The Insane Train

by Sheldon Russell

  “Jackrabbit kicked me,” he said.

  Andrea looked over at him. “A mighty big one by the looks of it.”

  “You never know what you’re going to shake loose in a rail yard,” he said.

  When they passed the bridge, Hook rolled his window down. He wondered where Seth and the others had spent the night. He figured the cops hadn’t left much of the jungle.

  “Have you heard any more about getting a train for the asylum?” Andrea asked.

  “I didn’t call Division again,” he said. “Thought I’d let it simmer for a bit. Too much information too fast shunts Eddie onto a siding, and he forgets where he’s headed.”

  “There,” she said, pointing to an old Quonset. “It’s a pretty shabby place. You sure you wouldn’t prefer a bookstore?”

  “It’s the hunt more than the finding,” he said. “I like poking around, digging up treasure where no one else sees it. Problem is, it gets in your blood, and pretty soon you can’t see out your windows for the books.”

  A cowbell attached to the door with a rope rang when they entered. An old guy with eyes the color of milk nodded and turned back to his reading. The Quonset smelled of dust, old clothes, and grease. Hook checked out the usual array of mismatched dishes, pots and pans, and toasters with frayed cords. Racks of accessories were near the window: belts, leather purses, scarves, and costume jewelry. Used furniture had been stacked in the back, kitchen chairs with the seats missing, crippled tables, and old sewing machines.

  “It’s all so disorganized,” Andrea said.

  Hook pushed aside the kitchen chairs and looked under the table.

  “Keep focused on what you’re looking for or you go home with a ton of junk. See those boxes under there? Treasure,” he said. “But like all treasure there’s a certain amount of overburden to dig through.”

  Andrea got down on all fours and pulled the boxes out, the white of her back peeking from under her shirt.

  “Good Lord,” she said, dusting her hands. “There’s hundreds of them. We’ll be all day.”

  “I’m going to talk to the clerk,” he said. “Be right back.”

  When he returned, he said, “Okay. Got what I need.”

  “You found the book you wanted?” she asked.

  “I bought them all.”

  “What?”

  “This sort of thing takes time.”

  “I should be getting back.”

  “Oh, sure,” he said. “Let me buy you lunch first. I owe you that much.”

  They stopped by the Mojave Hamburger stand before driving to the park. After they’d eaten, Hook put the boxes on the picnic table.

  “A quick look,” he said. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

  “We’re already here, I suppose,” she said. “It’s old books you’re looking for, right?”

  “It’s rare books,” he said. “Sometimes they’re old and sometimes not. Condition is everything, and dust jackets are essential. We want first editions, signed if possible. Beware of book-club editions. They’re not worth a damn. You can tell by their weight, or lack of it, I should say.”

  “But how do you know what titles to collect?”

  Hook thumbed through a book, checking the title page and the series of numbers at the bottom. “Practice,” he said. “Even then, it’s easy to make a mistake. Look for an author’s first book. It tends to be the smallest print run. Beware of bestsellers. Everybody in the country will have a copy just like yours.”

  Andrea picked up a book and examined it. “But what do you do with them once you’ve collected them?” she asked.

  Hook looked over at her. “Own them,” he said. “One day you die, and somebody else owns them. That’s how it works.”

  Andrea studied him. “That’s a little weird.”

  “It’s a lot weird,” he said.

  An hour later, Hook leaned back and lit a cigarette. “That about does it,” he said.

  Andrea looked at the books Hook had set aside. “Out of all those, you have only two?”

  “Not just any two,” he said. “This one is Steinbeck’s Cup of Gold, his first. Not many of those published. It will be valuable someday. And this one is Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Not much now but a groundbreaker. Someday it will be important.”

  Andrea gathered her knees into her arms. “You’ve quite an interest in all this?”

  “An obsession, and I’m not the best company when I’m in the midst of a hunt.”

  Hook started putting the books back into the boxes. “So tell me about yourself.”

  Andrea shrugged. “My life’s pretty simple,” she said.

  “No life is simple. How did you wind up at Baldwin?”

  “Went to nursing school first, of course. Took my internship with the nuns. I’ve always been a pretty good student. Things were going well until I discovered something about myself.”

  “What would that be?”

  “I couldn’t deal with blood. This is not a good thing for a nurse.”

  “Or for yard dogs,” he said.

  “But I’m pretty good with what I’m doing, at least I like to think I am.”

  “I’ll bet you are,” he said.

  “So how did you get to be a yard dog?” she asked.

  Hook held up his prosthesis. “My life began and ended with this,” he said. “Car wreck, and then I sort of went out to get even with the world.”

  “And did you?”

  “I hit the skids and learned a lot about survival. Then, with the war came a shortage of men. Hiring a one-arm yard dog doesn’t seem so unreasonable when there’s no one else. I’ve been at it awhile now. Me and the railroad have had our ups and downs over the years.”

  “Married?”

  “Never been asked,” he said. “You?”

  “I’ve been asked,” she said. “And then he changed his mind.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to pry.

