by Tonia Brown
The man’s reaction was both desired and immediate.
“I’m coming out!” he shouted.
Dodger did his best to hold his laughter as he stepped back and kept the gun ready but lowered.
It took a full minute of grunting and wiggling, and a fair amount of colorful language, but the man made his way out from under the train. The moment he was on his feet, he cupped his bare groin—not that there was much down there to cup—and set to cowering before his captor. Aside from his half-nudity, a peculiarity sprang into the spotlight: the man was very hairy. As in shaggy dog hairy. He bore a thick, tangled fur across his bare legs, arms, face, and even his head. This, combined with a familiar elongated snout and triangular nose, suggested but one thing.
Biscuit to a bear claw, the man was another of Clemet’s so-called Pack.
“If you don’t mind,” the man said, “I’ll be leaving my hands where they are.”
“I encourage it,” Dodger said. “Who are you?”
“Most folks call me Bottle, on account of my habits.” He grinned a mouthful of gnarled and half-rotted fangs.
Dodger lifted his weapon, determined to keep pace with the threatening smile. “What do you want with the train?”
“Don’t want the train.”
“Then what do you want?”
“You the man what fired on Big Dan?”
“What if I am?”
“I gots a message for ya. From Butch.”
Clemet’s warning echoed with the name. “What does he want?”
“Says he wants to meetcha. He says come before candlelight, tonight. He says come unarmed or don’t come at all.”
Now this was getting interesting, if not a touch amusing. “And what makes him think I would want to do that?”
“‘Cause if you don’t, he’ll kill the girl.”
The humor of the situation evaporated in an instant. “What girl?”
“The one in the pants.”
Boon shouted in Dodger’s mind, Lelanea!
“Where is she?” Dodger asked.
The gnarled grin returned, but the man didn’t answer.
Dodger lowered the gun to the man’s hand-clad crotch. “Where. Is. She.”
“Hermit’s Gap.”
Which made all sorts of sense when Dodger took a moment to reflect upon it. In fact, he sort of felt like a fool for not seeing the broader picture until his nose was pressed right against the wet paint. Decker called it right when he said there was trouble brewing at the Gap. Trouble with a capital P.
While Dodger put the obvious pieces together, Bottle dropped on his haunches as if cowering. No. Not cowering. He was preparing to run. Run with his ass bared and his giblets dangling in the wind.
Bottle looked back over his shoulder and said, “Before sundown. Unarmed or the woman is soup.” And with that, the man took off for the hills in a mad loping dash, on all fours, just like an animal.
Just like a dog.
Dodger kept his gun trained tight, but vacillated on taking a shot, wondering what profit there was to shooting the man in the nuts, beyond the satisfaction of shooting him in the nuts.
They have Lelanea.
“I’m well aware of that,” Dodger said as he holstered Florence. Or was that Hortense?
We have to get her back before something regrettable happens.
“Yes. I know.”
I wish to hell I could follow him.
“No need. I know where he’s headed.”
You know of this place? Hermit’s Gap?
“Sure. It’s about twenty miles in that direction.” He paused to point at Bottle’s retreating form. “Every so often some smartass two-bit outlaw ends up at the Gap. It’s been the location of many an unfortunate man’s last stand.”
Then let us go there.
“We will. In due time.”
Due time? Dodger, they have Lelanea! We must go now! What are you waiting for?
The haranguing of the specter rattled Dodger’s unprotected brain. “Hang on now. You aren’t the one putting his neck in the noose here. They want me to come unarmed. Remember? I’d rather walk into a den of bears wrapped in a honeycomb vest than just jump in without a proper plan.”
Boon’s urgency cooled a bit, as did his whisper. I understand your hesitancy. I’m just anxious for her. I apologize.
“No need to be sorry. We’ll get her back. Don’t you worry about that.”
Of course we will.
As a pair of voices rose from the engine platform, Dodger turned to watch the owners climb down, Ched all but dragging the professor by the lapels of his lab coat.
