Never take the redeye into D.C.

Finally the plane touched down and all Ralph wanted was a hot shower and a fresh pillow. His weekend trip to Vegas taught him two things; never eat Nevada shrimp and the house always wins. Some old friends beckoned him to spend three days looking for the big score, and rehashing youthful adventures. So, Ralph, recently divorced, with midlife crises in full surrender, needed excitement rather than sleep and headed for the desert. That seemed so long ago, Ralph thought, as the jet taxied to gate 420.

This redeye from Los Vegas to D.C. had its fair share of Sin-City indulgers. Ralph, in the same clothes he left in three days ago, looked perfectly in place. Not only did the cabin smell somewhere between gas station air-freshener and spoiled milk, it also had the feel of nothing more than a Greyhound bus with wings. A handful of passengers that were awake barely noticed the plane pulling into the terminal.

Standing up, Ralph grabbed his bag and waited for other passengers to uncoil and motivate their languid bodies into some form of movement. Slowly, he made his way down the aisle; with each step the space became more obstructed. Bodies, just like his, that haven’t seen daylight, or probably a washcloth in three days, converge down a two-foot wide path.

Just get me off this plane and a hot shower and I’ll be happy, Ralph thought. Exiting the cabin door, Ralph even noticed the flight attendants looked as if they had a few all-nighters in the August desert.

Ralph thought nothing of the two security guards standing with a man in a dark suite at the end of the hallway. Ralph checked his watch, 3am, I’ll be home by four, he thought.

With about twenty yards between him and the guards, Ralph heard one say, “That’s him!”
With an all out sprint, the guards rushed up to Ralph.

“Stop right here, Mr. Thornway!”

“What, Thornway, what are you talking about?” Ralph said.

Just as Ralph got those words out the man in the dark suit slapped handcuffs around Ralph’s wrist.

“Good work boys. Now, I’d appreciate it if you could find an interrogation room I could use to ask Mr. Thornway a few questions,” the man said.

“Wait, what are you doing, my name is Webber, Ralph Webber.”

The early morning airport was nearly deserted. This kind of excitement never happened during the graveyard shift, so one of the guards puffed up, “Come with me sir, I’ll get you a private office.”

“Now wait a minute,” Ralph said. “I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not Thornway!”
Just then the man flashed a badge, “I’m detective Murphy from narcotics, and I decide where you go. Take him away boys.”

The guards along with Detective Murphy ushered Ralph down a small hallway just off the main corridor. Ralph pleaded his case the whole way.

“I’m Ralph Webber, not this Thornway character you’re talking about. I need to call a lawyer, I have rights!”

“Pipe down Thornway, or the only rights you’ll get are the last ones,” Detective Murphy said.

“Here you go sir,” one of the guards said as he unlocked a door. “No one’s due in here for hours, so take your time.”

The other guard pushed Ralph into a small chair and then slid him up to the desk. Detective Murphy went around the desk and glared at the guards.

“That will be all boys, I’ve got it from here,” Murphy stated.
The guards closed the door. For once they had a story to tell the hotshots on the day shift.

Ralph studied Detective Murphy’s sharp creased pants and polished shoes. Although it was past 3am, he looked fresh in a starched white shirt and thin blue tie. On the other hand, Ralph looked as any man would who hadn’t slept for 72 hours and just came off a 5 hour flight. Even in his exhausted state, Ralph noticed the detective looked old enough for retirement.

Murphy lit a cigarette.

“I don’t think you can smoke in here,” Ralph said.

“Shut-up son, I call the shots.” Then the detective blew smoke in Ralph’s face.

“Are you arresting me,” Ralph said through a cough. “Because I’m not Thornway, check my ID in my wallet,” Ralph coughed some more.

“Son, I can get a fake ID anywhere in this town you call a society. All it takes is a couple of rocks and some hello bent weed to become anybody you want too. For an extra pint, you could get a social security number to validate your fraud, so don’t trouble me with your ID.”

“I want a lawyer,” Ralph said.

