The Insane Train (10 page)

Pap and Hook waited on the Needles platform for the asylum train to arrive. When the black smoke rose up on the horizon, Hook looked over at Pap.

“It's a goddang ole kettle,” he said.

Pap shook his head. “They haven't used those for anything except switching and work trains since the steam engine was invented.”

The old engine churned down the alley like a worn-out workhorse. Clouds of steam and smoke boiled up around her as she chugged in. Hook could smell the grease and smoke. Water dripped from out of her boilers, and she sighed like an old woman settling into her rocking chair.

Hook kicked gravel down the track. “I could walk to Oklahoma faster than that galloper will get us there.”

Pap looked down the line of cars. “Hell, those are section-hand outfit cars. They must be forty years old.”

The brakes screeched, and the cars rumbled and clanged off down the line.

“Eddie Preston must have rescued that hog out of the salvage line,” Hook said. “The day I retire, I'm going to kill him and bury his body under the turntable.”

The engineer climbed down from the cab. He peeled the wrapper from a new cigar and stuck it in his cheek.

“Frenchy?” Hook said.

Frenchy peered at Hook from underneath his hat. “Well, I'll be a son of a bitch, if it ain't Hook Runyon. I figured someone left you on the rods for dead by now.”

“There's been a couple tried,” Hook said. “They dig you and this coffeepot out of the same junk pile?”

Frenchy fished a match out of his pocket and lit his cigar. The flame dipped up and down as he worked it to life.

“You might say,” he said, blowing out his match. “They ain't got much use for either one of us anymore.”

“You get orders to pick up a caboose?” Hook asked.

“We've got a bobtail scheduled to bring her into the yards. You still living in that bouncer?”

“If you call it living,” Hook said. “You know Pap?”

“More or less. How you doing, Pap?”

“Good seeing you again, Frenchy. Weren't you in Amarillo for a while?”

“About a year. I been bumped so many times, I forgot where my wife lives,” he said.

“I best be on my way,” Pap said. “Good luck.”

“Thanks for taking care of Mixer,” Hook said. “If you want to visit him, just let me know.”

Pap waved his hand over his head as he walked away. “Oh, sure, sure,” he said. “Maybe I'll have him over for Christmas in about twenty years.”

“I'm not exactly clear on who we are picking up in Barstow,” Frenchy said.

“I guess Eddie forgot to give you the details.”

“Eddie lies about everything but forgets nothing,” Frenchy said. “So I figure it's something no one else wants to do.”

“They had a big fire out to the Baldwin Insane Asylum. They're moving the inmates to Fort Supply in Oklahoma.”

Frenchy took his cigar out of his mouth and stared at Hook. “Mental patients?”

“Looks that way.”

Frenchy took off his hat and rearranged a few wisps of hair on his bald head.

“That son of a bitch,” he said.

“Thing is, about twenty of them are classified as criminally insane.”

Frenchy looked off down the tracks and then put his hat back on.

“The insane train,” he said. “That's us. Well, I hauled a load of railroad officials to Chicago one time. Couldn't be any worse than that.”

“At least these boys are in straitjackets,” Hook said.

 

Hook sat in the cupola of the caboose and watched Needles disappear into the dusk. Mixer had fallen asleep before they were out of the yards, and now the steam engine crawled across the desert like a caterpillar on a stick.

Soon darkness descended. He listened to the click of iron against iron and smelled the smoke churning down the line. Hook climbed from the cupola and stretched out on the bench. They should be in Barstow by morning if they didn't break down, which could easily happen.

A lot of uncertainty lay ahead, but he'd be glad to get the assignment underway. Most of all, he would be glad to see Nurse Andrea once again.

Hook picked up the company truck from the operator in Barstow, who, with the disappearance of the supply clerk, had taken over the sign-out sheet.

He drove directly to Baldwin Asylum and found Andrea washing down the chairs and tables with disinfectant. She looked up and smiled when he ducked under the tent flap.

Pushing aside her hair with the back of her hand, she said, “You're here.”

“And with the train,” he said. “She's sided outside of town. I'm afraid she's not much to look at.”

“Well, anything will be better than this,” she said.

Hook looked around. “Where's Seth and the others?”

“They aren't back yet,” she said. “We had a little bad luck.”

“Oh, no. What did they do?”

“Food poisoning,” she said.

“What?”

“It's been a long week for all of us.”

“Is everyone alright?” he asked.

Andrea slipped off her rubber gloves. “Esther's still not up, but she's doing better. Luckily, I brought my lunch that day, as I usually do. I don't know how we would have managed otherwise. Thank goodness no one in the security ward came down.”

“And the boys' ward?”

“Several down,” she said. “Doctor Baldwin sent your men home to recuperate. I'm looking for them back anytime now.”

“And Frankie?” he asked.

“He left the compound that day to run errands.”

Hook walked to the end of the tent and looked over at the boys' ward.

“Has anyone checked as to why the food spoiled?”

“The health department came,” she said. “They found nothing out of order.”

“Did they check the temperatures on the freezers, things like that?”

“They said there were no problems with the equipment.”

“I'm going over to the cafeteria,” he said.

Hook found the head cook, a Mexican fellow with flour up to his elbows, kneading a pile of dough as big as a five-gallon can.

“I'm with railroad security,” Hook said. “Maybe you could answer a few questions?”

The cook dusted the flour from his hands and the front of his shirt.

“The health department say okay,” he said.

“That's what I understand,” Hook said. “What do you think happened?”

The cook shrugged.

“What about the coolers?” Hook asked.

