Raildogs

by Rejean Giguere

  Devon slowed up as he neared the car with the red packsack. The switchblade clicked out of the four-inch handle, instantly doubling the length of the weapon. Rashad caught up, already wearing steel knuckles on each hand.

  Nodding, they stormed the stairs. Two heads popped up at the sound of boots on steel and Devon didn’t slow down. Stepping forward, he kicked the first person square in the face and watched as the neck snapped back and the head banged against the unforgiving side of the rail car.

  Still moving, he came down hard with his fist on the head of the target’s wide-eyed companion. A quick knee to the head was just instinct at this point, and he relaxed it at the last second, knowing it wasn’t necessary.

  “Fuck Devon, leave me something man.” Rashad stood behind him, fists up, pissed that he didn’t get a shot in.

  “Don’t worry Ras man. These guys’ll wake up soon.” He couldn’t stop himself from grinning at his buddy’s anger. “We’ll wait until the train is out of town, then you can have some fun.”

  One of their victims woke up before the train started moving, but he decided to stay put when Rashad gave him an evil stare.

  Devon sat on the ledge at the back of the railcar and went through the packsacks the men had been carrying, finding nothing of interest. It was pretty clear that they were bums with no money or anything. That was too bad for them; they were only staying on the train if they could pay their way.

  Devon asked a question and Rashad moved closer, waiting to hear the answer. “Where’s your money?”

  No one answered and Rashad let his right arm fly loose as he punched the closest guy in the mouth.

  The second one was quick to speak up. “We don’t have any.”

  Rashad’s punch caught him off guard as his head cracked against the steel storage container. Devon’s problem was he knew they were telling the truth. Everyone always said they had no money and all you had to do was beat it out of them. But he knew that would get them nothing here. These losers didn’t have a cent.

  “You gotta pay to ride these rails, those are Raildog rules. No pay, no ride.”

  The shocked look on the two bums turned to hysteria when Devon grabbed the red packsack and threw it off the moving train. Rashad grabbed the second pack and it quickly followed the first. When someone was really holding out, the sudden loss of their stuff, was usually a back-breaker, but again Devon knew there would be no money this time.

  The bums began to struggle when the two black men stepped forward and grabbed them. Devon had the first one’s hoodie over his head while his other hand pulled on the oversized jacket. When the bum grabbed onto the Raildog’s leg to stop his progress Devon pounded his head with both fists until he let go. Then he dragged the bum to the edge of the car.

  The guy was screaming as the countryside rolled by. The steel wheels scratched and squealed over the rails. He held the guy there for a moment, half-suspended in mid-air, and let his situation sink in. He wasn’t sure if the guy was appreciating the view like he was.

  “Hey Rashad, pick your number.”

  “Two.”

  Devon smiled, that was a pretty low number. The bodies always bounced at least a couple times. “I call three.”

  He gave the bum a twist in the air as he dropped the guy off the car and watched as he hit the rough rock that ran beside the tracks, bouncing once, twice, and then a third and fourth time before rolling to a stop.

  “That’s ten bucks Ras man.”

  Rashad held the other guy’s face, bleeding and scraped, against the steel plate of the landing. He could feel his victim shake uncontrollably as he watch his buddy thrown from the train. Now the guy started to flail around as Rashad got off the bum’s back and half-dragged him, face down, towards the side.

  “Over or under,” he asked.

  Devon chose under.

  Rashad didn’t hesitate, keeping the momentum of his victim’s body going, he pushed the weight out into mid-air, and let go. The body seemed to hover a second before falling fast to the rock below. The bum took an awkward bounce and settled into a heap.

  “Sweet mother, I love this job Ras man.” He grinned. Devon was wide-eyed and full of energy as they looked back at the bums lying alongside the track. “That looked like two bounces man. You owe me twenty.”

  He sucked a whistling breath in around the gold tooth. The adrenaline was still pumping hard, surging through his muscles. He was proud of the number fifty he wore on the inside of his forearm. He looked at Rashad, his good buddy wore number fifty-two.

