Do You Feel Safe?
A Shakedown of Old Crumb on Federal Turf
Yesterday morning, Wednesday, September 10, the Floridian, Train #41 from Chicago to Miami, pulled into Pittsburgh. Amtrak uses concrete caves for platform housings in Chicago and Pittsburgh. Offloading, I noticed two plainclothes goons, thirty year old athletes of the bruiser type, each 5’11” and 185, muscular, wrestler builds, wearing I.D. tags like we wear at fights when we are on staff. I did not, could not, and would not have attempted to read them. One man was dressed in a gray plaid shirt. The more muscular one was dressed in a muscle shirt. They were walking the platform, amazed that the train was so long, looking for the Chicago car, being at the head behind the locomotives. By the time they found it, we were mostly past them, me being fourth from last. The girl whose baggage I had hoisted up and down, was being helped by the conductor. The two single men next to me had waited last as we were at the station head. The man who had sat with the black guy, across the aisle from me, he being between us, spent most of the night with the crew, claimed to be a rugby/lacrosse player, and I think, was some kind of undercover detective. He vanished, never coming out through the station. I had not talked to him. But he was a person of interest to me, based on his athleticism and his claim to have spent 5 hours drinking in the cafe car, yet not having any visual, audible or olfactory signs, having lied.
I think he stayed behind to speak with the two goons and then left through the back of the building used by staff.
My eyes were killing me. He never appeared, had never talked to me, spoke so I could hear to his mild brown mark, and had lied, so I could hear, about drinking. So, I went into the men’s room three times to wash my face and get the sting out of my eyes.
After emerging the third time, the two goons, who had been getting coffee at the machine, circled me, Hulk from the back and Plaid from the front. The latter shouldered an ultra light tactical pack like Rick used to take his 0.45 APC 1911 in to by fresh milk in case he had to shoot it out with food pyramid storm troopers at the organic dairy. He approached with a forced smile and asked me how I was doing. He wore loose jeans, Hulk tight jeans. I extended my hand, and this shocked him. We shook and he got at ease, knowing his man had me from behind and began the interview. Everybody was watching in this aisle, and half those from the front aisle. I recalled that Lynn had texted me about not leaving the station in Chicago, for something was going on with the FEDS.
Plaid: “I’m with the State Police and would like to know if you felt comfortable on Amtrak. How was your trip?”
Crumb: “Slept better than the tall goon next to me—I’m short enough to curl up. Kind of felt sorry for that dude.” [Who I was certain they had spoken to.]
Plaid: “Did you feel safe—was there any way you think security could be improved.”
Crumb: “I sleep and read on the train—never considered security.”
Plaid: “So you felt safe?”
Crumb: “To the extent to which FEELING SAFE is a legitimate notion—I suppose so.”
Plaid: “Where are you traveling from?”
Crumb: “Witchita, San Bernadino, Yucca Valley, LA, San Jose, Utah—then here by way of Chicago.”
Plaid: “Pittsburgh is your home?”
Crumb: “No. I just travel. My friend recently passed here. I’m in town for five days to help his mom make arrangements.”
Plaid: “What is your home town, your home base?”
Crumb: “None. I’ve been a tramp since June 30 2018. Worked night crews in Baltimore City supermarkets for 38 years. Coached on the side. Tore my hip in 2017, limping with a cane, getting mugged by dudes on the street, and all my fighters had moved away. They kept saying I should leave town too, so I did. Now I wash dishes, pull weeds and watch children for wives mostly.”
Plaid: “Wow, Baltimore,” shakes his head, “tough scene. You’re connected to Pittsburgh, how?”
Crumb: “Born and raised in Baltimore. Lived in Washington, PA from 77 to 81, moved back to Baltimore. Later in life, my friend moved to Pittsburgh and I stopped to visit taking the train through town. Now he’s gone and I’m come to help his mom.”
[Hulk Kreeps Kloser behind. Sorry, Mister Webster, this dude did everything with a hard K and was the one calling the shots, was not packing a gun, unless it was an ankle gun, and gave me pause.]
Plaid: “Washington has boomed lately, getting nicer, would probably surprise you. May I ask you why you are traveling; family, business?”
Crumb: “Business.”
Plaid: “What kind?”
Crumb: “Boxing coach. I stay with knuckleheads—I’m a blue corner coach: boxing, kickboxing, MMA mostly, but just the hands guy, boxing.”
Plaid: “What is the blue corner?”
Crumb: “The opponent, the smaller, older, out of town fighter who is supposed to lose. He will be announced first, before the local guy who the promoter is making money on.”
Plaid: “So he’s fighting up, and in the other guy’s hometown. I get that, I wrestled for a minute, all through school,” he said smiling at some fond memories.
Crumb: “Yep, I’m just the airbag in the head-on-collision.”
Plaid: “You go all over?”
Crumb: “I avoid New York, New England and Florida—avoided LA until this year when I got five invites from the area.”
Plaid: “So you were a fighter, a big name?”
Crumb: “No, a slow amateur: thirty bouts, eight wins—but became a pretty good coach when I stuck around way to long.”
Plaid: “Making it as a coach, I see, cool. May I see your ticket, please?”
Crumb: “Sure.”
Examining the ticket, Meat Detective Plaid nodded to Hulk ‘there is nothing here,’ and to me, “Well, Mister LaFond, safe travels.”
I shook his hand, which made him uncomfortable a second time and said, “Have a great day—I’m waiting for a ride, be here until 7:30.”
Continued next week in Jesse Renno…