Dead Man's Tunnel

by Sheldon Russell

  Hook took a deep breath. “Do you and your employee there think you could push this pile of junk back so I can get on with my business?”

  Scrap fired up his pipe and looked at Hook.

  “I suppose it don’t make Pepe here much difference, seeing as how he works by the hour. So he probably don’t care if he’s pushing yard dogs or greasing up my crane like he’s supposed to be doing. On the other hand, me being the boss and being it’s my time…”

  “Scrap, do you know how long it takes a broken head to heal?”

  “Come on, Pepe,” Scrap said. “Let’s push this son of a bitch onto the tracks and hope a switch engine’s coming down line. Some folks don’t know a favor when it’s given ’em.”

  * * *

  Once on the road, Hook lit a cigarette and let the wind blow through his hair. He’d been trying to remember the name on that letter ever since he’d left the guardhouse. It was Linda Sue or Linda Lou or something like that. Maybe it was Rhonda Faye. He just couldn’t remember.

  Maybe his brain had turned to mush from store-bought whiskey, all that artificial coloring and perfume shrinking it away. It was probably no bigger than a key lime by now. He should have stuck with Runt Wallace’s moonshine, which, like the fountain of youth, invigorated a man’s mind and deepened his thought.

  In Ash Fork, he pulled into the post office and admonished Mixer not to get out of the seat while he was gone.

  An old man sat outside the door of the post office. His legs were crossed, and his white socks drooped about his ankles. After slicing off a plug of tobacco, he tucked it into his cheek and then nodded at Hook, who nodded back.

  Inside, Hook waited for the postal clerk to finish with a customer.

  “Yes?” she said, lining up her official stamps.

  Her skin was as brown as a roasted Christmas turkey, and purple ink stained the tips of her fingers.

  “I thought you might be able to help me,” he said.

  “You’ll have to tell me what it is you want first,” she said.

  “I’m looking for a girl,” he said. “Her name is Linda, I think.”

  “Sir, this is a post office. We don’t look for girls here.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” he said.

  “I think I do,” she said. “Now, if you have something to mail, need postage?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m trying to find this Linda something or other.”

  “We don’t give out anyone’s address here,” she said. “This is a federal institution, and we have rules against such things.

  “Next,” she said.

  The woman standing behind Hook elbowed past. “Really,” she said, shaking her head.

  Outside, Hook looked up and down the street and then lit a cigarette.

  “That dog’s been sucking eggs,” the old man on the bench said.

  Hook looked over at Mixer, who was watching them from the backseat of the jeep. The egg yolk had dried on his whiskers, and he looked like a yellow daisy.

  “He only did it once,” Hook said.

  “You’ll have to shoot him,” the old man said. “Once an egg sucker, always an egg sucker.”

  Hook got in, slipped the jeep into reverse, and turned to back out. The motor roared. “Damn,” he said, climbing out.

  Mixer jumped from the backseat and came around to the front of the jeep.

  “Wouldn’t shoot him here if I was you,” the old man said. “There’s a landfill outside of town.”

  “I’m not going to shoot him,” Hook said. “Least not today. This jeep won’t back up. Maybe you could help push it into the street?”

  The old man squared his hat and came over. Together they rolled the jeep out of the parking space.

  “Thanks,” Hook said, helping Mixer into the backseat and then climbing in himself.

  The old man wiped his chin with his sleeve and studied Hook.

  “It don’t have a reverse,” he said.

  “I know,” Hook said.

  “Means you can only go forward.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “You can’t park like you just done, or you’ll have to push it out. I might not be around to help next time.”

  “Thanks,” Hook said.

  “Had a Buick once that would only go backward,” he said. “Plowed my garden with it. Put a hell of a kink in my neck, though.”

  Hook paused and looked at the old man.

  “You haven’t seen Linda Sue, have you?”

  The old man spit between his legs. “Sure.”

  “You have? Where?”