“That’s the first thing a guilty man always says. Guys like you always scream about rights. Well mister, what about the rights of the poor kids, pushers like you, live on, huh?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Okay Thornway, we’ll play your game, I got all night.”

Detective Murphy sat down and faced the opposite wall, leaving Ralph to stare at his bald spot. Ralph felt sweat gather on his upper unshaven lip. Clearly this was a case of mistaken identity, but proving it was becoming difficult to this bizarre cop.

“Look, my name is Ralph Webber. I just spent the weekend with some friends in Las Vegas. I’m a fifty year old divorced father of one child who is currently going to college. I live a very boring life; I’m an accountant for goodness sakes, who votes Republican.”

Detective Murphy spun around and looked a Ralph.

“How do you get your kicks Thornway? Is it red devils, orange bandits, or blue Mary’s, huh? Or maybe you like to go on a sleigh ride with the Cotton brothers and take in a Colorado cocktail while dusting your nose with some California cornflakes. I’ve seen your type before, and I know you better than your paperboy does. He only delivers the mind detergent, but I’ve seen the aftermath of an all-nighter chasing the dragon. You think you can fool me because I wear a suit, well mister, think again. While you’re strung out on white robots and pink witches, I’m cleaning up littered streets and shaking down punks like you. Now, how’s it gonna be Thornway?”

“One more time, but in English please” Ralph said.

“So you want to play cute, huh?

“I don’t want to play anything, I just need a hot shower,” Ralph dropped his head on the table.

“A hot shower, what’s that, a Frisco speedball with a pinch of Mexican firewood?”
“Who are you, and can I see your badge again?”

“Punks like you always try to turn the tables. You saw the badge, just go on memory, but I guess you’re too stoned to recall anything past 5 seconds.”

Ralph’s patience became thin, he wasn’t only worn out from this renegade cop who believed Ralph was Thornway, but now his head throbbed. If he wasn’t handcuffed, he thought, maybe he’d hit Murphy and make a run for it.

“Who’s your travel agent, Thornway?”

“I booked my own flight,” Ralph let out a sigh, now he needed to use the men’s room.

“Ah ha, so you’re a one-stop-shop, I bet you even grow your own ditch-weed and mule it through customs. You’re sick Thornway.”

“No, what, you asked me who my travel agent was, right? And I’m not Thornway!”

“Try me son, and I’ll roll over you like a storm over a Kansas farm house. Now listen fella, you picked a bad night to take the redeye into my district. See I get paid to go on hunches and I can tell by that blank stare of yours my hunch was pretty good. Yeah you’re perturbed right now because tonight the tax payers got their monies worth from a flatfoot like me busting a hippie like you.”


“Hippie?”
“That’s what we called ‘em when I first joined the force. You remember the game Thornway; I used to go down to Washington Square and round you guys up by the thousands. You called them peaceful protests, but it was more like a twelve hour mushroom dance with sugar cubes as an after dinner mint. You played your rock and said it was music, you had sex with any woman that was there and said it was free love, and you dropped acid and said it expanded your mind. I can’t count the times I dragged some kid to my patrol car all strung out on Hawaiian sunshine only to have him retch up last nights party on the backseat of the tax payers vehicle. And then, when he’s processed, booked, and made bail, I’m stuck with crusted vomit on a twenty five dollar jacket that coast ten bananas to clean, but the stench is still there, Thornway. You want to know why, well I’ll tell you mister, because I went out the next day and started the game all over again."

“First of all, I haven’t understood any of this jargon you’re speaking. I’m tired, dirty, my head is pounding, and I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Wishful thinking punk, I’ve dealt with grandmas playing illegal bingo games tougher than you. Do you know what it’s like to be peppered with insults and called pig, fuzz, five-o, and Johnny Law all because you signed up for a job that doesn’t pay well and nobody wants? I didn’t think so, Thornway. You know the only difference between us son, besides that mop over your eyes, and the movies you think are freedoms of speech, is who we answer too. I find gratitude in a day’s work and a good night’s sleep, while you sniff glue in back alleys looking for cut-rate prostitutes that will trade a sandwich-bag with a waffle-dust-chaser for a good time.”

