The Hanging of Samuel Ash (19 page)

“What about you?” Junior asked.

“I haven't done anything,” Hook said.

Junior rolled his eyes. “I mean what will you be doing?”

“I'll take the popcar back. Meet me at the depot when you're finished.”

“And Jackie?” Junior asked.

“Bring her to the depot with you.”

“You aren't going to turn her over to the police, are you?”

Hook looked at Jackie, who had found her lipstick and was busy applying a new coat.

“Not yet, Junior. But you remember she's here because of her involvement with pickpockets. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

Junior ducked his head. “Yes, sir.”

“And I'd be damn careful about picking a fight with her, if I were you.”

*   *   *

Hook found the operator reading the last chapter of his Zane Grey novel. He looked up when Hook came in and then slipped the book into the drawer.

“Haven't found the owner's name yet?” Hook asked.

The operator grinned. “Pampa called, and they've got a crew working on that hoptoad. They said it wouldn't take long to clear it enough for slow traffic.”

Hook nodded. “The rail's still intact, more or less.”

“I heard they found blood everywhere, but they couldn't find nobody, dead or alive.”

“What time does the eastbound
Super Chief
come through?” Hook asked.

“Ten.”

“Anything else coming in?”

The operator checked the board. “Eastbound cattle train about three in the morning.”

“Mind if I use your phone?”

“Go ahead,” he said.

Hook dialed Eddie and waited through several rings.

“Security,” Eddie said.

“Eddie, this is Hook.”

“Runyon, have you left the country? The main line's shut down, and the big boys are on their hind legs.”

“It's all taken care of, Eddie. Turns out Moose Barrick tampered with the tracks, and then he made the mistake of coming back to steal freight.”

“How do you know that?”

“Crack detective work, Eddie. Moose is cooling in the Panhandle jail as we speak.”

“Are you sure it was Moose who did it?”

“Start the paperwork, Eddie. We got him dead to rights.”

“Were there others?”

“Hard to say.”

“Is that it, Runyon?”

“I could use an advance on my paycheck.”

“Don't try to be funny, Runyon. Security work ain't funny.”

“Look, Eddie, I've got these pickpockets on the run. But I think the main man is working out of Kansas City.”

“Surprise us all and arrest him, Runyon.”

“It's not that simple. Trains don't stand still, you know. I need someone herding him this way, someone to help box him in.”

“Can't you keep it simple, Runyon?”

“I'll try for your sake, Eddie. Look, I want to send that greenhorn on ahead to Kansas City, so we can squeeze those bastards from both ends.”

“So, send him.”

“You'd think the company could come up with a goddang pass by now, wouldn't you? It's important I get him up there tonight. I want to put him on the
Super
.”

“Taking up a seat on the
Super
costs the company a lot of money.”

“If the word gets out that she's crawling with pickpockets, it will cost a hell of a lot more.”

Eddie fell silent and then said, “What is it exactly you want?”

“Arrange with the operator here for a ticket. I'm pretty sure we can nail these bastards if we move on it now.”

Eddie thought for a while before answering. “Alright,” he said. “But why do I feel like I'm getting screwed?”

“It's just a passing fantasy, Eddie. You'll get over it.”

*   *   *

Hook, Junior, and Jackie waited on the platform for the
Super Chief
to slide in. Hook handed the
Super Chief
ticket to Jackie.

“This will get you back to Kansas City,” he said.

She looked up at him. “You mean you're not going to arrest me?”

“Lack of evidence,” he said. “But if I catch you on my trains again, it will be a different story. Do we understand each other?”

Jackie went forward to give her ticket to the conductor. She waved her fingers at Junior before turning to Hook.

“Barney wears a gander feather stuck in the brim of his hat,” she said. “You can't miss it in a crowd.”

*   *   *

Hook and Junior waited on the platform as Jackie searched out her seat. She folded a stick of gum into her mouth and watched them from the window as the
Super Chief
pulled away.

Junior sighed. “Real nice of you, Hook.”