  “At breakfast over to Blue’s Café, just like always.”

  “Blue’s?”

  “Down about a block. Wouldn’t pull in, though.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “No reverse,” he said.

  * * *

  Linda Sue couldn’t have been over five feet two and had a waist that would fit in a man’s hands. She chewed gum, and a pencil stub had been slid behind her ear. She moved from window to table with the grace of a ballerina. The men laughed and joked and looked at each other knowingly.

  Hook took a booth near the back and studied the menu. Remembering that he was broke, he dropped it back into its holder.

  When Linda Sue spotted him, she whisked the coffeepot from the warmer and hooked her pinky through the handle of a cup. Without asking, she poured him a cup of coffee.

  “What will you have?” she asked, taking her pencil from behind her ear.

  “Coffee’s fine,” he said.

  “Meatloaf’s great,” she said.

  “Thanks, just coffee.”

  She cocked her hand on her waist. “What happened to your arm?”

  Hook held up his prosthesis. “Alligator,” he said.

  Linda Sue stared at him for a moment. “Oh, you,” she said. “Really?”

  “Woman driver,” he said. “Then she broke my heart.”

  Linda Sue snapped her gum. “You probably deserved it,” she said. “The broken heart, I mean.”

  “Look,” he said, dropping his spoon into his cup. “I’m actually here to see you.”

  “Me? You don’t even know me.”

  “Linda Sue, isn’t it?” he said.

  “How you know that?”

  “Everyone in town knows Linda Sue. You’re kind of a legend.”

  She flashed a smile and looked over the room to see if anyone was waiting for service.

  “Who are you, anyway?” she asked.

  “Hook Runyon. I’m a railroad bull.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s like a cop, except honest,” he said. “I’ve been working West’s Salvage for a few weeks.”

  “Scrap? I know him. He steals the sugar when he comes in.”

  “That would be Scrap,” he said.

  She pulled a half pack of Camels out of her pocket and checked the contents.

  “What do you want with me?” she asked.

  “I’m needing information on one Corporal Thibodeaux. I thought maybe you could help me out.”

  “William? I know William. Hey, you trying to pick me up?”

  “Would you like to see my badge?”

  “Not here,” she said. “Blue watches everything from the kitchen.”

  “Who?”

  “The boss. That’s what they call him. Look, I get off in an hour. Meet me outside but no funny stuff.”

  “No funny stuff,” he said. “I’ll be in my jeep.”

  * * *

  When Linda Sue slid in, she smelled of bacon and bubble gum. She lit a cigarette and turned to look at Mixer.

  “What’s that on his face?”

  “Egg.”

  She blew smoke out the corner of her mouth and pushed her hair back with her fingers.

  “You shouldn’t feed him eggs,” she said. “You’ll make an egg sucker out of him.”

  “Can I give you a ride home?”

  “I usually walk, but I guess it would be okay. I walk lots every day at Blu
e’s. I could probably outwalk anyone in town.”

  “Where do you live?” he asked, starting up the jeep.

  “Turn up there. I’ve got five acres and a trailer just off the highway. It’s nearly paid off. Someday I’m going to build.”

  When they got to the trailer, Hook circled around.

  “You can park in front,” she said.

  “Can’t turn and I have no reverse,” he said.

  Linda Sue hooked her elbow on the back of the seat.

  “Nothing against you, but I’ll see that badge now. A girl has to be careful.”

  Hook showed her the badge. “Just a couple of questions,” he said.

  “Well, come on in. I’ve got to get these shoes off. My feet are killing me.”

  The trailer had a living area, which included a tiny kitchen and a built-in table. A beaded curtain separated the bedroom from the living area. She directed Hook to the couch while she lit a scented candle and put on a record.

  “It’s the first thing I always do,” she said. “It relaxes me.”

  “Real nice,” he said.

  “Now, what is it you wanted to know?”

  “You are acquainted with Corporal Thibodeaux, right?” he asked.

