by George Wier
“And?” she asked instantly upon picking up.
“Tell me where I need to go, who I need to talk to, who I need to bail out of jail, and how much money I need to take with me.”
I made mental notes of it all, then hung up the phone without further word.
When I dared to look back across the table, my beautiful wife was smiling.
I had done something right for a change.
If I live to be a hundred, I will never understand a woman.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
I think this is going to be a rather long Author’s Note. My apologies in advance.
Following on the heels of Mexico Fever—and having been conceived during the writing of it—The Lone Star Express, like all the books, was titled a very long time ago. That doesn’t mean that it hasn’t remained fresh in my mind. From a point very early on, I could clearly see—as is depicted on the cover—Bill Travis walking along a stretch of railroad track and into the desert hardpan, his coat tucked under his arm, the wind tousling his hair, and nothing but miles stretching before him. My own question (and in my mind, there’s always at least one question, and typically more than one) was this: is the train ahead of him or behind? If it’s ahead of him, he’ll never catch up to it. If it’s behind, then maybe all he’ll have to do its get to the next required water stop or switch-track, and wait. Thus, the story as you find it here. With nothing more in mind than this mental image and the title, I began in earnest, and it all unfolded rather quickly.
This book is sort of an end in itself. No, it’s decidedly not the end of the Bill Travis Mysteries by any stretch of the imagination. It is, however, a commencement of sorts. As with any ending, there are new beginnings. Time doesn’t stop because we stop, even though one might argue that all things are relative. They may be, but there is far more to life than one’s own universe—there’s everybody else’s universe as well, and then there’s the one where we all meet and interact, and there, decidedly, if in fact not all things are relative, they’re at least related. In this book several things speak to my little commencement theory. Penny finally comes into her own, and Nat, while not exactly exiting the stage, withdraws somewhat from the footlights. Dick Sawyer is finally laid to rest—and we can only assume that he has actually found that rest he was looking for—and another Governor has come to the fore. Jessica has married and moved out, but I hope you do know that we will see her again—she’s simply too good not to write. Also, here, the last Travis kid is introduced, if in no other way than by foreshadowing what’s to come. (By way of a hint, from the beginning of this series, I wanted Bill’s family somewhat reflective of that of Charlie Chan.)
As I’ve held all along, I’m simply the reporter—Bill’s hanger-on journalist, his biographer. And one of these days I suspect he’s going to turn around, fix me with a cold stare, and let me know in no uncertain terms that I’m no longer welcome to hang around. When that happens, I’ll light out for the territories and make a whole new batch of friends. And maybe even an enemy or two.
As I stated a long time ago—along about Capitol Offense, of which this book is the decided sequel—you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. All this by way of saying that nothing is truly sacred. Before this series is done, we’re liable to see some folks we thought were stable, fall by the wayside. While Austin seems to be Bill’s home, there is, indeed, a rather large state out there beyond the Travis County line. Bill and company might move. It’s entirely possible. Anything can happen. There’s precedent aplenty for this. I still can’t get over the fact that James Lee Burke killed-off Bootsie. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive him for that, but there you go.
You see, this is life we’re dealing with here. It’s at least my life. And those of you who have participated, either by reading or through direct contact with me—I’m totally approachable, folks, so email me anytime, and you’re liable to get a phone call if you supply your number—know full well that things have a way of happening. Life is a river, and you can’t dip your foot into the same river twice. And old English prof of mine was fond of using that analogy, but with the English language in place of “life.” By the time you have removed your foot from the waters and immersed them again, it’s a different river. The water has changed and moved on downstream, fish have eaten other fish, thus cutting off whole bloodlines in the unending protoplasmic contest for imminence. It’s simply not the same. Life is like that. It isn’t static because it can’t be and still be considered life. Thus, those edifices we thought were fixed are invariably toppled, and new buildings and statues erected. Yesterday’s hero is tomorrow’s villain. What was all the rage is quickly forgotten in the windstorm of change. The seasons can be unkind.
Sorry, was waxing poetic there.
So, Bill Travis.
Bill and I are older now, that much is obvious. He doesn’t say nearly as much as he used to, but I feel like his waters have more depth, and sometimes those depths are dark indeed. (For instance, Bill actually shoots someone in Mexico Fever, as you well know. Let me tell you, that surprised the hell out of me, for sure! And gosh! What happens here gives me chills.) I can’t tell you much about my own waters, other than that things seem simpler to me now. But, when you strip away all the arbitraries and all the complexities (and you can easily read into that, all the things that aren’t important, especially the lies) a whole new world can open up, and it’s just as bright as it was when we were young and it was summer, and a day lasted a mere shadow shy of forever.
By way of final word, let’s talk about trains.
