Borrow Trouble (18 page)

“Whewww, man, I almost blew a hole in you, thinking it was one of them white boys coming to see about the ice,” Baltimore cautioned his closest friend. “Here. Hurrup. Help me get his jacket and pants off him.”

Henry's eyes grew as wide as saucers. “Why you want to go and do that?” he asked apprehensively.

“'Cause he's just about my size, this here is a damn nice suit, and I don't want to get no blood on it,” Baltimore told him flatly. When Darby's upper body started convulsing, Henry was ordered to stop it. “Come on now. Hold his head still.”

Struggling to hold the man down, Henry was forced to snap his neck when the groaning grew too loud to bear. After realizing what he'd done, Henry fell over on his behind like a repentant sinner. “Now you done got me involved,” he fussed.

“Being my friend is what got you involved, Henry,” Baltimore corrected him. “And you came through for me. I won't forget that. Now, let's get him off this train before somebody comes.”

Reluctantly, Henry climbed to his feet and helped wrestle off the dead man's suit. He spied the fancy wing-tipped shoes on Darby's feet, but he could see right away, it wasn't any use to take those. Darby's feet were nearly four inches shorter than his. Then, he caught a glimpse of a shiny gold ring on the man's finger as they opened a dining car window to ease his body out onto the countryside. “Hold up, Balt. I'ma take this here ring for my troubles.”

Baltimore pulled Darby's legs up to the sliding window and pushed against the cold January winds. “Naw, don't take the ring. It's the same kind the other fellas had on. That could come back to haunt you. Leave it on him. Hell, let the coyotes get it.” Henry considered what his partner in crime had told him, pretended to agree, but then decided to swipe it, anyway. He eased the ring off and slipped it into his pocket behind Baltimore's back. As the train whipped around a bend, the wind howled. Henry closed the window while Baltimore neatly folded Darby's suit under his loose jacket.

“Where're you going now?” Henry asked, as he rolled out a mop bucket to clean up the mess they had made doing away with the corpse.

“To sleep so's I can get to dreaming about that steak that's been calling my name,” Baltimore answered, slapping thirty dollars in his accomplice's palm. “Send somebody to wake me when we pull into Kaycee. Boy, I sho' am tired.” He patted Henry on the back and started off, with a carefree saunter, as if he hadn't moments before goaded a man into a fight and ended his life as a result. Baltimore's ice-cold veneer aided him in sending Darby to another world altogether, but it didn't do a thing in the way of shaking off that bad luck shadow dogging him from town to town.

L
ater that same morning, the train rolled into Kansas City's Union Station six minutes ahead of schedule. Henry knew that for certain because he was up and stirring at least an hour before. What he and Baltimore had done to that white man might have been despicable to some, but the kind of men they ran with at times, just to scratch a living, would have all agreed that Darby Kent had it coming. And that's exactly what Henry kept telling his self when his conscience gnawed at him from the pit of his stomach. “It couldn't have turned out no other way, because of how the man kept after Baltimo', trying to pinch at his dignity and mash his spirit,” Henry thought aloud. “If that's not worth killing over, nothing is.” Just then he smiled, pulled the curtain back on his five-by-seven-foot sleeper compartment, and peeked into the one across from it. All he could see was a mess of coal black, curly hair resting on a pillow case. Baltimore was sleeping like a brand-new baby, one with a newly acquired gabardine suit and his share of the seventy-three dollars found in the pants pockets.

After all of the other food servicemen departed for breakfast duty, Henry got dressed and studied Baltimore some more before calling out to wake him. Despite the fact that they were already late to their workstations, Baltimore groaned defiantly. “Come on now,” Henry pleaded, “or else Mistuh Sterling's gonna pitch a fit. You know he don't like you much as it is. He ain't ever given nobody a tough time as he gives you.”

“Good, 'cause I wouldn't give a bent nickel for him, neither,” Baltimore answered eventually, whipping the curtain aside with his arm, then sticking his head out. When he got a look at Henry, dressed in full working attire, he sighed hard and long. “Henry, you can stick around, huckle-buckin' all you like, but I'm getting off here. I heard those white boys talking last night when they thought I wasn't smart enough to listen at the important parts. Most of 'em belongs to this…what they call a Motor Assemblymen's Association.” Henry was nodding his head, but he had no idea where Baltimore was going with the discussion. Actually, it didn't matter, anyhow. He'd be right there alongside his friend, for life.

“I'd bet there's probably a couple'a hundred of them arriving over the next week for the automotive convention starting tomorrow,” Baltimore continued, casually lying on his side in white cotton boxers and a matching sleeveless undershirt. “Just think about all of that money rolling into town with them. There'll be a million ways to hustle up on some cool scratch. Better than slaving for folks who'd just as soon have you locked up for bumping into 'em if they's on the streets instead of on this train. Naw, man, this is the stop for me. Kansas City is where I ditch that shadow that's been hounding me. And the only way to get it off my back is with a heap of good luck to turn it around,” he said. “So, you can tell old man Sterling to kiss my ass.”