“No problem.”

“You saw nothing out of the usual?”

He picked up his rolling pin and commenced working out the ball of dough.

“I check coolers like always,” he said.

“I see. Well, thank you for your time.”

Hook turned to leave, when the cook said, “Maybe the oven lights.”

Hook stopped. “The lights?”

The cook nodded. “Number five breaker.”

“Do the ovens have their own circuit?” Hook asked.

“Sí,” he said.

“Maybe you could show me the breaker box?” Hook said.

“In back,” he said, laying down his rolling pin.

Hook followed the cook into the utility room. It smelled of Lysol, and a single bulb cast its yellow glow into the darkness.

“Number five there,” the cook said.

“And what is that one just next to it?” Hook asked.

“Number six,” he said, lifting his brows.

“I mean, what does number six go to?”

“Coolers,” he said.

“But number six hadn't been thrown when you came to work?”

“Number six okay. Coolers okay. Nothing wrong with my kitchen.”

“No, I don't think you did anything wrong,” Hook said. “Thanks for your help.”

 

Doctor Baldwin hung up the phone when Hook walked in.

“Mr. Runyon,” he said, “I've just gotten a call from Eddie Preston. I understand our train has arrived?”

“When Eddie said it wouldn't be the Chief, he wasn't kidding,” Hook said.

“Well, we've had a bit of bad luck around here.”

“So I hear.”

“Unfortunately, it has delayed our preparations for the transfer.”

Hook crossed his legs and spotted a hole in his sock the size of a quarter where Mixer had chewed. He put his leg down.

“Doctor Baldwin, do you have any reason to believe that someone would do you or this institution harm?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“You've had lots of bad luck lately.”

Doctor Baldwin rose out of his chair, turning his back to Hook.

“This is an insane asylum, Mr. Runyon. There are lots of troubled people here and many with checkered pasts. I suppose there's the potential for that sort of thing. But I've always run a compassionate program, and I know of no one who wishes me harm.”

“I'm not a big believer in coincidences, and you've had a pretty fair run of them,” Hook said.

“Are you suggesting a connection between the fire and the food poisoning?”

Hook stood. “Just a thought. When do you think you'll be ready for the transfer?”

“The beginning of the week, with a little luck.”

“And what about the security ward?”

“We've decided to administer extra sedatives, chloral hydrate specifically. The side effects are minor, gastric irritation, nightmares, flatulence, but it should work, providing that the journey does not take too long.”

“I see. I don't mean to press, but the company frowns on its equipment sitting idle. The sooner we get this on the road, the better.”

“I'll do my best, Mr. Runyon. Do you happen to know when your men will be back?”

“I'm headed there now,” Hook said. “I'll let you know.”

 

Hook parked the company truck on the side of the road and picked his way down to the bridge. Pigeons winged upward into the blue as he ducked under. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the shade. A breeze swept in, and ashes swirled up from the cold fire. The men had to be around somewhere, given they'd not gotten their first pay yet.

“Hello,” he called out, but no one answered.

Perhaps they were at the pool hall or down at the courthouse where they went sometimes to wash up in the bathroom.

The sound behind him had a quiet danger, and he whirled about. A man towered over him. Hook reached for his sidearm.

“Go on,” the man said. “I need a reason to blow off your goddamn head.”

Hook lowered his hand. He knew the voice, had heard it somewhere before. When the man stepped forward, he could see his badge.

“You,” Hook said.

The cop smirked and rubbed at his whiskers with fingers the size of sausages. His barrel chest heaved up and down.

“Criminals always return to the scene,” he said.

“Had
I
cracked your head, you'd still be in the dirt with your brains leaking,” Hook said.

“You talk pretty tough for a one-arm son of a bitch,” he said. “I'll take off my weapon and badge,” Hook said. “Maybe you'd like to do the same?”

The cop smiled. “Between you and me?”

“That's how it will be,” Hook said, taking off his badge and sidearm.

The cop lowered his head and growled, charging across the opening like a Mexican bull. Hook sidestepped, catching the cop's foot with his own. The cop slid down the embankment headfirst and into the campfire. When he got up, there were ashes on his face and in his hair.

Hook circled, keeping to the high ground. Once again, the cop rushed him, his yelp quivering and pitched. Hook delivered a blow from the shoulder, catching him hard in the nose. His head jolted back, and blood sprang from his nostrils, streaming into the corners of his mouth. His legs wobbled, and his eyes filled with water. Cursing, he shook the fog from his head.

Again, he rushed, maneuvering Hook into a bear hug. He stank of booze and tobacco, and his hair dripped with sweat. Hook struggled for breath and for enough strength to break away. When the cop's ear presented itself, Hook chomped down. The cop screamed and grabbed his ear, which now dangled in a bloody flap.

Hook broke away and seized him behind his neck, driving him headlong into the bridge pier. The cop staggered and dropped to his knees. Drool spilled from his lips, and his eyes rolled white as he pitched forward into the dirt.

As Hook slid his sidearm back into its holster, Seth rose from out of the weeds. Santos and Roy stood up behind him.

“I been waiting a long time to see that,” Seth said, grinning.

Hook dusted the dirt from his pants. “Thanks for the help, boys.”

“Man oh man,” Roy said. “That cop has got a powerful headache on the way.”

Santos walked around the cop and smiled. “You want him in the river?” he asked.

“I think he's had enough,” Hook said. “You boys didn't see any of that, right?”

“I'd sure like not to see that again sometime,” Roy said.

“Where's Ethan?” Hook asked.