Disclaimer: This is the epilogue. There’s nothing super objectionable here. But there’s also nothing that’ll turn you on. Apologies.
Continued from Part 4.
They walked out into a predictably empty station. Other than a few passengers who had disembarked from other cars, the place was deserted. It was so late that even the cleaning staff had made itself scarce for the night; they’d presumably pick up whatever needed picking up in the morning before the trains started moving again.
“I thought the police might be waiting for us when we pulled in,” she said.
Ricky shook his head dismissively as they walked up the staircase to street level. “They’re never going to investigate this. Much less show up at your front door to arrest you.”
“What about the cameras?”
“M.O.R.T. hasn’t had working cameras on its trains in years. If something happens and riders don’t whip out their phones, there’s no evidence of it.” She looked incredulous at his claim, so he elaborated:
“There are more than five hundred cars in active service. Two cameras per car is more than eleven hundred total. Costs too much to maintain.”
“So the cameras mounted on the trains – “
“Dummies. They’re not real. The city buys them on the cheap.”
They reached ground level and walked out onto Industrial. “How do you know so much about it?”
“I’m a cop.” As they walked together down the dark street, his words sunk in and she acknowledged to herself that she wasn’t all that surprised by the revelation. Though him straight-up stabbing that one guy to death did seem to have been in cold blood and certainly outside the scope of his authority. Sure he was serving and protecting by taking that Nazi out, but still.
“So what? The police are okay with killing Nazis?”
“Well, I’m off-duty.”
She stifled a laugh. “Come on! Be serious. Are they okay with it?”
“It’s tolerated,” he said. “Anyway, we’ve got a limited amount of resources. The Homicide unit is stretched thin. If a little old lady gets stabbed to death and some hate-spewing throwback gets his brains smashed in with a lead pipe, they’re not going to waste the manpower trying to find out who killed the asshole who had it coming anyway. They’re going to focus on the little old lady.”
When they reached Central Avenue, she stopped at the corner. “I’m heading this way. It was nice riding with you.”
“I don’t suppose I could talk you into coming home with me tonight.”
She shook her head, the expression on her face sorrowful. “No, I can’t.” After a second, she clarified: “I’d love to, but I’ve really gotta get home. I left my husband alone with our baby all night, and he’s no good with midnight feedings and diaper changes.”
Ricky agreed: “You’d better go relieve him.” She nodded, then turned down Central. As she did, he called out to her: “I didn’t get your name.”
She turned back long enough to say, “I didn’t give it,” and was on her way.
-End