Detective Murphy shot a surly glare waiting for Ralph to finally confess. It might have been the confusing rambles of an unbalanced cop, or the weekend gone on far too long, whatever the case, Ralph had enough. He figured the detective had broken several constitutional laws, so, drained, and eager to talk to someone living in this generation, Ralph finally said, “You got me.”

“I knew it Thornway, that’s why I carry a badge, to hear those three words, ‘you got me.’ A cop never complains about being sick, we don’t understand the word quit, and tired isn’t in our vocabulary. All a cop knows is this week’s pay went for last month’s rent, perhaps a mortgage if we’re lucky, but it doesn’t matter, because happiness is for the other guy, the ones we took an oath to protect and serve. You know when I clock out, Thornway? Try never, Oh, I might get a few hours of shut-eye, but eventually I’ll get that call, the one that makes your insides twitch and your palms sweat, but only for a few seconds, cause you realize you’re always on the job and some kid is blown out of his mind on green-triangles and you’re the only one who can talk him off that ledge."

“Do you ever stop? Why are you telling me this? Either, charge me with something, or let me go.”

“Alright Thornway, the paddy wagon is just outside, so we’re gonna stride out of here like the other side of my pillow, cool like. You got that? Try any funny business and I’ll drop you so fast the starch in your shirt will wonder where you went.” Detective Murphy stood up and went to the door. “Let’s move Thornway, you’re on the department’s dime.”

“I think you’re supposed to read me my rights and tell me exactly what I’m being charged with.”

“When we get down to division, I’ll spell it out for you. Maybe by that time you’ll be down from all the goof balls you’re flying on. Boy you got the habit bad, don’t ya, Thornway?"

Ralph tuned out the best he could, but the detective’s endless monologue played the role of a mosquito he couldn’t quite reach. Murphy droned on about dousing Ralph with lice powder and butch waxing his hair. Ralph received a few looks as he walked handcuffed beside Detective Murphy down the long corridor. Just as they turned a corner, Ralph saw the same two security guards who helped Murphy contain him. Only this time, they were red-faced and standing with another man.

“There he is,” the man said. “Dad, where have you been?”

Murphy froze for a moment, and then said, “Running this pinko downtown.”

“Dad, did you put handcuffs on this man? You know you’re not a cop; we’ve had this conversation before. Now give me the keys and fake badge and stand over there where I can see you. I need to talk to this gentleman in private.”

“We’ll watch him for you sir,” one of the guards said.

“Yeah, you guys are good at that,” Ralph said.

Murphy muttered something about a confession and then shuffled to the other side of the hallway.

The man freed Ralph’s hands.

“Look ah, I’m sorry about my dad. I didn’t know he brought those handcuffs with him.” the man said. “We’re here to catch a flight so he can see a specialist, and he just wondered off. I hope you understand. See, lately, he’s been going on police websites looking at wanted drug dealers and learning the language they use. Then, the other day, he watched a Dragnet marathon on television, and now he thinks he’s Joe Friday.”

“That’s it,” Ralph said. “It makes sense now. Say no more, I just want to get out of here and get a hot shower, forget about it.”

“So you don’t want to press charges?”

“No, let’s not make this worse for the old man.”

Ralph said a quick goodbye and was gone. As soon as he reached the airport exit his cell phone rang. Ralph looked at the number, shook his head, and then answered.

“Where you been,” the voice on the other end said.

“Oh, I got delayed by some geezer living in TV Land.”

“Well, what’s the word?” the voice said.

“I got the big score. My travel agent in Vegas said he’d have the white robots to the paperboy by Thursday. Right now, I’ve got three mules ready to transport the rest of the orange bandits. I’ll call you after I get a hot shower.”

“A hot shower, isn’t that a Frisco speedball with a pinch of Mexican firewood?”

“That’s a fact, sir. Hey, and one more thing, Thornway,” Ralph said.

“What’s that?”

“Never take the redeye into D.C.”