“Nice had nothing to do with it, Junior. Had I the evidence, she'd be sitting in jail with Moose Barrick this very minute.

“I saw you ogling that girl, Junior. A detective has to keep his head clear at all times. You start getting all involved, and you're likely to get into trouble.”

Junior looked at his feet. “I didn't mean anything by it, Hook. Anyway, you're the best yard dog I know.”

“I'm the
only
one you know, Junior.”

“Are we going back to Clovis now?”

Hook pulled at his chin. “There's still a pickpocket on the loose. I want you to go on ahead to Kansas City and start working your way back. Lay over at the depots along the way. Wander around like as if you don't know what the hell you're doing.”

“Sure. I can do that, Hook.”

“If you come up with something, call Popeye or Eddie. I suggest you call Popeye since Eddie doesn't like things to get complicated.”

“The
Super
goes to Kansas City, right?”

“That's right.”

“So you've a
Super Chief
ticket for me, too?”

“It's rare to find boes and pickpockets riding in the
Super
's dining car, Junior. It's important to get out amongst them if you claim to be a real yard dog.”

“Then how am I supposed to get there?”

“There's a stock train coming through at three
A.M.
I asked the operator to call in a slow for you, seeing as how you haven't mastered the skill of hopping a train yet.”

“Aw, jeez, Hook, again?”

“And keep it a little more tidy, Junior. Poor hygiene reflects on the company.”

Junior looked down the track. “So, what are you going to be doing?”

“I've got a casket to deliver.”

“Couldn't you just send it on the train?”

“Someday you're going to make prosecutor, Junior, and when that day comes, no matter where I am, I want you to give me a call.”

“Why's that, Hook?”

Hook turned and walked off down the track. “'Cause that's the day I'll be killing myself,” he said over his shoulder.

 

21

 

M
IXER, BUSY WORKING
a burr out of his paw, looked up at Hook and then lay back down next to the casket. He'd taken a fancy to the spot and had refused to come into the caboose lately, even to eat. Hook, understanding that Mixer lived by a set of rules known only to him and God, had started leaving food and water outside the door.

Once in the caboose, Hook lit the lantern and checked out the remains of his pants. Having been dragged downline on the tinder ladder and scrubbed through the cinders by half the signal gang, his pants were now torn and ragged.

He fixed himself a Beam and water and lined his collection of books across the table. The 1902
Hound of the Baskervilles
slid into its slot like a new brass bushing, the final piece that turned the parts into a whole.

Hook liked things completed, finished. He liked knowing that nothing remained to be done. Finding the final piece to the puzzle, the last remnant of a life's work, provided pleasure unparalleled in the world of collecting.

Hook sipped his whiskey and ran his finger down the spine of the purloined book. Left on its own, it would most likely have ended its life in a landfill. No doubt the library didn't even know that it had been taken, that a lesser book now reigned in its place. In any case, who would care? No one understood its value like him. No one appreciated its place in the world like him.

He drained his glass and poured another, shorting the water, which had grown tepid in the hot caboose. Walking to the door, he opened it and looked out on the casket. Mixer lay curled in the same spot.

Junior had a point. He could have sent the casket on by train or, for that matter, left it to be buried in the pauper's grave in Carlsbad. The body he'd taken down from the wigwag would return to dust no matter where it lay.

For Hook, death had always been a companion, a friend of the most serious kind, one who visited sometimes in the wee hours. Often, he waited for it in the darkness to share his secrets. How could he now abandon it for the sake of convenience? What compelled him to take this stranger home, he didn't know. Perhaps death, like his purloined book, deserved its place in the scheme of things. He needed the boy returned to where he belonged, and he needed to do it personally. He needed it finished.

Closing the door, he fixed another Beam and slid the bottle to the side. He thought about the events of the last few weeks. For days he'd been unable to shake the feeling that someone followed his every move.