“You can tell him your damned self 'cause here he comes, breathing smoke and chewing nails,” Henry said as he peered down the long aisle. Sure enough, the salty and well-seasoned chief of the service staff was rambling fast toward the men's sleeping quarters.

Mr. Thaddeus Sterling was old enough to be a father to most of the cooks and waitstaff on the train, although he was a white Southerner, whose purpose in life was stocking a full crew that took their posts seriously and didn't cause too much trouble. When he reached the bunks in disarray, he appeared mad enough to spit. “Is this the best I can expect from you, son?” he asked Baltimore. “'Cause if'n it is, that dog won't hunt. Not today, it won't.”

“Mistuh Sterling, it's not like that,” Baltimore answered, in a semi-respectful tone. “Well, not exactly, anyway. I'm beholden to you for letting me on but—” he tried to explain before the older man cut him off.

“But nothing! I knew you couldn't hack it. I could tell it the minute I laid eyes on you. ‘There's too much pride in that fella,' I said. ‘He'll buckle as sure as my frumpy aunt Fanny's knees,' I said.” The supervisor had saliva collecting at the corners of his mouth, he was so upset. Truth be told, he was very fond of Baltimore, and that's why he rode him so hard.

“Mistuh Sterling, I'm actually sorry to hear about your fat ass aunt Fanny's knees and such, though it appears you've been right about me all the while,” Baltimore patronized him and then winked at Henry. “But, you can do us both a favor if you run and go put my exit pay together while you're celebrating just how right you was.” Henry took a calculated step back and away from Baltimore then, fearing that Mr. Sterling would fire off and slap the taste out of his friend's mouth on general principle alone. He was almost disappointed when it didn't happen.

“Exit pay!” the supervisor yelled, putting his face in Baltimore's like a veteran drill sergeant breaking in a new recruit. “Now ain't that a kick in the head. You've got some nerve, son, some kind of nerve, I swear. The shoes, you owe me for. Three uniforms, you still owe me for, and you eat like a man twice your size. If anything is left in the balance,
Mr. Floyd,
it's you who owes me!” Mr. Sterling had gone and worked himself up into a thick lather all over again, and it was partly due to his associate's rabble-rousing remarks.

“Tell you what, Mistuh Sterling. I'm willing to let it go and call it even,” Baltimore suggested, knowing he'd be dismissed as soon as those words rushed away from his lips.

“Uh-huh, that's just what I thought you'd say. Now, get the hell off my train, and be quick about it, before I have you run in for loitering,” he threatened, merely for grins. When Mr. Sterling noticed how hard Henry was trying to avoid eye contact, he barked up another tree. “And what's gotten into you? Ohhh no, don't tell me you want to have a discussion about your exit pay, too?”

Henry threw his gaze at Baltimore and then down toward the ground again. “Naw, suh, I wouldn't think of doing no such thing, and I'm obliged to you for giving me a spot on your crew, but I'ma be getting the hell off your train with Baltimore.”

“Dammit, I should've known,” replied the supervisor as he looked the guys over suspiciously. “This doesn't have anything to do with one of our dining guests jumping the train last night, does it?”

“No siree, we don't know nothing about that, do we, Henry?” hinted Baltimore.

“Naw, suh. Uh-uh, nothing at all. Nothing,” Henry answered emphatically. He was certain then he'd made a mistake by keeping Darby's association ring, but he couldn't see parting with it now. Holding on to it, that was his second mistake.

Mr. Sterling eased the black visor back past the cusp of his head and used his skinny fingers to scratch at his balding scalp. “Damnedest thing about the fellow who jumped, his friends say he left a satchel in his drawing room with over fifty thousand clams packed away in it. Oh well, as long as you boys don't know anything about it, try to stay out of trouble, because you won't be welcomed back this way if'n you can't. Don't take no wooden nickels,” he added on his way back down the aisle. “And, don't take anything that don't belong to you when you get off, neither.”

Baltimore heard Mr. Sterling refer to him and Henry as boys, but there wasn't an ounce of malice in his manner, so he let it fall by the wayside. They had both been caught off guard regarding the opportunity they'd missed by not searching the dead man's stored belongings. Baltimore tried to hide the fact that he was furious while he pondered what might have been had he simply planned and plotted the robbery, instead of allowing his anger to guide it. The next time such an occasion presented itself, the outcome would be substantially more favorable, he decided, substantially more favorable.

After throwing several slightly used toiletries and just about everything else he owned into a small plyboard suitcase someone had left on the train during a short stopover in Denver, Baltimore stepped down onto the platform and smiled heartily. “Henry, the air is crisp, and the women are hot. Let's enjoy one and do something about the other,” he strongly recommended.

“Don't look now, but there's the police talking with some mighty impo'tant-looking white folks,” Henry replied while peering up the platform in the direction they were heading.

