Reeferpunk Shorts

by David Mark Brown

  “Enough is enough. Straighten yourself out, or we will. ~ Conquest”

  He threw the box against the far wall and fell back on his mattress. The tiny device came to a rest against the bottom of the door. Its pallid green glow faded. He closed his eyes to sleep — even this evening’s stuporous funckur insufficient to stop his dreaming. But this evening, rather than dreaming of his past, he dreamt of someone else’s future.

  ~~~

  Fantastic lights, an aurora of color, fanned around the fringes of his peripheral vision. Everything jarred up and down as if he were running. He breathed heavily and laughed in between each gulp of breath. The laughter startled him. It was not his own. He tried to move his arms but could not. This was his dream, but not his body. And he was not in control of it.

  Tree branches rushed by one after another whipping him. He felt every sting as a secondary response, as if he had to recognize that it had happened first and then experience the reality of it. Steps came unevenly with unexpected landings-- some short, some overdue. By accident, he bit his tongue and tasted the blood of it. Then more laughter.

  He stumbled and summersaulted into brush, before scrambling back to his feet. His hands were covered with blood. His whole front was covered with blood that was not his own. Hounds bayed in the distance followed by a gunshot. More laughter. What mysterious mirth. Finally he reached a covered porch and burst through the front door.

  An oil lamp hung above a table creating a sunburst of rainbow color rimming his vision. Odors of putrefaction, bleach, sawdust and kerosene filled his nose. On the table sat several wooden crates overflowing with sawdust. Bright red stains in process of being scoured away with bleach spotted the table’s surface. He skidded on his knees into a corner of the room where a hatch leading under the floor had been left open.

  “Goodnight, my pets” he said in a voice not his own, slow movements visible in the shadows below. He closed the trap door and drug a bookshelf over the top of it. He paused to run his fingers over a journal titled, “My Encounter with Death, and Why He Spared Me.” He straightened, took a deep breath, and admired himself in a cracked mirror hanging above the bookshelf.

  Death knew the face looking back at him wasn’t his own, but it was familiar. He ran his fingers through his hair, tidying it. Then it struck him. Death, conscious that he was dreaming, realized he was looking at the face of the boy from the Model T, twenty years older.

  The boy, a man now, strode toward the table, picked up the lid leaning against the first crate and secured it in place with a wooden mallet. Son of a… He shifted to the second crate and did the same. That little devil. Then the third crate, the fourth, fifth and eventually the sixth. Ees the sixach crate contained a severed right arm.

  Death woke up slowly, feeling nearly paralyzed. He opened his eyes, then closed them, rubbed away the sleep with his hand. He sat up and tried to focus across the room. The dream was still crystal clear in his mind. He picked up the smashed black box returning it to his belt, Opening the door into the predawn air, he kicked the crate of left over tequila down the steps.

  Blue trotted around the trailer and approached the door so Death could step from stoop to stirrup. He grinned and slapped the beast on the shoulder. Blue leapt into a gallop. The pair stopped at the call box. The Model T remained crumpled where they had left it, the driver’s door still open. He spun the rotary dial until he heard a rough voice on the other side, “Valley of Armageddon.”

  “Yeah, tell ‘em I’m coming in for work. I just gotta’ stop off at the hospital first.”