“Let go of me!” the professor shouted. “I said I was busy.”
“And I shaid we gotsh an intruder,” Ched said.
“Intruder?” The professor stopped when he laid eyes on Dodger. “That’s not an intruder! That’s our new head of security.” Jerking his jacket free from the skeletal grip, the professor laid into his hired help. “I swear, Chester. Your brain rots away a little more each passing day. Soon there will be nothing left but a whiskey bottle and those teeth of yours.” The professor turned his attention back to Dodger with a wide and welcoming grin. “Mr. Carpenter, welcome back! I see you decided to take up our little offer of employment. If you will head right this way, we can draw up the paperwork and settle your salary and-”
“Sir?” Dodger asked.
The professor’s speech stalled mid-sputter. “What? What? What is it?”
“This might sound like an odd question, but … where’s your niece?”
“My niece?”
“Miss Lelanea?”
“Oh, her. In her room, I suppose.”
Dodger lifted his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
The professor looked up and down the full length of Dodger, as if measuring his worth with a glance. “Mr. Carpenter, I don’t claim to know how the locals bargain for employment, but I can assure you my niece’s hand is not part of the available terms.”
“I’m not talking about her hand. I’m talking about all of her. Physically.”
The older man’s eyes went wide. “Mr. Carpenter! Really! I must protest.”
Dodger sighed as he ran his hand over his face in frustration. “Is she in her room or not?”
“I don’t see why that is any of your-”
“Not exactly,” Ched said over the professor.
Both men turned to the driver.
“What do you mean not exactly?” the professor asked.
Ched shrugged, his shoulders almost reaching his ears in the deep motion of his contrite act. “She wanted to go to town, sho I shaid she-”
“You let her go into town!” the professor shouted. “On her own! At this time of the month! Are you insane?” The man stopped his tirade to smooth down his jacket in an effort to collect himself. “Of course you are insane. Just look at you. Only a crazy man would do what you do. Did. Still do.”
“Jusht for the record,” Ched said. “I didn’t shimply let her. I warned her not to go, but she wash very pershishtant. You know how she getsh when she wantsh shomethin’.”
“Yes. Yes I do.” The professor patted his ample stomach in contemplation. “I know it’s not your fault. I wish I could keep a better leash on her, but-”
Ched snickered at some word the professor spoke.
“Stop that,” the professor snapped. “You know what I mean.”
“Sir?” Dodger asked again. He pointed to Bottle, now a naked dot on the horizon and shrinking all the while. “You see that fellow running off?”
The professor squinted, then gave a sort of half nod, half shake of the head. “I suppose so.”
“Well, turns out he’s part of the Pack. And he had a message for us.”
“Pack? What pack? Message? What are you talking about? What kind of security man are you? My niece is missing and you stand around here blathering about …” The professor slowed as he connected the dots Dodger had laid out for him. A sudden look of terror stole over the
man. He gripped Dodger’s arm. “Holy Krishna! They have her?”
“Yes, sir. I believe they do.”
“We have to get her back before something regrettable happens.”
Why did everyone keep saying that as though Dodger didn’t already know? “Yes, sir. I believe we should.”
“How? What do you recommend, Mr. Carpenter?”
Dodger looked to his feet, dreading with all his might what he had to do next. Before he set off after his boss man’s niece, it was high time he cleared up a few things. “First off, you can stop calling me that. I’m sure you figured out from Clemet’s exchange that my name isn’t Carpenter.”
“You’re correct. I concluded as much. And I appreciate your honesty. Even if it’s a bit late. I don’t suppose you would like to explain your reasons for the deceit?”
“Not as such, sir, no. My reasons for working under a flag are my own. If that’s going to be a problem, you just say so, and we can cut this whole game short right now.” Dodger lifted his eyes, steeling himself for possible anger, fury, maybe even a dismissal from the job before he had a chance to start.
But Dittmeyer didn’t appear angry, or furious, or like he planned on letting anyone go anytime soon. In fact, the professor smiled with a level of understanding Dodger rarely encountered.
