“Thanks for the coat,” she said.
The air smelled of the desert as they clattered along the tracks.
She pulled a crumpled pack of his cigarettes out of his coat pocket and then put them back in.
“How long have you been a railroad detective?” she asked.
“Well now,” he said, scratching his head. “Some would say I’ve never been a real one. Most of what I know I learned riding the rails. Eddie Preston says an agent who isn’t a Baldwin Felts graduate might just as well be picking cotton.”
She turned and looked at him. “You were a hobo?”
“Of the highest order,” he said.
“But why? How?”
“I hit the skids when I lost my arm. I been about everywhere a train can go and a few places it can’t.”
“How is it you became a railroad detective?” she asked.
“Time heals, they say. Fact is, it doesn’t heal so much as it deadens, but the result is the same. Takes a lot of energy to keep a hatred going full tilt.
“In the end, I pulled it together long enough to land this job. It’s as close to being a hobo as a man can get and still earn a paycheck. Turned out to be the right choice for me, but there was a time it could have gone either way.”
“And the caboose?”
“Men were hard to come by because of the war. The railroad agreed to the caboose, figuring I would give it up soon enough. Guess they were wrong about that one.”
“And the books? Isn’t that a little peculiar for a hobo?”
“Or for a yard dog or for anybody in his right mind. Yeah, it’s a lot peculiar, but it’s not illegal. So there you have it.”
The moon popped onto the horizon and lifted into the black sky. The lights of Ash Fork shimmered in the distance, and the rails shined like ivory ahead of them.
“Is your name really Hook?” she asked.
“I sign my checks Walter,” he said. “And is your name really Lieutenant?”
She turned and adjusted her collar against the breeze.
“Allison,” she said.
“Were you born a lieutenant?”
“Army brat,” she said. “My father was a first sergeant for over twenty years. I’ve lived all over the world.”
“And here you are an officer.”
“My father taught me to never be ashamed of the fact that he was enlisted. Any officer worth his salt knows that a good sergeant will save his hide a hundred times over.”
“And so you decided to join the army like him?”
“Had I been a man, I would have been on the front lines. It’s hard being left behind because of what you are.”
“I can’t disagree with that,” he said.
“I joined in forty-three as a WAC. This country finally decided that we, women that is, could do something in addition to nursing. I’ve been with the Department of Transportation at Los Alamos since then.”
“Home of the bomb,” he said.
“I’m in Support. It’s a base with all the needs of any base. Transportation is a part of that. Keeping the tunnel staffed and safe is just one of my responsibilities, one that hasn’t turned out so well, as you know.”
“Can’t see that it’s your fault,” he said.
“I try to do my job, though it can be rather pedestrian, I suppose.”
“All work counts in a war,” he said. “And is worthy of praise, so long as it’s for our side.”
“How much farther?” she asked.
“We’re about there, which is a good thing because there’s an eastbound due in about an hour.”
Ahead, a small light bobbed off into the darkness and then disappeared. Hook idled back, coasting to a stop.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I saw a light.”
“A light?”
“We’ve been plagued with copper thieves,” he said. “Can’t seem to catch up to them. They’re moving big quantities somehow.”
He shut the engine off and listened. “You hear that?” he asked.
“It sounds like a motor,” she said.
“I’ve been trying to nab these boys for a good long while. You wait here. I’m going to see what’s going on. Scrap’s getting damn hard to live with, and Eddie’s sworn to keep me in the junk business until I catch them.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Thanks the same, but this is railroad business.”
“Take this flashlight,” she said. “You might need it.”
“They’d spot me sure. The moon’s high, and I can follow the tracks.”
“I don’t know how to drive this thing.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll be back.”
Working his way down line, he crouched now and again to listen. When he heard voices and smelled tobacco smoke, he knew they couldn’t be far away. Soon he spotted moonlight glinting from a windshield in the right-of-way. He’d found his boys at last.
Hunkering down in the shadows, he pulled his sidearm. He could make out two distinct voices, maybe three, too damn many to cover all at once. He’d have to separate them out, take them one at a time. But he couldn’t be certain how well-armed they might be.
Either way, cornered men could be dangerous and unpredictable. Given a choice, he’d not attempt it alone, but he’d been after these bastards for a long time. Letting them get away now meant more time in Scrap’s junkyard. He’d had all that he wanted.
