Derailed

by Jackson Neta

  “You can do that?”

  “Not if I get a call. But the boss allows minimal personal use of the car provided I pay mileage.”

  “Can I help you move? I can be home from school before four.”

  DaShawn hadn’t said much at the news of his dad moving out, and Rodney hadn’t explained about Donita. Made me wonder whether that would cause DaShawn to think his dad wanted to get away from him or didn’t care about him. So I was relieved at Rodney’s response.

  “You bet, son. And if I can get that apartment set up, how ’bout goin’ to a Cubs game with me Saturday afternoon? They’re playin’ the Arizona Diamondbacks. Should be a good game.”

  “Can we go in the limo?”

  “No way. We’ll take the ‘L’.”

  While I was helping clean up the kitchen after supper, Estelle said, “I called Leroy today, and he didn’t sound too good. I think we should go see him.”

  “That’d be a good idea. With the house and Mom’s passin’, it’s been weeks.”

  “More like months. Makes me feel bad.”

  “When were you wantin’ to go?”

  “Saturday?”

  “Sure, you should go. But I can’t come.”

  “Whaddaya mean?”

  I told her about my trip. She got real quiet. Finally, her big eyes all sad lookin’, she said, “I know it’s your job, Harry, but I don’t like it when you’re away overnight. So, what’s ‘a few days’ mean?”

  “Oh, I think you should still go see Leroy, ’cause—”

  “That’s not what I asked. How long’re you actually gonna be gone?”

  I explained this depended on the DEA, but avoided mentioning the cartel and the danger of going up against them. No need to scare her. “But once I’m on the train, it’ll take two nights, about forty-one hours . . . if it’s on time.”

  “So . . . you’ll be home Saturday?”

  I winced. “But probably not in time to go with you. See, we don’t exactly know. I might have to wait in California a day or two before headin’ back. It all depends on when the drug runner decides to make his move.”

  “Well then, what’s your best guess for when you’ll get home?”

  I shrugged. “DEA is guessing the run’ll be this weekend.”

  “So you’ll leave there Friday and get home Sunday?”

  “Maybe, but it could be later . . . look, babe, I’ll phone you regular and keep you informed.”

  “You better phone me . . . every day. But how do the train conductors and crews manage these long runs? Do they have families?”

  “Oh, yeah. Lot of ’em do.” I was beginning to sense this wasn’t about me accompanying her to visit Leroy. “For the crew, it’s two days out, sometimes a layover, and two days back—five days.”

  She sighed and her eyebrows went up. “Well, you know that’s not the way I like it.” We stood there, staring at each other, not knowing what to say.

  “But then they get five days off,” I finally offered.

  A mischievous grin slowly melted her features. “Five days, huh?” She whipped the end of a dishtowel around me, grabbed the other end, and reeled me into a tight clinch. “So, what’re we gonna do with your comp time? Should be a whole week when you add the weekend.” I could see her mind spinning. “Want me to take the time off work? We could go on a short cruise. They’re always advertising those last-minute specials.”

  I grinned back at her. With the swirl our lives had been in lately, we needed a rest, a real rest. But a cruise? “Ah gee, babe. I’d just be getting home from one long trip, might not be very eager for another. How ’bout a few nights in nice hotel downtown? We could take in a play, listen to some jazz, go to the art museum. There’s lots of stuff we could do. Wanna ride a Segway again?”

  “Not on your life, Harry Bentley. You got me on one of those two-wheeled things once, and that’s enough.”

  I chuckled. “Well, it got you to say yes to marryin’ me. Thought I’d try for a rerun.”

  “No way! Like you said, I’m a married woman. Don’t need any more of those kinda thrills.”

  “Okay, okay. But don’t schedule anything until I actually get back. With this kind of an operation, you never know until it’s over.”

  Chapter 33

  I called home Thursday evening just to say I’d arrived safely and had checked into the Great Wall of China Motel. “It’s not got much in the way of amenities,” I told Estelle. “I think they call it the Great Wall because the whole thing’s made out of concrete blocks. But it’s clean and only a few blocks from Union Station. Oh, and bein’ right here in Chinatown, there’s some great-looking restaurants around.”