  Linda Sue sat down, slipped her shoes off, and leaned forward on her elbows. She wore small gold earrings, and her eyes were round and soft. She dropped a hand on her throat and looked up at him. He could see why the corporal might be taken with her.

  “For about a year or so, I guess,” she said.

  “And do you know what he does for a living?”

  “Sure. He guards the tunnel. Everyone in Ash Fork knows that. They think it’s nuts. Why would anyone guard that silly tunnel out there in the middle of nowhere?”

  “How would you describe your relationship with the corporal?”

  “That’s kind of personal, ain’t it?”

  “Just for the record,” he said. “Are you engaged, anything like that?”

  “We have a good time, dancing, going out, stuff like that, but we’re not getting married or anything. He mentioned it a time or two. I’ve been married before, though. I don’t need another boss. One boss in my life is enough.”

  “Do you know Sergeant Joseph Erikson?”

  Linda Sue’s face darkened, and she searched out a cigarette.

  “I heard he killed himself in an accident,” she said. “I heard they were shipping his body back to his home.”

  “Did you know him personally?”

  “No,” she said, shrugging. “William’s mentioned him a time or two, I guess.”

  “Did William like him?”

  “Once, he said that he’d been passed up for promotion because of a bad write-up Erikson gave him, but he never said more after that. I guess they worked it out.”

  “Do you know if Sergeant Erikson had a girlfriend?”

  Linda Sue sat up and wove her fingers together in her lap.

  “No. I mean, I don’t know. None that I ever heard about.”

  “Do you know if he was depressed about anything or in trouble, maybe?”

  “Look, I’m real sorry about the sergeant, but it was an accident, wasn’t it? I mean, it’s not like he died in the war or anything.”

  Hook looked out the window to check on Mixer. “Thanks,” he said. “You’ve been helpful. I better be on my way.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Maybe you can come back sometime when you’re not on business. They have a dance out at the armory every Saturday night.”

  “Thanks,” he said, “but I’m not much of a dancer.”

  “It don’t bother me, you know,” she said.

  “What doesn’t?” Hook said.

  “The arm,” she said. “It don’t bother me a bit.”

  * * *

  Back at the salvage yard, Hook parked the jeep and sent Mixer on his way. The crane clanked and growled in the distance, and the pushers idled on the siding.

  He found Scrap’s office empty. Taking the card from his pocket, he dialed Lieutenant Capron’s number. A man answered but declined to give Hook any information. Hook explained who he was. The man paused and then gave him a different number to call.

  She answered the phone herself. “Lieutenant Capron.”

  “Hook Runyon, here,” he said. “You still want to talk to that engineer?”

  “I can’t file my report until I do,” she said.

  “Come to my caboose at West’s Salvage Yard in the morning if you can. He’s coming in on the eight o’clock.”

  “Alright,” she said. “I’m still in town, but it’s pretty clear what happened out there.”

  “Not to everyone,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m just a yard dog,” he said. “But I’ve been around enough to know that when two men are involved with the same woman, trouble isn’t far behind.”

  8

  HOOK WATCHED THE engineer walk down the tracks. He carried a lunchbox and had his hat cocked. Mixer growled, and Hook sent him to the corner.

  The engineer propped his foot up on the caboose step and pushed his hat onto the back of his head.

  “You Runyon?” he asked.

  “That’s right.”

  Over the top of the engineer’s head, Hook could see an army staff car pulling into the yard.

  “I’m Ted Benson,” the engineer said. “I understand you need to talk to me.”

  Hook buttoned his shirt and stood to the side. “Come on in, Ted. I see Lieutenant Capron just pulling in. The army’s involved with this as well.”

  The lieutenant, in full-dress uniform, stopped at the bottom of the steps. Her hair sprang in curls from underneath her hat, and her shoes, shined to a high polish, glistened in the morning sun. She looked up at Hook.

  “A caboose?” she said.

  “It’s where I live,” Hook said.

