Dead Man's Tunnel (10 page)

“Now what?” she asked.

He cranked again. “She was running fine earlier.”

“Well, something's wrong,” she said.

“It's the equipment,” Hook said. “Maintenance is not what it should be, what with the war.”

“You have fuel, don't you?” she asked.

“Course,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“I'm pretty sure,” he said.

She looked at him, and he could see the fire in her eyes even in the darkness.

“I don't remember you checking the fuel before we left,” she said.

“I'll check it now, if that will make you happy,” he said.

He unscrewed the gas tank lid and shined the flashlight into it.

“I'll be,” he said. “It's that Scrap West siphoning gas again.”

“You mean we are stuck out here?” she said. “You can't expect me to walk all the way to town.”

Hook screwed the lid back on. “It's a nice night,” he said. “And not such a bad walk.”

*   *   *

They walked back to West's Salvage Yard in silence. When they reached the staff car, the lieutenant took off his jacket and dusted off her uniform, which now looked a good deal like Scrap's overalls.

“Your coat,” she said, holding it out.

“Why don't you wear it home,” he said. “It's pretty chilly.”

“No thank you,” she said. “I intend to erase this entire day from memory.”

Hook started to respond but decided against it. Instead, he lit a cigarette and watched as she drove off. When her lights had disappeared, he walked to Scrap's office.

Scrap had both feet up on his desk and was working the slug out of his pipe with a screwdriver. When he saw Hook, he pushed his hat onto the back of his head.

“You get in another fight down at the pool hall, Hook? I ain't doing no fines.”

Hook pulled up a chair. Brushing off his knees, he sat down.

“Maybe I have and maybe I haven't, if it's all the same to you.”

Scrap fired up his pipe. “If you'd spend your time hunting them copper thieves instead of brawling, life might be more rewarding, and maybe I could turn a profit around here.”

“Now there you go jumping to conclusions,” Hook said. “What you think I've been doing?”

Scrap dropped his feet and studied Hook over the desk.

“You caught 'em?” he asked.

Hook worked at a burr buried in his sock. “Four of them,” he said. “Under the culvert just beyond the siding. They probably throw the copper off as the cars are made up for a run, stash it in the culvert, and truck it out at their pleasure.”

“I'll be damned,” he said. “I take everything back what I said about you, Hook, and most of what I thought.”

“Thing is, they overpowered me and got away.”

“They got away?”

“For the time being.”

Scrap lit a match and sucked his pipe back to life. “But you saved the copper?”

“Not exactly.”

“The thieves got away and with my copper to boot?”

“They weren't anxious to stick around for another go after I worked them over,” Hook said. “No need for thanks.”

Scrap laid his pipe in the Chevy hubcap that doubled as a paperweight for his car titles. He scratched his head.

“You're telling me you caught 'em, but they got away?”

“Yes, sir, that's more or less how it happened.”

“And you saved my copper, but now it's gone?”

“That's the short of it.”

Scrap shoved his hands into his pockets and started for the door. About halfway there, he turned.

“Just what am I supposed to do now?”

Hook stood and squashed out his cigarette.

“Scrap,” he said. “That's the one question you might not want to ask.”

 

12

T
HE NEXT DAY
Hook waited until he heard the crane start up before he went to the office to call Eddie Preston.

“Security,” Eddie said.

“Eddie, this is Hook Runyon.”

“Runyon, what the hell is going on out there?”

“Chasing thieves, Eddie. I hear that's what security is supposed to do.”

“I get a call from the engineer on the eastbound hotshot. He says he dang near hit a popcar that had been left on the tracks outside Ash Fork. He says he damn near ran over some fool pushing it down track. So I says, ‘Don't worry about it. We got all kinds of dead people up and down the track out there. What's another one more or less?'”

“That's a real cynical point of view, Eddie.”

“So, I'm thinking to myself, what kind of a dumb ass would leave a popcar on the tracks with a hotshot coming in, and guess who came to mind?”