  “Well, tell me if you like their breakfasts.”

  “Why? What’s the matter with breakfast?”

  “Oh nothin’, but I prefer a Danish and coffee, myself.” I heard her take a deep breath. “So when’re you comin’ home, Harry?”

  “Just got here, babe. Still waitin’ for the green light, ya know. But I’ll call you as soon as I know.”

  We chitchatted awhile longer, but I could tell she was already feeling lonely. I was too.

  I wanted to try one of the restaurants I’d seen in the area, but didn’t know whether to take Corky or leave her in the room. She was legally welcome anywhere, but I didn’t think I wanted to spend my whole time in LA fighting for the rights of handicapped people.

  Finally, I decided. “You stay, Corky. I’ll bring you back something nice. Then we’ll go for a walk.” Found a nice restaurant, and ordered seafood bean curd soup, moo shu chicken, and spicy stir-fried greens with garlic and shitake mushrooms. It was awesome and far more than I could eat. But it wasn’t much fun having a fancy meal alone.

  The next day I had lots of time on my hands, so I decided to try reading the Bible. It’s something I genuinely wanted to do at home, but I often got distracted. Here, I had plenty of time with no interruptions, but I still couldn’t engage. What a sorry Christian I made. It was God’s Word, after all. Ha! Reminded me of the disciples who couldn’t watch and pray in the garden on the night of Jesus’ betrayal. I looked up that story in Matthew 26. It wasn’t very comforting to read how disappointed Jesus was when he came back and found the disciples sleeping, but apparently he understood. “The spirit is willing, but the body is weak.”

  I sure didn’t feel honored to be in the company of the disciples in this regard, but to realize Jesus understood meant a whole lot. I dropped my head in my hands. “O Lord, I’m sorry. I have heard your voice on other occasions, and I can say, ‘Give me Jesus,’ and really mean it, but . . . I’m still not connecting. So I’m askin’, please be with me in the next few days even though I don’t know how to be with you.”

  Corky nudged me with her nose as if saying amen.

  When I called Estelle Saturday night, I still didn’t have any news.

  “Harry! Feels like it’s dragging on forever. Is there only one train a day? Does that mean you won’t be back until Tuesday?”

  “Afraid so. I’m really sorry, babe. But if I’m still here by Monday, I’m gonna insist Gilson pull the plug on this operation.”

  “Monday? Well, he better pull the plug by then! And you can tell him for me, it doesn’t sound like they know enough to even put you on that train. They oughta fly you home . . . Oh, here’s DaShawn. He wants to say something to you.”

  There was noise as the phone changed hands. “Hey, Pops. You shoulda seen that game today. Cubs pulled it out after being down three to the Diamondbacks.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Soriano homered. Then Derrek Lee delivered a two-run single. Cubs won seven to five.”

  “Wish I could’ve gone with you. How you guys doin’?”

  “Oh, we’re cool.”

  “Is he all moved in to Great-Grandma’s place?”

  “Yeah, an’ he said I can sleep over sometimes if I don’t mind the sofa.”

  Things were changing back home and I was two thousand miles away.
r />   “Hey, let me speak to your gramma again.”

  Once she was on the line again, I said, “Just wanted to catch up a little more. Did you go down to see Leroy today?”

  “Yeah. He seems to be doing okay.” I could hear the longing in her voice. “All his burns are healed, but in some places the skin’s still so thin. The nurse was encouraging though. Said he might be able to move out of the nursing home by midsummer. But I don’t know, Harry, all the meds he’s on keep him in kind of a fog.”

  “We’ll find somethin’ for him, babe. God’ll help us.” And as we ended our call, I believed it too.

  Sunday morning Corky woke me from a sound sleep, whining to go out. I pulled on my pants and got her outside in time, but her stools were as loose as soup, and she needed to go out four times in the next couple hours. The leftovers I’d brought back to the motel must’ve made her sick. Thankfully, by noon she seemed okay.

