The Hanging of Samuel Ash (28 page)

*   *   *

Back at his room, Hook fixed himself a drink and slipped off his shoes. Everything he thought he knew about Samuel Ash had vanished. Nothing fit anymore, and he didn't know how much longer he could stall Eddie Preston.

And then there was Samuel Ash, or Bruce Mason, or whoever the hell lay in that casket on the porch of his caboose. And why hadn't Eagleman gone to the sheriff about their encounter in his office? And how did Buck know his name when they'd never met before?

This much he did know: a full right turn had to be made in his thinking, and he figured to start it by talking to Skink first thing in the morning.

 

30

 

W
HEN THE PHONE
rang at four in the morning, Hook thought of Celia. He stumbled through the darkness and dug the phone out from beneath a stack of shop receipts.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hook?”

“Yeah.”

“Junior Monroe.”

“Why the hell you calling me this time of morning, Junior?”

“I'm in Avard, Hook. I caught a train out of Wellington. We sat for four hours on a siding outside of Kiowa. I'm exhausted, and I can't feel my hands.”

“Neither can I, but you'll get used to it,” Hook said. “Anyway, that's no reason to wake a man up at four in the morning.”

“But you said you wanted me to check on things.”

“And?”

“So I did.”

“Jesus, Junior, can you just get on with it?”

“It's gone.”

“What's gone?”

“Your caboose.”

Hook reached for his cigarettes and then remembered he didn't have his clothes on.

“That's not funny, Junior.”

“I'm serious, Hook. It's gone and Samuel Ash with it.”

“Jesus,” Hook said.

“I'm calling from the general store here in Avard. The owner almost shot me for knocking on his door. He said he thought I was a hobo.”

“Well, maybe it just got sided off by the elevators when they were loading hoppers.”

“I looked, Hook, and I walked up and down the tracks. I couldn't see anything, eastbound or west. Why would anyone want to steal that old caboose with Samuel Ash tied on the porch?”

“I don't know. Why was I ever born?” Hook said.

“What do you want me to do? I'm running up this guy's phone bill, and he doesn't look too happy.”

“Wait for me. I'll catch a short haul over soon as I can.”

“Where do you want me to wait?”

“What the hell difference does it make, Junior? It's Avard, not Chicago.”

*   *   *

By the time Hook got dressed, fed Mixer, and headed down the street, he could hear the switch engine bumping in a line of empty hoppers at the crossing. Just as he got there, the short haul rolled out. Running alongside, he caught the grab iron and pulled up.

After catching his breath, he leaned back and watched the morning break. The fields had all been harvested now, and a lot of the farmers were already plowing up stubble.

Within the hour, the Avard elevators grew ever larger on the horizon. Junior Monroe had a way of getting things wrong. He hoped to hell he'd done it again.

The short haul slowed as they came into town. Hook crawled out on the ladder and hit the ground running. Junior sat on the steps next to the scale house waiting on him. His Panama, having borne the brunt of his travels, hung limp over an ear. He stood as Hook approached.

“Did you find it?” Hook asked.

“It's gone, Hook. I asked around, and nobody's seen it.”

Hook scanned the horizon. “It can't just be gone, Junior. It's a caboose, for Christ's sake, a red caboose.”

Junior took off his hat. He looked older than Hook remembered.

“It has to be either eastbound or westbound,” he said.

“I guess you learned that in college?” Hook said.

“I came in from the east, and I didn't see any caboose. I guess that leaves westbound.”

Hook stood in the middle of the tracks and looked westbound.

“Well, now, that narrows it down,” he said. “It's got to be between here and San Francisco somewhere, providing you didn't overlook it in the middle of the night.”

“Is there a siding?” Junior asked. “Maybe they moved the caboose out of the way for other cars.”

Hook wet the end of his finger and rubbed Patch's phone number off his prosthesis.

“There's a siding about halfway to Waynoka, but how the hell we going to get there?”

“We could walk,” Junior said. “If you're up to it, I mean.”

