That night in Central Park

Closing my Manhattan apartment door behind me, I had no idea what I would be in for this beautiful September evening. I was ready to tackle my regular three mile run in Central Park. It was a routine I followed three evenings a week after work, and I’d found that I didn’t function very well if I skipped it. Tonight, however, I should have done just that.

As I entered the not so well-lit area of the park that I always hated running through, I heard footsteps running away from me, into the trees. This made me very suspicious and a little bit afraid for my safety. However, there was no point in lingering, the sooner I could get back to lights and civilization, the sooner I would be safe.

I kept my eyes on the area of trees where the unseen person had disappeared, which wasn’t very helpful as I couldn’t also keep an eye on the track in front of me. Suddenly, my foot hit something fairly solid and I fell forward, quite ungraciously, and only just managed to brace myself with my hands before I hit the ground, scuffing my palms a bit as I landed. I swore. Not very ladylike, I

know, but I was scared, too.

I turned around to check what had tripped me, and saw a dark square shaped object on the path behind me. I crawled over to it. It was a briefcase. I looked around for the owner of the briefcase, but the only person there was me.

Should I open it to see if there were any clues inside as to whom it belonged to? I decided that would be a good idea. I even found myself wishing it would contain nothing but money. Lots of it. Hey, I never said I’m the brightest bulb in the closet.

So, I pulled the briefcase towards me, and had just placed my thumb on one of the clasps, when I felt something cold and hard poking me in the cheek. I screamed.

“Shhh! Please, Signorina! Shh! I will not hurt you!” The voice belonged to a man, by the sounds of it of Italian origin. He stepped into my field of vision, pointing at me with his gun.

“Just hand-a that briefcase to me and-a everything will-a be fine!” the man said, and yes, he spoke like that, I’m not kidding.

Wordlessly I handed him the briefcase. I wasn’t going to argue with what appeared to be a pretty mean-looking gun. I signaled my wish to get up, and he indicated that I could, by waving the gun in an upward motion at me. I got up rather painfully, and brushed myself off.

“Well, then, sir. If you don’t mind, I’d like to continue my run.” I said, perhaps a bit cockier than was advisable, under the circumstances. My internal filter was very intermittent in those days.

He looked at me with an inscrutable look for a minute. I waited where I stood, not terribly keen on challenging him, or his gun.

 “How-a would you like-a to keep-a the money and-a your life?” he suddenly said, taking a couple of steps closer to me. I bristled. I do maintain a modicum of personal space, and he had just invaded it.

“What do you mean, keep the money and my life?” I asked rather testily, not so sure I wanted to hear the answer. In front of me after all, I now realized, stood the notorious gangster, Bruno the Mobster Slayer. I stole a look up and down the path, hoping to see someone coming to my aid, but no such luck.

Bruno looked into my eyes with a quizzing stare. It seemed as though an internal struggle was going on, but suddenly he seemed to have made up his mind.

“What’s-a your name?” he asked brusquely, in his heavily accented English. I almost said “why, who wants to know” but managed to stop myself in time. Not even I was crazy enough to continue to challenge this man, considering the gun was still pointing at

me.

“It’s Anita,” I said, my voice shaking a little. “Look, it’s cool, I won’t say anything to anyone, if you just let me go.” The minute the words

were out of my mouth, I knew they were falling on deaf ears. His eyes shifted to look somewhere over my shoulder, and then he turned his head this way and that, as if to check that the coast was clear. Suddenly, he grabbed my arm. A great urgency was written all over his face, and his grip was strong and almost painful.

“Anita, I’m-a going to be straight up with you. I’m in-a deep shit here, and I need-a your help. You seem-a like a nice-a lady, I feel like I can-a confide in you and that-a you won’t rat-a me out“.  Using his free hand, he awkwardly tucked the gun into the upper part of his pants, and then grabbed my other arm. My heart was

beating so hard and fast, I thought for sure it was about to escape from my chest.

“Rudi - he’s another-a mafia boss - is after this-a money AND-a my life. I took out-a his brother this morning.” I must have had a thunderstruck look on my face, because he suddenly shook his head vigorously and continued: “No! It wasn’t-a deliberate. It was

accident. I swear on-a my mama’s grave.” Quickly one of his hands released me to perform the Catholic Cross. “We were - what’s-a the word I’m looking for - having a ‘physical argument’ (he released me completely at this point so that his fingers could actually form quotation marks in the air, and then he grabbed me again. I cursed myself. I should have turned to run while I had the chance) and-a my gun went off. He was in-a the way, he took-a the bullet and, well, now he’s finito.” Releasing me again with one hand, he

actually drew a line against his own throat. I was surprised he didn’t also make a hissing sound.

