Searching for Harpies

by Charlie Vogel

  Lori replied, “We won’t let anyone kill you. Unless, you decide you want to take me on.”

  “Lori, I may be stoned, but I know better. Here take it. Can you give me a few bills to pay the man?”

  The black limo pulled into the space in front of the fire hydrant. The door swung open. Lori placed an arm-twisting hold on Candy and forced her to bend over. In the next instant, Candy’s legs followed her miniskirt through the opened door. Fox leaned his head out. “Thanks Lori. I’ll take over.”

  Lori threw the small package towards the opened window; he caught it in the air. She calmly said, “No problem, but I need a favor back.”

  “Anything.”

  “Bob and I will be at the Gibson Yards in about thirty minutes. If you don’t hear from me in an hour and a half, could you come looking for us?”

  “I’ll be there. Oh, here’s the hundred bucks.”

  We watched the limo disappear around the intersection. I asked, “What will happen to her now?”

  “I hope he does what he promised and takes Candy to rehab. Its doors are open 24/7. Come on, we’ve got to go.”

  Returning to the parked Charger, I started the engine and the squealing tires took us back into traffic. Shifting gears, I inquired, “You sure that’s all Fox wanted from us?”

  “Yup.”

  A bright flash blinded me momentarily. Although I pushed the Charger into fourth gear, the explosion rocked the car and I swerved. The shriek of tires filled my ears as I whipped the stirring wheel and got the car back under control.

  “What in hell was that?” I almost yelled.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t hear anything.”

  “Bullshit. If we didn’t leave when we did, we’ve been blown to bits. What’s the matter with you? Why are you fucking laughing?”

  Lori sighed as she leaned into her seat.

  The car’s air-conditioning vented out the odor of gun-powder and burning debris. I rolled down the window. “Something blew up. You know about it, too. What the fuck happened?”

  Sirens screamed in the background, still blocks away. Lori moved her hands and patted places where she used to keep her cigarettes. Giving up the search, she calmly spoke, “I like Candy, and Fox treats his girls like family. Candy was doing too much drugs and she spent her time working for Harpies. Fox needed her for his business. We got Candy off the street, and now Fox will scratch our backs in case we ever need him.”

  I got the hint. She would not talk about the explosion until she was damn ready. “Okay, but what we did seemed too easy. I’m sure the whole episode was illegal. Why in hell couldn’t he snatch her himself?”

  “He tried to talk sense to her. She kept running from him. He’s getting old and has put on weight. He couldn’t run after her. The only other way he knows to stop someone is to shoot them. He needs Candy. She’s one of his best money makers.”

  “What was the hundred bucks for?’

  “A bet he paid off.”

  “What kind of a bet could you have had with Fox?”

  “He didn’t think I could have Candy in his car before the convenience store blew up.”

  The bright lights of fire trucks sped toward us. I swerved to the curb and stopped. Watching the second truck pass, I turned to my smug passenger. “They’re going to the Short Time Gas and Fill?”

  “Of course they’ll be too late. You want to place a bet on it?”

  “Tell me how the goddamn convenience store blew up!”

  “Fox had Worm place a bomb on a shelf near the floor safe. This is how Fox gets even with his enemies.”

  * * *

  The trainman stared at us. “Why do you want to know where switch two is at this time of night?” The strong odor of oil and sweat floated off the man as he leaned into my open window.

  “My wife’s cousin told us to meet him. I guess he’s coming to town on the rail.”

  Lori squeezed my knee. “Yeah. He’s an engineer and he’ll only have a few minutes with us. It’s almost ten now, we have to hurry.”

  “I’ve worked these yards for over twenty years. I know most of the train crews. What’s your cousin’s name?”

  Lori passed a closed hand by my face. “Here’s a hundred bucks for your trouble. We do have to go.”

  The man quickly grabbed the wadded bill. “Just follow this road to the crossing. Go over five sets of tracks, take a left and follow the road until you come to a tool shed. Switch two will be across the main line to the east.”

  I raced a switch engine to the crossing and followed the trainman’s hurried instructions. Soon our headlights flashed on the tool shed.