Baltimore grimaced. He knew what had to be done. “Damned the luck,” he cussed quietly. “I just got this suit!” He peered over at Henry and felt like crying on the spot when several of the important-looking white men began pointing toward him. “Henry, hand me your travel bag, put this here suit-box back on the train, and step away real natural-like.” Henry didn't fully understand why his friend was willing to leave all of his worldly possessions behind, regardless of how meager they happened to have been. Because Baltimore sounded so determined, Henry didn't hesitate to do as instructed. As Baltimore strolled closer to the police car parked alongside the train stop, he glanced over at Henry and then placed a helping hand on his shoulder. “Now, you act like your gut is ailing you something fierce if they start nosing around about that dead fella, you hear?”

“Yeah, I'll play along,” Henry answered, hoping it wouldn't come to that.

“Howdy, Officer,” Baltimore hailed vigorously as they approached the collection of white men.

“Yeah, that's him, the thinner one on the right,” one of the card-players from the night before announced. He looked at Baltimore's casual navy slacks and dark wool peacoat. “He's a bit more relaxed now, but that's the one who left with Darby.”

“You deliver ice and refreshments to these men last night?” asked the burly city cop, dressed in a long-sleeved winter uniform. Looking on curiously, his partner was just as stout and a few inches taller.

“Yeazah,” Baltimore said quickly. “And that other man, the bad one at cards, said he'd pay me ten dollars, but then he met up with some woman. Told me to wait at the icebox, so I did.”

“This woman, what'd she look like?” asked the officer who seemed to be in charge.

During his dissertation, Baltimore kept looking at Henry, waiting on him to go into his shtick about stomach pains. Unfortunately, all Henry could think about was that fancy ring burning a hole in his pocket. “Oh, she was a looker with long brown hair,” said Baltimore, when a woman fitting that description entered his line of vision from the station. “She had a style about her, too. Kinda put you in the mind of that one there.” He gestured at the woman, whom he'd never laid eyes on until then, and suggested she be questioned instead of him. “But like I was saying, after that man didn't come back, I went on to sleep, as much as I could with my friend here complaining half the night about the piles.” When Henry realized he'd been given a cue to chime in, after Baltimore told the bald-faced lie on him whining throughout the night about chronic diarrhea, he went to holding his stomach with both hands.

“Ooh, he's sho' right,” Henry howled. “I think I feel another spell coming on. We's on the way to see the doc now.” Without waiting on permission to be dismissed, Henry staggered off, holding the backside of his worn gray corduroy pants. “If y'all getting back on the 219, don't eat the steak 'n eggs.” Each of the men looked uncomfortably at one another because nearly all of them had had steak and eggs with their breakfasts before disembarking.

“We'll be back before she pulls off if you want to ask us some more questions about that man,” quipped Baltimore, hoping they would be willing to let it go at that.

Continuing on with their course of action, Henry leaned on Baltimore and groaned louder than before. “Awwwe! You gots to get me to the doctor!” he wailed loudly. “Awwwe, I'm about to bust open!” Instead of offering to lend them a ride to a colored doctor's office, the policemen waved the two black men off, figuring them useless in the disappearance investigation of Darby Kent, personal assistant to Pierre Albert, a famous automobile designer.

“How you feel now?” Henry fussed as soon as he limped around the corner of a brick building and out of sight of the cops. “You don't have the man's suit or his fifty grand, neither? All you got is a head full of ideas that almost sent us to the chain gang.”

Baltimore stared at Henry, with a concerned expression, because he'd never doubted him before. Something had transpired, and Baltimore wanted to know what it was. “What chain gang? Well, would you look at this? You let a couple of country-ass cops start poking around, and you fall apart like a wet paper sack. Henry, what's gotten into you?” The expression Henry exhibited was a shameful one. Immediately, he began feeling bad for running afoul where unshakeable friendship was concerned. “Haven't I always looked after you?” asked Baltimore. “And, haven't I always shared every last thing I came by with you? Huh? Didn't I get you outta that scrape when Butcher Davis was looking to cut your head off over his oldest daughter?” Baltimore added, laying it on thick enough to spread. When Henry appeared legitimately remorseful, he went in for the kill and nailed the coffin shut. “Then is it too much to ask that you share in
my
misery from time to time? Or is you gonna be a fair-weather friend after all we've been through together? Tell me, because I need to know.” Baltimore pouted sincerely, as if he were really taken aback.

Henry contemplated all the trouble Baltimore had gotten him into as well as out of over the past four years, and it teetered on evening out, so he hunched his shoulders and shook his head apologetically. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” he said eventually. “I'm sorry for getting shook up enough to think of turning on you. You've done right by me when I couldn't make due for myself. I ain't gone ever forget that.”

Baltimore fought back a smile, biting his lips. “Don't mention it, Henry. Friends shouldn't have to. Let's get out of this cold and scrounge up some grub. There's a diner up on Twelfth Street. Might even have a pretty waitress or two.”