The Hanging of Samuel Ash (13 page)

The undertaker squatted down, retrieved the worm, and dropped it into his coffee can.

“Those goddang catfish go for them big ones,” he said. “I caught a twenty pounder on one just the other day.”

“I've done a little checking on this boy. According to the military records, he's from Carmen, Oklahoma.”

“I got a cemetery full of folks, and all of them are from somewhere,” he said.

“Why couldn't he be shipped back to his home and buried there?”

“Everything's possible with enough money. Maybe you have enough?”

“The quest for justice is a noble one, but it doesn't pay worth a damn,” Hook said.

“That's sort of what I figured. Look, Mr. Runyon, shipping bodies isn't quite as simple as it sounds. First, you have to get a burial transit permit, and then two first-class tickets, one for the escort and one for the corpse.

“The body has to be shipped within a specified number of days. Those days have already lapsed, so the body will have to be cavity-disinfected and embalmed, orifices plugged, wrapped in two layers of cotton and hermetically sealed. The coffin itself has to be shipped in a structurally sound outer container in the event of wrecks and other potential mishaps. Do you hear the cash register ringing yet?”

Hook squashed out his cigarette. “You couldn't trim that back a little, given this boy went into combat for his country?”

“I'd be happy to, except once the body arrives at its destination, a report is sent back to the licensing agency about its condition. While I love fishing, I love eating even more. Do you get the picture?”

Hook bent down and picked up another worm with his hook. “How much?”

“A couple hundred, give or take.”

“And if I come up with the money and agree to be the escort?”

“Then I'll do what is necessary, and he's all yours.”

Hook dropped the worm into the can. “Thanks,” he said. “I've some calls I need to make.”

*   *   *

Hook sat in the Carlsbad operator's chair and dialed Eddie Preston.

“Eddie,” he said. “Hook here.”

“Where are you, Runyon?”

“I'm in Carlsbad trying to clean up this mess with the road-rail accident.”

“Why are you calling me? I told you that road-rail was your responsibility.”

“The thing is, Eddie, the city is threatening to sue if the company doesn't pay damages on their patrol car.”

“Why does everyone think they can sue the goddamn railroad, Runyon?”

“They want two hundred, Eddie. It's a hell of a lot cheaper than a lawsuit.”

“This doesn't smell right.”

“I didn't want to bring this up, Eddie, but that bus you ordered towed turned out to be the B&B work bus. I had to bail your boy out of jail for stealing company property.”

“Company bus?”

“That's right, the B&B bus. Not to worry, Eddie. I worked it out. No one knows you ordered it towed. I mean, hell, everyone makes stupid mistakes sometimes.”

Hook could hear Eddie thinking. “What did you say the bill was on that patrol car?” he asked.

“A couple hundred. If you could wire it here to the Carlsbad operator, I'll see it's paid.”

“Alright, Runyon, but I don't like it. I'm telling you, I don't like it.”

“Thanks, Eddie. I can't put into words my feelings about you.”

*   *   *

Hook hung up and watched Clyde finish counting out his ticket drawer.

Clyde turned. “About that money I loaned you, Hook?” he said.

“You mean that boot money?”

“That's right.”

“The railroad will work you into the ground and bunk you in a cattle car, but it always meets its debts, Clyde.”

“Not that I was worried about it or anything,” he said.

“That's good, Clyde. Now I'll be back later and see if we can't work something out, but a man's duty always comes before money. You need to remember that.”

*   *   *

Hook spent the afternoon obtaining a burial transit permit from the Department of Health, after which he stopped by the undertaker's and advised him that the money was on the way. The undertaker agreed to have things in order for transit by morning.

That night Hook parked the road-rail in the alley behind the depot and slept in the seat. He dreamed that a corpse was riding next to him on the
Super Chief
. They ate steak dinners together in the dining car and drank Beam and branch water. But when Hook failed to pay for the meals, the conductor twisted his arm up behind his back and threw him and the corpse off in the middle of the Chihuahuan Desert.