Hook looked at Junior. “I walked rail when you were sucking sugar tit, Junior. I think I can manage.”

*   *   *

The sun bore down on their backs as they walked along the track. Hook led, with Junior bringing up drag. Hook waited for him to come up.

“Did you ever catch Barney?” Junior asked, adjusting his hat.

Hook walked on. “Course I did.”

“Really? Did he carry a weapon?”

“A pistol, but I took it away from him. I never let a weapon interfere with enforcing the law.”

“That's quite brave, actually,” he said.

“Some might say that,” he said. “And did you deliver Jackie to KC?”

“Yes,” he said. “I felt sorry for her, you know. I don't think she understood the implications of her actions.”

“Well, who does? By the by, Popeye said you let those seal busters get away over to Wellington?”

“They were spry for their age,” he said.

Hook stopped and looked up at the sun. “The siding is just around that curve. If there's any shooting, you jump in the bar ditch, and let me take care of things.”

“When do
I
get a weapon, Hook?”

“When you start shaving, Junior. Now stay low.”

Hook edged around the curve, knelt, and held his hand above his eyes against the sun.

“Do you see anything?” Junior asked.

“The goddang railroad track,” Hook said. “But there's no caboose and no Samuel Ash. You got any more bright ideas?”

Somewhere behind them, the whistle of a train sounded.

“Maybe you should call Division?” Junior said.

“You got a phone in your pocket?”

“No, but you could call him from Waynoka.”

Smoke from a steamer crawled up into the blue behind them.

“Here's what we're going to do,” Hook said. “That's a freighter coming back there. When she slows for the curve, we're going to hop her, ride her into Waynoka, and find out what the hell is going on.”

“I'm not skilled at jumping on trains, Hook.”

Hook took another look down track. “Just follow me, Junior, and pay attention. I'll show you how it's done.”

Hook squatted in the bushes to wait for the train. Junior waited behind him, his Panama pulled down against his ears.

“When I say go, start running,” Hook said. “She's moving pretty fast, so don't tarry.”

Just then the train's glimmer popped up downline. Hook hunkered down and waited. Just as she charged by, her drivers thudding and steam blowing a hundred feet into the air, he said, “Now, Junior. Run.”

Hook charged down track in high gear, checking back over his shoulder now and again in search of an approaching grab iron to latch on to. Junior, holding his Panama on with one hand, ran full tilt behind him.

Hook timed his move, reached out, and snared a grab iron, his legs dangling inches from the ground. He glanced back to check on Junior, who had started to fade. The train's engine, having already made the curve, gathered up speed down the straightaway.

“Get hold, Junior,” he yelled back. “Now.”

Junior bore down, his Panama spinning off down the right-of-way, and in a last-second effort, he leapt forward and caught hold of Hook's leg.

Hook, hanging on with everything he had, yelled, “Goddang it, Junior, you're dragging me off!”

The whistle blew, and the engine throttled up yet more. Steam and smoke raced down the side of the cars, and the ties clicked away in a blur beneath them.

Hook's pants slipped low on his hips from Junior's hold, and his arm went dead with fatigue. When he could hang on no longer, he shoved off hard, his pants now around his ankles, and they tumbled off down the right-of-way in a cloud of dust.

Hook lay on his back in the bar ditch, blinking up into the blue sky, and listened to the train whistle disappear. Junior sat a hundred feet down track with Hook's pants in his hands.

Hook struggled to his feet, walked to Junior, and took his pants. He put them on and headed off down the track.

“Jeez, Hook,” Junior said from behind. “I'm really sorry.”

“Just don't say another goddang word, Junior, not if you want to live.”

 

31

 

A
S HOOK AND
Junior walked into the Waynoka yards, Hook suddenly stopped, and Junior, who had his head down, ran up on his heels.

“I guess you didn't get me finished off just yet,” Hook said.

“Sorry, Hook.”

“If I'm not mistaken, that's a red caboose sitting inside that roundhouse stall,” Hook said.