  Devon liked the beginning of the month, the guys all got together on the line they patrolled and paid up their dues. Then the boss would throw a party and they’d all have a blast. Nothing like perks with the job.

  “Let’s get up to Oklahoma,” he said. “The boss will be waiting and we got some partying to do.”

  Chapter 2

  San Antonio, Texas

  Sam Dorson hung out from the side of the freight car. The wind pulled at his hair and with his eyes closed he let the rush of air wash over his face. He still couldn’t believe the fucking peace of mind he got from riding the rails.

  A trucker by trade, he had seen every goddamn corner of the country before giving it up to run and hide. Since he knew some things about a few women who had disappeared, when he felt the heat getting a little closer on that missing woman case, he’d decided it was time for a change of scenery.

  He’d have to think long and hard about how he got on the rails in the first place, where had it been? It didn’t matter now. That was twelve years ago. Now he was a Raildog. He looked down at the number two tattooed inside his left wrist and smiled before he swung back into the freight car, reinvigorated and alive.

  “Fuck boys, it’s another sunny kick-ass day. You up for it?”

  Their shouts and whistles echoed in the rail car, sounding like applause to him. Some of the crew had been with him when they left San Antonio and the rest would be waiting in Phoenix.

  Sam lived on the rails most days. He controlled the southern section of line running east-west from Texas to Arizona. He didn’t want to miss any part of the action that was always going on. He knew Cliffy was getting out on the tracks less and less these days, and he heard one of the Rackman brothers was holed up in Vegas pretty much full time, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t slowing down for nothing.

  The beginning of the month meant the whole gang was on the rails. It was the only time everyone was mobile. Dues to pay, and hopefully there were travelers to collect from. If the people out there knew it was the worst time to hitch a ride they’d stay away, but they didn’t, and people were always riding at the first of the month for their own reasons.

  It didn’t matter how much money he put in his pocket, Sam would be out working his turf and taking advantage of any opportunities that came his way. The big man, over six foot and at least two hundred and thirty pounds of muscle, liked beating people up and making them pay to ride the rail. He really liked when he came across women riders, because that was an entirely different ball game.

  Sam drifted back to the open door of the railcar. He knew the train would slow again near Eagle Pass. He watched the landscape roll by, wondering if there was anybody waiting for the train up ahead.

  *****

  Pittsburg, Pennsylvania

  The rain pounded down as the slow moving train lumbered down the rails. Dark, miserable and wet was the only way to describe it. Raul Alvarez crouched against the back of the railcar holding a chunk of blue tarp over the two of them. His girlfriend Maria Martinez was huddled against him, asleep. He shook his head, shit, how did she do it?

  Raul was pissed at the weather, not just with this rain tonight, but the whole damned northeast. He’d been sent here last fall to set up another route for the Mexican cartel to ship drugs into the northeast U.S.. More and more, the cartel was moving their product directly to major cities and cutting out middlemen.

  Raul was an up and comer. This project was a big
step for him and he was sure it would lead to bigger opportunities. But right now all he wanted was to get back into Mexico where the sun was always shining, the weather always warm. Shit, in this place he might not see the sun for weeks.

  Everything was in place and ready for final testing. The route, the couriers, and the distributors. Raul was heading back south to lay all the details out for the bosses and oversee the first test-runs himself. He had always used freight trains down south when he was a junior couriering shipments of weed into the U.S. and he sure wasn’t renting cars or taking planes at this point. He never left a paper trail.

  So he was riding from Pittsburg to Cincinnati in the rain and his ass was already sore. How long was it going to take to get to Mexico?

  He could barely make out Maria’s shape in the dark. The hoodie and oversized clothing he forced her to wear turned her into a hobbit. He almost laughed out loud.