  “The law turned out to be something I could do, and I had spent a lot of time riding the rods by then. I have a pretty good eye for detail and tend to think like a criminal, all necessary in a job like mine.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Caboose,” he said.

  Andrea plunked her chin in her hands. “You’re kidding me?”

  “It’s like living at the tail end of a bullwhip,” he said.

  “Do you have relatives?” she asked.

  “Not that I admit to. Other than Mixer, that is.”

  “Mixer?”

  “My dog. He fights everything that comes along, and it doesn’t matter a damn how big or mean it is. Don’t know how he’s managed to stay alive. Section foreman’s taking care of him back in Needles.”

  “And now you’re charged with moving an entire insane asylum,” she said.

  “It just might be the end of a fine career,” he said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Other than there’s about a thousand things that could go wrong, I’ve some real concerns about that fire out there.”

  “I wake up in the night thinking about that horrible accident,” she said.

  “If it was an accident,” he said.

  “You don’t think so, do you?”

  “I don’t know. That’s just the point, but I can’t have an arsonist running around loose on my train. I can’t take that chance.”

  “They said it was the electrical wiring.”

  Hook picked up the boxes of books and took them to the car. When he came back, he said, “What do you think?”

  “I guess it could have been.”

  “But how do they know? There was nothing left of that building but ashes. Did the fire department investigate or the local police?”

  Andrea gathered up the papers and sacks from lunch and put them in the trash can.

  “Both came,” she said.

  “And?”

  “They looked around, talked to Doctor Baldwin.”

  “If the fire had been anywhere but in a
n insane asylum, do you think things would have been handled differently?” he asked.

  Andrea fell silent for a moment. “I’ve gotten used to people’s indifference when it comes to the mentally ill. As far as other people are concerned, those inmates out there are already dead. They didn’t spend that much time investigating, I guess.”

  Hook sat down on the table and lit a cigarette. A squirrel peeked around a limb before vaulting to the top of the tree.

  “If I can’t be certain it was accidental, I can’t be certain it wasn’t set,” he said.

  “But why would anyone do such a thing?” Andrea asked. “There would have to be a reason.”

  “That’s usually the case,” he said. “Unless what Doctor Helms says is correct, that pyromaniacs don’t need a reason.”

  “Like Van Diefendorf?”

  Hook shook his head. “Anyone who would burn his house with his family in it might enjoy setting fire to his fellow inmates.”

  “But that’s the security ward,” Andrea said. “The place is locked down twenty-four hours a day.”

  Hook snuffed out his cigarette. “Maybe security has been breached. Men who are locked up can be unusually clever in finding ways to get what they want. Perhaps there is someone on the outside who’s involved.”

  Andrea thought for a moment. “There’s the guard, I suppose, but he’s worked there for many years now. The staff has access. Other than that, no one can even get in there.”

  “How are they fed?”

  “Food is brought in from the cafeteria. Everything is searched going in and coming out.”

  “The safety of those boys lay with Frankie. How do you figure he let such a thing happen?”

  “He had two floors to cover. It’s not easy to keep track of so many, believe me.”

  “Does he have friends, a girlfriend maybe?” he asked.

  “Not that I know of. Frankie has his music, and he goes out to a movie occasionally, but I’ve never seen him with a girl.”

  “How does he get along with Doctor Baldwin?”

  “He doesn’t interact with people much one way or the other.”

  “And so what about you, Andrea? What made you decide to make this trip?”

  “Am I a suspect as well?”

  “No,” he said. “You came after the fire had started, and you tried to put it out. There are burns on your hands to prove it.”

  Andrea turned her hands over. “I’m going so that I can look out for my patients. If not for them, I wouldn’t be going. Everything I have is here.

  “Look, I don’t mean to tell you your business, but have you considered the possibility that this was just a tragic accident?”

  “I’ve been a yard dog a long time now. Being suspicious has kept me alive.” He looked over at her. “I admit that sometimes I see the world through a broken glass.”

  “Well,” she said, standing, “I really must be getting home. What do we do with all these books you don’t want?”

  “Take them back to the thrift,” he said.

  “But you’ve already paid for them.”

  “Lots of people depend on these for their reading material,” he said. “I’ve found what I wanted.”

  Back at the depot, Hook got out of the car. “Thanks for showing me around,” he said, “and for answering my questions. I’ll be seeing you soon.”

  Andrea watched him walk toward the depot. He was nearly at the door when she called after him.

  “It’s the sedation mostly,” she said.

  Hook turned. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve seen those men in the security ward stare at a bowl of soup until it was stone cold. No one under that much sedation could plan a crime, even if he weren’t locked up.”

  12

  Hook sat in the phone booth for several minutes before he called Eddie at Division.

  When Eddie came on, he said, “Preston here.”

  “Eddie, about this asylum deal.”

  “Runyon, I just got a call from the Barstow supply clerk.”

  “The supply clerk?”

  “He says you brought the company truck back in a goddang mess.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Eddie.”

  “He’s says it was full of mud. You don’t have enough Brownies yet?”