“I believe it is,” Junior said.

“And if I'm not mistaken, it looks a hell of a lot like my caboose.”

“It does, though all cabooses look pretty much the same when you think about it,” Junior said.

“You might notice that this particular caboose has a casket tied on the porch, Junior, an uncommon feature, and strong evidence suggesting that it's
my
caboose we're looking at and not someone else's caboose.”

“I guess that's what makes you such a good yard dog,” Junior said.

“That's a fact, though modesty keeps me from saying it, Junior. Now, I'm going to go in there and check this out. If they got questions, I'll answer them. If you got something you want to say, just keep it to yourself. Understood?”

“Right, Hook. Understood.”

“Good, then let's go.”

The front wheel truck was gone on the caboose, and three machinists sat on the porch with their lunch boxes lined up across Samuel Ash's coffin.

“What the hell you doing up there?” Hook asked.

The three of them looked down at Hook and Junior. The tall one pushed his hat back and said, “Boes ain't allowed in here, mister. You move on before I call the railroad bull. This is private property.”

“I
am
the bull,” Hook said, pulling out his badge.

“I'll be damned,” the tall one said. “Where's your arm?”

“Up the bum of the last guy who towed my caboose,” Hook said.

“No need to get sore,” he said.

“What the hell you doing with my caboose?” Hook asked again.

“A work train towed it in here with an order to refurbish the journals. That's what we're doing, though I've seen a hell of a lot worse in my day.”

“Who ordered it?” Hook asked.

The tall one dug the order out of his overalls pocket. “Eddie Preston, Southwest Divisional Security Supervisor.”

“Eddie Preston can't keep his nose out of nothing. You boys been snooping around in my house, have you?”

“Just eating lunch,” the tall one said. “Seemed a good place to set a table.”

“You might ask Samuel Ash about that,” Junior said.

“Samuel Ash? Who the hell is Samuel Ash?”

Hook jabbed Junior in the ribs. “Never mind,” Hook said. “How long 'fore she's ready to roll?”

“Week,” the tall one said. “Longer if they pull a passenger in ahead of her.”

Hook turned to leave, when the tall one said, “What's in this here box?”

“Say what?”

“This here box?”

“Dead body,” he said.

The tall one looked at the others and then laughed. “You can't get a straight answer out of none of these sons of bitches.”

“Well, you got me on that one,” Hook said. “It's perishables. I'll be making arrangements before I leave, so you boys just leave it be. Is the yard office open?”

“It's open,” the tall one said. “Yardmaster's probably gone to lunch, though.”

*   *   *

Hook made Junior wait outside the yard office while he called Eddie.

“Preston,” Eddie said.

“This is Hook, Eddie.”

“It's about time you called in, Runyon. What the hell is going on?”

“I've been looking for my caboose. Maybe you've seen it?”

“You've been bitching about those bushings for weeks now. I had a work train tow it in. Now maybe you can get something done.”

“Well, that's fine, Eddie. But don't you think it would have been a good idea to tell me first?”

“That would require me knowing where the hell you were, Runyon.”

“I've been chasing seal busters like you asked. Then when I get home, my home it isn't there, and I don't know where the hell it is.”

“There ain't no pleasing some people,” Eddie said. “Where are you now?”

“Standing here talking to you, trying to figure out why you'd take my caboose and not tell me.”

“I need you in Pampa, Runyon. B&B has had a bridge down for too damn long. They claim they're waiting on supplies, but I smell a rat. These union bastards will do anything to slow down the company.”

“I'll check it out,” Hook said. “Next time, you might let me know before you tow off my caboose.”

“Next time, I'll tow the damn thing to salvage,” Eddie said. “But I'll damn sure let you know about it first.”

*   *   *

Hook found Junior sitting on the steps picking burrs out of his socks. Hook propped his foot up on the step.

“Alright, Junior,” he said. “Here's what I want you to do: Eddie thinks B and B is sitting on their hands and holding things up on a bridge over to Pampa. I want you to go check it out.”