  “Okay, Lori, what does the main line look like?”

  “Hell if I know. Let’s walk east until we find someone.”

  The light from the utility pole poorly illuminated the dirt lot. I parked as close to the shed as possible and stepped out onto the hard-packed ground. It wasn’t long before uneven surface changed to railroad bed gravel. The sharp edges of the railbed’s rock ballast gave under the soles of my Nikes.

  Several tracks in front of us, a string of freight cars strangely rolled without the aid of an engine. The dark figure of a man stood near a switch stand. On a track beyond him, a rumbling locomotive passed. We waited until its less noisy line of cars slowly rolled by.

  Lori called out. “Gary?”

  “I’m surprised you found me,” he yelled back.

  She raised her voice over the rail yard sounds, “So, where’s the shit?”

  “You’re too late.” The short Gary moved in the shadows to face us, stopping with his legs spread, his fists on his hips.

  I stepped to Lori’s side. “What do you mean?”

  Lori let authority and anger fill her voice. “Look you son-of-a-bitch, we had a deal. Tell me which car the shit’s in.”

  “It’s over on the siding at the gate to the paper plant. You can see it from here.” He swung an arm to our right.

  The last rattling car of the string passed. I focused in the direction his finger pointed. Across six more sets of rails, a boxcar sat at the end of a string of flat cars, one track from the end of yards and close to the service road. Convenient. A large rental truck had been parked beside it. The dim light from a utility pole near the spot cast eerie shadows. The blur of graffiti on the car wasn’t readable from our position. I couldn’t see the P.E.G. markings, but the truck was pretty solid proof we were looking at our car.

  Lori asked, “Who does the goddamn truck belong to?”

  “Me first,” Gary snarled. “Who in the hell are you people?”

  “What the fuck so you care?” she yelled back at him.

  “Harpies didn’t send you. You two better get your asses out of here before you end up real dead.”

  I’m sure Lori saw the approaching car the same time I did. Instead of heading back to our Charger, we took off running, jumping over the steel rails and headed toward the distant boxcar. We cleared a set of tracks just as the uncoupling rod from a gondola car breezed my butt. .

  Not even breaking stride, Lori shouted over her shoulder, “That was close.”

  “If I was slower . . . I’d be spaghetti,” I panted out.

  Our attention focused on the light reflecting off tracks, the passing trains, and that boxcar. The uneven rocky gravel didn’t help. A blinding glare struck fear into me like a policeman’s gun firing a warning shot. The diesel locomotive’s headlight lit its path and surroundings in a silver glow. My aging legs found new strength. I grabbed Lori’s arm in passing. I would have sworn I felt that engine air-horn’s blast telling me how close I had come to death.

  Lori gasped out, “Stop.”

  “What’s wrong?” I panted as our feet slid in the deep gravel. A nearby series of cars bumped and thick steel couplings ground and thudded. The cars separated us from Gary and probably the assholes from the car.

  Lori bent at the waist, her hands on her knees. “Damn. I─I got to rest.”

  “We only have . . . a sho
rt distance.”

  She raised her head to look under the shifting rail traffic to see if we were being hunted. “There.” Her head motioned to men weaving from light to shadow across the yard behind us. “Let’s hide behind those cars . . . to our left. With the ones behind us, they . . . can’t see us slip over there.”

  “You’re right.”

  We pressed against the truck frame of a flat car. Her breathy whisper in my ear interrupted my study of the six men unloading the boxcar just beyond us. “You remembered your gun?”

  “It’s in my belt, making an outline against my belly.”

  “Make sure you get it out all the way before you pull the trigger.”

  I flashed a nervous grin and pulled the gun free. Apparently reassured, she sighed and smiled back. I asked, “What do you have in mind here?”

  “You think you can take out those two on the loading ramp between the boxcar and the truck?”

  I recalled Harry’s solemn teaching “Don’t carry a gun unless you’re willing to fire it.” I gritted my teeth and nodded. “I’ll try, but what about the other four. Two went into the boxcar and the other two are in the back of the rental truck.”

