The Dead Peasants File

by L. Craig Harris

  “Mr. Morgan,” Travis said. “We were going to come ask you to stop murdering your workers.” He gestured toward Christopher and Dillon. “We were going to tell you we knew about the lists of names and ask you to stop.”

  Charles got right into his face. “Well I can't stop,” he yelled. He turned toward Christopher and Dillon. “I need to know who all is in on this.”

  Neither of them spoke.

  “Come on.” He walked over and took a gun from one of the security guards. “Just tell me who all knows about this.” He pointed the gun at Travis's head. “I've got damage control now. I just need to know how far this goes.” He extended his arm and pushed the barrel of the pistol into Travis's temple.

  Travis was sure he was about to squeeze the trigger, but Dillon sprung forward and kicked the gun into the air. He caught it as it fell and spun and shot the still-armed guard in the chest, then he shot the other guard in the shoulder, knocking him to the floor. He spun back around and hit Charles in the jaw, slamming him to the desk and scattering a pen holder full of expensive pens to the floor. Dillon hit him again in the lower, left part of his back and grabbed his legs, lifting him off of the desk and throwing him to the floor, knocking him unconscious. He turned and looked at Travis and Christopher, who stood stunned. “Let's go.”

  Travis had the presence of mind to retrieve their wallets, keys, phones, and the manila folder from the desk, then the three of them rushed out of the room. He didn't try to get his own cell phone out of Charles' pocket. They ran across the hall and repeatedly pushed the down button on the elevator until a door opened. The wounded guard came through the office door and lunged at the elevator door just as it began to close. Dillon pushed him backward with his foot then punched the lobby button on the panel until the doors closed and they began to move downward.

  All of them were bent over, breathing heavily, and trying to regain their composure. The elevator stopped at the sixth-floor and a woman tried to enter. Dillon put his hands up. “Elevator's full, Ma'am.” He reached and pushed the lobby button repeatedly until the doors closed and they continued down. Finally, the elevator reached the bottom and the men rushed out into the lobby. “Don't run,” Dillon said. “Walk out normally.”

  That was nearly impossible for Travis. He wanted to run as fast as he could, but he continued to walk abreast with the other men. They walked past a crowd of people who were gathered around Merrill's body. An ambulance was parked at the front entrance and a group of EMTs were bringing in a stretcher. He glanced over at Merrill who was lying dead in an awkward position with blood pooling around him.

  Just when they got to the Morgan logo in the center of the lobby, Charles appeared on his balcony, up on the top floor. “Stop them!” he yelled. “Stop those men!”

  The men sprinted forward as fast as they could go. Just then, the elevator doors opened behind them and a guard ran out and began firing. But they rushed through the front door and jumped into Christopher's car. The woman's voice spoke from above as they rushed through the doors. “Hello Travis Reed. Hello, Dillon McGee.”

  “Shut up,” Dillon said. He ran out and jumped into the front seat of the car.

  Christopher started the car, threw the gear shift into reverse, and stomped the accelerator. The car rushed backward, the tires squealing on the smooth concrete. He slammed the breaks, but not before he hit a car parked behind him, throwing their heads backward.

  “Get down!” Dillon yelled.

  Just then the lobby doors opened and two security guards ran out past the ambulance, drew their guns, and began shooting at the car. Christopher ducked down as far as he could and still see where he was going. Dillon and Travis lay down in their seats. Bullets shattered the back windshield and hit the body of the car with metallic bangs. Christopher was rushing away from the building. He barely paused when he reached the end of the driveway and turned on the street, stomping the gas and speeding away from the building.

  He didn't slow until they were a mile or so away and the building had disappeared from his mirror.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Christopher was having a hard time keeping from speeding through the streets. He tried to go the set limit, but he was way too anxious to get as far away from that building as fast as he could. Adrenaline coursed through his veins making his push harder. He headed toward the tall, downtown buildings, reasoning the Interstate would snake through there somewhere and he would get on it. He didn't know if they should try to head back toward Springfield or go west. He just knew he wanted to get away.

