passerby and frightening children. Especially, her own children appeared terrorized by her. She lost all patience with them in her panic. Their crying could be heard amid the screams of their parents. The matrons of the neighborhood were horrified by this, but knew not how to interfere.

Perhaps the most bewildered of the three was the patsy neighbor, Mr. Roberts. An accountant he was, and as finicky as an old maid. Mild in manner as well. A man who lived a very quiet life, he never quite seemed to grasp that with which he was accused.

His mother, with whom he had lived all his life, was so scandalized by the gossip and the loud fighting next door that she had the vapors almost constantly until she succumbed to a heart attack. This was a week after I'd talked to old man Nailor. I was a little surprised that she died, although I knew she had considered herself sickly. Still, she had always looked exceedingly healthy whenever I happened to see her, robust even.

In the next week, Mr. Roberts grieved strenuously for about two days. Then he seemed to discover a new facet to himself. Immediately after the funeral, he packed some of his possessions and sold or gave away the rest. Then he sold the house, quit his job, and left for parts unknown. All witnesses to these events swear the man never stopped smiling. I couldn't help being pleased at Roberts' good fortune in losing his mother. No man should live under a woman's thumb, particularly his mother's. It was the only good that came from these events.

The Byrds, unfortunately, could never resolve their differences. The howling continued day and night. The small faces of the Byrd children were perpetually unhappy. Their parents began to physically assail each other with fists and any handy objects. Bruising was rampant on both of them. One event seemed to escalate upon another and before I knew it, rumor caught up with fact and another murder was done.

It was Mrs. Byrd whose body was found. In the early evening someone out for a stroll saw her lying there. Later he told me that he'd thought a garbage can had been kicked over. It was in the back alley she was discovered, cruelly beaten and strangled. Her groceries were scattered about in horrible violence.

I visited the scene of the crime early on and thought about the sad wasting of this woman's life. If only she'd minded her own affairs she'd still be alive. I wondered then what Murphy would say if he'd been able to see the carnage. With his great appreciation for violence, he'd surely have enjoyed himself. And amused me. Again I missed him.

Although Mr. Byrd never stopped protesting his innocence, such as his wife had done, it made no difference to the law. He was arrested for the crime within an hour of the body being found. His trial was a hasty affair and in short order he was sentenced to life in prison. No other suspects were ever considered.

The day after the body was discovered, anonymously, I phoned the police to point out that Mr. Byrd must have also killed Evelyn Frome. Apparently, for whatever reason, the police did not see this. The officer I spoke to was much more interested in my identity that in what I was telling him. Those men have no imagination for criminal activities.

So, in a remarkably brief period of time, we'd lost eight more residents on our street. Mr. Roberts was gone, his mother was dead, and the two Byrds were effectively removed, one dead and the other doing time. Then too, the four little Byrds were packed off with relatives. Add in Murphy and the shopkeeper and we had a regular exodus on our hands.

### Chapter 12

I kept Murphy abreast of the neighborhood activities throughout these unhappy community events. He didn't have much interest though. The news of Mrs. Byrd's death barely perked him up. He said he was surprised that Byrd killed her, didn't think he had it in him. Said he had him figured for a wimp who liked to talk.

After thinking about it for a few minutes longer, he remarked on the similarity of the homicides of Mrs. Byrd and the shopkeeper. I was somewhat surprised; the police certainly hadn't connected the two crimes. Murphy always was a sharp one.

Other than these few words of conjecture regarding Mrs. Byrd's murder, Murphy remained aloof from the world outside his prison. Not entirely by choice as I well knew. He was changing I could see and becoming more a part of the prison world. The regimen I thought was not good for him at all. Not a bit. He had become gray in personality as well as in color. And his face was as gray as the wall behind him. God forgive me, I was sorry. I well knew how rehabilitated he had been before this incident unfairly put him behind bars.

In looking at him I became convinced that it wasn't only death and cancer that destroyed a person from within. Hopelessness and anguish, these too. They had certainly taken their toll on Murphy. He'd been jailed for about a month and had another month of waiting before the trial started.

When I pointed out to him that half of the wait was over, he looked agitated. Quickly then his face hardened to where it didn't show. He snorted a laugh and said that the trial would probably only take fifteen minutes. Then you know what'll happen he said.

I protested this comment with some vigor, adding that he should have some faith in his attorney. He should have some faith in himself. But no, Murphy shook his head dolefully. It wouldn't go his way he said. Nothing ever went his way.

While I was listening to this drivel and taking note that Murphy couldn't be held accountable for it, I remembered a woman I'd known a long time ago. We'd been mighty friendly until she'd tried to impose her will on me. I never was sure why she did that. She never should have tried it. I'd heard her say the same thing to the man who came running to her aid. He'd heard her screaming and sobbing. That one was a fighter.

The Good Samaritan knelt beside her, held her hand, and told her the doctors would fix her right up. He said she'd be better than new in no time. It was as if he were comforting a child. She whimpered that it wouldn't go her way. Nothing ever did. She was right too. Died right before the ambulance came. And her Samaritan cried. I was really very touched by that.

With a sigh for days gone by, I directed my thoughts back to the present and to Murphy. My friend was a longtime student of the school of hard knocks and this newest lesson wasn't going down well. Just now he was devoting his attention to kicking the table leg. This action was so absurd that I marveled. I'd never know Murphy to react childishly before. He was at the other end of the spectrum I'd always thought. More than ready to face up to any kind of trouble. Tough and ready to stand up for himself at a moment's notice.

I assumed he'd be back to normal soon enough and devoted my energy to amusing him and taking his mind away from his trouble. So I told him about the damned neighbor cat destroying my rosebush. How the pitiful thing had died before it ever had a chance to get a start. He had previously known of my aggravation with the beast and its antics on my property, so the memory got a smile out of him leastways.

Taking my time, I related to him the full sad history of my rosebush, even though he already knew most of it. He had watched me plant it, of course, so he was well aware of its meaning to me. He also knew that I preferred to keep my yard orderly, also anything within my line of view. I then brought him up to date on my more recent complaints to the owners of the beast.

These previously tolerable folks had lost their godgiven reason over that damned cat. They were neighbors on the other side of the alley and we'd never had a bit of trouble in the past. We chatted on occasion and kept up our yards. Wonderful neighbors who kept to themselves. Quiet. No trouble.

Not until they acquired the beast. They came to revere it as some sort of adoptive child. Allowing it to have its way and acting as servants nearly for the foul thing. My gentle but well-founded objections to that monster's behavior were met with smiles of pride and cries of how cute. Later on, when I suggested they keep their cat on their own property, I was solemnly told that kitty would never stand for it.

After reminding Murphy of these facts, I went on to inform him of my stronger protests to these people. The first time I saw the beast digging at my rosebush, I let the neighbors know about it in no uncertain terms. I insisted they come to my yard and have a good look at it. For the first time they apologized for their cat's bad behavior and destruction of private property.

And every time thereafter when it happened, I strenuously objected to these people. That godawful cat was spending more time at my place than at its own. I never did understand what the big attraction was.

Murphy said cats always do what they're not supposed to do. Then he said right out, "So what'd you do? Poison it?"

Before I answered I noticed the twinkle in his eyes. He was enjoying the story and the dilemma. At once I was relieved, his sense of humor wasn't completely buried then. When I got to the part about the cat digging in the lime, Murphy shook his head no. That won't do it he said, cats are just like rats, they can damn near survive on any kind of crap they think is food.

He advised me to get some rat poison and mix it with ground meat and milk. Serve it up with a smile he said. The cat'll go away to die, no one will ever know. To this I replied that I didn't really want to kill it, just give it reason to stay off my property. We tossed it around for awhile, but didn't really come up with anything. I surely didn't want the responsibility of being a dog owner; that would be damn near as messy as having the cat in the yard. And I disliked the idea of getting out the hose every time the beast came around.

Yes, bad business killing other people's pets.

### Chapter 13

During the next month, I agonized over helping Murphy somehow. I kept thinking there must be a way. Nothing turned up though. And I was tired to death of thinking about it. Finally I realized that Murphy was going to have to face the music on his own power. Whatever that music might be.

Three weeks outside, I got a call from Murphy's attorney. He informed me that there had been a fight of some sort and Murphy had gotten the worst of it. He was in the prison hospital with a couple of stab wounds, a broken rib, and a mess of bruises. This attorney, Canfield, didn't think it was anything personal, just a brawl that sucked in everyone in the vicinity. No major damage though.

I wanted to visit Murphy and ascertain the damage for myself, but Canfield said there was a lockdown in effect. Also there were no visits at the hospital anyway. He then told me that he'd been in to see Murphy and was satisfied that he would recover from his wounds. And, he reported, Murphy was somewhat more cheerful.

That didn't surprise me; I knew the effect of a fight on Murphy. He exulted in a good go-round and he was a natural fighter. Some of his best stories were about fist fights. Some of the best times of his life had brawls figuring heavily in the festivities.

As long as I had Canfield on the phone, I asked him if he was making any progress on the case. I'd been wondering about it I told him. Especially since I hadn't heard anything from him. When he hesitated, I said that maybe it would be better if I came in to his office. We could discuss it then at length.

Canfield found his voice pretty damn quick, saying no no, that's not really necessary just yet. Although he would certainly want to get together with me before the trial started. As for now . . . there wasn't much he could tell me that I didn't already know. But he went on and ran through it anyway.