When Hook awoke, his prosthesis had caught in the door latch, and he had to remove his harness in order to extricate himself.

*   *   *

The next morning, Hook found Clyde pouring coffee from his thermos.

“Coffee?” Clyde asked. “You look like you need it.”

“Thanks,” Hook said. “That money come in?”

“Two hundred,” Clyde said, pulling an envelope from the drawer. “I could sure use my share now, Hook.”

Hook sipped on the coffee, which had cooled in the thermos.

“I'd be happy to pay you this minute, Clyde, were it my money to spend. But this money is to be used for the proper burial of a war hero. You wouldn't want to stand in the way of that, would you?”

“No, sir, but I understood I'd be paid with company money.”

“Well, in most cases that's true, Clyde, but this money is intended for something altogether different.”

“I'm short no matter how it's intended, Hook. Maybe I should just turn the whole thing over to Division to figure out.”

“No, no. I'll just take the money out of my own pocket. Far be it from me to spend money meant for a war hero and put it on a new pair of boots. You couldn't get by on a little less for now, I suppose?”

“Well, I might get by with five.”

“You're a man of honor, and it warms my heart to do business with you, Clyde. Here's five and the other five's coming soon enough. You can bet on that.”

*   *   *

After pulling into the drive of the undertaker's place, he waited for the road-rail to stutter to a stop. The undertaker answered the door with his fishing hat on, which had been decorated with all manner of fishing lures.

Hook presented the transit permit. “I'm here to pick up Samuel Ash,” he said.

“Finished up this morning,” the undertaker said. “You understand that the container is not to be breached?”

“My intent is to ship him off to relatives to bury, soon as I get some located,” Hook said.

“I'll make arrangements with the funeral home there to receive the body. There's a loading dock around back. Pull around, and we'll load him up.”

The shipping container, a reinforced metal box with grips, caused Hook to groan when they lifted it into the road-rail. The lid had been sealed, and a plastic envelope had been attached to one of the handles.

“What the hell kind of vehicle is this, anyway?” the undertaker asked.

“It's a long story,” Hook said, dropping down from the road-rail. “I hope the tires don't blow.”

“That shipping container is lead-lined and guaranteed leak-free,” he said. “None better for the money.”

Hook dabbed the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “So how much do I owe you?”

“One eighty, counting the prep and the equipment,” he said. “No charge for the lifting.”

Hook counted out the bills. “That's a pretty hefty price if I do say so.”

“Traveling isn't cheap,” he said. “Say, you interested in doing a little fishing this afternoon?”

“Thanks the same, but I've a train to meet,” Hook said.

Hook pulled off, the casket looming dark and quiet in the back. He took the side streets to the depot and parked under the tree down the way. He found Clyde with his feet kicked up on the desk. He laid down his newspaper and waited for Hook to pull up a chair.

“Clyde,” Hook said. “I need you to work up a first-class ticket to Carmen, Oklahoma.”

“Hell, Hook, you don't need a ticket. You have a pass.”

“It isn't for me,” he said.

“Who's it for?”

“That feller waiting out there in my road-rail.”

“Why don't he buy his own ticket, Hook?”

“Because he's dead, Clyde. It's a corpse ticket to Carmen, Oklahoma, if you don't mind.”

“Alright, Hook. You want the observation car?”

Hook lit a cigarette and squinted up an eye. “I don't think that will be necessary, Clyde.”

“One way or round-trip?”

“Let's make it a one way.”

“That's nineteen dollars and fifty cents,” he said.

“Charge it to the company.”

Clyde scratched at his head. “I can't do that on my own, Hook. I'll have to have clearance from Division.”

“Damn,” Hook said. “Sometimes I think I'll just go back on the bum. Life's a hell of a lot less complicated.”

“You want the ticket, I got to have the money.”

“I only have fifteen,” he said.

“I don't set the prices, Hook.”

Hook walked to the window and looked up the tracks. “How much would a ticket be from
Clovis
to Carmen?”