  Dillon looked behind them. “We’ve got to lose this car and get out of Denver somehow.”

  Suddenly the men heard a loud, metallic bang on the hood of the car. A large caliber bullet had pierced it. The sound of helicopter blades roared overhead. Christopher leaned toward the window and looked up at the bottom of the aircraft. He could see the Morgan logo on the belly of the helicopter as it negotiated around the buildings to stay over them. “I've got to get under something!”

  Another bullet from a high-powered rifle hit the car, this time in the trunk. Steam began to billow from the engine. The first bullet had perforated the radiator hose. Christopher sped up to an intersection and ran the red light, barely missing a city bus. He swerved onto the sidewalk and disintegrated a trash can, sending paper and refuse into the air. He steered the car back onto the street and immediately ran another light. The helicopter swooped down between the buildings, staying right above the car. Christopher could see that the shooter had the driver’s position in his sight, but before he could fire the shot, the craft had to climb to avoid some power lines.

  “Turn right!” Dillon shouted.

  Christopher turned and sped down another street. Lunchtime customers watched the car whiz by as they sat near the street at a sidewalk café. A man spilled his drink as he jumped away from the curb. Christopher jammed the brakes and squealed into the parking garage of a hotel. The car slid sideways and hit the concrete wall inside the structure. Steam hissed and rose above it in a wet cloud. The men jumped out and began to run away from it. Travis was still clutching the file folder.

  “No, this way,” Dillon said, directing them toward a pedestrian exit that led to the street.

  Dillon ran through the exit door, but stopped and blocked Christopher and Travis from going through it. “We’ve got more company.”

  Christopher could see two black sedans racing toward them behind Dillon. He darted back into the garage. The helicopter hovered overhead.

  “This way.” Dillon led the men back through the garage. Christopher and Travis breathed heavily in the thin, mile-high air as they tried to keep up with him. Dillon punched the up button at an elevator door and the two caught up to him as he waited for the doors to open. Christopher heard the screeching of brakes as the sedans pulled up to the side of the building. The first of the men jumped out of his car and opened the garage door just as the elevator doors split open.

  “Come on!” Dillon said in a loud whisper. “Let’s go.”

  The man from the sedan pulled his pistol and fired a shot at the men, barely missing Travis as he dashed into the elevator and hid behind the control panel. Dillon pushed the lobby button and repeatedly pushed close door until they slid shut. Gravity tugged at them as they ascended to the main lobby, a floor up.

  “They saw us.” Dillon bent over and tried to catch his breath. “We’ve got to get out of this building.”

  The elevator doors opened, revealing a busy lobby. People milled about with suitcases on rollers. An elderly couple waited to take the elevator to the garage. Dillon slid a trash can to block the doors from closing. “Sorry, this elevator is closed.”

  Travis and Christopher ran ahead of him toward the main lobby entrance. Dillon caught up with them as they pushed the glass doors open and ran out onto the sidewalk. The helicopter hovered over their heads. Men in Morgan security uniforms ran around the corner a half a block away just as the trio got to the edge of the sidewalk.


  “This way.” Dillon led the men through the traffic and across the street. Christopher heard shots fired in the din of traffic noise, but ran forward and didn’t dare turn around. Suddenly, the mirror of a truck clipped Travis in the upper arm as he negotiated through the vehicles and knocked him down. The manila folder flew into the air, scattering the papers onto the street. The wind began to blow one of the sheets and Travis scrambled to grab it.

  Dillon put his hand up to stop an oncoming, honking car as Christopher helped Travis to his feet. The car swerved into the side of a truck to miss the men. The driver of the truck slammed on the brakes and was rear-ended by the car behind him. More horns honked and people began getting out of their vehicles.

  Christopher ignored them. “Are you okay?” He pulled Travis back to his feet.