There was no solid evidence against Murphy, but he was on parole. And being at home in bed isn't an alibi that can be verified. It was simply his bad luck to be an ex-con living in the vicinity of the crime. I strongly protested this comment by saying that Murphy had never been violent that I knew of. Canfield agreed and said that he would be pointing this out at the trial. However, he added, the matter of this fight would not help his defense any.

For God's sake I said, did Murphy start it or was he just defending himself?

Canfield said no, he didn't start it, but that didn't make much difference. The fact that he had fought created a prejudice. He would try though to keep this information suppressed in court. And he hoped to God Murphy healed fast. He didn't want the jury to associate Murphy with any kind of violence. Even as a victim of it.

Before he rang off, he mumbled something about little things piling up and ruining a case. I was appalled by his heartless comment and the whole damned mess. Nothing I could do about either.

### Chapter 14

By the time morning rolled around, I was all set to deal with old man Nailor. Actually I was looking forward to matching wits with him. I was waiting for him long before I heard the puffing and snorting approaching my garage. This time around I got the jump on him, saying well sir, did you hear about the fight at the jailhouse?

Disappointment tightened his beady eyes. Before he could gather himself together enough to put in his two cents, I let fly with items two through five. Murphy was right in there too I told him. Got himself banged up a mite I hear. He's in the prison hospital. I was just on my way over to tell you.

Old man Nailor sorely hated to be scooped, but he took it like a man. Shook his head philosophically a time or two. Then settled himself in to find out if my details were fresher than his. He always did have a good common sense approach to business.

While I had the tables turned on him, I kept them turned. Told him all about the lawyer's call, right down to his pessimism regarding the case. He listened thoughtfully to every bit of it before he took back his rightful place as master of information transference. I should have known better than to try to beat him at his own game. That's always a lost cause, no matter how well planned.

"Boy," he said, "you know why Murphy was in this fight?" I hated the way his questions always came out as statements. There was nothing I could do though. I had to admit I was in the dark as to the reasons behind the fight.

Old man Nailor nodded his head an ungodly amount of time at this news. Always had to let it be known where the crumbs were really coming from. "Didn't think so," he said, "no, I didn't think so."

He gazed off for a few minutes, looking at the wall of my garage. I suppose he was in the midst of exacting arrangements of information inside his head. Or some kind of old age shutdown. Being a man of strong patience, I waited until he was ready.

I was sure that he was looking for the best way to zing me and until he found it, there would be no sense to any pushing on my part. Actually with him there would be an opposite effect and I'd have to wait that much longer. Stubborn old mule.

Then sudden, he always did it sudden after I'd relaxed from boredom, that was the trick of it. "He icepicked somebody in prison a coupla years back, Murphy did. Bad business for him to get into. Justified so I heard. Yep, killed him too . . . ."

Yes I thought, that which is buried is laid to light. I wondered why Murphy hadn't mentioned it, then figured on the deepness of the man as the reason. Then too, murder being the sticky business that it is, he was right to keep it quiet. I could understand that, no sense advertising the fact. A moment of unending rage shouldn't be public knowledge.

When I nodded to old Nailor to signify I'd done thinking it over, he remarked on how bad luck followed a person. It ran in streaks too he said, vicious streaks sometimes. Before I saw it coming, old Nailor added by way of explanation, "I know this guy usta be in prison. So he's got connections. He says the one Murphy killed was the leader of some kinda gang. Bunch a mean ones they was."

"Anyway." Here he stopped to look me over. "I figured they'd be right after him once they knew where he was. So I checked with a guard I know here in town and he confirmed it for me just a few minutes ago. Yep. They's on to him . . . . I'd sorely hate to be in that boy's shoes. He's in trouble now. He only thought he had trouble before. Don't matter what prison it happened in. They's on to him."

After that long speech, old man Nailor was gasping for breath. I watched him with mild curiosity while he got himself breathing again. Even then he didn't sound healthy. Didn't much look healthy either. No matter, the old coot hoisted himself to his feet and told me that boy's got himself a passel of trouble. Then Nailor was on his way again. On with his rounds.

* * *

One day soon after, the old goat asked me if I had a long black coat. Out of the blue. I was so used to his ploys by this time that I afforded him no reaction. But he was watching closely for one.

I must admit to being quite upset by the charge. It was defamatory. So, he's trying to trick me I thought. And he was wondering if Murphy was set up – an evil blasphemous notion since Murphy was simply a victim of circumstance.

All this made me wonder what could have put him on to a ridiculous idea like that. Then instantly I knew. That horrible Mrs. Byrd must have tried to incriminate me before she died. She must have said something more to Nailor that I knew about. Not to the police, otherwise they'd have been right out to see me.

I was outraged. How common of her to wish ruin on another because of her own tawdry problems. And being dead, she could no longer be held accountable for her sins. A pity.

Moreover, I was annoyed to be continually dragged into this mess. First those detectives nosing around my business. That woman with nothing better to do in her house than list the activities outside her window. The old man constantly reminding me of an error in judgment with a woman. And now the old man carrying on the latest dead woman's work.

I answered him after a reasonable time. Thoughtfully. No, not that I can recall anyway. Only person I know with a long black coat is Murphy.

"That's what I thought." Old man Nailor nodded to himself as he said this. "Yep." He was always so damned smug and full of himself. I hated him.

I asked him straight out. So you've heard something more about that black coat? The one Mrs. Byrd mentioned to you. I was wondering about it, but I've been forgetting to ask.

Really I was surprised that the old man was taking the time to follow up on this obscure clue. So it was true after all that he didn't miss a trick. He confirmed my thought, saying that no one else had mentioned the black coat, but it was no harm in him asking around. I was seriously annoyed now; that nosy old man just forced me to implicate my friend in a crime he had no knowledge of.

### Chapter 15

It was two weeks from the trial when Murphy was released from the hospital. On the next Thursday visiting day I went straightaway to see him. It had been about ten days since our last visit. Outside I ran into Canfield, who had just left Murphy.

When I said well how's he look, Canfield shook his head and frowned. He looked pretty well disgusted. "Slow healer," he explained, "get him some vitamins, will you?" He didn't want to dwell on it, so we parted quickly. I wondered at the man taking everything so to heart. It didn't seem wise in his position.

After purchasing vitamins at the nearby pharmacy, I introduced them into the bureaucratic chain that would eventually deliver them to Murphy. If they didn't disappear completely that is. Then I waited my turn for one of the visiting boxes.

When the time came a bruised and sore Murphy limped and lurched his way in. Canfield was sure right about the slow healing. Murphy was busted up and no way of hiding it. He did seem right proud of himself, I'll grant him that. And I sure can believe he put up a good fight. So I asked him how many of them he took out.

Although he grinned, his eyes were damned cold as he told me that none of them were walking around yet. His eyes became colder still when he said that one might not recover at all. I could see right off that Murphy had gotten downright icy. His toughness was back and had hardened a mite. I was glad; I hadn't liked seeing him so downcast and meek.

I told him I'd heard he'd been raising Cain at the jailhouse. Although it was a jest, meant more as a compliment than as a criticism, he chuckled like he'd been caught drowning kittens. Kind of nervous, but ready to stand his ground if he had to.

He allowed then that the whole damned mess hadn't been his idea. "Not against that many guys." he said. "You know I don't go in for that flashy stuff, boss. Only go that way on my birthday." We laughed then and he settled himself sufficiently to tell me the tale.

Murphy set it up first, taking his time about it, and laying out the routine for me, the monotony of it, the tight schedule that dulled his mind. The attack came without warning. And it seemed from all sides. Murphy though had the reflexes of a cat and leaped away from the knife blade aimed to his heart. He told me that for a minute he thought he was dead and already in hell.

After that things were confused. Knives flashed in the darkness and fists flew out of nowhere. Murphy's eyes sparkled handsomely at the telling of it. His voice became leisurely and expansive in detailing the injuries received on both sides. Dwelling gently on blood and broken bones. He sounded damned proud when he told of the large number of guards it took to quell the disturbance. He finished by saying, "Boss, you shoulda seen it."

For my part I enjoyed seeing Murphy so lighthearted for a change. Ever since he was arrested he hadn't been able to enjoy life proper. Just looking around the place for a minute reminded me why. Loss of freedom meant loss of comfort and light. Gloomy dark and close it was and I started feeling tight and closed in. No room to move or breathe.

I swallowed hard and tried to get a few deep breaths. But I couldn't make it work, so I told Murphy I had to go. He looked surprised, unaware at first that I was taken ill. My voice sounded as if all the air was squeezed out of it.

He looked me over close and I knew he could see my tension and the sweat breaking out on my forehead and lip. I could feel my face turn cold and white. The room was assuming a sharp clarity that I didn't like.

Close to my ear I heard Murphy say, "I know what you mean, boss." Then he helped me rise from my chair and pushed me through the door. He patted my shoulder and from a great distance I heard him tell the guard that I needed to get outside fast.

* * *

Sometime later I came to myself sitting on a bench in front of the jailhouse. The sun was warm on me and the air was sweet and fresh. I felt sickened and sore from the attack I'd had, but the panic was blessedly gone from me.

After awhile I pulled myself together enough to get on home. When I got there I sat at the kitchen table and looked out the window for quite some time. My mind was as blank and drained as my body.