  He dropped the receiver and pulled back on the reins. Blue rose on his hind legs pawing at the air and snorting sulfur snot onto the pavement. Death whipped out his right arm suddenly grasping an eight-foot long, double-edged scythe which flashed in the rising sun. He spun it in a wide loop before stabbing it into the air in front of them. A rift opened up, through which he saw a hospital hallway.

  “Hyaw!” and the pale horse with Death as its rider were gone. Above where they had been a buzzard flapped its wings and rose up into the air.

  Del Rio Con Amor

  Their horses milled about nervously as the train’s brakes cloaked them in hot steam. Tossing their reins to the other two men, Chancho and Ah Puch dismounted.

  “Load the horses as planned.” Chancho strode toward the lead passenger car, intent on reaching it before the train settled to a complete stop. Ah Puch followed close on his heels. Both men wore the bold grey and braided silver of the Mexican Rurales, despite the alleged disbanding of the infamous Gardia Rural fourteen months earlier in July, 1914. Chancho straightened his black tie and tipped his sombrero down over his brow as Ah Puch slung his carbine over his back, positioning his saber neatly over his left hip.

  “Who the hell are you? And why have you stopped my train?” The General himself swelled to block their path. The right sleeve of his starched Constitutional uniform ended abruptly at the elbow and loomed above Chancho’s head. The empty, cut-off sleeve emphasized the absence of the arm that had been there only five months earlier — until the battle at Celaya.

  Chancho wasted no time. “Rurales of Coahuila on special assignment, with information about Villista activity in the area.”

  Obregón betrayed his surprise with a subtle twitch of his left brow. “Rurales. Villistas.” He spat out both words. “You still haven’t explained why you presumed to stop my train.” He patted his left hand gently on his holster and smiled thinly.ify

  “General, your train would have been stopped one way or the other. The Villistas have disabled the track 30 km north of here.”

  General Obregón dismissed them with a quick jerk of his head and disappeared into the train while barking orders. “Seat these men in my private quarters, and tell the engineer to get this damn train rolling.” Two Constitutional infantrymen stood aside in the doorway while Chancho and Ah Puch squeezed past them in time to see the door leading to the adjacent car slide shut behind the General’s backside.

  An infantryman crowded Ah Puch roughly until he slipped a dagger from his belt, flipped it around backwards in his grip and touched the tip to the man’s nether region firmly enough to convey his meaning. The man coughed and stood down. Ah Puch grinned crookedly over his shoulder as the two men progressed at their own pace toward the General’s quarters. After the two entered, the nervous infantryman shut the door behind them.

  “Do you think he bought it?” Chancho bounced up and down on the General’s cushioned couch.

  “He hates the Rurales almost as much as Villa. That’s our advantage. He can’t see past his hatred.”

  “Ah, but will he stop the train?”

  Ah Puch shrugged, then stiffened as heavy boots approached in the corridor. Chancho jumped up from the couch as the General threw the door open violently. “More of your men have boarded my train!”

  Chancho did’t budge. “It is not safe even for Gardia Rural to ride about today’s Mexico in pairs. Two more of my men have loaded our horses.” Obregón opened his mouth to speak but Chancho continued. “We will not be left on the boarder without transport.”

  The General’s fingers twitched. Realizing his mouth was still open he shut it and narrowed his eyes to slits. Chancho resisted the urge to smile. Mentioning their intention to reach the border and then disembark there had been perfectly played.

  “Tell me what you know of the Villistas.” The General moved past them and dropped onto his couch as the train shook and lurched forward along the tracks.

