Dead Man's Tunnel (14 page)

“Morning,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”

“Spiders have to stay alert,” he said.

She reached for a thermos. “I stopped at Blue's and picked up coffee.”

“Thanks,” he said. “How's Blue doing today?”

“He said that Linda Sue had been one of his best workers, except she had a taste for the wild side and that it usually came in the form of a knucklehead.”

“No shortage of those,” Hook said.

As they drove into the countryside, he cracked his window. The morning smelled clean and new.

“You have kin, Lieutenant?” he asked. “Brothers? Sisters?”

She shook her head. “Only child.”

“Spoiled?”

“I received lots of attention, if that's what you mean. Contrary to what most people believe, being an only child is not always so easy. You grow up with only adults around, and you're expected to be an adult yourself. My father, being military, believed in discipline, you see, and excuses were not well received.”

“Hard duty, I guess. For a kid, I mean,” he said.

“At times, but it's served me well.”

“I grew up in a large family,” he said. “Not much attention to go around. They just threw me into the pen with the others.”

“Oh, really, that's not true.”

“Like you, it has served me well.”

“We all have to adjust to our situations,” she said. “It's a matter of backbone, isn't it?”

Her hair turned out in perfect curls, and her eyes snapped with spunk. But there was something about her, as if she had her arm stuck out in front of her to keep everyone at bay.

“You're a pretty smart lady,” he said. “Once you get your shooting skills polished up, you'll be about perfect, I guess.”

“I doubt that you think anyone perfect.”

Hook lit a cigarette and hung his elbow out the window.

“My experience is that intelligence is where you find it, and I've found it in some mighty unexpected places.”

“But intelligence has to be applied, doesn't it, or it's of little value to anyone?”

“Some folks don't even know they have it,” he said. “I once saw a bo memorize the numbers of every boxcar in a forty-car freighter as it passed over the crossing at twenty miles an hour. He could repeat the numbers forwards and backwards.”

“Oh, really.”

“Not only that but he could tell you which cars were sealed and which were open. He thought everyone could do it.”

The lieutenant lifted her brows. “I never know when you're telling the truth and when you are lying.”

“About fifty-fifty,” he said. “So, what happens to Lieutenant Capron when this war's wrapped up?”

She moved the mirror before answering. “I've yet to figure that out,” she said.

“That bomb's likely to change the world,” he said. “It's like holding a lit stick of dynamite in a gunpowder factory. You don't know whether to keep it or throw it.”

“Things could go either way now, good or bad,” she said. “The world is scrambling for position. The next few years could be dangerous for us all.”

“An old steamer is enough power for any man,” he said. “But then no one has ever asked me how I want the world to go.”

*   *   *

The minute they walked into the hospital room, Hook recognized the engineer as his old pal. Frenchy sat on the side of the bed in his hospital gown. If ever a man looked out of place in a hospital gown, it had to be Frenchy.

“Frenchy,” Hook said. “What the hell happened?”

Frenchy reached back and clamped his gown together.

“Hook? I'll be damned. What you doing here?”

“This is Lieutenant Allison Capron. She's with the army's Department of Transportation,” Hook said. “One of those guards at the tunnel has gone AWOL.”

“Lieutenant,” Frenchy said. “I'd stand, but this here dress ain't been sewn together.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said. “I gather you two know each other?”

“Oh, hell, yes,” Frenchy said. “I knew Hook when he was a bo. He used to hitch my train.”

“Never did,” Hook said. “A man could starve to death riding one of your crawlers.”

“Hook here has a nose for trouble and a way of taking care of it when it comes,” he said. “Wouldn't want him to know it, though. Give him a compliment, and he'll follow you around like that dog of his.”

Hook took a look at the lump on Frenchy's head. “You got a skull thick as boilerplate,” he said.

“They're letting me out of this place anytime now. It's a good job, too, 'cause I don't have my cigars. A man without his cigars might do just about anything. I knew a feller once killed his whole family with a railroad pick when they hid his cigars from him.”