Later on I bestirred myself to get some supper. I didn't have much appetite for it though. Finally I gave it up and went off to bed without washing up my supper dishes.

### Chapter 16

For the next couple of days I felt shaky, so kept to myself and stayed inside. I hadn't the wherewithal to do much of anything around the house beyond the basics, but took comfort in being tucked away from the frenzy of the world. Coddling myself is what it amounted to.

During the time I was down the damned neighbor cat became bolder. It wandered freely when and where it pleased and soon began to sleep in the doorway that I always used. I could see it from a window. That was an unbelievable intrusion. It was as though it had moved in on me. At times it went so far as to sit on the window sills and peer inside as though searching for me.

I observed all this but hadn't the incentive to take any defensive action. I drifted through these days with a sadness too deep to describe. Things had gone far beyond my poor control. Once old man Nailor came and pounded at my door, I could hear the gasping and wheezing from my chair. But I never made a move to let him in. His exuberance for living was more than I could bear.

It wasn't until the morning of my next visit with Murphy that I ventured outside my house. It had been fully three days since I'd been out. I wanted to look around for a bit to ascertain the damnable cat's damage to my property. It didn't take long to prove I was right either; there were scratch marks on the porch. Actually there were a couple of times I'd thought I'd heard scratching during the last few days. Knowing I was right made me feel no better.

I walked around the yard and found a vast array of holes. Enough to turn an unwary ankle or two. The beast had done some digging. Almost an excavation. Each of these holes I catalogued somewhat absent-mindedly. And although I was distracted, it was then that I noticed something amiss in the neighborhood.

At first I couldn't locate the source of the disturbance, so had to carefully examine my surroundings in order to spot the sore point. Then I saw it. Across the street and down aways there was a long black coat. The man wearing it was a vagrant. I remarked on that and noticed that he was just biding his time, leaning against the lamppost. He seemed to be soaking in the sun and was noticeably more relaxed than most of the workaday types that I usually saw. No one stopped to enjoy the sun anymore. A vagabond from the look and feel of him.

I put it off for the time being but made a mental note to speak to Bob Milhaus about moving him along. I wouldn't tolerate beggars in the neighborhood. Also I would hope that old Nailor would tell Bob about the long black coat without my prodding. It was high time the police had something more to stew on.

Once decided on a general plan of action, I felt much cheerier that in past days. I went off to see Murphy as it was again visiting day. I kept my wits about me through the whole visit but I saw that Murphy eyed me curiously during the entire proceeding. Finally he asked me if I had those spells often.

His tone was careful; he didn't like admitting to illness or disability in himself so he was thoughtful enough to extend the courtesy to me. After I told him that this ailment was a rare thing for me, and was intensely disturbing as well, he nodded as if in sympathy. It was settled between us.

Then he meandered through several jail stories involving prisoners who'd had similar problems. Some of these stories were amusing and some merely terrifying. He ended by saying that I wouldn't last too long in his shoes. I had to agree with him.

* * *

I walked onto my own street just in time to catch Bob Milhaus going off duty. Once I told him my concern about vagrants moving in on us, he allowed that he'd been a little soft on the poor man. He said that he'd been hoping that the vagrant would move along on his own steam after a day or two.

We agreed to let it go another day as the man seemed harmless enough. More an eyesore than anything else. Bob promised that if he was still loitering the next day, Bob would roust him and send him packing. When I walked on home I thought well, there's one problem solved, now if I could just get rid of the damned cat so easily.

While I was standing on my porch thinking about my property value, I espied old Nailor resting his bones on the corner. He saw me at the same time and was soon chugging up the street to meet me. I was disgusted to realize that I'd become one of his regular stops. Still, I stayed where I was until he reached me.

Once he'd gotten control of his breathing, he nodded his head in the direction of the vagabond and asked me what I thought about that. I frowned to express my disapproval and told him that I'd just a minute ago talked to Bob about it.

"Yep." He agreed, "Things ain't what they usta be. Back in my day we'd a shot him fulla buckshot and run him outa town." In disgust old man Nailor shook his head. He told me, "And they wonder why the crime rate's aclimbin' and the property values afallin'."

He studied on me a mite. "Well, boy, you been ailin' or what?" He took the time to look me over with expertise. If I was dying, he wanted to be the first to know I thought bitterly. He went on, "So you wasn't around for the last coupla days. Was ya feelin' poorly?"

When I assured him that I was feeling fine, he seemed to have a fresh run of oxygen and related to me his conversation with Bob Milhaus. "And you see that long black coat, sonny boy. We had a murder hereabouts not long back by somebody in a coat like that. That's just what I told Bob too. And he wrote it all down. Now that's out in the open and high time." To that I though yes indeed.

After a short space he asked me how Murphy was doing and if he was looking healthy enough to stand trial. I gathered he meant the bruises. When I said not yet, he shook his head mournfully and said, "That'll go against him."

When Nailor left, I though for awhile about Murphy and his trial coming up in just about a week. There were two visits left to us. His bruises had been worse today that they were before. Now his whole face was a mass of yellow and blue discoloration. The only improvement was that the swelling had gone down. He told me he was taking the vitamins even though he sorely hated swallowing pills.

The cat crossed my line of vision then. While musing on the damned cantankerous beast and its boldness, I noticed the drifter again. First the cat, then the drifter. Not to mention old Nailor. The evening was ruined for me from then on so I went in to an early supper. Plenty to do the next day.

### Chapter 17

My first order of business on the new day was to see the cat's owners. As a property owner I could take no more. They'd been told about their responsibilities more times than I cared to count. It was time something was done. I was no longer willing to be put off. I made this clear to them immediately.

I escorted these people on a damage tour. And I left no scratch or hole unidentified. They were contrite for a change, perhaps due to the severity of my expression. At the end of this disgraceful tour detailing their neglect of their pet's actions, a solemn promise was made to me. If the cat could not be properly trained to avoid my property in one week's time, it was to be destroyed. The suggestion was not mine thankfully; I hadn't wanted to be the one to bring it up. Although I certainly would have if it had come to that.

I happily agreed to the terms offered. I knew they hadn't a chance of winning that particular wager. As I watched them walking away it occurred to me that one week away was Murphy's trial date. I sighed at the thought of it, then turned away only to run across another order of business. Bob Milhaus was approaching me from the front of my property.

He didn't waste any time getting to the point. Said, "Nicholas, I had to take that vagrant in. Seems he matched the description for the shopkeeper's assailant. You never know when something new is going to come up in a homicide investigation. Just to be safe, we're making inquiries as to his past whereabouts."

We talked some. The weather and such, Bob didn't have the gift of gab like some folks I know, then Bob said he had to get on with his beat. I joked with him some that he sure had a busy route lately and he laughed. Before he walked away he mentioned how much he missed Murphy when he walked his beat. Always one with a story Murphy was. I agreed with his observation and watched as he cleverly made his escape before old man Nailor could corner him.

"That boy surely can't hold a candle to his pappy." remarked old man Nailor about Bob. "Now his pappy can tell a story. Never seen him too busy to sit and talk for a minute or two." Old Nailor was feeling his oats, I could tell by the way his eyes snapped and pranced. At first I thought he was pleased with himself over the vagrant getting arrested. But no, he didn't seem to have the time for that.

I put out a few feelers, but to no avail. That old man wouldn't be pushed. Not that old mule. He was feeling boastful and full of himself. I could tell from his stories and the frequent allusions to acquaintances of wealth and pull. So I pretty much figured that he'd scooped some major story on the gossip circuit.

While I listened to his bragging I half wondered what the story was, whether wife-beating, job loss, or death by dismemberment. These days there was no telling. The new age is one of unrest and desolation, pain and horror. However I had no real interest in these things and was growing bored, so turned in preparation to walking away from the eternally talkative old man.

But no, he was having none of that and grabbed my arm. Then he rushed himself into his performance, perhaps for once seeing that my patience had its limits. "Nicky, you're not gong to like this." he gasped, so I set myself to listening. I had to admit it was an art form the way that old man managed to read his audience. Then manipulate them into doing his bidding. Precisely and effectively.

"They caught up to Murphy again." I heard this in shock, but he went on anyway. "Shortly after your visit yesterday, Nicky. He didn't get hurt none. The guards was watchin' for something to happen so they was right there. They hauled the bums away then and there and put 'em in maximum security. They'll get extra time for that. Probly don't matter much to a life sentence. Still, they got to be punished."

He paused then and gazed at me with his bright sharp eyes. I guess to ascertain the damage he'd caused. He was meticulous about his survey. That old bastard. I wasn't even breathing easy yet when he spilled the rest on me.

"Murphy's in isolation for his own protection, but it don't matter none. With these guys, they're looking for a fella see, then they find him. If they can't get to him, they'll hire someone who can. Maybe even for a pack of cigarettes. Maybe a little slug of moonshine. It's just a matter of time. Yep, it's their pride at stake now."

He mused on it awhile and so did I. Murphy seemed to get in deeper all the time. He was nigh over his head by this time.

### Chapter 18

I spent a good share of the rest of the day trying to track Canfield down. He wasn't easy to locate. I couldn't find him in his office, so I left several messages. I was finally informed that he was in court for the day.

In the midst of not reaching Canfield, I thought to try someone nearer at hand to Murphy. Truthfully I wasn't expecting to have much luck along these lines, but I was pleased to find this was not so. It proved to be easier to gain access to the jail authorities than to the lawyer. Certainly none of them put me off.

