Working Man

Marquel, TPVs NYTimes On the Run Section correspondent, was blowing his nose while taking the A train, when he read that Putin Has Vanished, but Rumors Are Popping Up Everywhere.

President Vladimir V. Putin of Russia has not been seen in public since last week, and the rumor mill has gone into overdrive, churning out possible explanations from the simple to the salacious to the sinister.

Marquel knew it wasn’t as simple as that. Putin has been seen, just unrecognized. Marquel seems to be the only one who actually spotted Putin working, it appears, as a conductor on the L* Line. The fact is that Marquel was only a sporadic passenger on that line and it was quite a coincidence to see the shirtless conductor signalling the engineer that the doors were closed. The train pulled out. Marquel saw three black-clad men running in back of the train. They continued after the train into the tunnel.

Marquel had started to shout out but knew Putin wouldn’t stop the train for him, especially now that he’d been recognized. For a week Marquel rode the L Line, or more often, waited midstation, a risky place to be because he might be spotted by Putin and the doors might mysteriously stick.

But no, I was midstation when he appeared right in front of me. Our eyes met. I don’t think he recognized me as having spotted him a few days before. I noticed he had great pecs for a man his age. It was that hesitation that allowed him to think typically quickly, as befits a former KGB officer, and he slammed all the doors shut, signalling the engineer to proceed. The three breathless men were right in back of the train, having caught up to it again.

There were two obese women stuck in two doors as the train left. Both were holding large sacks of fast food they were unwilling to relinquish. Their little feet accelerated from a walk, to a fast walk, to a speeding hop from one foot to the other as the train sped out of the station. Putin did nothing. I saw their arms clutching their sacks like gold, and then all three, two fat women and a shirtless chest model, disappeared around the turn at Union Square. The black clad men were running right behind.

It took three days more of watchful waiting, wearing my fedora and shades to avoid recognition. I moved down the platform so I could face away from the incoming train but still see who the conductor was as he passed.

On Friday morning, at the same time as the first three sightings, the train carried the Russian Federation leader, shirtless, and conducting the L Train. I entered a car behind him and waited. His announcements were curt and authoritarian.

“De Kalb avenue,  get out quick, I’m closing the doors,” he said before we had yet stopped at the station, then, “get on, quick quick, I’m closing the doors right now.” The doors closed quickly and several were stuck. “I told you to get in quick  Too bad for you,” he said, and hardly waited for them to wiggle out or in, whatever path was available. We were on our way again.

I went up to the conductor’s door but it was locked. I knocked while we passed station after station but he wouldn’t budge. I sat down. At Bushwick, a really handsome and imposing man, wearing a French bowler and all black suit, with white alligator loafers approached the outside window.

“Hey, pervert, put your shirt on!” He shouted, oblivious to the people around him.

Putin ignored him.

“Doors closing. If you get stuck I don’t give a sheet,” he said with a barely detectable accent on the sheet, or shit.

“You look ridiculous without your shirt. I said put it on” the man shouted, with a somewhat ominous and mysterious style I couldn’t quite identify.

“The girls love it,”

Putin said smiling and sending kisses at the exiting female passengers, several of whom took a second smiling glance at him.

“Oh yeah, fucker? Take a look at this.”

He ripped open his stylish white shirt, unfolded what looked like ace bandages, and out popped the largest two female breasts certainly I and many others had ever seen. A cross-dresser! I think it may have been Putin’s first.

I could hear him jiggle his door lock, start to come out to do who knows what mayhem, and then changed his mind, and signalled the engineer to go before closing the doors.  It was my chance. I opened the door, engaged in a small tussle with him, got him by the balls and squeezed. When he was on the ground I spoke.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you but I only want to talk. What is the President of the Russian Federation doing,  working as a conductor in New York?”

“Now you know who I am. Who are you?” He asked.

“Marquel.” I put my hand out and we shook, “I write for the…”

“I know. I know,” he interrupted. “We read your column every day. Not me but my readers. We especially like that Malick guy and the other gay one.” He said.

“The woman with the last name Hijack or something. What do you want from me?” He asked.

“Just to know why you’re here.” I explained.

“Doctors orders. Too much stress. This is more fun. I can be mean and the company congratulated me for keeping the schedule.” He said.

“But why the subway?” I asked.

“Immigration. Getting a visa to your country is literally impossible. I had to agree to listen to Obama’s speeches for two weeks in order to get a six month visa.” He said. “Plus there were security concerns.”

“What kind?” I asked.

“People were realizing it’s a straight line shot from the window above my office to where Nemtsov was shot. He has a lot of friends, none of whom are as good shots as I, but still….” He said.

“Okay, that’s all I wanted to know.”

“Well I have a three man security detail. They’re super shots. One word about this and you’re a dead man.” He said.

“Aren’t we all?” I asked as I shook his hand and then embraced him. We didn’t let go of each other for a few seconds. His eyes sparkled as they hadn’t all week. I liked him. I think he liked me. He smiled. I kissed him good bye.

I decided it was an empty threat. You can tell. Usually. I got off just as the three black-clad men breathlessly caught up to the train.

***

*Marquel, under threat of death, has agreed not to identify the exact line his newest friend, Vlad, is conducting.