The Hanging of Samuel Ash (16 page)

Hook dropped down next to him. The passenger train's whistle blew, and the cars edged off. The man shook his head, pulled onto all fours, and struggled to stand.

“You son of a bitch,” he said. “I'll kill you.”

Hook caught him across the ear with a short punch. He grunted and rolled onto his back. His eyes flipped white, and his lungs sucked for wind. Blood oozed from the bridge of his nose.

Hook picked up the leather suitcase, which had fallen onto the platform. He caught the man under the arm and lifted him to his feet.

“Like I said, you're under arrest.”

Hook pulled him into the baggage room and closed the door. The man dabbed blood from his nose and cursed under his breath. Hook dumped his leather bag onto the floor and scattered the cash and jewelry and wallets about with his foot.

“Who's working with you?” he asked.

“I'm not talking to no one-armed dick,” he said, snorting.

Hook snapped him again across the bridge of his nose, and he melted onto his knees.

“Someone took a shot at me,” Hook said. “I figure it might have been you. Frankly, my feelings are hurt.”

“I don't need a gun to pick a pocket,” the man said, sniffing. “Why would I chance a felony?”

“Because you're a brainless shit?” Hook said. “And that girl looks underage to me. I'm going to find out, and when I do, the charge won't be a misdemeanor anymore. In the meantime, I'm turning you over to the Amarillo police. You're going to love it.”

*   *   *

By day's end Hook had given his statement to the locals and had the pickpocket booked in the city jail. He went back to the depot to use the operator's phone.

“Yeah,” Eddie said.

“I'm in Amarillo,” Hook said. “I nabbed one of those pickpockets. He's cooling out.”

Eddie said, “They don't work alone, you know? You only get the one?”

“So far, but I'm hot on their trail. Course, Frenchy's dragging in every stack of rust between here and Kansas City. All the pickpockets in the country will be retired and living on the lake by the time I get there.”

“So Carlsbad City Hall calls me, see,” Eddie said. “They're pissed because they haven't been paid for that cop car. What the hell you do with that money, Runyon?”

“I gave it to the cop. You can't trust anyone anymore.”

“Those bastards aren't getting a penny more from the company,” Eddie said.

“That's how I feel about it, too, Eddie. Everybody thinks they can squeeze the railroad.”

“You need to wind this pickpocket thing up. There's talk of a general strike, and Truman's got his steam up. The unions could shut down the whole line.”

“I'm pretty good, Eddie, but I don't know if I can stop a general strike.”

“What about that Lubbock hoptoad?”

“Just another derailment far as I can tell so far. Poor switch maintenance, probably.”

“Call me if you find out anything.”

“Right, Eddie, and I don't care who says otherwise, I like your style.”

*   *   *

Hook hung up, thought for a moment, and then dialed Popeye's number in Clovis.

“Clovis depot,” Popeye said.

“Hook Runyon. Has Junior checked in?”

“He's standing right here eating my peanuts,” he said.

“Let me talk to him?”

Junior picked up. “Hook,” he said, “have you arrived in Carmen?”

“Not yet. What did you find out about that hoptoad?”

“Slope Hurley wasn't forthcoming about where his men were working. He said that
he
ran the signal department, not Hook Runyon.”

“So?”

“So, I told him we'd be looking into the signal department's overtime and sending in a report.”

“Threatening someone is against the rules, Junior. What did he say?”

“He said that Moose Barrick and his boys moved their crew car to Pampa several days ago.”

“And?”

“I believe it's possible that they could have gone on to Lubbock and sabotaged the track.”

“I want you to catch the next train to Panhandle. I'll be laying over there while Frenchy goes to Borger to pick up an old smoker. While you're waiting, keep an eye out for a girl in a pink dress.”

“Yes, sir. I will. Have you acquired a pass for me yet?”

“I'm working on it. In the meantime, hop something going through.”

“But it's so irregular, sir, hopping a train, and really rather embarrassing.”