  Then my phone rang. “Bentley. It’s a go for tonight’s train! Get yourself in position, and keep me informed. You might even snag the guy in the station.”

  “Any description on the perp yet?”

  “Nada, nothin’ at all.”

  “All right. I’ll call you once I’m on board.”

  I hung up and called Estelle right away. She was one happy lady. “But pray for me, babe. Gonna need it to find this guy.”

  After packing, I took Corky for a good, long walk. Much to my relief, she seemed fully recovered. Back at the motel, I left her in the room long enough to check out, making sure the security latch on my door was flipped over so it wouldn’t close all the way and lock me out. When I returned, I slipped Corky into her harness with the words Guide Dog on its side. “Well, old girl, here we go.” I rubbed my hand over my head to make sure it didn’t need a shave, then put on my plaid flat hat and mirrored shades. We exited the room as a blind man with his seeing-eye dog. Behind me, my small, black suitcase rolled clickety-clack, clickety-clack over the joints in the sidewalk.

  No one paid us much attention as we walked the mile along North Broadway toward Union Station. The smell of fried prawns and crab rangoon sizzling in hot oil gave way to exhaust fumes from the busy street, finally masked by the sweet scent of the bougainvillea growing in sidewalk planters. A few clouds were collecting overhead, but I’d had enough days in the California sun to last me for a while, so I didn’t mind.

  It was tempting to gaze up at those tall, spindly palm trees or study the beautiful mosaic of blue-and-white glazed tiles lining the arch of the station’s main entrance, but I couldn’t appear to be a man enjoying the sights. Still, I couldn’t help but notice the Spanish architecture of stucco walls and high-beamed ceilings inside the station. It rivaled the magnificence of the towering Corinthian columns, solid limestone, and marble of Chicago’s station.

  Travelers crisscrossed every which way, heading to and from trains, buying tickets, and picking up food and magazines from concessions, looking for arriving passengers. To my surprise, cops were everywhere . . . not Amtrak Police but TSA agents, Los Angeles County Sheriff’s deputies, and teams of private security guards, patrolling in units of two to four men. They appeared outfitted for battle—bulletproof vests, web belts crammed with extra clips, cuffs, riot batons, cans of Mace, radios, and some serious weapons.

  I made my way cautiously through the main waiting room. Finally, I took a seat in one of the large leather chairs with high backs and sturdy wooden armrests. They were custom-built antiques, adjoining one another like theater seats, and so big I felt like a little boy sitting in a grandpa’s chair.

  Corky stiffened, and I glanced down to see if she was alerting. But it wasn’t about drugs. A K-9 unit was coming our way—two deputies and a German shepherd half again as large as Corky. As they got closer, I half considered letting them know that I was on the job too, but they veered away before I said anything. Across the hall, I saw another K-9 unit, this one with a black lab like Corky. What was going on? Had the DEA turned out the troops to catch this same Sinaloa mule I was after? It looked like they were expecting a war.

  Then a greasy-haired kid came by on his skateboard, and Corky alerted immediately. And no wonder—the kid cupped a lighted joint between his thumb and forefinger. I could smell the smoke from ten feet away. I watched as the boy swerved through the crowd, heading right for the K-9 unit with the German shepherd. But when he got near them, the German shepherd barely glanced at the kid. And the deputy merely gave him a hand signal to get off his board. No riding in the station.

  They weren’t here for crowd control or to bust druggies.

  I got up and walked with Corky to the restroom, passing another cluster of four deputies while meeting another pair coming my way. Standing to the side of the restroom door, like a valet at a hotel, was an older man dressed like a farmer, or maybe a shepherd with a staff. The staff, which was at least a foot taller than he was, was an ornate cross with the words “Jesus Saves” carved on it. He wasn’t talking to anyone or even looking them in the eye. Just standing there holding up his sign. Guess that was something.

  About forty-five minutes before my train was to depart, I started speaking randomly to anyone close by, acting as though all I could do was hear or sense their presence. “Excuse me. I need to catch the Southwest Chief to Chicago; could you help me find a Red Cap, someone who could take me to my train?”