In fact, as a whole they expressed concern over Murphy's dilemma. It seems that it looks bad when a prisoner is killed, so it wasn't so much a moral concern, but rather the avoiding of a black mark on their records. I cared nothing about their reasons and allowed them to explain the situation at length, then to reassure me of Murphy's continued safety.

I was told that he had as many guards as it was possible to fit around him. Also that the authorities were doing all that they could to crush gangs such as these out of existence. It was an affront to the system to contain them. And I was assured, and rather strongly at that, that this sort of behavior wouldn't be condoned.

The supervisor of Murphy's compound sticks most in my mind. His investment in his job far surpassed common sense and leaped headlong into obsession. He referred to the prisoners as his children and vowed vengeance on those who threatened their safety. His fingers jabbed into the air as he emphasized the responsibility and the gravity of this task.

There was a mad gleam to his eyes, but I ignored it and pressed on with a request to see Murphy immediately. First there was blankness on his part; it was something that didn't pertain to him. That was followed by astonishment that led to outrage. He squeaked at me visits only on visiting days. I swallowed my reply to this and left him. Apparently he was a severe, structuring type of parent, not on the lenient side at all. How many nut jobs can one penal system contain? I wondered. Apparently there is no cap on the numbers.

Well into the evening Canfield finally called me back. He sounded in a rush and while apologizing said he hadn't had a minute to himself all day. By that time I was very irritated at his sloppy business practices. So I interrupted his effusions and remarked that he should get himself right to bed.

Before he had time to answer this, I said I'd be happy to see him first thing in the morning. He agreed to this, however reluctantly, and we set a time. Before ringing off he said that he wanted to assure me of Murphy's continued safety. I agreed that I was concerned but didn't let on any more than that.

First thing in the morning I was waiting at Canfield's office. I was early enough that I had to wait outside until the building was unlocked. Canfield arrived soon after. I could see right away that he wasn't resentful of being forced into this meeting. He'd decided to make some use of the time, most likely for a review to prepare his case. Good man I thought and again raised my estimation of him.

The two of us sat in his cold stingy office and Canfield mentioned that we'd soon have hot coffee. I didn't wait for that but stated flat out, so I hear Murphy's got a gang of maniac thugs after him. Although Canfield winced, still he was quick to jump right in and say "Oh, it's not that bad. Anyway, he's got protection. I've seen to that. There are extra guards on duty."

I'd already figured that there was nothing to be done about it anyway; they certainly weren't going to turn him loose. So I moved right on to what was being done for Murphy. We were coming up on the trial fast I remarked. "Yes, yes." said Canfield. "You heard about the drifter I suppose? He's our best shot."

And if that goes bad? I asked. I didn't want to ask and held my breath for the answer. "It isn't good." said Canfield bluntly. "We need that vagrant as a spoiler if nothing else." He assured me then that more information would be forthcoming in a day or so. And he promised to call me immediately when he heard the results of the background check.

I remarked that I didn't think Murphy's face would be completely healed in time for the trial. Instantly Canfield had a look of despair. He admitted that he was very concerned about that. He said it didn't really matter if Murphy was the innocent victim of an attack; the problem was that the jury would associate bruises with violence. And most likely not in Murphy's favor.

I pondered on that for a minute, while he gazed off sadly. Perhaps running over the odds in his mind. Finally he said "Being an ex-con is the worst stigma this society has to offer. I hope Murphy's got some luck going for him next week."

### Chapter 19

When I saw Murphy two days later his bruises were yet more livid than before. His initial excitement over the fight had subsided drastically. He'd slipped back into his state of melancholia. And he looked sort of yellow to me, sunk into himself, and morose. No life to his eyes. Not healthy at all.

We talked some about the vagabond Bob Milhaus hauled in. Murphy didn't seem to think much of it. "Hell," he said, "the guy's a vagrant. He moves around all the time. Besides he'd be stupid to go back to where he pulled something. Unless he's too damn crazy to remember straight. No boss, it's no help to me."

I didn't argue with him. I let that go and proceeded to tell him about the cat for lack of anything better. Get his mind away from his troubles. He laughed about the cat being trained. Said I'd sure like to see that. Then, being Murphy, he jumped right to the heart of the matter. "How they gonna kill it?"

When I said I didn't know and added that I doubted they'd even thought about it, he was amazed. He said "You mean they really think they can train it? Well, don't that beat all." After a minute or two he said "Hell, after they try to train it for a couple of days, they'll want to kill it. You can't train no damn cat, everybody knows that."

We both laughed hard over those idiots and their cat from hell. It was a bit of stark foolishness we knew. But maybe they'd learn something useful once the cat put them through the wringer a time or two.

After a while I said I hear they're after you, Murphy. Silence then for a time. But I knew his guard was down. Finally he sighed. Then he looked directly into my eyes and said "You know, boss, I feel like I'm the only rat in a town of rat-hating men. Feels like no matter what I do, they're gonna get me."

He laughed bitterly and even went so far as to slap his knee while he was doing it. "Hell," he said, "the court'll be doing me a favor if they give me the death penalty."

I asked him how he happened to get mixed up with them and he said it was the last time, the two year stretch he'd been in prison before going straight. It was toward the end of his stay. An unfortunate incident and an accident really. Murphy had been transferred to the lifer section due to insulting a visiting prison dignitary.

It was nothing of major seriousness. At least not as far as normal people are concerned. However the prison system isn't possessed of a great number of normal people. Inmates and staff together can't scare up enough to fill a phone booth.

Murphy had refused to demonstrate his job for the visitor. That is, he refused to continue polishing the floor for the edification of said visiting official. In retaliation for this act of subversion, Murphy was sent to hard time row. The poor bastard never had a lucky break in his life.

He told me the place was filled with hard-boiled types, men made of stone. Nothing to lose and little to gain. He said you sure never want to see those kind of guys first thing in the morning. He laughed when he said it and I could see no rancor in him.

There existed a division of two major camps, neither of which he was interested in joining. It was Murphy's lot to share the cell of one of the gang leaders. There was trouble from the get go. Murphy didn't take to being ordered around. And the gang leader didn't take to having his authority challenged. Then too, Murphy refused to seek refuge on the other side with the other gang. He pointed out also that this would only have been a temporary respite anyway.

The tension between the two grew to a stealthy blinding rage after a while. And shortly before Murphy's release date blows were exchanged. The cellmates were split up after that but it was too late to really do any good. Soon Murphy was jumped in the exercise yard and he had to defend himself. That or die.

There was a little trouble over the shiv he used, but he told them right out that he knew it was coming. There was nothing else he could do. The word had been out that Murphy was marked for execution so the authorities knew it too. He'd have been a fool not to look out for himself. The matter was quietly dropped.

Once all that was resolved, Murphy had been released from prison. It was getting close on his time by then. He took advantage of his good fortune and he'd been a different man ever since. It was now his misfortune to run across those very same hoodlums. I shuddered at the harsh weight he was forced to bear. What the hell kind of luck was that?

Before I left he said "Nick, you'll be back, won't you? Before my trial starts on Wednesday there's another visiting day." I assured him that I'd be back. As I walked on home I thought how hard-going it was for Murphy. How truly and painfully hard.

### Chapter 20

The next day I was out early to work in the yard. The sun had barely risen when I got myself started. Not five minutes went by before I saw the beast. The arrogance that cat displayed was stunning. It strolled as slowly as possible past the place where I was weeding. Then it leaped up on a low stone fence.

Its appearance was no great surprise and I watched it placidly. I could afford to since I knew its days were numbered. It shot me a malicious look, as though it knew what I was thinking, then casually relieved itself on the fence. A classic piss on you gesture I assumed. And without the slightest hurry it jumped to the ground and sauntered away.

I took the time to roundly curse the damned beast before getting out the hose to clean off my fence. As I was spraying away the evidence of the cat's displeasure, I looked around for it. Long and hard I looked for it, but the sneaky devil had disappeared. Too bad, since I'd wanted to give it a good dose of hose water.

So while I was at it I watered the whole yard. I'd been neglecting it since Murphy was arrested. And in case that cat had marked its territory, I was going to unmark it. Then I started in with the pruning and soon was lost to the world. This state of peace lasted for the rest of the day. Both times when I went in for a break I missed old Nailor by seconds. Each time I heard his puffing I was already halfway through the door. That as much as the gardening improved my appetite. There's nothing in the world like working outdoors for setting a man straight.

Meanwhile the vagabond stayed locked up. I heard that from Bob Milhaus. He'd stopped to talk once while making his rounds. I'd been clipping the hedge when I looked up and noticed him standing there. He told me he'd just checked up some on the case and found that the tramp's whereabouts had been traced back about two weeks so far. And the story he'd given on his wanderings was honest but for memory lapses.

Bob said those memory lapses might just be good for Murphy's case. If no alibi surfaced on the tramp, even if he wasn't brought up on charges, a doubt would be created in Murphy's favor. And a doubt meant that Murphy absolutely could not be convicted for the crime. "That's how our legal system works." he said.

So they say was my wry response to that. I'd long since stopped believing in fairy tales and he knew it. Bob nodded and agreed that he'd seen justice foully misdirected on a regular basis. If it didn't go the other way once in a while, he wouldn't have been able to stand his job. "Still," he added, "that lawyer he's got is pretty good. Canfield. I asked around some and I hear he's pretty good. Young, but hard working."

