STEAK AND FRIES (EXTENDED)

My involvement in the court case all stemmed from being at a bar downtown the same time a man was found dead in the restroom. I was drinking with a business associate at the time and we were among the last people to see him alive. The man appeared to have drunk a little too much scotch and he drunkenly joined in our conversation. I was surprised to find out that his name was Bill Drysden; a man from the bank who had helped me over the telephone with some business transactions.

Following the discovery of his death, my associate and I were called upon to be a witness at the trial. It turned out that Drysden had been poisoned and I assumed it was most likely to be suicide, because who would poison a man in the middle of a crowded bar? I expected to be asked a few questions concerning Drysden’s behaviour leading up to his death and be free to go, but the business associate I’d been drinking with at the bar started to give false evidence against me. I sat there with my stomach churning an acid storm as I heard him speak further. He told the judge that I’d acted strangely ever since I learnt the man’s name and that I became increasingly agitated leading up to the discovery of his death. A burning sweat was tracing around my hairline as I listened further to the lies that were coming from his mouth. I was just an innocent bystander, how was I suddenly on the way to becoming a suspect? I was under a state of pure confusion until I followed his line of vision to find my brother sitting in the stalls, and it all started to make more sense.

My brother and I had been partners at a real estate firm in the forties but soon after my wife Virginia and I got married, he cheated me out of a lot of money and tried to get me put away for fraud. He had tried other scams, and his presence at the court hearing led me to believe that he might be involved in this as well. Whether he wanted me caught up in a murder case because he wanted me dead or whether he had some other plan he was in the process of carrying out I wasn’t sure. Either way, when I was being questioned a stale lump of air expanded painfully in my throat. I could feel him looking at me and I fidgeted and stumbled over my words. If he did want me sent away, then what chance would the truth have when bribery and blackmail is involved? I was to remain in police custody for about twenty-four hours, while the court went through the evidence and spoke to further witnesses. As I was led out of the courtroom, I saw the corners of my brother’s mouth quiver ever so subtly into a demonic smile, and for the first time, I was scared for my life.

While I was at the station I was able to speak to my wife and attorney once over the phone. I had to hand in my belongings to the cops, which I knew to be perfectly normal and expected. I gave them a pack of smokes, eighty dollars, my Rolex and a picture of my wife. But shortly before the time was up, I received a telephone call from a man who said he was my attorney’s associate telling me that some evidence had come forward concerning my relationship with Drysden and a possible motive for murder. I was to be transferred to the state penitentiary! I was in a complete state of shock, the cops indicated I should leave by the back door of the station but strangely they didn’t accompany me. I should’ve ran away right then and got to the bottom of this whole injustice myself. But a van appeared and a very large man stepped out and told me he was to take me to the penitentiary and I would be able to call my attorney once I arrived. I grew increasingly drowsy whilst I was in the back of the van and could only force a few questions from my mouth which elicited no reply. I don’t remember arriving and I was never granted my phone call; it was from that point I realised things weren’t quite right.

II
But here I am, three days of uneaten food around me, in a cell that smells of overcooked peas and sour milk. I count the days in a rather unorthodox way, which I find much easier than scraping lines into the wall. I arrived here on a Sunday and the vegetables which came with dinner were carrots, for six days after it was peas, then carrots again the next Sunday. So, I have been lining up one pea for every day in the corner of my cell until I get a carrot to replace the six peas to make a week. I now have 2 shrivelled carrots and 3 shrivelled peas, making it seventeen days. I spend a lot of time dragging my memory over all the particulars of the trial and how it came to all of this. I remember the sounds; each word said; each sneeze or cough that flew across the room to get tangled in the hair of the judge. I picture the twiddling fingers of the witnesses, the stress lines on my attorney’s face, the red moss of veins creeping under the skin beneath his eyes. But most of all, I remember the icy shock that came over me when I saw my brother sitting in the stalls. His face had all the looks of arrogance, power and malevolence combined. Even now, despite being locked away in jail, his cologne seems to flow down the cracks in my brain and release mocking bursts into my nose.

Yesterday, I woke to find a form on the floor, requesting I write what I want for my final meal. Was this some kind of joke? I admit, I don’t know a huge amount about the legal procedures on death row, but I’m pretty sure that I should be able to speak with my attorney and request an appeal before I was writing down what I want my last meal to be. Besides, if I was found guilty then I would’ve heard the verdict with my own ears in the courtroom. The man who brings me my meals said that my wife was here to see me and she’d only be allowed in once I completed the form. I was stupid to believe that of course, but in a moment of frenzied hope I scrawled down ‘steak and fries and a glass of red wine,’ thrust the note under the door and demanded that I saw her. Nothing!