One of my earliest memories was of a train ride either on or to the Alabama-Coushatta Indian Reservation in deep East Texas. I couldn’t have been more than about three or four years old. There I met my first cousins (my father’s brother’s kids. And as an aside, one of those two brothers later became the Chief of the tribe!) and spent a day immersed in their culture. I loved it, but mostly I loved the train ride. Since that time I have had a fascination with trains, but no real outlet for that interest. I simply haven’t had the time to delve into it. Oh, I wanted to, but, you see, there’s this thing called “life,” and man, it can get in the way of quite a lot! So, here I am, nearly fifty years after the fact, and I find myself having come full circle back to that long, wonderfully slow train ride through the Big Thicket. If there is a heaven, then there is a passenger train running through it, and on to undiscovered lands. Either there must be, or there is no such thing as heaven.
With regard to the Old ‘19, it’s a thoroughly fictitious train. But there are a few old steam trains out there still, and the men (and women) who keep them alive serve as our memory of days long past. Originally, this story line called for a steam engine converted to diesel, but Dr. David Gracy disabused me of the notion. First, these are two completely different technologies, and there can be no retrofitting of a steam engine for use as diesel. It’s simply not possible. Originally, therefore, during the first crash, I had the horn honking. I’ve emended that now so that Bill hears a shrill whistle, which is as it should be. Additionally, the initial conversation between Bill and Charlie had to be emended to add the taking on of water. Since there are not nearly as many water stations along rail lines as in the old days, the Old ‘19 has its own water car as well as the addition of a car for wood and coal. Oh boy. The trip got longer with respect to time, which solved some logistical problems for yours truly, and the train itself got physically longer by two cars. Which also meant the addition of a couple of characters as you find them here. I mean, someone’s gotta stoke that thing. Someone’s gotta make sure that the water gets into the power system from the water car. Oh my, we’re off to the races!
So, trains. As in all things, I never knew one nth the amount I wanted to. And consequently, some of my favorite books and movies have been about trains: The Great Train Robbery, Runaway Train, Throw Momma From the Train, Von Ryan’s Express, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and the ubiquitous Murder on the Orient Express, to na
me a few. Hence, with all of these fictional accounts, I felt I needed to be grounded in this elusive thing known as reality. (I am including my preparation notes below for those readers who would like a little more insight into how a novel is written. A good writer pays careful attention to the details. Really, it’s all about the minutiae.)
With the publication of The Lone Star Express, I feel as though I may have painted myself into a rather lovely corner. While I hope it’s my absolute best, it makes the next book an even greater challenge. But then again, what would life be if there weren’t a few prominent obstacles along the path, huh?
In any case, be looking for Trinity Trio, the next Bill Travis installment, in the coming months, followed quickly by Buffalo Bayou Blues. How’s that for titles?
I suppose that’s it, for now. I hope to see you soon. In the meantime...
All my best to you and yours.
George Wier
Austin, Texas
June 9, 2016
Notes:
Tracks, companies, and turning around: Leaving from Austin on the Union Pacific—which took over the Missouri Pacific a couple of decades ago—the two lines cross at Marquez, near Highway 79, in East Texas—leave the Union Pacific and get on the Sante Fe at Taylor, Texas. From Taylor go to Temple on the Sante Fe, then keep going on the Sante Fe to Sweetwater (west of Abilene). When switching from one track to another, go no more than about 10 miles per hour. Outside of Abilene at some point you slow for Sweetwater and switch tracks to the Texas & Pacific, which thence to Midland. Have to switch manually at Sweetwater (about 20 minutes). The dispatcher is watching the board, using signals. Each railroad company has a dispatcher that handles a certain area. When turning the train around, in the absence of a big circle or a roundhouse (do they still have those?) you must use a “Y” or “wye”, which is essentially a big triangle, to wit: another track intersects or t’s into your track at a right angle. You take the intersecting track, go up to the next switch and past it, get out and manually switch the track behind you so that you can stop and back up onto the other side of the triangle, backing up again past the next switch. Then you switch the tracks again (now in front of the train) so that you can go forward the way you came. All this takes about 20 minutes, and you have to go at no more than 10 miles per hour.
Cabooses: Our caboose has an cupola on top, as most steam trains in the southwest did after the turn of the century. Ours is now a faded red, more pinkish with age, I suppose (it needs a coat of pain), with the words ‘Santa Fe’ painted along both sides in yellow: The Santa Fe “which in the 1960s started a rebuild program for their cabooses in which the cars were painted bright red with an eight-foot-diameter Santa Fe cross herald emblazoned on each side in yellow.” Ours will be an old Santa Fe, which was decommissioned long before they started putting those little ETD (end-of-train) devices in the mid 1980s. It’s perfect for our train.
Past the little town of Academy, coming into Temple at the junction of Highway 93, is the second (propane tank) attempt to stop the Lone Star Express.
Description: In the aftermath of the death of former Texas Governor, Richard Sawyer, Bill Travis must accompany the body to its final resting place in West Texas...by train. The deadline is tight, the Old '19 is an ancient steam train that drives at a ponderously slow pace, and a quarry of ruthless and determined men are out to stop Bill and the steam-driven crew of the newly re-dubbed Lone Star Express at any cost. But who are they? And what do they want? It's Bill Travis in his most dangerous adventure of all time, along with a team of aging misfits who refuse to see history die and the last of the great steam behemoths of old stopped in its tracks.