  ~~~

  “It’s been done before.” Ah Puch interjected.

  The General slammed his fist against the wall of his personal quarters. “I will not yield to that jackal, Villa.”

  “He will have organized a hundred of his most experienced cavalry for this mission.” Chancho emphasized the word “this” subtly, causing Obregón to tense and lean forward. “General,” Chancho stopped him. “If we Rurales know this train holds special interest for President Carranza, then Villa
will know as well.” Carranza and his troops had only been in Mexico City for a month, and it pained Chancho to address him as President, but he swallowed his pride for now.

  “This train,” Obregón gripped the two men with his iron stare long enough for Chancho to count two lengths of rail clack by beneath them, “is my responsibility. And no number of ignorant and mislead peons will stop it —“

  “From reaching Corpus Chrentg Corpuisti?” Chancho leaned against the door and crossed his legs.

  “With its precious cargo.” Ah Puch added just as casually. The General’s jaw popped.

  “It is our job to know everything happening in Coahuila, before it happens.”

  “It is also our job to protect the Mexican government’s interests,” added Ah Puch.

  “We are good at our job.” Sensing the General’s breaking point, Chancho and Ah Puch put on formal airs before continuing. “We are here to be of service to you and your detachment in the completion of your mission.”

  The train car shuddered and bucked as it coursed along a rougher section of track. Only two years old, the jarring stemmed from insufficient roadbed material and haste of application rather than age. Even as Provincial Governor, Carranza had known the importance of connecting the scattered, short sections of track throughout Coahuila into the continuous TexMex Railway. The temporary alliance between Pancho Villa and Venustiano Carranza against President Huerta had provided the opportunity for the project to be completed.

  The General took a deep breath and suddenly slapped his thigh, forcing a loud laugh. “Very well, Gardia Rural.” He scrutinized them again. “You are absolutely sure of your report?” The two men nodded. “I need to talk with my officers.” Obregón rose to take his leave.

  Before he could squeeze past the two men Chancho addressed him. “General, we humbly request to see to our horses and check in with our fellow Rurales in preparation for the conflict.”

  “What conflict?” The General puffed out his chest. Chancho raised a brow and waited until Obregón dismissed them with a nod of his head, allowing the two men to exit the posh personal quarters back into the echoing corridor that ran the length of one side of the train car. What had been a muffled clacking from inside the General’s quarters thundered as a loud pulsing rhythm off of the hardwood paneling in the hall. The smell of spent coal wafted in through an open window.

  “You’ll find them toward the back, if you can get there.” Obregón pushed past the two men, brushing his empty sleeve, along with its ghost arm, against Chancho’s side. The sensation unsettled him, and Chancho knew at once why the General had chosen to leave the three-quarter sleeve stabbing awkwardly into space. “Now excuse me,” and without further discussion he slid the door open and leapt to the neighboring car, leaving Chancho and Ah Puch to follow him toward the rear of the train on their own mission.

  ~~~

  “What did he mean by ‘If we can get there’?” Chancho waited until both men had stepped out onto the small platform at the back of the General’s train car and slid the door shut behind them.

  “No doubt the gold is in a car between here and there. It will be heavily guarded by the General’s most trusted men. Apparently he does not intend to instruct them to let us pass.” Ah Puch sucked his teeth and glanced back through the glass window the way they'd come. The corridor was still empty.

  “No matter. We just need to identify which car contains the gold. As long a ld. As as we have men in position when the time comes, the plan is good to go.”

  "Nothing is good to go if we don't divert the train."

  Chancho rested his hand on Ah Puch's shoulder. "In due time." He steadied himself with the handhold before leaping across the gap to the next car.

  "But you have no sense of time." Ah Puch complained as they slipped into the officers' car which had been designed much like the General’s, but less posh. On their way down the corridor they overheard Obregón asking his top men for options.

  Sliding open the solid metal door to the next car, a wall of hot air and stale body odor swam over them. Packed beyond capacity, the creaking passenger car contained more than a hundred regulars, infantrymen in patchwork Constitutional uniforms. The newly conscripted wore the BEF style hat with huaraches on their feet. Some sat backwards chatting to neighbors, but most stared blankly out windows.

  Upon noticing the Rurales, each soldier fell silent and stared at his lap with sudden interest. Every man, on both sides of the conflict, could tell stories of swift and brutal judgement levied by the Gardia Rural over the last several decades. The relative rarity of encountering one of the silver-braided rural police in recent years only fanned the folk lore into flame.

  The two men strode confidently down the aisle and out the heavy metal door on the other end of the car without contest. Again in the swirling wind between train cars Chancho shook his head. "Any one of those men could be my brother. They're just peons trying to feed their families."

  "They lack only initiative. Perhaps today we will give it to them." Ah Puch gestured for them to jump to the next car.

  "But what if we, what if they…” Chancho rubbed his tired eyes. “We’ve been winning, haven't we? Since May? I mean, the revolution?”

  Ah Puch nodded. "The revolution has gotten smarter with your leadership. The bleeding has stopped. If today's plan works the tables will be turned. Carranza needs the United States, and he needs the treasure on this train to get their attention."

  "How much gold do you think there is?" Chancho glanced sideways at Ah Puch who couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from turning up in a smile.

  "All of it. Carranza is clever, but he's a politician. He sees the small, targeted attacks in rural areas as the dying breath of the revolution rather than a new tactic for which he has no counter. I would bet my boots his entire treasury is onboard, everything he can spare anyway."

  Chancho nodded. "Hmmm. I could use anther pair of boots."

  "What's wrong with the pair I made you?" Ah Puch glared at his friend.

  "Nothing. It's just," Chancho shrugged, "a man can always use a second pair."

  "A second pair! No other pair like them exists! Yours have more features even than --"

  Chancho held up his hands in surrender. "Relax before you burst a seam, my friend. Of course you are right. Now don't you think we should get on with robbing this train?"