I was reassured by that for no more reason than it was a pleasure to hear something positive regarding Murphy's case. We parted on amiable terms and I went back to my gardening.

* * *

I was well pleased with the way my yard looked on the following morning. Sunday it was, a calm and peaceful day. After I walked around and admired it all close up, I was in the mood for company and headed over to the hardware store.

Our small neighborhood hardware was as much a meeting place as a place of business. There were benches and tables along one wall and a coffeepot in the corner. We all chipped into the coffee fund, so as to defray costs for the owner. After I got myself comfortable I realized I was sitting in the same spot I always sat when I was with Murphy. Before I had the time to feel sadness at the loss, I heard the name Jimmie Murphy mentioned. He hadn't been forgotten by any means.

His upcoming trial was being hotly discussed. Apparently the furor never had died down. The range of theory began with his slick lawyer getting him off completely, although most of the crowd went with conviction. As near as I could tell, death penalty and life in prison were running about fifty fifty.

I didn't say much while I was in the hardware store, just sat and listened. By the time I left I was thinking seriously about the dangers of mob rule. I realized then that jails are built as much to keep people out as they are to keep them in. I had to wonder if Murphy would ever be safe in coming back to the neighborhood.

What especially appalled me was how the public memory of Evelyn had gained in terms of pure fantasy. She was being bandied about as kindhearted and even honorable, qualities she certainly had never possessed in life. It sounded as though she were a good friend to all she encountered. A paragon to all she touched. It was absolutely galling; for a fact the woman was slovenly in appearance and mean spirited. And she was a thief. Everybody knew it, but not one person mentioned the fact.

### Chapter 21

Bright and early I heard pounding at my front door. Before I was even awake it was. When I staggered out to open the door, it was old Nailor shouting in great excitement. He looked to me to be almost vibrating. I was too foggy to understand a word of it and waved my hands to make him quieter.

They got to him again was what I finally heard. "This time they almost kilt him." Almost killed who? I shouted at him. He blinked, surprised. Then bluntly, "Murphy." he said. My heart was suddenly a dull heavy slamming thud and I slowly put my hand to my chest. I was waiting for the pain to start.

Old man Nailor for once didn't push the issue; he'd gotten his reaction after all, so he helped me to sit down. The old quack, muttering solaces enough to choke me. Once I got to my medicine and put it under my tongue, the pressure eased itself. The pains were sharp but faded as quickly as they came.

Once I was sure I'd lived through another one I opened my eyes. Nailor's bright beady eyes were inches away from mine and were taking note of every detail of my ailment. Easy fodder I was for him and there was nothing to be done about it. I shrugged it away and told him to tell me what happened.

Quickly he settled himself into telling it, and without his usual preliminary games. What happened was that guards had interrupted Murphy being hung in his cell. The noose was around his neck and the rope was tied to a water pipe on the ceiling. All that remained was to kick the stool out from under him. Of course the guards put a stop to it right away. Still, it was a close call.

I managed to get rid of old Nailor soon after he'd told me. It was my opinion that he actually wanted to go. Monday morning was a busy time for him after all. Especially today what with Murphy almost getting himself killed and me having a bad heart.

I rested for a short time, maybe an hour, and certainly no longer than that. That was all old man Nailor saw fit to allow me before once again pounding at my door. He was turning into a bloodhound from hell I thought irritably, for by this time I certainly recognized his damnable knocking. I girded myself up before opening the door to him. And I slipped another pill under my tongue as well, just in case.

He was in his element I could plainly see. Probably Murphy had been killed this time I thought bitterly. Before he could say one word I got us both sitting down. I was pretty sure it was something I didn't want to hear, and in that I wasn't disappointed.

For the second time in one day Nailor didn't waste my time on one of his endless preambles. I marveled at that. I thought that he must be having an excellent news day and I was right, he was. Item number three was just as hot as items one and two. He'd just heard that the vagrant was being released. Word had been passed on him for the day of Evelyn's death. So the vagabond was no longer under any suspicion. He was being escorted out of town at this very moment.

I was horrified at the news. Truly it was unexpected. Murphy had needed that tramp to help out his case. For some reason I'd had great hope that the vagrant would bring Murphy's case to a speedy and favorable conclusion. Now I knew for certain that there would be no quick ending to this mess.

Once again I extricated old man Nailor from my house. This time he didn't go easily. He was like a talkative child, full of wonder at the world and bubbling over with it. It nigh made me sick. So without further pretence of ceremony or civilization, I put my hands on his back and shoved him out the door. For measure I slammed it shut.

After that start to the day I was getting a headache and I knew that I needed to relax. In case Nailor was still loitering about, I headed out through the back door. I was badly in need of fresh air. I sat on the back steps and rested for quite some time before Bob Milhaus stepped around the corner.

He said he was looking for me and right away asked me how I was feeling. Inwardly I damned old man Nailor for his big mouth. He'd informed the damn beat cop that I was ailing. I raged at the thought. I was being checked on.

Bob had been watching me closely and laughed at my expression. "No," he said, "it's not like that. I came to tell you about the vagrant."

He settled himself on the porch beside me, saying "Well, you probably heard it from Mr. Nailor already, but I'll tell you what I know."

"His whereabouts had to be established for the date of Miss Frome's homicide. Two different sheriffs from upstate came to take a look at him. One sheriff gave a rock solid alibi for him. The vagrant was in jail the night before the homicide occurred and was turned loose at six a.m. that same day. No way he could've gotten here in time from that far upstate. And the other sheriff wanted him on a chicken stealing charge."

"So." He stretched his legs. "What did Mr. Nailor tell you?" I replied that he said the tramp was being escorted out of town. Bob laughed and said he hadn't heard that. He added that probably that sheriff took him back to answer for the chickens. We did have a laugh over that.

Bob figured his break was about over then and prepared himself to leave. He looked to me thoughtfully and said it was a shame all the trouble Murphy was having in jail. I agreed. When he continued on his beat I walked with him as far as the local tavern. It wasn't nearly noon yet, but I had a taste for beer.

* * *

Several hours later I returned home. Not long after, Canfield called. Said he'd been trying to reach me for awhile. I offered no response to this and waited in silence for him to continue.

After a brief pause, Canfield said, "Well, I can see you've already heard about it. But I'll lay it out for you anyway. An attempt was made on Murphy's life early this morning."

He hesitated for a moment, then said, "I know it looks bad, but he wasn't hurt any, just a little bruised. He's safe. At this minute he's under a special guard. And he's separated from the general population. You'll want to see him tomorrow, of course?"

When I agreed, he said, "Fine, fine. I'll make the arrangements. Take his mind off Tuesday."

He went on all business like, "Okay, you've heard about the vagrant by now, I'm sure. It didn't work out like we wanted, that's the truth of the matter. Still, I'm going to try to use it if I can. It could have been anybody wandering through. They've got nothing on Murphy, it's purely circumstantial."

Canfield tapered off there. Told me not to worry. Said the race wasn't over by a long shot.

### Chapter 22

I barely slept that night, so fraught was I with worry. So it's understandable that I was well ahead of time for visiting hours. Although due to Canfield's arrangements there was no waiting for once. I found that Murphy and I were to meet in an office directly behind the main guard station. It was a position easier for the guards to defend; I could see that at a glance.

Easier to defend from the prison side that is. Not from the street. Once I realized how close we were to the outside, for a moment I thought wildly that if I had a gun, I could get him out. Grab him and run, holding the guards at bay. Or take a guard as hostage. Then Murphy could use his gun. We could shoot our way out of there.

Foolish thoughts. They were like dreams born out of fever. Murphy's trial had been weighing so heavily on my mind that I was losing my godgiven sense of reason. I didn't like the irrationality of it, it wasn't at all the way I was accustomed to thinking. And tomorrow the trial started. Easier to get it over with and put a stop to the strain. Murphy came in then and interrupted my dark thoughts.

He was bruised up much more than before, new bruises crowded on top of old. All of that color in one face was distracting. Besides that, his teeth looked bloodied and loose and there were several nasty cuts on and around his mouth. And entirely aside from the way he looked was his attitude. He was swaggering and boastful, louder too than usual. That cockiness was by no means his normal character. It was false bravado I was guessing.

When I asked him how he was doing, he shrugged to show it really didn't concern him all that much. He said damned if I do, damned if I don't. His tension was so severe that I could clearly see the veins and tendons underneath his skin. I hated to see him getting bitter like that, but I suppose it was bound to happen. Too much trouble on one man's back might well break it.

I talked to him as best I knew how. His world had become so small that it centered on one issue only. Not that I wasn't sympathetic to that. At least I wanted him to know he had backup, someone on his side. He listened to the gibberish for a few minutes, then raised one hand to stop me. He had no patience for those kind of small platitudes any more. "You coming tomorrow?" he asked in a gruff tone.

While I was nodding that I would be coming tomorrow, one of the guards stuck his head in to ascertain the state of Murphy's health. It was a normal part of his job and he did it without undue noise. Still, Murphy stiffened right up at the movement and shot the guard one of his more suspicious looks. Murphy never had been one for putting trust in folks. Now he was balanced on a razor edge and leaning heavily to panic. He acted like he was cornered, an attack coming any time and nowhere to go.