  “I’m going to slip into the boxcar before the shooting starts. I can probably take those two out.”

  “Too risky. I’m sure they’re all armed. Let’s quiet-like climb to the roof of the car. We could have the advantage.”

  “Over what, Fr. Dumb Ass? They can shoot up as well as down and sideways. Come on, let’s go.”

  “Where? What’s your plan?”

  She stepped around the coupler head. “I don’t know. I’ll make it up as we go.”

  “And we’ll communicate by mental telepathy?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. I’ll just do what needs doing, I guess.”

  We stepped slowly over the ballast rocks. Reaching the back side of the boxcar, we slipped under it. Waddling duck-style, we centered ourselves near the loading ramp. The movement of shuffling feet above us indicated the men were walking back and forth to pass the packages. A lot must have already been moved into the truck.

  Pointing to the double tires at the back of the rental, I whispered in Lori’s ear, “I could let out the air.”

  She shook her head hard. “We need surprise and quick kills. Flat tires would only piss them off.”

  “How about you speed dial the police on your cell, then?”

  I swear her lips curled. “Another Fr. Dumb Ass suggestion? The wrong cops would probably help unload. Give me the gun.”

  What now? “Who’re you going to shoot?”

  Taking Fox’s 9mm Beretta Cougar, she expertly slid a round into the chamber. “Nobody. Another train’s coming. They blow their horn when reaching a crossing. There’s one right there.”

  “What has that got to do with the gun? You going to shoot the engineer ‘cause you’re tired of trains?”

  Lori shook her head and moved closer to the truck, her back to me.

  As predicted, the horn blasted. I jerked, not expecting the train to be that close. I didn’t hear shots being fired, but I felt the warm barrel of the gun when she shoved it back into my waistband.

  “Safety’s back on. Crawl with me.”

  “Where?”

  “Move it, Fr. Dumb Ass. It’s going to be too hot to stay here.”

  Then I smelled the gasoline. She reached into her pocket. Sparks flew from the lighter she pulled out. A flame touched the ground then raced toward the truck. A second later Lori and I raced across ballast rocks away from the backside of the boxcar. We jumped the last track. Just as we reached the ditch bordering the yards, an explosion’s concussion hit our backs.

  My body flattened the ditch’s cattails and water sprayed up around me. I came to my knees, wiping stagnant water from my face and looked back. A fiery cloud billowed, shifted and roared, reflecting orange off the dark, oily water in the ditch.

  Over the crackling of burning wood and popping metal, Lori called out, “You okay?”

  She crouched in the cattails to my right. I crawled like a crab toward her, stirring the mud under the half-foot of water. Looking up, I stared at a face and blonde wig caked in run-off grime from the rail yard. I knew I looked just as bad. Something big popped and the increased intensity of the fire sent out a wave of oven-like heat. Her perfect teeth flashed in the orange light as she actually grinned.

  “What a rush, huh, Bob?”

  Not waiting fro an answer, she crawled up the far dry bank of the drainage ditch and sat with her legs crossed. I joined her and we stared at the rail yard erupting in chaos. “What in hell did you do?”

  “You’re the school teacher. You tell me.”

  “Okay. You shot the truck’s fuel tank.” She nodded. “It didn’t explode like in the movies so you threw your goddamn lighter into the gasoline.”

  She held her hands out toward the conflagration. “And the rest is history.”

  “Why do you carry a lighter? I thought you quit smoking.”

  “Well shit! Picky, picky. What if I wanted to start again?”

  Men’s voices shouted and distant fire sirens wailed. By mutual agreement we crawled through the prickly dry weeds of the back lot, away from Lori’s handiwork. Reaching deep shadows again, we came to our feet and cautiously continued until the sounds grew faint.

  “Over there,” Lori said with a wave of her hand. “Let’s hop the freight.”

  “And leave Doc’s Charger?”

  “Buy him a replacement. You can afford it.”

  “Someone will find it and connect it to him.”