  ~~~

  Ah Puch slid the next metal door open cautiously. With an identical landing the car appeared at first to be another passenger car, but steel-backed window facades revealed that someone wanted a freight car to appear as if it carried human lives. The two men tensed. The ruse meant the car carried cargo considered more precious than human life. This had to be the one.

  The metal door grated open an inch at a time, both men remaining clear of the opening, until the gap grew large enough to skinny through. Chancho glanced at Ah Puch. No angry voices came from inside; they heard nothing over the pulse of the rails passing beneath them and the wind whipping past.

  There was no point in taking a peak inside. It would take several seconds for their eyes to adjust to the darkness, and under the circumstances, caution would come across as guilt. Chancho shrugged. Removing his sombrero and crushing it up against his chest, he swung around Ah Puch and slipped through the narrow opening without a sound.

  Once on the inside he crouched low in the darkness. Immediately he felt Ah Puch settle in behind him. Senses heightened as they waited for their eyes to make the adjustment. Dust motes swam in the slice of light that poured through the opening behind them. At first, neither of the men heard any threatening noise, nothing other than the expected rocking of the rails and the closeness of cargo squeaking against its restraints.

  Ah Puch placed a quick hand on Chancho’s shoulder and squeezed. They held their breath. From less than a few meters away he heard it, a regular breathing, verging on snoring. Still at a disadvantage in the relative dimness, Ah Puch reached for the metal door and slowly slid it shut. />
  Swallowed up in complete darkness, Chancho groped along the floor for his bearings. Identifying an isle through the cargo the two men slipped further into the middle of the car until they felt themselves a safe distance from the sleeping guard.

  “He can’t be the only one.” Chancho squatted with his back against a wooden crate and focused his eyes intently into the blackness where he knew Ah Puch’s face should be.

  “At least one more at the other end.”

  “What are the chances they’re both asleep?” Finally Chancho’s eyes seized on the cumulative traces of light seeping through holes where bolts had gone missing, and distinguished the outline of his friend. There was no response, so he continued. “Right. So what now? I was expecting to sweet talk our way to this point.”

  “Find the gold. We have to confirm its exact location.”

  “Right.” Chancho pivoted his head slowly trying to discern the best path to take through the stacks of crates surrounding them. He stopped when Ah Puch gripped his shoulder.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll probably still need to sweet talk our way out of this.”

  Chancho grinned. He could see Ah Puch’s ironic smile perfectly in his mind’s eye—a reminder to both of them that they were doing what they loved. “I’ll see you back here in ten minutes.” He squeezed Ah Puch’s arm. “If the devil don’t get me.”

  As he tt="ify">Asurned from his friend the train shimmied along another rough patch of rail. Groping in the dark for balance he gripped something leather—leather and unsecured. Rather than stabilizing himself he fell backwards, pulling the object with him. Only when the object jerked suddenly from his grasp did he realize he had been holding a boot.

  ~~~

  “What in the… Guzman? That you? Dammit, stop playing.“ Chancho froze. “It hasn’t been an hour yet. Guzman?”