“You want to learn to walk that tightwire, don't you?”

“Yes, sir, I do but…”

“When I get to Panhandle, you and me are going to have a talk with Moose and his boys.”

“Hook?”

“What?”

“About that knot.”

“What knot?”

“The one you asked me to identify?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“It's a honda knot.”

“A what?”

“A honda knot. It's like a lasso knot that cowboys use.”

“How do you know?”

“I asked a Mexican coming out of the beer joint downtown. He told me and then he called me a stupid gringo.”

“Honda. Yeah, I knew that,” Hook said.

“Hook?”

“What?”

“May I put my shoestring back in my shoe now?”

*   *   *

The lights of the yards gathered up in the low-hanging clouds as Hook made his way back to the caboose. When he arrived, Frenchy had already coupled in and had brought up steam.

Hook climbed the engine ladder and stuck his head in the cab. He found Frenchy checking the boiler pressure.

Frenchy turned. “Well, it's about time,” he said. “This old sweetheart's humming and rearing to go.”

“Let me go find my dog, Frenchy.”

“The bakehead's already found him and put him in the caboose.”

The bakehead stuck out his boot to show Hook the teeth marks. “That son of a bitch tried to bite me.”

“He's just spirited,” Hook said.

“John Perez says he's the antichrist,” Frenchy said.

“If you bastards are going to belittle my dog, I'm going to ride in the caboose. I could use some rest, anyway. Even a yard dog can't work all the time, you know.”

*   *   *

Back at the caboose, Mixer jumped up and placed both paws on Hook's chest.

“Go lay down,” Hook said. “I swear I'm going to give you to Eddie Preston.”

Mixer crawled under the bunk, his tail clumping against the floor. Hook took off his prosthesis and put it on the table. He stretched out on the bunk and pried his shoes off with his toe. Catching pickpockets had proved to be a tiring activity.

Frenchy finessed the old steamer out of the yards, and they were soon churning their way down the high rail toward Panhandle. Hook considered a Beam and water. But weariness overtook him, and he soon fell asleep under the hypnotic cadence of Frenchy's engine.

*   *   *

Sometime in the night he awoke to Mixer scratching at the door. Hook sat up on the edge of the bunk. The caboose clipped along in a high waddle, and steam from Frenchy's engine wafted over the cupola.

“Go back to sleep,” he said. “You're just going to have to wait until we get to Panhandle.” Mixer whined and dug at the base of the door with his paw. “Alright, alright,” Hook said, slipping on his shoes. “Damn dog. You'll have to go on the porch, I guess.”

When he opened the caboose door, Mixer darted onto the porch and commenced barking at the coffin. Hook went out to get him. The wind whipped his hair into his eyes, and the clack of the wheels beat out a rhythm. He stared into the blackness and shivered against the night cool.

“Come on,” he said, hollering into the wind. “Get back in here.”

But Mixer's bark turned pitched and certain. Just then the clouds parted, and Samuel Ash's coffin lit up in the moonlight. Hook moved forward, gripping the rail against the roll of the caboose. And there, squeezed in behind the coffin, the girl in the pink dress looked up at him.

 

18

 

“
W
HAT THE HELL
are you doing?” Hook asked, pulling her out from behind the casket.

She shoved him in the chest with both hands, and he stumbled back against the caboose. Before he could regain his composure, she headed for the railing to jump. Hook leapt forward, catching her by the foot and dragging her back. She whirled about, her eyes lit in the moonlight, and drew back her fist. Hook caught her on the chin, and she wilted onto the deck. Mixer barked and ran in a circle around her.

Kicking open the door, he said, “Get in the caboose, Mixer.”

Hook dragged the girl in and closed the door behind him. He lit the lantern. When she opened her eyes, she sat up and drew back her fist again.

“I wouldn't do that,” he said.

She lowered her fist. “Don't touch me,” she said. “I'll scream rape.”

“What makes you think I'm interested in raping you?”

“You don't have any pants on,” she said.

