The Hanging of Samuel Ash (14 page)

“You lose your badge again or something, Hook?”

“Did that Junior Monroe show up?”

“Well, last I checked I didn't get paid to watch him, but he's back. In fact, here he comes now. I swear he bawls like a weaning calf when you ain't around.”

Junior Monroe stepped in the door and adjusted his tie. “The road-rail's up on the sidewalk, Hook.”

“That machinist helper couldn't put on his overalls without instructions,” Hook said.

“What's that on the back?” Junior asked.

“It's that wigwag boy, if it's any of your worry,” he said.

Junior looked over at Popeye.

Popeye shrugged and sat down at his desk. “He's got his shorts in a wad, Junior, so there ain't no fixing it.”

“I thought that someone hung the boy,” Junior said.

“Well, they did, but that's him nonetheless.”

“What are you going to do with him, Hook?”

“I'm shipping him home where he belongs soon as you loan me fifteen dollars for a ticket.”

Junior turned his pocket out. “I paid the last of my check to that chef. I don't have enough left for food.”

Hook turned to Popeye. “Oh, no,” Popeye said. “I'm still three dollars down from last month.”

Junior peered out the window. “Is that really a body out there?” he asked.

“No, I made the whole thing up for your entertainment, Junior. Hell, yes, it's a body, and I intend to see it gets home.”

“Well, you can't put it in here,” Popeye said. “It's against regulations.”

“I've never seen a dead man before,” Junior said.

“Well, there's one sitting right there behind the desk,” Hook said. “And where is my dog?”

“He's out there relieving himself on the road-rail tires,” Junior said.

“Go catch him and take him to the caboose. Wait for me there. I've got calls to make.”

*   *   *

Hook dialed Eddie Preston and waited through a half-dozen rings.

“Security,” Eddie said.

“Eddie, Hook. I've uncovered some important information on those pickpockets.”

“You get that thing in Carlsbad taken care of?”

“Yeah, Eddie. They were thrilled, though there's some question yet as to the final costs for repairs.”

“The company's paid those bastards all they're going to get, Runyon. You can just tell them that.”

“Sure, Eddie. Listen, I've tracked down those pickpockets. They've moved their operation to the Amarillo-Wellington run. I've got them right where I want them.” He paused. “Just one thing.”

“What one thing?”

“I need an order cut to move my caboose to Avard, Oklahoma. There's a good siding there, and it's about halfway along the line. I could work both ends from there.”

“I can't be dragging that caboose all over the country.”

“It would be a hell of a lot cheaper than putting up in a hotel somewhere, Eddie. Frenchy's shuttling steamers to salvage. Have him pick me up. It won't cost the company a damn thing.”

“Maybe I ought to send that boy instead,” Eddie said. “Someone I can trust.”

“He's working a hoptoad out of Lubbock. Anyway, I doubt he studied pickpockets in college. Look, I've got those bastards on the run, but I need to get in the area fast.”

“Alright, Runyon, I'll see what I can do, but I expect to see some results.”

“You're the one I always turn to when there's nothing else left, Eddie.”

*   *   *

Hook found Junior waiting on the steps of the caboose. Mixer, stretched out under the steps, lifted his head and then went back to sleep.

“Come on in, Junior. We have some figuring to do.”

Junior stood, took off his hat, and held it in front of his lap.

“I don't care for more Beam and water, Hook.”

“Well, that's good because you're not getting any. Drinking on the job will get you canned in a hurry, Junior.”

“I sure won't be drinking on the job anymore. I can promise you that.”

Hook opened the door, and Mixer bound up the steps. He ran between his legs and into the caboose.

“Sit down, Junior, and tell me what you found on that hoptoad.”

Junior moved books to the side and took up a place at the table.

“Four cars jumped the rail not far from the north crossing. The engine broke loose and traveled on down the track. The cars jackknifed, tearing out a quarter mile of track before they came to a stop. I should think it's going to be a while before they get the mess cleaned up, Hook.”

Hook lit a cigarette, and Junior slid to the side.