To relax him I told him about old Nailor delivering the bad news to me. He knew how much the old goat liked to shock people. It was like a sucker punch I told him. He smiled slightly and nodded. It was after all the language he was most familiar with. I even told him the old man almost shut down my heart. He did laugh at that but still took the time to ask if the problem was serious.

I assured him it wasn't, then searched my mind for another amusing story. I started to tell him that I didn't think the damned neighbor cat was going to be around much longer. Instantly I was sorry, it didn't come out sounding right for some reason and Murphy got a funny look on his face. It was almost as if a shadow had fallen across the room. A darkness nearly visible.

Quickly I changed tacks and told him I'd run into a mutual friend on the previous day. He took the bait and wanted to know where. When I told him the tavern, he managed to laugh and groan at the same time. "Boss," he said, "that's a trip I'd surely like to take." He said he could almost taste it.

We were quiet then for a minute or two. I said I was sorry about the vagabond not helping matters. He seemed to weigh it in his mind before passing judgment on the matter. In an offhand way he said "I told you that drifter wouldn't do me any good." I started to repeat what Canfield had told me about using it anyway, but Murphy sneered at me and stiffened up a mite, so I let it go.

Just then the guard came back to tell us our time was up. This time he knocked gently before opening the door. I noticed that Murphy took it much better that way. He was very matter of fact about it all and said "No sense drawing it out, boss, see you tomorrow." We shook hands this time, then parted quickly and in silence.

### Chapter 23

Long before the sun rose I was up and around. The day had come at last. I suppose that Murphy was waiting for the morning as well. I tried to shore myself up for the ordeal, but it didn't work. All I felt was impending doom.

Of course it went badly. The signs had all been there, but I'd done my best to ignore them. I'd tried so hard that I'd disregarded the severity of the situation. Honestly, deep down I'd believed he couldn't be convicted for something he hadn't done. He was innocent after all, and therefore justice would prevail. But I was wrong. And all that could possible go wrong did so.

Murphy came in shortly before the judge. He looked terrible. It looked to me like he hadn't slept at all the night before. He looked downright sick, like maybe he should have been in a hospital. He was stooped and limping, beaten and broken. His face was badly discolored, black, blue, gray, and yellow. And the deep ugly red of his cuts. Those cuts were the worst part; they looked like they'd just stopped bleeding a moment before. They were harsh looking and bright in that gloomy courtroom.

He looked around for me and I waved to show him where I was. He looked somewhat relieved, but I could see that the full courtroom bothered him. Canfield nodded to me before he guided Murphy into his seat. I watched for a minute while Canfield talked to Murphy fairly steady. I saw that Murphy nodded from time to time, whether in agreement or just to appease Canfield, I couldn't tell.

I noticed old man Nailor across the way. He was looking fairly spry and had himself perched right on the edge of his chair. His face was bright with expectation. When he saw me looking at him, he made an effort to subdue his high spirits. Briefly the old coot managed to look mournful, but I could see it was an effort for him.

The trial started then. Canfield did his best and his reputation for being a good lawyer was well deserved; but the prosecution was swift and sure. Also merciless. Every point Canfield managed to raise was shot down. Arrogantly and completely.

Bob Milhaus was the first witness called up to testify. He'd been the first officer at the scene of the crime. Also he proved to be an effective character witness. He'd liked Murphy and never once believed that he'd committed the crime. Gut instinct probably. Bob's testimony was going as smoothly as it could until Canfield tried something else.

Canfield was a slippery cuss, but having Bob state that Murphy was second on the scene didn't quite have the desired effect. It sounded almost as if Murphy were gleefully enjoying every last bit of the crime. Like it was ice cream or something. To this day I don't know how it got turned around like that. That damned prosecutor and his loaded questions.

All Canfield got out about the drifter was that there had briefly been another suspect, a traveling stranger. That was putting it politely if you ask me. Then the prosecutor demanded that the vagrant not be discussed since he had a proven alibi. During the wrangle though, a few items slipped through for the jury's edification. Mainly that a drifter matching the description of the assailant had been seen in the vicinity.

Although he tried to repeat the more important points, Canfield didn't get the time he needed to pound the message in. When he brought up the long black coat, asking Bob what the assailant might have been wearing and receiving the reply a long black coat, all the jury was wide eyed. The witness to this fact was Mrs. Byrd, now deceased, and the jury's eyes moving back and forth between Bob Milhaus and Canfield became mere slits as they took this fact in. When Canfield asked what the vagrant was known to be wearing, the prosecutor nearly yelled that they had resolved that issue and the judge put a stop to it. He ruled in favor of the prosecution. So the jury was left thinking if it wasn't the vagrant, who else could it be?

Next up was Mrs. Byrd's homicide, which so closely resembled that of Evelyn Frome. Canfield asked Bob to describe the methods used to dispatch both women. Bob said they were both beaten to death with blunt objects, one in her place of business and one in the alley behind her house. Also that the crimes happened on the same corner, within weeks of each other. When Bob was asked if he thought it was the same perpetrator, he said he couldn't be sure, both crime scenes were bloody and violent, Miss Frome was attacked from the front and Mrs. Byrd was attacked from the back. It appeared that the intent for the Frome murder was robbery and the intent for the Byrd murder was jealousy. The proximity of the crimes was bothersome, both in terms of time and place. But no murder weapon had been located for either crime; it was a blunt object but so far unidentified. And forensics couldn't tell if the same object had been used on both women. Also Mrs. Byrd's husband had been arrested for her murder. And apparently he had a reason since he believed himself to be cuckolded by her.

Canfield wasn't fazed. He accepted it, then moved on to Murphy's past criminal record. I didn't like it, but I knew the point was to bring it up before the prosecution did. Murphy's parole officer was sworn in. Boldly Canfield laid out the worst. Six convictions, all for petty thievery, no weapons involved, never anyone hurt. Three short-term stays on work farms and prison on his last two convictions. No time served on the first conviction because Murphy was a juvenile when it happened.

The parole officer swore that Murphy wasn't a violent man, no history of it while on the outside. Canfield let it stand there. However the prosecution then questioned the parole officer and managed to keep using the words convict, criminal, and dangerous. The prosecution also suggested that Murphy was involved in violent gang activities while in prison before the judge said that had nothing to do with the charges at hand. Even though Canfield's objection had stopped that line of questioning, it didn't matter because the jury had heard it. Of course that kind of thing stuck in their minds.

Then Canfield paraded through Murphy's former employer and landlord, I guess to show his life was a regular everyday one, just like everybody else. Both had to admit that he'd been an honest man in his dealings with them. Again a prosecution speech insisting that Murphy hadn't always been honest, as proven by his numerous convictions for thievery. This was countered by Canfield saying that people change.

Canfield's next point was the previous dealings Murphy had with the shopkeeper. Two other shopkeepers from our neighborhood took the stand. Both said that Murphy had done his shopping at their stores. One of Evelyn Frome's neighbors testified next that Murphy did not shop at Evelyn's store. Only the once.

Then of course the argument came up. The time that Murphy had accused Evelyn of stealing from him. Canfield hammered it in that Evelyn did this on a regular basis. Then he called three more witnesses to say the same thing. Evelyn Frome had regularly shortchanged her customers. Bad eyesight and early senility was the prosecution's answer to that. And revenge as well as robbery was the reason Murphy murdered her.

Although I wanted to testify as a character witness, Canfield wouldn't hear of it. Once he knew I dated her for a while, he said that would only prejudice the jury against Murphy because it made the woman more human, more likable, more of a loss that she was dead. And Murphy was the only one at hand to blame for this. I was disappointed. I could have laid out Evelyn's character as well as attesting to her thievery. I could have let them know what a fine person Murphy was, regardless of his past.

Canfield summed up with questions like where was the proof that Murphy did it. There was none, of course. And what reason could he have had? He next asked where the stolen money was. The prosecutor answered that one with well hidden.

Canfield went on to say that Murphy had rehabilitated far more than most since leaving prison, as proven by his boss and landlord. As witnessed by the policeman on the beat. Murphy had only the one experience with Evelyn From and carefully avoided her after that. Murphy had never been prone to any kind of violence in the past. A thief he had been, but a murderer he was not.

One last dramatic question and Canfield was finished. "Are all ex-convicts to be rounded up and executed?"

The prosecutor's summation was so wildly inflammatory as to be ludicrous. Women alone and defenseless. Too weak to defend themselves. Terrorized by brutal criminal men. Worst of all, it could be your own mother, sister, daughter, wife. All so trite. He really should take the time to write new material. On second thought, why bother to fix what works?

The jury was retired with Murphy's poor bruised face following their every step. After that, the judge granted an early lunch. I realized then that only one day and a half had passed. That's all it took to lay out Murphy's case, all day Tuesday and half a day on Wednesday.

After lunch I wandered back to the courtroom. To my surprise I found that the jury was back in. They had quickly finished their deliberations and it was truly over. Even before I had finished seating myself, Murphy was found guilty.

Canfield bowed his head. Murphy looked up to the heavens. Sentencing in two days said the judge and banged his gavel. I tried to get to Murphy but he was quickly taken away.