  “Harry changed the plates and I lost the registration long ago. You’re not keeping up with how this works, Fr. Dumb Ass.”

  Wet jeans slowed my running, but I kept up with Lori. A locomotive passed with a string of boxcars. They moved slowly as if coming to a stop. I pointed out one with open doors and we paced it. I grabbed the metal door track and proudly swung myself inside. The next instant I clasped Lori’s hand and pulled her in. We settled in for our ride, our feet dangling over the side. Minutes later the train jerked to a stop then jerked again as it shifted into reverse. We watched the glow of the fire, but were moving away from it.

  “I think the train is backing into another section. We must have been switched to another track.” I commented as if I knew what I was talking about.

  “I hope we don’t get lost. I need a fucking beer.”

  Moments later, I leaned out and recognized the tool shed coming up. The Charger still waited in its shadows. I nudged Lori and we jumped at the same time.

  Damn, those ballast rocks hurt when you roll on them.

  * * *

  I stretched my aching shoulders and shifted in my kitchen chair, glad I had a thick Sunday paper to enjoy and wondering how long Lori and I would bear all the cuts and bruises from the damn rail yard.

  “I knew I had seen her before,” Lori muttered from across the table.

  I smoothed my section of the newspaper on the kitchen table. Lori frowned at hers as she sipped her coffee. She didn’t look up when I asked, “What did you say?”

  She slammed down her mug. I almost jumped when I saw the anger snapping from her eyes. “When Priscilla Godfrey first took over at Bison Insurance, I told you I couldn’t remember where but knew I had met her before. Now . . . I know where.”

  I waited, but she just went back to reading. “Okay. Are you making this a guessing game?”

  “No. But her picture all fancied up for this charity thing made it come together.” She looked up as if mad at me now and I hadn’t done anything to piss her off, not lately anyway. “You probably won’t believe me.”

  “Don’t be pissed without giving me a chance . . . to not believe you.”

  I tried to look innocent as she arched an eyebrow. “Smart ass. She worked in a go-go bar as a stripper about ten years ago.”

  “Are you shitting me? That tight ass? How would you know? You couldn’t have been . . . more than
. . . well, not very old.”

  “Ha-Ha. I was thirteen. I went to this place to get a job as a dancer, but they wouldn’t hire me. I had the tits by then but I didn’t know how to put on makeup to look older. Godfrey used a different name. Hm, Peggy, I think. Wait a minute!” She sat straight up in her excitement. “The owner of the joint. He was Nelson. You remember the guy Roy shot at the funeral, the guy who worked at Bison. Wasn’t he her uncle?”

  “So . . . that would make you twenty-three.”

  “What?”

  I smiled, proud that I had caught her off guard. “Ten years ago you were thirteen and that would make you twenty-three.”

  “I was lying about the thirteen thing. You still don’t know my fucking age. Just listen up, will you? Let me finish. Roy shot Nelson, who’s the same guy who owned the go-go. Godfrey was Peggy. Moore and Kobo had notes about a Peg. Roy said they worked for Harpies. Peg has to be Harpies.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “The bitch wasn’t so skinny back then, but I never forget a face. I know it was her.”

  “Doorbell.”

  “Where’s your remote?”

  I spoke over my shoulder as I headed to the front door. “When I upgraded the security while recovering, the computer system got all complicated. The remote hasn’t been reprogrammed yet.”

  Harry’s smiling face looked up into the camera above the door. I keyed in the four-digit code and the interior door swung open. My palm pressed against a stainless steel plate. The bulletproof storm door released its lock.

  Harry entered. “Goddamn. This place is like Fort Knox. I was about to go to the back door, but I remembered you telling me not to.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t. Once you step off the front sidewalk, you trigger a lot of noise. The Security Company arrives in less than five minutes with shotguns.”

  “How does Lori get here?”

  “Her house is connected to the same alarm and our connecting path has a separate system. No one can get within thirty feet of either house without one of us knowing about it.”

  Harry took the beer Lori handed him and straddled a chair. The three of us in my kitchen just like old times felt good.

  “How’s everything at Bison?”