He grabbed me again, and I couldn’t help but gasp because in his excitement he was pulling quite hard on my arm.

“Bruno, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I can..” I began, trying desperately to yank my arm away from him. He resisted me.

“You can-a hide me!” he ejected. He had a wild look in his eyes now, and he suddenly let me go. I realized it was only because he was unable to continue speaking without the use of both his hands. He started gesticulating wildly, his hands chopping the air like birds’ wings in flight.

“You, Anita, you can-a hide me somewhere. You can-a save me. And in-a return, I give-a you this money.” His right hand chopped the air as it pointed at the briefcase on the ground. “Sounds good, no?”

I stared at him blankly. How could I possibly hide him How could I get out of this without finding the muzzle of a gun jammed inside my mouth?

His hands stopped moving suddenly, and he collapsed in an untidy heap on the ground in front of me. To my astonishment, I realized he was sobbing. “I’m sorry, Anita, I shouldn’t have asked-a you for this favor, it’s-a not fair to you. I’m-a just so desperately scared-a, because Rudi, he is a ruthless killer and I just know my life-a, she is coming to an end.” The supplicating look in his eyes couldn’t

help but melt my suspicious heart, even though a wildly inappropriate giggle threatened to escape my mouth at any moment.

“My life-a, she is coming to an end.” Who speaks like that, seriously?

“Bruno, I’m not sure what to say to you, I’m touched that you even thought I would be able to help you (I wasn’t really, but it sounded like an appropriate thing to say), but I think the best thing for you would be to…” However, I was not destined to finish a sentence this evening, and the moral speech I was about to deliver was suddenly interrupted by the sound of an approaching engine.

Bruno sprang to his feet with the vigor of a man half his age. It didn’t seem possible, but his eyes were even wilder than before. He looked like an animal backed into the corner of a small cage.

“It’s them!” He threw the briefcase at me and turned on a dime. I only just managed to catch the case, more by reflex than anything else, winding myself a little in the process, before it hit the ground, and just as suddenly as Bruno had entered my life, he was gone.

I could hear the engine getting closer, but knew that the passengers of the car were a little while away yet as they could not drive into this part of the park. Which way should I go? Bruno had headed north, so I should probably head in a different direction.

The engine cut off and a car door slammed. There was no time to lose. Without hesitation, I turned in the opposite direction to the one Bruno had taken and I ran, faster than I could ever remember running. With every footstep, the briefcase banged painfully into my right leg, but I didn’t care. I had to get out of there, as fast as I possibly could, and without making a sound.

I veered off the path, and ran between two weeping willows with branches hanging down like curtains in a theatre. I knew a moment of panic as the briefcase got tangled up in one of the branches, but with a tremendous effort and a tug to rival all tugs, the case came loose and I was able to continue. Yes, I know, I could have let go of

the case, but seriously, would you have?

I could hear voices now, shouting angrily. They were shouting in Italian, and though it had been many years since I last studied the language, I got the gist of what they were saying. I could feel an icy cold spreading through my body. For a moment, I couldn’t catch my breath. They knew about me! How could they know about me?

Then it dawned on me, Bruno must have run straight into them, and he had squealed. For a moment, I was furious as well as scared. I hadn’t asked for this! Why would he turn on me? But then I heard an awful scream that turned into pleading, and then a gunshot.

The screaming was abruptly cut, and I realized they must have shot Bruno.

This was more than I had bargained for tonight, and for a moment I contemplated dropping the briefcase where I stood, and just running for my life in the hopes that they would stop chasing me once they had the briefcase. But the stubborn, rebellious part of me soon took over, and I found myself moving again, clutching the

briefcase to my chest. Well, what can I say. There was probably money in that case. I could use some. I dimly recognized the old saying, as I ran for my life: “be careful what you wish for…” Was I about to learn a lesson I’d never forget?

Ahead of me was a big copse of trees, and I veered slightly left to head for them. I could hear running behind me, and excited voices. This gave me renewed energy and as I got closer to the group of trees, I saw a small gap between two thick bushes, just big enough to fit me. I dove in, and landed painfully on my knees. A sharp pain cleared whatever fog was left in my brain from the shock of being chased by murderers, and instead of shouting out in pain I was

able to consciously stifle the cry enough to keep it to a moan. I sat up, and pulled my legs into the gap, moving as far into the hiding place as I could. I could hear footsteps nearing the copse, and I realized I’d got away only just in time.