### Chapter 24

The beast was romping wild when I returned home from court. Even as downcast as I was, I couldn't have overlooked the sight. The cat looked as though it were possessed by a demon. First it would leap frantically into the air, then it would run insanely to another part of the yard. Sometimes it rolled itself into a ball, then would suddenly flick itself to full length. Its tail never stopped twitching and its eyes looked quite mad. Bemused, I watched it for a time.

I saw then too that fresh holes were dug all around the front steps. And the steps themselves were badly scratched with deep harsh gouges. I'd had enough and decided to deal with the neighbors at once. When I began crossing to the back yard, that damnable cat came tearing at me as though to claw at my eyes.

I could scarcely believe the audacity of the creature, but really hadn't the time to dwell over it. However I did know that the beast had sadly mistaken the depth of my anger. I had no patience for the game and kicked it solidly, savagely as soon as it was close enough. That put a sudden stop to the evil beast's amusement. It yowled with pain as it escaped my yard.

I noticed more holes as I walked. It looked as though the cat had a vendetta against me, something personal. At the back gate I met the neighbors. Obviously they'd been waiting to speak with me. It was one day after the appointed day after all. I'd come home fairly late on the previous day after that first day at court and I hadn't even thought about the cat and its owners. I didn't even pause on my own doorstep; the rigor of court had drained me so much.

They were sheepish and looked to the ground for the most part. Right off they admitted their error. That was mildly satisfying. However I found no joy in them being wrong; on the contrary, I felt sad for them and their impending loss. I should have been happy to be rid of the cat, but I wasn't. I'm not such a hardhearted person; I could feel that a pet is like a member of the family. I could never go for it myself, but I wasn't lacking in understanding.

Thank God they had the decency and good common sense not to request some kind of extension on the time limit. I appreciated the fact, being in no mood to resume negotiations with them. Instead they promised me that the cat would be removed as soon as it could be located and caught. I didn't ask what they intended to do with it, I didn't care. I was finished with the mess.

It wasn't quite over though; the neighbors felt the need to continue our communication. They offered to work in my yard, filling holes and such, to make up for all the beast's damage. Particularly they wanted to fix the porch. I told them it wasn't necessary. Not allowing them to continue with their attempts to mollify me, I put an end to the conversation, waving them away as I did so.

Before I went in the back door, I looked around to the front for the cat again. No cat, but I saw old Nailor standing on the sidewalk looking straight at me. Must have been watching for me. He called for me to join him and waved his scrawny arms at me, but I couldn't stomach it. Not one more second could I think about what had just happened to Murphy. I shook my head and went inside.

### Chapter 25

I first woke to dull rage that next day. And then felt agony before I could even tell why. Soon after there was a call from Canfield. He wanted to tell me about the special visiting arrangements he'd made for Murphy. It was a fairly common deal the day before sentencing he said.

I could think of no answer to this, so remained silent. "Look." he said. I could tell by his tone he meant to be patient. "It's not over yet. I can ask for an appeal. There's a panel of three judges looking at the case today. They vote in the morning right before sentencing. If they vote for an appeal, sentencing will be suspended. Pending outcome of the appeal. So it's not over yet."

We'll know in the morning, is that it? I was angry and snapped at him. Canfield, not another word. I mean it.

After a moment of silence I was sorry for my outburst and told him so. He said, "Sure, sure. Trials take a lot out of a person." Said he'd had trouble sleeping lately too. He asked if I would try to be calm for Murphy's sake. Of course I would, the last thing Murphy needed was for me to lose my temper.

After Canfield hung up, I realized it was hard for him too. He not only lost the case, he lost Murphy as well. I remembered what he said about fifty percent of the appeals resulting in dismissals and suspended sentences and I laughed. He forgot to mention if the appeal was granted. And they were granted in only one out of a hundred cases. That I did know. Canfield must be taking it very hard indeed.

I went down to see Murphy. Immediately after the trial, Murphy had been moved to the local prison. It was a fifty mile drive from my house. Security was even tighter than at the jail and he was in a small wing of the prison off by himself. I was escorted back there by a guard with a thoroughly cheerful disposition, a jarring mismatch to his job. The contrast between the smiling guard and the awful place was disorienting. I felt as if I were walking into a cave. Loud echoing footsteps. I thought that it would be hard to sneak up on Murphy in here.

Right into his cell they took me. I was horrified at the sight of him; he'd aged a good deal overnight. There was no light in his eyes, no smile on his bruised face. The taking away of hope is a truly destructive thing.

Murphy, I can't believe it I told him sadly. I looked at him and said I never thought a thing like this could happen. Never. Looking at him then made so much pain in my eyes that I had to look away.

"I told you, boss. I told you." was what he said.

I slumped on his cot and put my head in my hands. "Don't take it so hard, boss." he said. His voice was heavy and dull. Dead already is how he sounded. I was incredulous to realize he was comforting me.

With an effort I looked him in the face. I told him if there was anything I could do for him I would do it. It was completely without meaning, but there was nothing else to say. He nodded but made no response for a moment or so. Finally he said he was glad it was over. I knew that he meant it.

I agreed that the waiting had been hard enough to break a man. He nodded slowly after he thought about it. After that we had nothing more to say. We sat together quietly until the guard said our time was up. Murphy offered his hand to me but this time I didn't take it. I put both my hands on his arms and squeezed until something flickered in his eyes. Then I stepped away and left him.

* * *

By the time I got out of Murphy's cavelike section my chest was as tight as though someone had bound it in steel. I was beginning to feel the weight and pressure of the building around me. Actually I was somewhat surprised that it hadn't happened sooner, I never did take well to being penned in. My vision started to blur then and I don't remember how I got myself out of the building.

I sat for awhile in my car and slipped a pill under my tongue. Too late though, the pain had started. I drifted through it until it tapered off. I was groggy by the end of it, but one thought was clear. I had to see the doctor.

Once I could drive without losing consciousness, I headed over there. Told the doctor how it had been lately. He wanted to know the circumstances. Where I'd been and who I'd been with. So I told him about Murphy and what had happened to him.

He said, "Too much tension and stress. Don't get so caught up in other people's problems. Think of yourself first."

I heard him still talking and lecturing as I went through the door. "Don't listen to gossip if it bothers you and stay away from the jail. It's your friend's problem, not yours."

### Chapter 26

The neighbors knocked on my back door shortly after I got home. I was exhausted but went ahead and opened it anyway. They wanted to tell me that they hadn't been able to find the cat. It had disappeared. They knew not where.

Bewildered and at loss, they stared at me with soft puppy dog eyes. The both of them mute now they'd spilled the beans. In a way I wasn't surprised at what they'd just told me. My luck had been running to the bad lately.

So I told them not to worry. Said they could take care of it when the cat showed up. But they weren't appeased, the worry still showed on their faces. Kitty's never done this before they explained. Always he's been home for dinner, but last night he wasn't. And today they hadn't seen him either.

They thought the damned cat had run away is what it boiled down to. A sixth sense message that he should leave or some such nonsense. His life was in danger and somehow he was able to know that. At this foolishness, I laughed.

They looked to me fearfully. And after a moment of wonder I realized that my laugh had not been a happy one. By no means was it. It must have sounded sarcastic and cruel to my sappy sentimental neighbors. Even crazy. But I didn't care how it sounded to them. At once I decided my doctor was right about my being more selfish, therefore I was not going to worry about the feelings of these people.

Brusquely I told them I'd had a bad day and was in no condition to trouble myself over a cat. I waved to them smartly and shut the door. In their faces as it were.

I was irritated once I thought it over. There was no sense to my being bothered with such claptrap. Then and there I decided to shoot the beast on sight. I'd been pushed too far.

* * *

Toward evening I decided to get myself around and water the lawn. Before I started though, I leaned the rifle by the back porch. It was loaded and ready. I wanted to vent some anger if I had a chance. So I strongly hoped that the cat would show up.

For a few minutes I was able to water the lawn in peace. And at first when the cat appeared I didn't even take notice of it. Not until the renegade beast ran straight at me. The demon. It was snarling ferociously and its ears were laid straight back on its head. It didn't even look like a cat in the state it was in.

I was utterly astounded by the sight and didn't react until the last minute. It was more a reflex than anything else. I pulled my hand up to protect my face and the hose aimed itself directly into the cat's face. It was almost an accident. Momentarily the beast was deflected. But not for very long.

I swear the beast was possessed of a demon from the darkest of hells. An evil spirit blazed in its eyes as it ran at me again and again. For a good ten minutes I was under siege. Each time I fired the hose into its eyes and mouth. Forcing it back.

There was no time to get to the rifle. I could see it in the background but it was useless to me. Each time the cat was driven less distance. It would crouch soaking for mere seconds, then again would be upon me. Each time the hose seemed to faze the monster less.

Soon it was close enough during its forays to leave scratches on my arms. Bites on my hands. It was a small wet fury from hell. Enraged, I resolved to send it back there. To that end I began to reinforce the hosing with sharp kicks.

Its eyes glowed as it dodged one way, then slashed at me from another. Although my kicks were haphazard at best, when I did land a kick, the beast howled wolflike. It was beginning to lose its venom; I could see it falling back.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed old man Nailor watching this debacle. I was mortified. I'd been starring in his performances too often lately. No more I thought. I resolved then to kill him if the opportunity showed itself.

Finally the cat ran off. Only moments after I'd espied Nailor. I was enervated as I staggered to my rifle. Clutching it tightly, I collapsed to the porch. Halfway I expected old Nailor to appear at my side for a closer look. He didn't though. Rifle must have scared him off.