“How did you manage to get robbed, Frenchy?” Hook asked.

“We were laying by for a hotshot. You know that siding west of town?”

“Someone haul you out of the cab?”

“Nobody gets in my cab without my say-so. You know that, Hook.”

“Did you get a look at who did it?” the lieutenant asked.

“Not exactly. The end man came up to tell me he'd spotted a hotbox not far up from the bouncer and that I should go take a look. He stayed with the fireman while I worked my way back. Firemen have to be watched nearly every second, you know.

“So I head back, though it's against my better judgment. Walking track in the dark can end up any number of ways, most of them not good. Hell, there's rattlesnakes out there been known to drag men off into the desert.”

The lieutenant asked, “So, what happened?”

“About halfway back, somebody steps up behind me, sticks a gun in my back, and says, ‘Give me your money, or I'll be blowing your head off.'”

“Did you?” she asked.

“Damn right,” he said. “It ain't much of a head, but then it's the only one I got.”

“But you didn't see him?” Hook asked.

“About that time the hotshot comes charging full bore down line. She's got her glimmer on bright as morning, and she's blowing steam. This bastard lowers his gun for a second. I turn, see, and get a look at him.”

“Did you know him?” the lieutenant asked.

“Not as I recall, but he wasn't alone. This girl stood off behind.

“‘Turn around, you son of a bitch,' he says. When I do, he hits me with the butt of his rifle.”

“Are you certain it was a rifle?” she asked.

Frenchy rubbed his head. “Could have been the world's biggest pistol, I suppose.”

“Did you know the girl?”

“I've never seen her before. Next thing I know, I'm in this dress talking to a goddang yard dog and a female lieutenant.”

“Thanks, Frenchy,” Hook said. “We have a pretty good idea that the man is Corporal Thibodeaux, one of the guards out at Johnson Canyon Tunnel, and the girl is a waitress he took up with. They're on the lam and probably picking up cash where they can get it.”

“I heard about that sergeant out there,” he said. “Too bad, for him and the engineer what killed him. That tunnel has taken its share of lives over the years.”

“Did they call in an engineer to finish your run?” Hook asked.

“Naw,” he said. “I'm deadheading empty cars to West's Salvage over at Ash Fork. Picking up a load there and taking it to Williams Salvage. Soon as they've got a full train made up, I'll be making a run to the smelter. The railroad ain't in no hurry long as I get there this year or next.”

“That's where I'm working,” Hook said. “Eddie's got me chasing copper thieves.”

“You still living in that old louse box?”

“Still home,” he said. “How about a lift back to the salvage yard, Frenchy?”

“Well, long as I don't have to listen about them books,” he said. “I've already called in for clearance. The crew's out there now bringing up a head on that ole calliope. Soon as I shed this dress, we can go, providing you got a car.”

*   *   *

After Frenchy had climbed into the cab of the steamer, Hook got out of the staff car and went around to the lieutenant's window.

The lieutenant looked up at him. “What about the corporal and his girlfriend?” she asked.

“We can't be sure which direction they're headed,” he said. “But I figure we'll be hearing from them soon enough.”

“You'll let me know if anything comes up?”

“They'll be needing cash,” he said.

“I'll be in touch, then,” she said.

Steam shot from the engine and floated up into the blue as Frenchy brought her up.

“Right,” Hook said, turning to leave.

“And…”

“Yeah?” he said.

“Cast that web of yours far. It's important to the army that Corporal Thibodeaux be apprehended.”

 

18

H
OOK CLIMBED INTO
the cab and stowed away behind Frenchy's seat. The old steamer hissed and moaned, and steam shot from her belly. The fireman looked into the firebox before settling back.

Frenchy took off his hat, tapped a gauge with his pliers, and checked for the brakeman's signal. Hook could see where a spot of blood had soaked through the bandage on his head. Frenchy took his pocket watch out of his overalls, looked at it, and then slipped it back in.

“You ready, yard dog?” he asked.

“I've been ready for twenty minutes,” Hook said, winking at the fireman.