“Sergeant Rodger Dodger, I presume?” the professor asked.
“It was Lieutenant Dodger,” Dodger corrected the man. “But now, it’s just Dodger. Which is something else I can’t explain. Least not right away.”
“I see.” The professor proffered his hand. “Well met, Mr. Dodger.”
Dodger clasped the professor’s palm and gave a firm shake. “Then I still have the job?”
The professor surprised him by yanking Dodger down until they were just about face to face. There, Dittmeyer whispered fiercely, “You will find that everyone has his share of secrets, Mr. Dodger. Some we share today and some tomorrow. But there may be quite a few things about our little family, the whole truth of which you may never learn. Ever. There are mysteries about my crew I would die to keep secret rather than expose to just any stranger who crosses our path. Can you say you are willing to do the same? For your secrets, as well as our own?”
It wasn’t so much the words the man spoke that moved Dodger as it was the sincerity in his voice. Dittmeyer loved his crew like a family, that much was obvious. But a stranger family Dodger had never seen. It was a family created by incidents and accidents. A family united by circumstance rather than mere blood. A family in which Dodger felt welcome, despite his unusual history—or maybe even for it. And a family where he supposed he could finally belong.
Dodger strengthened his grip on the professor’s hand, keeping a lock on the older man’s bright eyes as he said, “I plan on taking most of my ghosts to the grave. What does it matter if I add a few more skeletons to that coffin, boss man?”
Dittmeyer grinned extra wide at that. “In that case, yes, you have the job.”
“‘Bout time, too,” Ched added. “Welcome aboard, Sharge.”
Dodger nodded his thanks to the driver, who tipped his fingers to his hat in return.
After another firm shake, the professor released Dodger. “Boss man. Yes. Yes, I quite like that. Well then, shall we go and fetch my troublesome niece?”
“Aye, boss man,” Dodger said.
The professor proceeded to give orders to his staff, most of which were obvious enough. As Dodger scrambled to get his gear aboard and help Ched prime the train to move out, he wondered who had more secrets to share, maybe even to die for.
One man?
Or an entire train full of crew?
****
back to top
****
Chapter Three
The Battle Ahead
In which Dodger takes a moment to prepare.
With what it took to prime the engines, then another twenty minutes to make the ride out to the Gap, Dodger had some time on his hands. Time he wanted to use to prepare. The professor, however, wanted to use the time to introduce his new head of security to the rest of his glorious train, which took Dodger by surprise. The man seemed almost unmoved by his niece’s abduction, obsessed instead with showing off his gadgets and gears.
“Aren’t you the least bit worried about your niece?” Dodger asked.
“Lelanea can handle herself,” the professor said. “I know women are labeled the weaker sex, but trust me when I say this: before it is said and done, those men will regret their choice of abductees. They would have been better off taking Torque. Or me. Preferably Torque. Now, let me show you around your new home.”
“Perhaps later, sir,” Dodger said. “If it’s okay with your driver, I’ll just stay up here for a bit. I find the pulse of the engine helps me think.”
“Fine by me,” Ched said as he watched the boilers for the first signals of available power. “Make yourshelf at home. I don’t have many sheats, but you can park your rear on my cashe there.” He motioned to the trunk tucked under the hammock.
“Thanks,” Dodger said, and made himself comfortable on the wooden footlocker.
The professor stuck out his lower lip and whined, “But there’s so much to show you-”
“Cut him shome shlack, Doc,” Ched interjected. “He jusht needsh shome time to reflect. You remember how Boon alwaysh shet himshelf off for contemplashion before a big showdown.”
“You’re right, I suppose.” The mention of their deceased crewmember seemed to bring the professor back to the reality of the situation. “Are you really planning on going in unarmed?”
“I think it’s best if we play by their rules,” Dodger said. “At least for now.”
Dittmeyer motioned to Dodger’s wrist. “At least let me treat that injury. You’d be foolish to shuffle off into a scuffle with that kind of sprain.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Dodger said.