A bitter evil day it was. I was certainly sorry I'd seen the beast again. Maybe the neighbors were right with all of their damned nonsense. But that was the last I saw of the cat.

### Chapter 27

I trudged down to the courthouse early. More than anything I wanted to reverse my direction, go back home, and crawl exhausted into bed. The sun was shining so brilliantly that I resented it. I was fully aware that Murphy couldn't even see the sunlight. Not locked away the way he was.

Canfield was waiting for me outside the courtroom. His face was bright and full of hope. This morning he looked youthful. I couldn't help smiling; it was good to see him looking his actual age for a change. He was a young man after all.

He was just on his way to hear what the panel of judges had to say. And he was sure they were going to grant Murphy an appeal. For whatever inexplicable reason, Canfield had himself completely convinced. Moonstruck was more like it. I told him I hoped so but privately I didn't think there was a chance. At his request I waited in the hallway until he came back with the panel's decision.

It didn't take very long at all. I knew it and I wished to God I could have been wrong. When Canfield came back he was broken. I didn't have the stomach for it really, but I tried to help him buck up. His face was white and pasty. I said Canfield, for God's sake, you've been through this before. Then instantly, even before he shook his head, I knew he hadn't. He was indeed a young man and this was his first lost homicide case. I wondered what the statistics were for such a thing and decided to look into it when this was all over.

Blankly he stared at me. Then finally he managed to say "But he didn't do it. They had no evidence."

Softly I said yes. That's true, Canfield. I stood there and waited. After a time he got his back up and we went inside. Just in time to see Murphy coming in. I saw him look to Canfield as if in last hope. And for him it was.

I watched while Canfield first braced himself for it, then slowly shook his head in answer to Murphy's question. Murphy took it well, straightened his shoulders and went on to his seat. I noticed how calm he was. And he was dignified.

It didn't take much time once the judge came in. He said he was prepared to pronounce sentence and at once ordered Murphy to rise and face him. I took a good look at Murphy while he waited for his fate to be handed to him. He was pale and bruised, but held his head high as he looked to the judge.

The moment seemed to hold forever. In my vision was clearly imprinted Murphy standing alone, Canfield sitting with head slightly bowed, and the hanging judge. I remembered that someone had called him that. As though on cue, old Nailor popped into my line of vision. He was cocking his head like a bird and I could see that his eyes were all asparkle.

Dimly then I heard death by execution. My head spun until I felt that I'd fall out of my seat. That was it then. It really was all over. Murphy was still standing but now Canfield was beside him. Canfield looked to be taking it very hard, but not Murphy. He looked as though he'd been expecting it all along. He was even nodding his head. I couldn't believe that.

I tried to walk up to him but there was a quick infusion of guards into the vicinity and I couldn't even get close. Murphy was taken away by a wall of guards. It was over and I was in a daze as I watched the courtroom empty. That was it.

* * *

Old man Nailor was waiting outside. His former high spirits were brought down considerably I could see. I was surprised that he was putting his own personal feelings ahead of business concerns. He shook his head sorrowfully as I walked up to him. "Nicky, I'm sorry." he said. "I hoped it wouldn't come to this but it did." I could see he meant it.

I acknowledged his condolences. None of us were expecting what had happened after all. We walked together for some time without talking. I realized that it wasn't just for the sake of Nailor's breathing that we were walking very slowly. My legs were so weak that I'm not even sure how I was able to stand at all. And I didn't know Nailor had it in him to be quiet. He did it though and I was grateful.

Before we parted at my corner he remarked on how hard the lawyer took it. Said it surprised him. I nodded, I'd noticed it too. The old man offered the opinion that Canfield was losing his touch and might best be suited in changing jobs. I allowed that I was wondering that myself.

Then Nailor shook his head. He hesitated before saying that was one of the harshest sentences he'd ever heard of.

After a moment's consideration I asked him what he meant by that. He said, "Didn't you hear the judge, Nicky? He said to carry it out Monday morning, right at sunup. Three days from now."

### Chapter 28

Before long I remembered that this was visiting day. Although my memory didn't extend as far as leaving Nailor or getting myself home. I wondered at that loss, then shrugged it away as I stumbled out the front door. I felt that I had to see Murphy right away. Unless his new status prevented visitation. Or some other foolish rule involving court hearings and visits on the same day. It wouldn't have surprised me.

An interruption. I met Bob Milhaus on the steps. He told me he'd just run into the town crier. That didn't surprise me either. Old Nailor was back at work, matters of sentiment behind him. I said Bob, it's true. I was there when it happened. Bob said he still didn't believe Murphy did it. And damned sorry he was getting executed. Said he never did believe in that.

No. I never did either I answered, then I told him I was going to see Murphy if I could get in. He said he was fairly sure I could. Visiting will probably be liberal this weekend he told me.

Yes I said slowly as I thought about it. I suppose it was the state's effort to be humane. But why bother with such a tidbit in the face of what they intended to do to him. There was no humanity there. None whatsoever. That too was murder.

I heard Bob saying something about special meals and religious counseling. I thought, my God, Murphy will have fits if someone starts talking religion to him. He hates anything tainted by religion. Always has I imagine. His father was a minister in a snake handling, faith healing cult. And a coldhearted man was he. Murphy once told me he'd been snake bitten so many times when he was a child that he didn't think a snake could ever kill him. And his mother had faded early on into the glory of God. So he'd had his fill of all things religious when he was young.

Still in a daze, I nodded to Bob, who said again that he was sure sorry for Murphy. Then I drove down to the prison. Murphy was under the same stringent security. The gang of hoodlums couldn't get to him. The state didn't want what was owed it stolen from beneath its nose. It was due an execution and intended to have it.

For a moment I wondered if I personally would prefer a professional state execution or something more sudden and violent. A hard choice with only two such alternatives. To choose the moment and grasp clawing at each fading second, thereby enjoying none. The other to wait it out and fear the quick attack. To opt for one moment of horrifying pain and awareness before death. A knife in the dark. Death by violence. Both ways.

Murphy was waiting for me, standing up and looking through the bars. He looked completely ghastly, like something out of a horror movie. Dead already I thought once more. As I approached he stuck out his hand and smiled in a way most gruesome. Through the bars we shook hands.

I had no idea what to say. This was a time when proper behavior had its limitations. I certainly wasn't going to offer condolences before his actual death. He said, "Nicholas, I'm glad you're here. Didn't think you'd make it today."

The shorter life span seemed to have loosened his tongue a mite. He got me set down, then told me Canfield had just left. "Boss, you've got to talk to him. Talk some sense into him. That boy told me he's had enough. Can't take it anymore. Says he wants to be a gardener."

I offered the opinion that he might be better off as a gardener. Happier.

Murphy thought about it a minute, then nodded. "Maybe so." he said softly. "Might just be what he needs." Another minute passed and he observed that Canfield would take a loss money-wise, but maybe he would get his heart back.

We didn't say anything more for awhile. Not until he asked me how I got the scratches and bites on my hands. There were so many, I'd have been surprised if he hadn't noticed. Still, I was embarrassed about it; even old Nailor hadn't brought up the cat's attack on me.

There was that to consider, but I owed Murphy plenty, so I told him about the beast viciously coming after me. I added that I thought it had run away and I didn't expect to see it again. He listened in silence, then upon consideration said I should've killed it when I had the chance. I quite agreed.

This time when I left Murphy walked me the few steps to the door of his cell. We stood for a minute and listened to the hollow echoings. This was death row I realized. Until Murphy was finished with it. Probably all along it had been I thought with a start. The safest, least accessible place to stash him. Not because they thought he'd ultimately end up there. That was just coincidence.

And I thought suddenly that it was very close to the place they would take him for execution. I felt dizzy from being so close to it. That small frightening room. I couldn't breathe thinking about it.

Formally he thanked me for coming and said he hoped I'd visit the next day. I assured him I would.

### Chapter 29

Saturday I awakened with the strong sensation that Murphy was already gone from this life. It was a dreadful cold feeling. Great loss. I bowed my head in grief.

So many things lately had escaped their suitable intended places and done the unexpected. And always at Murphy's expense. I felt somewhat responsible. I had from the beginning. But everything I did to fix it turned out wrong.

I felt I had to accept it finally. At this point there was nothing to do to change the hard facts. All the same I felt sick fear. Murphy was going to be executed and there was nothing more to be done. Two days is what he had left. And he'd be spending them in prison, alone but for his guards and such paltry visitors as he had.

I've seen many terrible things in my lifetime. The taking of Murphy's life is by far the worst of them.

I saw Murphy several times throughout the weekend. We talked sometimes and sometimes we sat quiet. He was calm. I saw no fear or panic in him. He never mentioned what was going to happen to him and neither did I. We simply passed the time.

### Chapter 30

Monday, an hour before sunrise. Murphy is to be executed this morning. I shudder at the thought of it.

I'm going to him now, for that last half hour. Feeling so closed in today I can hardly breathe. The thought of that chair with built-in straps, in that small room. Barely bigger than a closet. More like a large coffin.

He asked to be outside right before it happened. It was the only thing he asked for. Due to Canfield's influence he'd had the prison yard to walk in for most of the night. It was concrete and unpleasant. But there was the sky, the stars, and the moon to see. And fresh night air to breathe.

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