Scrap opened the door and commenced searching for his pipe tobacco.

“Hello, hello,” Eddie said. “Damn it, Runyon. Don't hang up on me.”

“Copper thieves, Eddie,” Hook said. “First thing I know the eastbound's coming in. I almost managed to nab those copper thieves, but the bastards outnumbered me.”

“Count on an investigation,” Eddie said. “The railroad frowns on leaving popcars on the main line. And then there's that other thing, too.”

“What other thing?”

“That orphanage formed a committee. They're unhappy about the government using tax money to buy rubbers for soldiers.”

“They use tax money to buy bombs,” Hook said. “Anyone worried about that?”

“They ain't happy about them rubbers.”

“Can't they just destroy them?”

“They're government property. It's against the law.”

“Well, give the rubbers back to the railroad.”

“The railroad don't want them, Runyon. Nobody would have known anything about this if you hadn't set that car loose.”

“Next time I'll just let them shut the main line down,” Hook said.

“And what about that Johnson Canyon Tunnel deal?” Eddie asked.

“What about it?”

“You wrapped it up?”

Hook lit a cigarette and looked over at Scrap, who was taking a nap under his hat.

“I don't think it was an accident,” he said.

“Well, it damn sure wasn't natural causes, unless you count being run over by a train natural.”

“There was a love triangle, Eddie.”

“A what?”

“Those two guards were sleeping with the same woman.”

“I don't care if it was a circle jerk, Runyon. The railroad's getting ready to pour a lot of money into that line, and I don't want delays.”

“I found that guard's flashlight at the bottom of the trestle. Why would he go into the tunnel without his light?”

“Maybe he didn't want to see the train that was going to run over him.”

“And maybe he dropped the flashlight during a struggle on the trestle,” Hook said.

“If you think there was a love circle, turn it over to the military, Runyon.”

“Triangle,” Hook said.

“What?”

“A love triangle, Eddie. Jesus, you need to get out of the office once in a while.”

“Whatever,” he said. “In the meantime, see if you can't stop those copper thieves before they shut down the whole system. That's why you're out there, you know.”

“Little static on the line, Eddie. I'm having trouble hearing. Are you still there? Hello. I'll check back later, Eddie.”

Hook hung up the phone and searched out a cigarette. Scrap scratched his chin and tossed his hat onto the toe of his boot.

“What's this about rubbers?” he asked.

“Don't start, Scrap.”

“You got rubbers, Hook, I got a right to know.”

“There were army condoms on a railcar that turned over, that's all. The damn things wound up in the wrong hands.”

Scrap blew on his pipe and reached for his tobacco. “The army's got rubbers?”

“Where you been all your life, hanging out with Eddie?”

“What do they do with them?”

“Jesus, Scrap, what do you think?”

After filling his pipe, Scrap hung it in the corner of his mouth. He studied Hook.

“What color are they?”

“What color are what?”

“Try to concentrate, Hook. We're talking rubbers here.”

“Army green. Hell, I don't know. What difference does it make?”

“All those rubbers will be coming back as surplus,” he said. “I figure a man could pick 'em up cheap.”

“And what would you do with army surplus rubbers?” Hook asked, shaking his head.

“Sell them. What do you think? Just 'cause the war's over don't mean people are going to stop making unwanted babies.”

“Just forget it, Scrap. You can't sell green army rubbers out of a salvage yard.”

Scrap lit his pipe and hooked his thumbs under his overalls' straps.

“I don't know why not. I sold two hundred boxes of sanitary napkins one time. Bought from a trucker what tipped over his eighteen wheeler. I knew the time of month of every woman between here and Flagstaff.”

Scrap sucked at his pipe and looked at Hook. “Did you know them things come in different sizes? Now that's something to ponder, ain't it?”

“No, it isn't,” Hook said. “How about loaning me the jeep for a few hours?”

“Oh, sure. Why not?”

“You haven't taken the motor out of it yet, have you?”