One of the men climbed up the embankment. Hook lay low between the tracks. The man stopped, his head just visible in the moonlight, and lit a cigarette. Unzipping, he stood with his back turned from the men below.
Hook crawled down the center of the tracks, the cinders scrubbing his knees raw. He peeked over the rail. The man drew on his cigarette, a red button in the darkness, and started to work his way back down.
Hook moved in from behind and clipped him with the butt of his P.38. His legs wilted under him, and his cigarette dropped into the dirt. Hook caught him and lowered him into the weeds.
He slipped forward to where he could see. A truck had been backed into the culvert that ran under the tracks. One man worked in the back of the truck, while two others carried goods from out of the culvert. There were too many for rushing, but at some point they would miss their buddy sleeping in the weeds.
If he could slip in from the other end of the culvert, maybe he could even up the odds. If not, then someone else could worry about salvage cars.
He double-checked his man in the weeds, who still slumbered, and then he made his way down the back side. From there he could see into the culvert.
The men were loading what appeared to be copper radiator cores into the truck. They must have taken them off a sided car and stored them in the culvert for picking up when the way was clear.
One wore a ball cap and gloves. He huffed as he heaved a core onto the back of the truck.
He bent forward, his hands on his knees. “Where the hell is Leon?”
The guy in the truck bed paused. “Taking a leak, the lazy son of a bitch.”
Hook moved into the shadows and waited. The man with the cap came back for another core. When he stooped to gather it up, Hook stepped in and caught him under the chin with the toe of his boot. He snorted once and spilled forward. Hook grabbed him under the arms and dragged him out of the culvert.
Donning the ball cap, Hook picked up the core and carried it to the truck. With his head down, he hoisted it into the back. When the stacker stooped to get it, Hook snagged him by the collar with his prosthesis and yanked him out the back of the truck and onto his head.
Hook rolled him onto his back. His nose, having taken the brunt of the fall, bent to the side, and dirt plugged his nostrils. A front tooth dangled from a string.
“Watch your step,” Hook said.
Hook started to stand but stopped when the cold muzzle of a gun shoved into his cheek. He knew instantly that he’d failed to count the driver, the one guy with a weapon.
“Don�
�t even breathe,” the driver said.
He smelled of whiskey and tobacco, and a copper arthritic bracelet hung from his wrist.
“I quit breathing about a minute ago,” Hook said.
“Who are you?” the driver asked.
“Railroad security,” Hook said.
“A one-armed yard dog?”
“I came cheap,” Hook said.
“Won’t be much of a loss, then,” he said. “You showed up at the wrong party this time, mister.”
Over the years Hook had been threatened before, and they came in different degrees of sincerity. This one ranked ten on a ten-point scale. Sooner or later, he figured it would come to something like this, though dying in a culvert over a radiator core had never occurred to him.
The hammer clicked back, a sound as hard and cold as the knot in his belly, and Hook closed his eyes.
11
THE DRIVER’S GUN spun across the culvert when the lieutenant hit him on the head with the flashlight. His eyes closed, and his weapon fell between his feet. He pitched forward onto Hook’s chest, his arms dangling over his shoulders.
Hook lowered him to the ground. “Good Lord,” he said, looking up at the lieutenant. “Are you nuts? You could have been killed.”
“Am I nuts?” she said. “You were the one with a gun in your face.”
“I hadn’t figured on so many of them,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought I told you to stay put.”
“Does ingratitude come with the job, or is it just a natural part of your personality?” she asked.
Hook searched the man’s pockets and then popped the clip out of his sidearm.
“I admit to not being thrilled about dying over a load of scrap copper,” he said.
“How many of them are there?” she asked.
Hook lit a cigarette. “Three here. One up there in the weeds.”
“What do we do now?”
“Turn them over to the local boys for prosecution.”
“Shouldn’t we get some help?” she asked.
Hook looked around. “We could load them in the truck,” he said. “Can you drive one?”
The lieutenant shrugged. “Never have,” she said. “Why don’t we just take the popcar for help?”
Hook shook his head. “Because you can’t be driving the popcar. It’s against regulations, for one thing, and I can’t leave you here alone with copper thieves.
“Maybe we can tie these boys up, put ’em in the back, and you can guard while I drive the truck.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Thing is, I need a little help. It’s a chore tying up crooks with one hand while pointing a gun with a prosthesis at the same time.”
The lieutenant cocked her arm on her waist. “That’s an odd way of asking,” she said. “Anyway, it seems railroad business to me.”