  “Really?”

  “The engineer just got here. If you have a problem with the caboose, we could meet in Scrap’s office.”

  Mixer stuck his head between Hook’s legs and looked her over.

  “Does he bite?” she asked.

  “Not often.”

  “Very well. I’ve wondered what these things looked like inside. I had no idea they were inhabitable.”

  “That’s still up for debate,” he said. “Go lay down, Mixer.”

  Hook started to take her by the hand to help her up the steps, but she took hold of the grab iron and pulled herself up.

  “Lieutenant, this is Ted Benson, the engineer involved in the incident at Johnson Canyon Tunnel.”

  “Hello,” she said, stepping in. “Oh, my, there isn’t much room, is there?”

  “Sleeping and eating,” Hook said. “For the most part. But then that’s what living’s all about. Anyway, where I go, she goes. Sometimes where she goes, I follow.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Talking to myself,” he said. “Comes from living alone.”

  The engineer had taken his seat next to the window. Sweat glistened on his upper lip. Mixer rose to check out the lunchbox that the engineer had left on the floor next to his feet. Hook pointed for Mixer to go away, which he did with some reluctance.

  Hook moved some books off the bench and motioned for her to sit down.

  “You’ve quite a collection there,” she said.

  “It’s an addiction that keeps me on the brink of bankruptcy,” he said.

  She dropped one leg over the other and opened her purse. Her nails were manicured. He couldn’t help but wonder how a woman like her wound up in army transportation. She looked out of place, like a crystal vase in a junkyard.

  “Okay,” she said, taking out a notepad. “I’m ready.”

  “Would you care to start, Lieutenant?” Hook asked.

  “It’s your railroad, Mr. Runyon.”

  “Ted,” Hook said. “An investigation is conducted by the railroad on all deaths that take place on company property. It doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve done anyth
ing wrong. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah,” he said, glancing over at the lieutenant. “They told me everyone has to do the report. This is a first for me.”

  “A first?” the lieutenant asked.

  “Most engineers go through this sooner or later,” he said. “I’ve been lucky up until now.”

  “You mean where a person has been killed?” she asked. “It happens often?”

  “Most engineers experience it sooner or later,” Hook said. “But it’s not in the job description.”

  “I’ve hit plenty of critters,” the engineer said. “It happens all the time, dogs, cattle. I ran over a pinto horse outside Amarillo, but I’ve never hit a man before.”

  “Did you see anyone else around that night?” she asked.

  “No, but then you don’t see much out there at night, especially coming down that grade.”

  Hook picked up his book and fanned the pages. Some bastard had dog-eared a page.

  “At what point did you know that you couldn’t avoid the impact?” he asked.

  The engineer dabbed at his mouth with his sleeve. “The minute my glimmer lit him up. In that instant, I knew I was about to kill a man, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do about it.”

  “Didn’t you apply the brakes?” the lieutenant asked.

  “We were coming down the steepest grade on the continent, ma’am, and with forty loaded cars at our back. No brakes or God’s own hand could have slowed that train down one iota. Most folks don’t have the least idea how long it takes to stop a train.”

  “Where exactly was the sergeant when it happened?” Hook asked.

  “Standing midtrack just east of the curve. Why the hell they put a curve in a tunnel, I’ll never know. The wheel carriages sounded like they were going to tear right out from under the engine.”

  “You didn’t see anyone else in the tunnel?” the lieutenant asked.

  “There’s no room for a crowd in that tunnel,” he said.

  “Was he tied up or anything like that?” Hook asked. “Anyone forcing him to be there?”

  “He was just standing there, right out of the darkness, just like that, and us barreling into that mountain. He stood with legs apart, facing the engine. There was no turning back for either one of us.”

  The engineer turned to Lieutenant Capron. “I wanted to be an engineer my whole life. As a kid I used to stand at the crossing and watch the trains coming and going. I dreamed about being up there in that cab ever since I can remember.