“Something's been sucking eggs down at my chicken coop,” he said, ignoring Hook. “Eggshells everywhere. Looks like it snowed, and all the chickens are walking around in a daze.”

“Are you going to loan me the jeep, Scrap?”

“Alright, take it,” he said, handing him the keys.

“There's a place in heaven set aside just for you,” Hook said.

“Well, that's good 'cause I sure wouldn't have to worry about yard dogs no more,” he said.

*   *   *

Hook found Sheriff Roscoe Mueller in city hall, sitting at his desk. His blue uniform, leftover fat clothes by the looks of them, hung on his frame like a sack. The collar of his T-shirt had been frizzed by an overabundant beard, and hair sprang from his nostrils, the tops of his ears, and fingers. In a different setting, he might be mistaken for a gorilla or orangutan. His badge, big as a jar lid, looked like something from a kid's cowboy outfit.

The nightstick lying on top of his desk had been the same one he'd offered to break Hook's head with at the pool hall skirmish. The sheriff had backed off upon realizing that Hook was a railroad dick. Hook had learned over the years that some of the most dangerous cops could be found in the backwash towns of America. A good many were less than concerned about lawful procedures.

Sheriff Mueller looked up from his paper. “Well,” he said, “if it ain't the yard dog. How's the junk business these days?”

“Never any shortage of junk,” Hook said.

“Heard someone left the popcar on the main line, Hook. Trains run on those main lines, in case you didn't know.”

“Yeah,” Hook said. “The divisional supervisor filled me in on that.

“Look, Sheriff, I got boys stealing Scrap's copper right off the cars. Where do you figure they are selling it?”

“Any salvage yard in the country,” he said. “Say, I hear tell that sergeant at the tunnel tried to stop a hotshot with his hand, and it didn't work out so well?”

“It's not altogether clear,” Hook said.

The sheriff rolled up his paper and tossed it in the trash basket. “I figured to help sweep up out there, but that lieutenant said the army would be taking care of things.

“The digger said they shipped the body back. Why is this
your
problem, Hook? Don't you have enough to worry about?”

“You know how the railroad is,” Hook said.

“I sure don't remember lieutenants looking like that when I was in the army,” the sheriff said.

Hook pulled up a chair and fished out a cigarette. “The world's changing, Roscoe. Going to leave you behind.”

“That's for sure,” he said, hiking his boot up on the desk.

“You managing to keep the peace around here?” Hook asked.

“Now that you ain't busting up the pool hall, things been pretty quiet.”

“Sorry about that little bang-up,” Hook said. “Appreciate the professional courtesy, though.”

“Well, Ben Hoffer's been asking for an ass kicking most of his life,” he said. “Guess he was waiting for you to come along to do it.”

“I try not to break the law most of the time,” Hook said. “Sometimes it just can't be helped.”

The sheriff reached for a pencil and dug a wad of gum loose from under the heel of his boot.

“I figure Ben started things, or I'd have run you in, Hook. That's the way it is. You might want to keep your eyes open. Ben Hoffer ain't one to take a beating and forget it.”

“Thanks. I'll do that, Sheriff.”

“I figure you ain't here to ask forgiveness, Hook, or to check on how my day's going.”

“Been wondering if you know anything about Corporal Thibodeaux?” he said. “He's one of the guards out at the tunnel.”

“Thibodeaux? Yeah, I know him. He's living here in Ash Fork. Been staying at Linda Sue's, the waitress over at Blue's Café.”

“You got anything on him?”

“Hot checks,” he said. “Thibodeaux's got a problem getting from one payday to the next on his own funds. Never nothing big, just piddling shit. But I'm getting damn tired of chasing him down. I told him next hot one and he gets sack time in my hotel. He don't show for duty and the army eats his ass. He knows how it goes.”

“What about Linda Sue?” Hook asked.

“Been waitressing most her life. No one works harder than Linda Sue, but she ain't got a notion when it comes to men. She can spot a goddang bum a hundred miles away, and there ain't nothing she likes better. Her and Corporal Thibodeaux were born for each other.”