  “I’d love to help,” said a woman hurrying past, “but I’m about to miss my own train.” But when she’d gone about twenty feet beyond me, she began calling to a guy emptying a trash can. “Sir, sir, could you help that man back there?” She pointed my way. “He’s trying to find a Red Cap.”

  “I’m no Red—” The janitor saw me and waved to the woman that he was on the case. Within five minutes, a Red Cap helped Corky and me get on board an electric cart, driving us through the station and down a long corridor to my train. I felt guilty using the service some truly handicapped person might need.

  As I rode along—the cart emitting its annoying beep, beep, beep to warn people it was coming—I realized I didn’t see any more cops, not one, whereas a half hour earlier, I’d counted over twenty. Obviously, something had been going on. Those dogs hadn’t been sniffing for drugs. Probably searching for explosives. Made me feel insecure to have no idea what had just gone down. But apparently, the crisis had passed without incident.

  Captain Gilson’s secretary, Phyllis, had booked me in an accessible bedroom on the lower level of a Superliner sleeping car, in keeping with my cover. Mine happened to be right behind the engines and baggage car.

  Since I was the first person to board, my car attendant went out of his way to help me get settled. Eyeing Corky as she curled up on the floor beside me, he raised his voice as if blindness equaled hearing impairment. “Now over here is your basic washbasin—hot and cold running water. Just press the levers. And on the side, the yellow-lighted button—oh, sorry—anyway, you can feel an emergency call button on the side here. Press it anytime you need me. Then comes the toilet. There’s a curtain behind it if you want to draw it for privacy, but—”

  “Carl—is that what you said your name was?—I’m not totally blind. I can see light and dark. In fact, I can see that you’re standin’ over there by the door.”

  “Oh, yes sir. Sorry.”

  Corky groaned and stretched out on her side while the attendant frowned at her. “Your dog okay?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “Hmm. Well, if you need anything . . . Actually, there are little braille labels on everything. And the shower is just down the hall, second door on your left. You’ll find plenty of towels in there on the shelf.”

  “Thanks. I’m sure I can manage. I’ve ridden the train many times, and I’ve been able to find my way around. Just one thing, how far back is the dining car?”

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, sir. I’m glad to bring you your meals—”

  “How far?”

  “Third car back. This is car four thirty-one, a
nd there’re two more sleepers behind us, then the dining car. After that comes the observation . . . I mean, the lounge car. The snack bar and café are on its lower level. All the rest are coaches, four I think.” He hesitated. “Well, if you don’t want me to bring you your meal this evening, do you want me to make a reservation for you?”

  “That’d be great. How ’bout seven? Now . . . don’t want to hold you up any longer. You probably have more passengers comin’ along soon. But I appreciate your help, Carl. I really do.”

  “No problem. I’ll put you in for seven then. But what’ll you do with your dog when—”

  “Don’t worry about her.”

  “Okay, but if you need anything, anything at all.” He backed out of the compartment, starting to give me a wave and then stopping.

  I shook my head and turned to my window as hundreds of first-class and coach passengers began to stream along the platform. Carl was out there by the door, ready to welcome the other first-class passengers assigned to 431. With the tinted windows of my compartment it wouldn’t be easy for people to see in, but I still kept my shades on as I watched them dragging luggage and hanging on to children, trying to figure out where they were supposed to go.

  I studied each face. Who was my mule? Who was the man who carried hundreds of thousands of dollars in cocaine or meth or heroin? The dozens of mug shots and photos I’d studied of cartel members flicked through my mind, creating a morphing composite of a heavy-faced, stockily built Hispanic man with short, unkempt black hair and wary eyes, mustache almost always, sometimes a short-cropped, jawline beard.

  Suddenly, Estelle’s question came to mind: “You sure it’ll be a man?”

  No . . . no, I wasn’t sure. I needed to keep my mind open.

  I started watching the women too.

  And then I saw her . . . the woman who lived across the street—the singer, Grace Meredith. She was walking up to Carl, holding out her ticket!