Source of “Stepping on Fingers” title:
“David was worried the professionally dressed woman still jammed against Gillespie’s right shoulder might remember him as the platform under him began to vibrate with the throaty rumble of the coming train’s arrival, its headlight flashing. David yelled “do you remember me?” in his best rendition of an elderly Saudi woman, making sure to roll the “r,” as is done in colloquial Arabic.
David gave Gillespie a sharp hip-check. Gillespie lost his grip on his litigation bag and tumbled onto the train tracks, landing in a puddle of used condoms, cigarette butts and yesterday’s third page of the New York Post. Gillespie looked around, dazed, and acted like he couldn’t imagine what had just happened. He looked down at his cell phone in the fetid pool soaking his loafers then turned to see glaring headlights of the rapidly approaching downtown #6 train. The lurching subway train’s motorman looked horrified behind his windshield. He slammed on its brakes and repeatedly honked its horn, like the very hammers of hell as the train’s nearly locked wheels screeched against shiny, steel tracks. The elderly motorman tried in vain to stop the on-rushing subway train.
Gillespie grabbed for the concrete platform’s edge, trying desperately to pull himself out of the path of the oncoming train. For just an instant, time seemed to stop for David. The irate lawyer leaned just close enough to Gillespie’s terrified face to hiss through the narrow slit of his niqab “payback for stealing from me, you self-righteous prick!” David Garvey briefly saw a reflection of his blue eyes in Gillespie’s delicately manicured fingernails just before he stomped viciously on Gillespie’s clawing fingers and rubbed them over and over against the hard metal edge of the subway platform.
Angrily squealing brakes and a meaty thump…”