  “Yeah, I think so.” Travis had a bloody scrape on one of his elbows. He gathered the last of the sheets of paper.

  The men jumped to the sidewalk and ran into another hotel lobby, not slowing down when they got inside. Dillon accidentally knocked down a young woman as he brushed past her. She yelled at him to watch where he was going.

  They ran all the way through the lobby and out another double glass door. A shuttle van was parked under the porch and its doors closed just as they reached it. Dillon banged on the door and the driver opened it. “Where are you going?”

  “Denver International. Do you need on?”

  “Yes, yes, thank you..”

  “Where’s your luggage?”

  “We’re here on business, but we’re about to miss our plane so please let us on.”

  The driver shrugged. “Well, okay.”

  Several travelers on the shuttle frowned at the men as they found empty seats. Christopher and his companions slumped down, not daring to look up as the shuttle slowly pulled away from the hotel. The driver had to wait for cars to clear before he could drive onto the street. It felt like forever.

  Morgan guards began to gather on the lobby porch behind them as they pulled into traffic. One was talking on a radio. Christopher sneaked a peek out the back window as they drove away.

  The helicopter stayed above the van for several blocks and Christopher held his breath. He knew if the pilot was on to them, there was going to be a contingent of guards waiting to nab them at the airport. Just then, the helicopter turned around and headed back toward downtown. Christopher exhaled. The van headed north toward the Interstate. Instead of getting on it, however, the driver suddenly turned back toward the buildings.

  “Where are we going?” Dillon said.

  “I have to make a quick stop at the train station.”

  “Train station?” Dillon glanced at his partners, then whispered, “Yes. Who would suspect that?”

  Christopher whispered back. “You think we should take the train?”

  “It just might work,” Travis replied. “They’ll swarm the airport, but we may just get out of here before they think of this – if we’re lucky.”

  When the van stopped in front of the station, the men jumped out. “What about your flight?” The driver called to them as they disappeared into the station. No one answered.

  The men studied the schedule board. “Look,” Travis said, “the Silver Eagle is leaving for Kansas City in an hour. That’s perfect.”

  Dillon was already in motion. “Let’s see if they have any seats left.”

  There were several available. Christopher pulled out his wife’s credit card and paid for the tickets. As they walked through the station, Dillon pushed them into a gift shop to buy caps and sweatshirts to wear, and magazines to hide behind. He bought a music CD, Elvis Live in Las Vegas. Christopher grinned at Travis and wondered how Dillon was going to listen to it. Dillon motioned them into a public restroom. He had them change into the new sweatshirts and throw their old shirts into the trash can. Then, he unwrapped the CD and broke it into several pieces on the edge of the counter. He took the pieces and stuck them into the front lining of the Bronco’s cap he had just purchased. “Just an old secret I heard would keep the scanners from reading the tattoo.” He winked and put on the cap. “Travis, put these pieces in the front of your cap and don’t take it off while you’re on this train.”

  The train pulled away from the station at three o’clock, right on time. It eased into forward motion almost imperceptibly. The men were still breathing heavy from their frantic getaway. Christopher felt as though his heart was finally running at a normal pace. Travis said he was nauseous. He continued to clutch the manila folder. Christopher and Travis sat to the left of the aisle and Dillon across from them, five rows back. Christopher allowed the comfortable seating to embrace his tired weight. The gentle rocking motion almost put him to sleep before they left the suburbs. Christopher had the window seat. He looked out and watched the landscape gaining speed as it passed by. “Do you think we got away?” he whispered.

  “For now,” Travis said. “But all they have to do is ask that shuttle driver if he saw us.”

  The men fell silent again and in a few minutes Travis made a buzzing sound as he slept. Christopher tried not to move too much so he wouldn’t wake him. The old man had been through a lot. Dillon walked up and down the train to make sure no guards had boarded with them. After a while he came back and crouched beside the men. “I think we got away,” he whispered and went back to his seat.