Though, truth be told, the last thing he wanted was for that doctor to lay a finger on him. Dodger had treated and wrapped the sprain himself, and he didn’t need or want a second opinion. But he was willing to do anything just to shut the man up for five minutes.
The professor unwrapped Dodger’s shoddy bandage, tossing the thing to the side with a grunt of disgust. He then palpated the injury tenderly, watching as Dodger winced or hissed in response to his probing fingers. “It’s not nearly as bad as it looks. I think a number eight should do. Be back in a jiffy.” The professor slipped out of the cab, sliding the door closed behind him.
“What’s a number eight?” Dodger asked.
Ched kept an eye on the steam gauge, but didn’t answer. Whether he was genuinely busy or just ignoring Dodger, it was hard to tell.
Boon asked, Are you sure you want to go in with no weapon?
Dodger nodded rather than answer verbally in front of Ched.
You realize if the guns stay behind, so do I. I won’t be able to help.
Dodger shrugged. What could he do? They had him over a barrel. It wouldn’t be the first time he went into a fight empty handed. Wouldn’t be the last, either.
“Is the doc always this excited?” Dodger asked, testing Ched’s attention again.
“No,” Ched said.
That was good to know. A chatty boss was one thing, but a high-strung one tended to be more trouble than he was worth. Dodger breathed a sigh of relief.
That was, until Ched added, “Ushually, hesh much worsh. I think hish worry for Missh Lelanea is curbing his enthushiashm a bit.”
“Worried?” Dodger asked. “He didn’t seem worried.”
“He ish. That’sh the way the Britsh show their conshern. By flappin’ their gumsh about anything but the isshue at hand.”
“I heard tell he was British. And, of course, his accent gives him away.”
“Acshentsh will do that. Shome folksh brand of shpeech will give them away every time, I shuposshe.”
Dodger couldn’t help a small smile. “How are the boilers coming along?”
Ched tapped the gauge. “Almosht ready. Another five minutesh and we should be under way.”
Damn, Dodger thought. The driver had only just lit the things a few minutes ago. “They heat up that fast?”
“The doc shoupsh ‘em up sho they heat shuper fasht. Fifteen minutesh ish about average. But if I coax her jusht right, I can get her hot in ten.”
“Impressive.”
“That’sh nothing. The docsh cooked up shome kind of additive for when we really need to haul ash. It lowersh the boiling point of the water sho we prime in about shixty sheconds.”
“Sixty seconds! That’s impossible.”
“Imposshible? You don’t know the doc very well then. Nothingsh imposshible for him.”
Dodger couldn’t argue with that. “If you can prime that fast, why not use it all the time?”
“Becaush the quick-prime chemichalsh are exshpenshive. And in the long run, we ush almosht ten timesh the water of a normal run. The tanksh boil off the water fashter than we can ushe the shteam. Shee?”
It took Dodger a few seconds to translate the wild flurry of hisses. “Ten times as much makes for a lot of stops, doesn’t it? You’d have to restock your water in just a few hours of run time. Maybe less?”
“Yesh, which ish another reashon we resherve it for emergenshees.” Ched gave a snort of amusement. “Fanshy you knowing sho much about shteam enginesh. Sho, doesh that mean you really did drive? Or wash that a fib too?”
Dodger bit back a sharp retort when he saw the driver’s grin. “Okay, I deserved that. But it’s the last free one you get. Ya hear?”
“Shure thing, Sharge.”
From the depths of his overalls, Ched produced a flask, and Dodger recognized the scent of rotgut the moment the man had the lid off the thing. The driver knocked back the contents, slurping and sucking a gut-aching amount of whiskey through clenched teeth before stopping to punctuate his act with an intense but muted belch. Ched then held out the flask to Dodger, who shook his head.
“No thanks,” Dodger said. “I’m not much for drinking before a brawl. Thins the blood, you know.”
“That’sh what I’m countin’ on.” Ched screwed the lid back in place and stowed the flash once more. “Tell me about your experiensh with the railsh.”