Twice now he'd been attacked by unknown assailants: once dangling from the tinder ladder and another when someone took a potshot at him. It could have been Moose, a man capable of violence, or it could have been the allusive Barney, who, according to Jackie, carried a firearm and had no qualms about using it. Even Jackie herself could not be left out of the equation, though she may well have saved his life at the hoptoad.

Finishing off his drink, he hung the glass upside down on the bottle neck, took off his prosthesis, and crawled into bed. Mixer's leg thumped on the platform outside as he dug at an ear. Hook put the pillow over his head and closed his eyes. It had been a trying few days all around. But tomorrow, being payday, promised to be better.

*   *   *

Frenchy arrived at sunup and had coupled in before Hook could get his coffee made. When Hook opened the door, Frenchy stood there about to knock.

“We're pulling out,” he said. “You got any girls in there, you better send them home to their mommas.”

Hook rubbed the sleep from his face. “I haven't had my breakfast yet, Frenchy. What the hell is the rush?”

Frenchy lit up his cigar and pushed back his hat. “Engineers run on a fast clock, unlike some folks I know. You riding with me or sleeping your life away in here?”

“Alright. I'm coming.”

“And do something with this dog. The son of a bitch tried to bite me.”

“Jesus,” Hook said. “I wonder why?”

*   *   *

Hook poured coffee out of Frenchy's thermos and took up his perch in the back of the cab. The old engine bore down as she hauled at her load. By the time they hit the limits of Panhandle, she churned along at a top speed of forty miles an hour.

Frenchy lit his cigar and leaned back in his seat. “We'll be laying over in Canadian, Texas, Hook. I think this old gal's sprung a leak somewhere, and she won't hold pressure. I'm taking her into the roundhouse to see the pipe fitter.”

Hook lit a cigarette and shook his head. “This old clunker spends more time in the hospital than she does on the rails, Frenchy.”

“Wait 'til you get as old as her and see how hot you can run, Hook.”

Frenchy slowed as they approached the hoptoad. The engine bumped and rolled when she hit the loosened rails. Only one of the derailed cars now lay on her side in the right-of-way. The crew, still working to upright her, stepped back and waited as they idled by.

Hook stepped to the door and looked through the faces. Recognizing none, he returned to his perch and stretched out for a nap.

“Keep an eye out for trouble,” he said. “There's been a lot of derailments of late.”

Frenchy pushed back his hat. “Don't you worry about that. I've been running these old smudge pots for nearly forty years, and I ain't tipped one over yet.”

*   *   *

A few hours later, Frenchy lay in on his whistle as they approached Canadian. Hook got up and stretched out the kinks.

“Leave me off at the depot, Frenchy. I need to find the paymaster.”

“It's a rare yard dog what puts a dime away for tomorrow,” Frenchy said.

“And it's a rare engineer what takes it with him beyond the grave,” Hook said. “I'll catch up with you at the roundhouse.”

*   *   *

After collecting his check, Hook made for the Harvey House to eat breakfast. The smell of bacon cooking greeted him at the door, and a Harvey girl, fresh as the morning, guided him to his table.

He ordered three eggs, sunny-side up, sugar-cured ham, scratch biscuits topped with white gravy, hash browns, tomato marmalade, and a cup of Chase and Sanborn coffee.

“Anything else?” the waitress asked, lifting her brows.

Hook thought it over. “A rack of bacon, crisp.”

After breakfast, he went to the reading room, where he caught up on the news. President Truman was still threatening to nationalize the railroad because of all the wildcat strikes. Hook folded the paper and lay it aside. “And he thought the
war
was tough. Wait 'til he tries to run a railroad,” he said to himself.

Afterward, he went to the depot and called Popeye, who said he hadn't heard from Junior yet, thank the Lord, and then he reminded Hook that today, being payday, might be a good time to settle up on that three dollars he owed.

*   *   *

Hook walked to the roundhouse and found the caboose and the salvage engines sided a short walk from the turntable. Like a giant cat, Frenchy's engine straddled the work pit in the third stall of the roundhouse. Hook could hear voices emanating from underneath the engine.