  He never should have let her come along, but who was he kidding. He wanted her with him from now on, wherever he went. The little Panamanian had a figure that didn’t end. Long black hair, dusky skin and sensual lips drew Raul in like a moth to a streetlight. They had been drawn to each other from the moment they met in New York. It hadn’t taken long for her to move to Pittsburg, now they were inseparable.

  He had been just about to leave his apartment when she arrived to join him on the trip. She looked so serious.

  “I’m packed and ready to go.”

  “Baby, you can’t wear that stuff. I told you we’re going on a train.” She was rocking a tight skirt and high heels and pulling a pair of rolling suitcases.

  “I go everywhere in heels Raul, you know that.”

  “I told you to bring a packsack, what are those?” He pointed at the two suitcases.

  “Raul, you know a woman needs her things.” This time her lips formed a sultry smile as she fluttered her eyelashes at him.

  He had finally won their long discussion and laughed out loud when she’d reappeared from his bedroom wearing two layers of track pants, sweatshirts and a large hoodie, all of them too big for her. It was a good thing they were traveling in the rain, because he was sure he wouldn’t be getting any for a while. Her packsack was stuffed with old cargo pants and sweatshirts, which pretty well ensured she wasn’t going to be happy.

  Raul listened to the pelting downpour drumming against his tarp. The only other sounds were the steel wheels against the rails and the rattle of boxcars as they swayed from side to side through the open country.

  Cincinnati, he thought to himself, St. Louis, and then down to Mexico. The sooner, the better.

  *****

  Spokane, Washington

  “Raildogs! Gather up.” Albert Simms rounded up the posse.

  “Al, there’s riders up near the front of the train!” A young guy ran down the side of the freight train yelling.

  “We’ll take this boxcar, load up.” The train was about to pull out of the rail yard headed south towards Salt Lake. The men started throwing their packsacks and shoulder bags in the open door of the car. “Mickey, take someone and go get those riders. Bring ‘em back here.”

  He pulled a gun from his waistband and threw it to the younger gang member, motioning to the guy who had spotted the people. “Hurry, show him where they are.”

  Albert slowly crawled up into the boxcar. Jesus, he liked his life. He ran this section of the northwest rail and loved every second of it. He wasn’t a big guy, but everyone knew the number five tattooed on his wrist made him a top dog. A Raildog.

  Looking around at the others, he could feel the adrenaline starting to pulse through the car. Everyone knew what was coming next. Albert cracked his knuckles and waited, feeling the rush of anticipation creeping over him.

  He could picture what was happening up ahead, he’d done it before himself. Mickey wouldn’t piss around. He knew the drill. Storm the fuckers, take them hard and fast, show them who was boss.

  Of course how hard you had to be depended on what you found. Sometimes they folded right away, and sometimes they fought back. Albert liked it when they fought back. With his violent nature Mickey would strong-arm them off the train and bring them back by hand, he figured. He probably wouldn’t even need to pull out the gun.

  His thoughts were interrupted when a body slammed against the steel doorframe of the car. Then another, and another lined up beside the first. He could hear Mickey yelling, “Climb up you pussies. I’m not fucking around.”

  One of the kids wasn’t quick enough and Mickey started punching people in the back of the head. All three began climbing, hand over hand, scrambling over each other. Albert noticed the shiner on one face and the blood coming from the nose of another. He caught his lieutenant’s eye and they shared a knowing smile.

  As if on cue, the train started to move. Someone lit a propane lantern in the corner and Albert took a last look at the daylight before pulling the heavy sliding door closed.

  Although the scene must have looked like a horror show to their captives, it was a comfort zone for Albert. He let his eyes adjust to the darkened interior. Gradually the light from the lantern seemed to grow until he could see into the dim corners of the train car.

  The three kids huddled together just inside the door while his crew taunted them. Attempting to scare the shit out of them was more like it.

  He pushed off the sidewall. “Get them up.”

  A kick to the shin of the nearest kid was enough and they all jumped to their feet. It took awhile to get good at walking around in a moving freight train. Albert and the crew had it nailed down, while the kids didn’t.