  A couple of hours out, the train conductor came into the car from behind the men’s seats. He was an elderly man, dressed just like Christopher had seen in countless movies, with striped overalls and a traditional conductor’s cap. He smiled, showing all of his teeth, then asked the men for their boarding tickets.

  Christopher handed him his ticket. “I’ve always wondered, would you throw me out a window if I couldn’t find my ticket?”

  “Sure I would.” He grinned. “Well, at least at the next stop.”

  Travis glanced at his watch. “When is the next stop?”

  “We'll stop in Garden City and Topeka during the night, then arrive in Kansas City in the morning at seven.”

  “I say we get off at Kansas City,” Travis said when the conductor was gone. “We can rent a car there and drive the rest of the way home.”

  Christopher nodded. Home. The mention of home made him wonder what Rachel and the boys were doing. He wondered if he would ever see them again. He wished he could call and check on them, but they had agreed not to call anyone until after they reported the crime. He was glad Travis had taken his keys off Morgan's desk or they would have never escaped. He glanced at Travis. “Did you get out with your cell phone?”

  “No, it's in Morgan's pocket.”

  Christopher laughed slightly. “Maybe I should call him and see how he's doing.”

  Travis grinned. “Tell him hi for me if you do.”

  That evening, the men made their way to the dining car. They hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast at the motel and were hungry. Dillon sat by himself. He ate lasagna and garlic bread and Christopher could see him looking out the window, watching the sun setting on the yellow flowers zipping by.

  At their table, Christopher chewed a bite and eyed Travis. “How do you feel?”

  “I think I’ll be okay. But I tell you, that was horrifying today. I thought my life was over.”

  “I’m sorry we let you go in alone. We should've known better.”

  Travis wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Oh no, it’s not your fault. I’m just glad Julia doesn't know how close I came.” He paused a moment. “I'm glad she didn't see what happened to Merrill.”

  After supper, Christopher was back in his comfortable seat, gently rocking with the rhythm of the train. He was finally beginning to relax. He thought about what he had seen and been through. He had never seen someone actually point a gun at anyone before. He had never felt such peril. He silently voiced a prayer of thanks that they had gotten out of there, and prayed that God would guide them as they headed back. He prayed for Rachel and his sons’ safety. He knew he couldn't go h
ome. He thought about where he could go, some safe place to stay when they got back to Missouri. He fought the urge to contact Rachel. He wanted to check on her. Maybe he would call her from the train station in the morning when they stopped. His eyes were too heavy to keep open. It wasn't long before he slept.

  Just after one the next morning, the train slowed and jolted to a stop. It woke Christopher. He sat upright and strained out the window into the Kansas night to see what he could. In the dim light, he could see a helicopter sitting a few yards from the train, its rotors slowly coming to a stop. Oh please no! Men in Morgan uniforms positioned themselves at the exits and were screening the few passengers that got off at the stop. They were looking for them. Then the guards boarded the train, escorted by the railroad security officer.

  “Travis, wake up,” Christopher whispered, nudging him. “Some Morgan guards just boarded the train.”

  Dillon came up beside them. “Act natural,” he said. “And Travis, keep that cap down as low as it will go. Both of you try to get back to sleep.” He slipped back to his seat.

  Acting natural was impossible for Christopher. He could hear the buzz of panic in his ears as adrenaline again coursed through his veins. He was wide awake and terrified. The body guards entered the men’s car and walked down the darkened aisle, pointing a laser-lighted scanner at each passenger. Christopher watched them come closer and closer. He could feel sweat running down his torso, stinging him under the blanket. He fought the urge to jump and run. He tried to sit as still as he could, closing his eyes when they approached his seat. He prayed silently.

  “Stand up please,” one of the guards said. Christopher opened his eyes and saw that they were accosting a man two rows in front of him.

  The man stood to his feet and they searched him, taking his wallet from his pocket and looking at his driver’s license. “What do you do at Morgan?”

  “I’m a truck driver in Kansas City, why?”