“Goddang it, Lieutenant,” he said. “Are you going to help or not?”
“I’ll help,” she said. “But your attitude could use a little improvement.”
“Alright,” he said. “Goddang it, will you please give me a hand?”
“That’s better,” she said.
“First, how about checking the truck for pliers?”
When she returned with the pliers, she said, “Found them on the floorboard. How did you know they’d be there?”
“Where would scrap thieves be without pliers? Wire’s in the back of the truck. Cut a length of it and bring it here. We’ll bind them and toss them in.”
While she retrieved the wire, Hook dragged the men together side by side. He watched on with his P.38 as the lieutenant secured their hands. The moon cast highlights in the red of her hair as she worked, and when she’d finished, she stood.
“Good job,” he said. “Look like a string of fish, don’t they?”
“Now what?” she asked.
“There’s one more up by the tracks. We better get him wired up before he comes around.”
Just as they started to climb the embankment, a sound came from far away. Hook stopped and lowered his head. The lieutenant’s breath came in short strokes behind him, and the old truck creaked as it cooled down in the night.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Did you hear something?”
Lieutenant Capron turned her ear into the wind. “No,” she said.
But then it came again, a wail rising and falling somewhere off in the distance.
Hook turned and looked at her. “Oh, Christ,” he said.
“What? What is it?”
“It’s the eastbound,” he said.
“The eastbound?”
He looked up the embankment and then back at the lieutenant.
“The popcar’s sitting on the tracks,” he said. “And the eastbound’s coming in.”
“You must be mistaken,” she said.
Hook grabbed her by the hand. “Come on,” he said, pulling her up behind him. “Maybe we can get it to the siding.”
“A train?” she said, as she struggled to keep up. “For God’s sake, a train’s coming?”
Hook ran as best he could, though the ties kept throwing off his stride. They’d gone but a short way when the whistle wailed again, louder this time. Hook’s heart beat in his ears.
“Come on,” he yelled over his shoulder. “We can make it.”
“We’ve got to get off these tracks. I’m not getting killed by a train for some stupid popcar.”
“This is my job we’re talking about,” he said. “Come on. Run.”
The lieutenant struggled to keep up. Hook reached back and took her arm.
“Faster, faster,” he shouted.
The whistle lifted into the night, piercing and shrill, and the thud of the driver wheels rode in on the rails.
No sooner had they reached the popcar when the train’s glimmer bobbed onto the horizon, lighting up the tracks.
Hook put his shoulder against the popcar. “Push!” he yelled.
The lieutenant fell in beside him, and together they heaved against the dead weight of the car. The popcar edged back.
The light shot into their eyes, and the earth rumbled under their feet as the engine charged toward them.
“Push!” Hook yelled again.
She dropped her head between her arms and bore down, and the car picked up speed.
Once there, Hook threw the switch, and they pushed her onto the siding.
No sooner had he thrown the switch back when the train roared past, her whistle screaming. Dirt spun into their eyes, and the speeding cars sucked away their breaths.
The lieutenant collapsed into the seat of the popcar as the train sped on down the tracks.
Hook searched for his cigarettes. “Damn,” he said. “Those boys were in a toot, weren’t they?”
Lieutenant Capron, her hands clamped in her lap, stared down the tracks.
Hook lit up. “Why so quiet?” he asked.
The lieutenant turned to him, her eyes narrowed. “I’m deciding whether or not to kill you,” she said.
“Well,” he said. “It’s a plan, I suppose, but you better wait until we get back. We’ve got copper thieves to round up.”
As they walked back down the tracks to the culvert, they could hear the eastbound’s whistle in the distance as she made the Ash Fork crossing.
Hook searched the weeds with his light but found the man gone. He climbed down to the culvert to discover that not only had the others been cut free, but the truck and the copper were missing as well.
The lieutenant, who was waiting for him up top, called down.
“Is everything alright?”
Hook climbed up the embankment. “They’re gone,” he said.
“What’s gone?”
“Everything.”
“The truck, too?”
“Everything is everything,” he said.
“All of this was for nothing?” she asked.
Hook shrugged. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go back for the popcar. We’ll be ho
me in no time.”
* * *
The lieutenant climbed in and waited for Hook to crank the engine. It fired off, coughed a couple of times, and died. He tried again, but this time it failed even to fire.
“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.”
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