Excited voices shouted in Italian, faster than the sound of a discharging machine gun. For a moment, I felt the urge to giggle again. I soon came to my senses though, hard as that might be to believe, as someone walked past right outside my hiding place.

I felt sure the man would be able to hear my heart beating as loud - at least to my mind - as a herd of stampeding cows, but he continued straight past my hiding place. I realized I’d been holding my breath, and I now slowly, and as quietly as possible, let it out.

The ground shook as the men ran around searching for me. My hiding place held its ground, however, and after about 10 minutes they were moving away again. There was no way, however, that I was going to move again in a hurry. Again, not one of my better decisions.

As quietly as I possibly could, I rearranged my limbs to find a more comfortable position. The men would come back past this place eventually, once they had figured out that I was nowhere to be found. They might decide to search the copse again, but I felt that I was going to be safer remaining here than trying to find a

different hiding place. I would come to regret this decision.

I must have dozed off because I was suddenly awoken by renewed thunderous footsteps coming my way and the men began to search the copse anew. Panic and adrenaline flooded my system again, and my heart, which had taken so long to calm down, was beating with the force of a jackhammer.

Trying to quietly pull myself further into the depths of the small gap, I pushed the briefcase out towards the entrance of my hiding place. I no longer wanted any part of this bounty, they could have it. I could only hope that if they found the briefcase, they would not see me hiding in the undergrowth as well, and they would leave.

No sooner had this wish passed through my addled brain, than I could hear footsteps nearing the gap. Heavy breathing came closer and closer to me. I fought the urge to scream, jamming my fingernails into my scuffed palms in fear. And then, my worst nightmare was materializing in front of my eyes. A man’s head

crowned by long, greasy, black hair poked in to my hiding place. An

overwhelming smell of garlic filled the small space, and I gagged, quietly, if that’s even possible, as roving hands started rummaging around. The hands found the briefcase, and a triumphant yell filled the night.

“Eccolo! Ho trovato il portfolio!” he shouted to unseen comrades. Yea, that’s right, you found it. Now leave!

“C’e anche la signorina?” another voice answered. I knew what it meant. He was asking if I was there too. My heart sank.

“Aspetta, a vedere” the first man said. The upper part of his body now entered the small gap. He took a moment to acclimatize his eyes to the darkness of my sanctuary, and I found myself holding my breath again. After a few seconds - a lifetime of regrets for me - his eyes settled on me. The bottom fell out of my world, and

everything went black.

I came to in what could only have been seconds staring straight into the eyes of my intruder, and a quiet moan escaped my dry lips.

His face was an expressionless mask. He had not said a thing, it would appear, because I suddenly heard the other man’s voice again.

“E allora? L’hai trovato o no?” Have you found her?

My intruder looked into my eyes, an inscrutable look suddenly appearing on his face. He winked at me. I was stunned. What did this mean?

“No, non c’è nessuna. Andiamo.”

He started backing out, and just before he drew his head back he looked at me again, and smiled. I had the sense to mouth “Grazie” before his face disappeared.

Shaking from head to toe, I lay as still as I could as I heard their footsteps retreating. The release of tension finally got the better of me, and I burst into tears. Pressing my hand to my mouth to stifle the loud sobs that would otherwise have filled the copse, I cried silent tears for a long time. I was so happy to be alive! And I could not forget those eyes that had winked at me. There had been something kind in them, an understanding of my predicament that

I had not expected to see.

A couple of hours later, as I stuck the key into the lock of my Manhattan apartment, I resolved never to run late at night again. The trauma to my heart just wasn’t worth it. Exhausted, but oh so happy, I fell into bed and was asleep in seconds. When I finally woke up, late the following afternoon, my first thought was to find a

newspaper to see if Bruno’s body had been found. However, it wasn’t until 3 weeks later, that I read about his concrete-booted body being fished out of the Hudson.

The whole thing would have been forgotten eventually, if it hadn’t been for the card that I found on the floor by my front door the very same evening I read about Bruno. It only had a few words written on it, but they were enough to make my blood run cold. And if I had ever had any thoughts of going to the police with my story, those thoughts rapidly evaporated into thin air.

“I know where you live. I know who you are. Life is a gift.”

I knew I should not have ignored that old saying.