In-between my nightmares and bouts of anxious, cold sweats I think of her, But all I get is the faint smell of roses and a wavering laugh that’s slipping away. I miss my home, I miss the everyday sounds that I became used to: like the sound of a clock ticking, or the irregular tapping of my typewriter. Sometimes I close my eyes, and imagine a giant clock face with golden numbers on embossed lacquer. I tap my nail on my tooth but it makes a “tick-tick” sound instead of a “tick-tock” So then I go about imagining that every second tick is a tock; something I can get close to if I tap my canine tooth followed by my front tooth, and after hours of this it becomes satisfactory enough.

III
I became jolted out of my reminiscent daydream by the sound of a new tray of food grinding along the floor. Another pea! Had a whole day passed since the last carrot? As usual, the anaemic food swam in its own putrid juices but when I looked over at the plate I noticed that the food had sloshed over to one side. There was something underneath that was causing it to tilt. In a wave of confused excitement, I darted across the room and lifted the plate to find a piece of paper. Was it to be an encouraging note from my attorney, a letter from my wife? As I frantically unfolded the corners, an overpowering torrent of my brother’s cologne gushed into my nasal passages and I shuddered as I saw his handwriting on the paper. I read it aloud in a whisper, “Have you still not worked it out - read the notes Walter” I tensed my jaw as I read the words again. What? How was he able to get this through security? I sat in a daze for a few minutes until I realised, there must be more than one note! I kicked over the plates that were still lying on the floor of my cell. There were more notes; each plate had one underneath! I staggered across the room, with peas pin-balling off the sides of my feet and the smell cologne rising into a thick miasma all around me. I held in my hand four pieces of paper. I unfolded them quickly and his voice reverberated through my ears as I read, “Dearest brother, isn’t it funny how things can suddenly make sense?” But this voice was not just in my head. I looked up at the tiny window in the door and saw his dark eyes peer in at me. I stood up and in a voice straining from exhaustion, said, “What do you mean? None of this makes sense!” His glare intensified as he replied, “Poor, confused Walter, you’re delirious. Don’t you see what this is all about?” He held up the picture of my wife that I had handed in at the station.
“What!” I said, “How’d you get that picture? I left it with the cops.”
“And I collected it when you were released from custody,” he replied. As I looked at the picture I noticed he was wearing my Rolex as well. A dizzying sickness came over my body as I tried to comprehend how all this was possible. I swallowed the bitter tasting fluid that had accumulated in my mouth and continued, “Released! I was released?
“Yea, that’s right, they didn’t have enough evidence to keep you in custody any longer. I was able to push things on a bit and have you collected from the station early, and that’s when I paid some guys to carry out a phoney jail transfer, along with the fake call from your attorney’s associate. I waited a bit, then alerted the police that you’d disappeared outta my car at the gas station.”
“What you talkin’ about?”
“You’re not in jail Walter, you’re in my basement” he opened the door and stood silhouetted in the gloom.
“But what about Virginia?” I said, “She musta found out you collected me and thought you had something to do with it.”
“Well maybe, except she doesn’t think you’ve gone anywhere.” He walked over to me and placed a cold hand on my shoulder. “There are so many advantages to looking the same as someone you’re taking the place of. Wouldn’t you agree? And with you outta the way, I can live in your house and be Walter Brown.” I moved my eyes up to meet his and said “She’ll find you out! You’ll slip up and she’ll find you out.” I wanted to shout the walls down, but couldn’t gather the energy. The shadows bounced off the sharp furrows on his face and he carried on in an almost demented rapidity, “I needed you outta the picture, I couldn’t face seeing you together, and now,” he paused and paced the room, “and now, I have her, ha! Walter she’s mine, isn’t it swell? She’s all mine now.” An uncontrollable crescendo of exhaustion flew over my body and I lost consciousness. When I awoke he was gone.

IV
I gave up with my method of counting the days when I found a mouse nibbling on my vegetable calendar. No matter now much I plead to be let go my brother only torments me further. He says if Virginia really loved me then she would have found him out by now but instead she tells him that she’s fallen in love all over again. I’m exhausted, my hair is knotted in tight spirals and my eyes are dry and painful. I continue to take myself back to my life in New York, with all the mundane things I used to do. I eat cereal, brush my teeth and sit on secluded park benches. In the middle of one of these hazy daydreams the gentle tinkling of someone dropping coins by a parking meter turned into the harsh, clanking of the door opening and in walked my brother; grinning demonically, he placed in front of me: steak and fries and a glass of red wine.