“And what do you figure caused her to jump the rail?”

“Well, at first I thought maybe they hit the curve too fast, but the engineer swore he didn't break the speed limit, not so much as a mile over. So, I walked the tracks back and forth to see if I could find where it had first jumped off the rail. I'm telling you, Hook, it looked like it had been dug up with a bulldozer.”

“And?”

“Pretty soon I found where the inside rail had sprung up from the ties, and the cars had shoved it twenty feet into the air.”

“Had someone tampered with it?” Hook asked.

“Not that I could tell.”

Hook squashed out his cigarette and walked to the door of the caboose.

“Junior, I want you to snoop around the signal department here in Clovis and see if you can find out if any of those boys were in the area of that hoptoad the day it happened. It's best you keep it under wraps for now, so don't go making a big deal out of it.”

“Okay, Hook.”

“Some of those boys can play pretty rough. You understand what I'm saying?”

“I'll be careful, Hook.”

Hook sat back down and tapped his prosthesis on the table.

“You have a shoelace, Junior?”

Junior looked up at him. “Sure, Hook. They're genuine leather. They can be polished right along with your shoes.”

“Give me one.”

“It's how I keep my shoes on, Hook.”

“I'll give it back, Junior. Jesus.”

Hook took the shoelace and held it out in front of him. “I want you to watch how I tie this.”

“I learned how to tie my shoes in the first grade, Hook.”

“Just watch, Junior. Make an overhand loop like this. Bring the tail around and over like this. Got it? Then tighten here.”

“What is it?”

“That's the question.”

“It's a loop,” Junior said.

“That's good, Junior. It sure as hell is. But what kind?”

“A loop is a loop, isn't it?”

“That's what I want you to find out.”

“Where?”

“I don't know, Junior. That's why I have an assistant. If you can't find a goddang knot, how you going to solve crimes?”

“May I have my shoestring back now, Hook?”

“Here. And keep it in your pocket; otherwise, you'll forget how it's tied.”

Junior dropped the shoestring into his pocket. “May I go now, Hook?”

“No. I need some help.”

“I'm not able to take care of your dog anymore, Hook. He followed me into the lobby of Hotel Clovis and sprayed on the luggage cart. They threatened to remove me if he ever showed up again.”

“We'll talk about that later. Right now I want you to help me lift something.”

“Lift what?”

“Dead weight, Junior. Follow me.”

 

16

 

J
UNIOR AND HOOK
groaned as they slid the coffin off the road-rail and onto the caboose platform. Mixer circled and sniffed before curling up in the shade of the coffin. Hook tied it off with ropes and cinched the whole thing up tight on the caboose railing. Afterward, they pulled the road-rail back around to the front of the depot. Junior looked at him from the passenger's seat.

“Creepy,” he said.

“I'm moving the caboose to Avard to hunt pickpockets, Junior. I don't see why that boy can't ride along.”

“But he's dead, Hook.”

“Everyone will be sooner or later, including you. Anyway, he'll complain a hell of a lot less than some folks I know.”

“When will you be returning?”

“Soon as I get here. In the meantime, you look into that business I told you about. If you find out anything, let Popeye know. I'll check in with him now and again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And remember, Junior, you're smack in the middle between management and labor, and both of them are going to hate you before it's over. It won't make a damn difference what you do.”

“And what about the derailment? I mean the hoptoad.”

“For now, we'll call it an accident. There's no need to ratchet up the tension just yet.”

“Hook?”

“What?”

“Do you think you could obtain a pass for me now?”

“I'll take care of it. In the meantime, you can use the road-rail, but don't go getting on the line without clearance.”

“But you did, Hook.”

“Experience, Junior, like a professional high-wire acrobat walking over Niagara Falls. Not everyone who comes along can just do it.”

“I see.”

“Then what you hanging around for? There's work to be done.”

Hook watched Junior limp off toward the depot, his shoe clopping up and down on his heel. Junior turned at the door and waved back.