Frenchy eased the throttle forward. The engine reached down and bumped out the slack, sending a ripple the length of the train.

“Want me to get out and push?” Hook asked.

“Just sit there and play with your gun,” Frenchy said. “This here's a working man's job.”

With each stroke, the old girl gained momentum. She soon settled in at a steady clip. Hook loved the throb of the engine, the way it pooled deep within him. Rendered by fire and water, she came as close to being alive as ever a machine could. Her strokes hauled left and right and left again, her great hulk swaying down line like a giant horse.

Hook lit a cigarette and leaned over on an elbow. “I thought you were going to retire, Frenchy?”

Frenchy put his hat back on and checked a gauge. “Someone has to haul yard dogs up and down line, don't they?”

“Ain't it grand he doesn't have to be a genius to do it,” Hook said. “Given a train runs forward and backward on a rail. Even an engineer should get it mastered somewhere between hiring and retiring.”

“Well, it ain't the smartest man what points it out this far from the next stop,” Frenchy said.

“You figure I could catch a ride back out to the tunnel when you leave Ash Fork, Frenchy? I need to do some checking on things. I'll hitch the pusher coming back to town.”

“Oh, sure,” Frenchy said. “Maybe you could help me out on going forwards and backwards while we are at it.”

“Thing is, I thought I might check on my dog while you're switching out in Ash Fork.”

“Maybe you'd like to do your laundry while we're there, too. We'd be glad to hold up the line. Just because the security of the country depends on keeping this corridor open don't mean we shouldn't wait while you feed that goddang dog.

“Why don't you use your popcar, Hook, given you cinder dicks got more perks than a union boss?”

“Some idiot left it on the track, and a hotshot damn near gave it a lift into town. Eddie's not happy.”

“Did the idiot have one arm?” Frenchy asked, grinning.

“Copper thieves, I figure,” Hook said. “Can't turn your back for a minute.”

As they came down the final leg to the tunnel, Frenchy got a slow signal. Construction crews and dirt-moving equipment lined the tracks. The section gang had heavy rail strung down the right-of-way, and a pile driver had been sided for trestle work.

“What the hell's going on?” Frenchy asked. “They got the whole countryside tore up.”

“Upgrade, I guess,” Hook said. “It don't make sense to me. Looks like they're going to underpin the trestle, and they're lining the tunnel with boilerplate.”

As they rolled into the tunnel, the roar of the engine magnified, and the smell of steam and smoke filled the cab.

Frenchy shook his head and shouted above the din. “That's the railroad for you, ain't it. Build too much too late at too big a price. I guess no one's told the railroad the war is all but over.”

*   *   *

When they came upon the wigwag crossing outside Ash Fork, Frenchy lay in on the whistle and shifted his cigar to the other side of his mouth. Within moments West's Salvage Yard came into view. Mountains of scrap metal rose into the sky. There were piles of washing machines, refrigerators, and crushed cars rising up like volcanoes.

One stack contained hubcaps, another hot water heaters, and yet another nothing but horse-drawn farm machinery. Scrap, convinced at one time that the horse was on its way back, had bought up every bit of machinery within a hundred-mile radius of Ash Fork.

When Frenchy slowed, Hook swung down off the engine and made his way to the caboose, where he found Mixer sleeping in the shade. When Mixer spotted him, he lifted his head and thumped his tail. Bits of shell clung to his whiskers, and his belly rose up like a balloon.

“It looks like you been eating well enough without me,” Hook said.

He headed across the yard to catch up with Frenchy, who waited for the pusher to bump a line of empties off the siding.

Scrap spotted Hook from the crane and waved him over. Hook waited while he climbed down.

“I don't have all day to chat, Scrap. I'm headed back out to the tunnel with Frenchy.”

Scrap fished out his pipe and pushed his hat back. Dirt had gathered in the creases of his face, and his glasses were fogged with dust.

“That dog's been sucking my eggs, Hook.”

“Coons,” Hook said. “Once they get started, you can't get them shut down.”