  One kid leaned back against the sidewall with both palms against the wall to hold himself upright. The second was trying to use his knees to ride the roll of the boxcar, but he didn’t seem able to maintain control because he was standing facing forward instead of sideways. The third one looked sick to his stomach. It was pretty easy to tell he was fighting not to puke. Even in the dim light, Albert could see the kid’s face was changing colors as he searched wild-eyed for something to hold on to.

  “Where you going boys?”

  No one answered. Albert’s face changed from casually friendly to frighteningly dangerous as he started forward, “You don’t want to answer…?”

  He paused, then took one more step forward before the middle one squealed out, “We left Eastport this morning.”

  “That’s better. Now where are you headed?”

  The kid swallowed hard. “Through Oregon and down to Oakland.”

  Albert smiled like he was on some great adventure with them. “So it’s off to California for the summer.”

  No one answered.

  He took the last few steps to stand in front of the teenagers. “I sure hope you got money to pay for your ride,” he looked around. “Because this here is my rail line.”

  Still no one answered.

  A quick backhand knocked the kid into one of his companions.

  Albert stepped sideways to stand in front of the next guy, staring down at him. “Someone better answer me soon, because I’m getting pissed.”

  “I got some,” the kid started fishing for his cash, he looked up with a handful of bills squeezed in his fist. “How much is it mister?”

  Albert laughed at the absurd question, reaching out to engulf the kid’s hand and money in a tight grip. He squeezed, feeling the smaller hand crumpling in his own, “Everything you got kid.”

  He squeezed even harder and felt the kid trying to pull his hand out of the vise. Slowly he let the fingers slide free and watched the kid shake his hand in pain. Laughing, he opened his fist to look at the wrinkled bills. How easy was that?

  The next kid had his money held out in the air, gripping the edge of the bills as if to distance himself as much as he could. He seemed eager to give the cash away. Albert reached over and snatched it.

  “How about you puke face, got any money?” The kid shook his head side-to-side, no.

  “Really, a tri
p with no money. You telling me the truth boy?”

  “I… I don’t have any cash, sir.”

  Albert usually ate up the sir and mister stuff, but something about the way the kid said it got his attention. He reached over and grabbed the kid by the hair, raising him onto his toes. He pulled hard, almost hoisting the kid off the ground.

  “You fucking with me kid?” He lifted up harder on the hair, pulling the kid off balance.

  “I got a card. I got a bank card in my bag.”

  Albert slammed the kid’s head backwards off the wall. Then he let go. The kid slumped down to his knees, leaned forward and lost his battle to hold back the vomit. His puke slammed into the floor, splattering in a wide circle.

  “Someone go through all their bags. Let me know what you find. I want them off the train before we get to Hinkle.”

  The crew went to work ripping the kid’s bags apart, coming up with a little bit of weed and the kid’s bank card. Albert knew the crew was itchy so he made it simple. “You get the bank information first, then you can have some fun.”

  He didn’t consider kids a challenge, it was a bit disappointing that they were so young. Mickey and the guys didn’t care so much. They pushed and taunted the boys, hitting them with the odd shot to the face or stomach. Whatever it took to get the account numbers. At first the kids turtled to avoiding the blows, until they were warned that if they didn’t fight back one-on-one they would be gang beaten.

  The three brutal fights didn’t last long.

  The first kid to summon his courage and step forward got kicked in the kneecap with a pair of worn out work boots. His face held pure shock as he buckled forward and was met with a knee in the face. Even Albert felt a twinge as the kid’s nose flattened and blood flew out in every direction. He was out.

  Albert always wondered how the next guy convinced himself to step up, surely they must realize at this point it would have been better to be first and get it over with. The puking one stepped off the wall and got his hands up in a fighter’s stance. Mickey took a run from ten feet away and jumped up in the air. Leading feet first, both heels hit the kid in the stomach and drove him into the wooden wall of the car. Mickey bounced up to pummel the breathless kid until he lay on the floor, unmoving.