*   *   *

That evening Hook went through his books before storing them away under the bunk. Soon enough he'd have to find somewhere else to keep them, either that or trade out his caboose for a boxcar.

Mixer snored under the table as the moon rose over the cupola. Hook couldn't sleep, so he slipped on his britches and went outside for a smoke. The depot had emptied, and the moonlight cast off the casket in an ivory glow. The night smelled clean and fresh. He leaned against the railing and considered what he knew about the death of Samuel Ash.

Someone had wanted the boy dead badly enough to follow him into the middle of the desert and hang him. Union men hated scabs, no secret there, and Samuel Ash had been just that. He'd been killed on railroad property, too. Whoever did it had to know his location.

Moose Barrick, a guy just dumb and mean enough to kill someone, couldn't be ruled out. And Slope Hurley was just smart enough to put him up to it. But Slope, if telling the truth, had made an effort to defuse the situation by sending the boy on the road. On the other hand, he'd made it a hell of a lot easier for Samuel Ash to die without witnesses.

Hook flipped his cigarette away, and it spiraled out into the darkness.

He opened the caboose door and paused. “Night, Samuel Ash,” he said. “Tomorrow, you go home.”

*   *   *

Frenchy coupled in while Hook put Mixer into the caboose, after which Hook climbed the ladder to the engine cab and took up his perch behind Frenchy.

Frenchy didn't say anything as he bumped out the slack. The fireman shoved the boiler door shut with his foot and dabbed at his face with his bandanna. Frenchy opened up the throttle, and the old teapot churned and huffed as she stepped out onto the high rail.

Frenchy lit his cigar, smoke swirling about his head. “Okay, Hook,” he said. “What's in the box?”

“What box?”

“The one cinched up on your caboose deck. What the hell box do you think?”

“It's a body,” Hook said.

“You ain't drinking Runt Wallace shine again, are you?”

“It's a body, Frenchy.”

“You running tequila or something?”

“Jesus, Frenchy, it's a dead body.”

“Holy hell,” he said. “You got to have a permit to haul a dead body around?”

“So, I have one.”

“Then you wouldn't mind showing it to me, I guess?”

Hook handed him the permit. Frenchy rolled his cigar to the other side of his mouth as he looked it over. He handed it back. Just then the crossing outside of Clovis loomed up, and Frenchy lay in on his whistle. He glanced back at Hook.

“So, you finally did it,” he said.

“Did what?”

“Killed Eddie Preston.”

“Eddie Preston is alive and well, I'm sorry to say.”

The old teapot leveled out, and her drivers drummed as she shot into the prairie.

“If you didn't kill Eddie, who
did
you kill?” he asked.

“If I was to kill someone, it would most likely be an engineer,” Hook said.

The fireman turned and grinned. “I know one you could kill right off, Hook.”

Frenchy flipped the ash of his cigar out the window. “I can't be hauling a body around without knowing who it is. It might be the president or a railroad official.”

“His name is Samuel Ash, if you got to know. He's that boy I found hanging off the potash wigwag.”

Frenchy studied Hook. “It's mighty peculiar for a dead man to be riding around on the back of a caboose, even for you, Hook.”

“This is a different situation, Frenchy. Suffice it to say that I'm taking this boy home for a proper burial, providing this tin can ever gets us there.”

“This ain't the
Super Chief,
Hook, as you know, and I've got engines to pick up along the way. Them blast furnaces been running twenty-four hours a day. You'd think the world would come to an end if they left one of these old sweethearts running. Anyway, I've got a 2-10-2 sitting just outside of Tulia and an old engine in Borger, north of Panhandle.”

“Tulia and Panhandle? Hell, Frenchy, I need to get on to Carmen.”

“Maybe you should have thought this out before putting that dead man on your caboose.”

“I did think it out. He's hermetically sealed up for the trip, even one with this old galloper at the lead.”

The fireman thumped the pressure gauge with this finger. “Joe Stinson said he saw one of those hermetics in an Amarillo cathouse once. I never did see one myself, though.”