Clyde dug through his notebook once again. “Fifteen even,” he said. “That's one way. But you have to get him to Clovis first. How you going to do that?”

Hook held up the road-rail key. “The same way I got him here,” he said.

 

15

 

T
HE OLD ROAD-RAIL
kicked and bucked down the street, and the coffin rattled in the back as Hook made his way through Carlsbad. If he could make it back to Clovis intact, his fifteen bucks would buy a first-class corpse ticket. That, along with his pass, should get them both to Carmen, Oklahoma, without a hitch.

Once there, he'd locate the family and turn the rest over to them. He didn't fancy do-gooders much and didn't consider himself to be one. As far as he was concerned, this task fell in the line of duty, and while at it he just might turn up something that could explain Samuel Ash's death.

After turning north on Main, Hook headed out of town. He checked on the casket through the rearview mirror. He could see the last of town disappearing on the horizon. While he had nothing against Carlsbad, his luck hadn't been the best there, and leaving it behind suited him just fine.

As he rounded the corner, the road dropped away to the intersection below. With the added weight of the casket, the road-rail gathered up speed. Hook stepped on the brake, but the pedal sank to the floor. His stomach knotted and his mouth went hot. He pumped the brakes again and again but the road-rail continued to charge downhill. The front end shook and rattled as the intersection rose up in front of him.

Hook aimed for the center of the road, praying the while that no one was coming. He clenched his jaw and gripped the steering wheel as he shot through the intersection at breakneck speeds.

When at last he'd rolled to a stop, he leaned back and waited for his heart to stop pounding. Only then did he notice the patrol car that had pulled in behind him, its red light spinning.

Officer Joe climbed out. He walked around the road-rail and then back again. He came to Hook's window.

“Small world, ain't it?” he said.

“They just don't make brakes like they used to,” Hook said.

Officer Joe pushed his hat back. “Maybe you'd like me to pull the patrol car around front here, so you can tear off the other fender? That way we could save everyone a lot of time.”

“No, no,” Hook said. “That won't be required.”

Officer Joe looked back at the casket.

“What's in the box? You running guns, hooch?”

“It's a body,” Hook said.

A smile pulled up the corner of Officer Joe's mouth. “Sure it is,” he said. “And I'm Robin Hood, and this is merry ole England.”

“I'm shipping it home,” Hook said.

“Maybe it's something duty-free out of Juárez?”

“It's just a body, like I said.”

“If my memory is correct, you owe money to the city of Carlsbad for the destruction of public property, namely the fender on my patrol car.”

“The company will be picking that up,” Hook said. “Now, I'll just be on my way, if it's alright with you.”

“Step out of the vehicle, Runyon. I think we best have a look in that box.”

Hook stepped out. “I wouldn't if I were you.”

“I'll bet you wouldn't.” He paused. “Why not?”

“That box is hermetically sealed.”

“You being a smart-ass, Runyon?”

“Sealed, you know, like a canning jar. Keeps the disease from spreading.”

“What disease?”

“Cholera.”

“Cholera? What's that?”

“You shit rice water until your skin turns to paper and your blood dries to powder. If you're lucky, you die fast.”

“That so?”

“Look, suppose I make an advance payment on that little fender accident, you know, to show my good intentions?”

Officer Joe looked at the casket and then at Hook. “How much good intentions did you have in mind?”

Hook reached for his billfold and counted out the bills. “Fifteen. Cash.”

“Well, now,” he said. “Far be it from me to expose the citizenry of Carlsbad to a dreaded disease. I'll see this money goes for repairs. Now, move on out of here, Runyon, and get those goddang brakes fixed before you kill someone.”

*   *   *

Hook bounced up on the sidewalk outside the Clovis depot and shut down the road-rail. Popeye awaited with his hands spiked on his waist.

“Hook, you can't be parking that road-rail on the sidewalk.”

“Popeye,” Hook said. “If I hear any more complaints, I'm going to park it on top of your desk.”