  “Mud? This is Barstow, the Mojave for Christ’s sake. Besides, you can’t believe anything that a supply clerk tells you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I think he’s been stealing supplies.”

  “You got any evidence of that?”

  “It’s a feeling.”

  “You got too much riding on this board hearing to be playing games, Runyon.”

  “Listen, I think I’ve located some men for security.”

  Eddie paused. “How many?”

  “Four. It isn’t enough, but this is not the best job in the world either.”

  “Who?”

  “Soldiers,” he said. “Vets. Heroes. These bastards are disciplined heroes.”

  “Where did you find them?”

  “They come highly recommended. I’ll get the paperwork in so you can get them on the clock.”

  “What does Baldwin have to say about it?”

  “I’m headed out there this morning. He’ll be damn glad to get these boys. How many times you get the chance to hire true American heroes?”

  “This better be on the level, Runyon.”

  Hook took a deep breath. Talking to Eddie was like going under for the third time.

  “Did you locate a passenger train?” Hook asked. “Baldwin’s got inmates scattered everywhere out there, and some of them are pretty scary characters.”

  “We have a war going on, remember?” he said.

  “Yeah, I heard that.”

  “The section foreman out of Needles called,” Eddie said. “He says someone’s popped the spikes on a length of track.”

  “It’s a maintenance problem, Eddie. The whole damn line is in need of repair. What the hell am I supposed to do about it?”

  “Get back there and take a look. We can’t take a chance on some nut sending a train airborne.”

  “Jesus, I’m kind of busy out here.”

  “And call if you find something.”

  “Yeah, you’re first on my list, Eddie.”

  Hook walked down to the supply shack to get the truck and found the clerk in the back counting out lightbulbs. He looked up when Hook came in and then went back to his counting.

  “Like to sign out the truck,” Hook said.

  The clerk pushed the box back. “What the hell you been doing to my truck? The damn thing smelled like swamp mud.”

  “No time to chat,” Hook said.

  “I’m signing out no truck until I get an explanation.”

  “Well, I am kind of rushed this morning, seeing as how I’ve got to get my report on supply finished up and sent in to Division.”

  “What report?”

  “My investigation.”

  “On supply?”

  “After that, I got to get out to the Baldwin Asylum. Seems like I never get caught up.”

  “What supply report?”

  “That sort of thing is confidential, but I will say this. The company disapproves of shoddy inventory. You know what I mean?”

  The clerk stood. “Now look, Runyon, I run a tight shop here. Nothing goes out but what’s signed for.”

  “I understand you wouldn’t do anything like that yourself, but you know how these other bastards are, carrying things home in their lunch pails.

  “I caught a man stealing signal wire out of the Needles supply shack. Had the damn stuff rolled up under his shirt. What the hell could he have been thinking? He got a year in the slammer on that one.”

  The clerk dug in his pocket for the truck key and handed it to Hook.

  “I run a tight shop here, Runyon.”

  “Yes, sir, so I’ve heard. I doubt I’ll find a thing in a shop such as this.”

 
Hook had no sooner opened the door to the company truck when a police car pulled in. The cop that got out stretched the kinks out of his legs. Gray tinged his hair, and a bandage had been taped behind his ear.

  “I want to talk to you,” he said.

  Hook closed the door. “Start talking.”

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Hook Runyon, railroad agent. What’s yours?”

  “We raided a jungle last night,” he said.

  “Were they on railroad property?”

  “Under a city bridge.”

  “Out of my jurisdiction,” Hook said. “You see one on railroad property, give me a call.”

  “Thing is, I caught one of them and cuffed him to the bridge support. When I got back the son of a bitch had escaped, gone, but his arm was hanging from the bridge. Someone cracked me behind the ear, and when I woke up, damn if that arm hadn’t disappeared.”

  “What does all this have to do with me?”

  “So far, you’re the only one-arm son of a bitch I’ve seen.”

  Hook lit a cigarette and looked at the cop through a cloud of smoke.

  “With all these army boys about, my guess is that there’s more than one man in Barstow with an arm missing.”

  “The son of a bitch better not let me catch him,” he said. “Any man cracks me on the head’s going to get his ass kicked.”

  “Mind moving your patrol car?” Hook said. “We got rules about blocking the right of way.”

  Hook pulled up at the bridge and got out, checking to make certain he hadn’t been followed. The cops had done a fair job of wrecking the jungle. What they couldn’t break up, they had thrown into the river.

  “You boys can come out,” Hook said.

  One by one they emerged from the weed patch.

  “Hello, Hook,” Seth said, cocking his hat. “Some night.”

  “You can figure those cops will come back,” Hook said. “And they’re a little pissed, especially the one with his head cracked.”

  “I hit my head all the time on these bridge supports,” Seth said. “It can sure make you mad.”

  Roy buried his hands in his pockets. “You come for more shine, Hook? I got a small batch down there in the weeds.”

  “Last time I drank your popskull someone tore off my arm,” Hook said, “and I didn’t even know it.”