“Oh,” he said, reaching for his britches. “What's your name?”

“What's yours?”

Hook turned and zipped his britches. “As long as you're hitching a ride on my caboose, you answer the questions.”

“Jackie,” she said.

“Jackie?”

“That's right. Short for Jacqueline, if it's any of your business.”

“Oh, it's my business. I'm the railroad bull, and you've just made one hell of a mistake.”

“I haven't done anything,” she said. She pushed her hair behind her ears and stuck her chin out at him. “You going to arrest me?”

“Picking pockets is against the law.”

“I don't pick pockets,” she said.

“No, you just distract the mark long enough for someone else to do it.” He slipped on his shirt. “How old are you?”

“How old are you?” she asked. “A hundred?”

Hook said, “I've been watching you pick pockets for some time now.
You're
likely to be a hundred by the time you get out of jail.”

“Seventeen,” she said.

“Where you from?”

“Katmandu.”

Mixer peeked out from under the bunk, and Hook shot him a hard look. He crawled back under.

Hook dug his handcuffs out of the drawer and said, “Have it your way, Jackie. I'll be turning you over to the police in Panhandle. Until then, we'll need to secure you.”

She stood and straightened her dress. He could see the mark on her chin and the chiseled cut of her profile in the dim light of the lantern. She had a natural beauty that had, no doubt, given her trouble with men.

“Kansas City,” she said.

Hook laid the cuffs on the table. “You hungry?”

“No,” she said, pausing. “For what?”

“Spam and crackers.”

“Is that it?”

“That's it.”

“I guess I could eat,” she said.

Hook opened a can of Spam and cut slices with his pocketknife. He slid the plate across the table and watched as she wolfed it down.

“You a runaway, Jackie?” he asked.

She looked up at him and shrugged. “I left home, if that's what you mean?”

“It's not what I mean.”

“My mother's dead. I lived with my father as long as I could.”

“Was he mean to you?”

“No,” she said, pushing her plate away. “Indifferent. When Barney came along…”

“Barney? The man in the hat? The one who took the purse?”

She wiped her mouth and reached into her pocket for a lipstick.

“I didn't say that.”

“Barney helped you run away?”

She tightened her lip against her teeth and worked the lipstick back and forth until her lips turned a deep red.

“Barney says not to talk to anyone about anything.”

“Barney hasn't been caught by the law, has he? You have. Where is he now?”

She shrugged again. “I don't know.”

“So, Barney left you to fend for yourself when things got rough? He's gone, and you're headed to jail. Hardly seems right.”

She wet the end of her finger, dabbed the bits of crackers off the plate, and put them in her mouth. Frenchy's whistle trailed off in the night as they came to a crossing.

“Barney's Barney,” she said. “I never thought he'd do otherwise.”

“Does Barney carry a weapon?”

“No,” she said, glancing away.

“Has he used it on anyone, Jackie?”

“It's just a pistol that he puts in his belt. He says it's for an emergency, that working the rails is like walking into a jungle. You never know what's going to come after you.”

“Coffee?” he asked.

She wrinkled her nose. “Milk.”

“I don't have milk. I have coffee. Jesus, are you related to Junior?”

“Junior who?”

“Never mind.”

“Water then, if it's such a big deal,” she said.

“So where do you figure he went?”

“Barney doesn't tell me anything. He says the less I know the better off I'll be.”

“Don't you have a rendezvous in case you get separated?”

“What's a rendezvous?”

“A place to meet.”

She shook her head. “No, but Barney don't give nothing up.”

“Including you?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Does he have other people who work for him?”

“You arrested him back there at the depot.”

“What about diversions?”

“Barney says that common folks make the best diversion. He picks them up along the way. Some don't even know what they're doing.”

“Like old ladies, for example?”

“He paid a kid in Wellington a dollar to throw a tantrum on the platform. He sure got his money's worth.”

Hook walked to the door and looked out. The blackness of the prairie engulfed the caboose as it charged into the night. When he turned, she was watching him.