Raildogs

by Rejean Giguere

  The two brothers had run across Cliff and Sam back in the beginning. Tough enough to defend themselves, that first meeting had been a stand-off. A train ride, and two bottles of whiskey later they had teamed up. They all had something in common: The desire to make money the easy way.

  Ten years down the road Bobby didn’t need to ride the rails anymore, but he wasn’t letting go of the gang either. It was there if he needed it, and he felt he deserved the dues he was paid. He believed that they’d built a business together and that the five of them were like CEO’s, earning dividends on their hard work

  That was his logic in staying off the rails but keeping close tabs on the crew. Besides, he’d always been able to make money in the casinos – at least most days. He sure wasn’t hurting for cash, he’d been investing the whole time and he had built up a nice little nest egg.

  That early score of thirty thousand dollars in a suitcase carried by a South-American family had a lot to do with his early investing success, but it didn’t matter where it came from, as long as you had it.

  Bobby didn’t waste time watching for the crew, they knew where to find him. He didn’t realize how easy he was to spot. Red hair and freckles on a six-foot six-inch guy stood out no matter where you were standing.

  The blackjack dealer flipped a ten for a total of twenty and Bobby watched his cards being swept into the discard pile and his chips disappear into a slot in the table.

  *****

  Hinkle, Oregon

  Albert Simms was still sleeping as the train slowed. There were only a few stops on this section of line, this one had to be Hinkle. Waking, he took a second to orient himself. Then he remembered his tortured crewmember and his reason for heading back to Spokane.

  He still had a few hours more before he got home. Fumbling around in the pocket of his jacket, he pulled out his phone and dialed. An unknown voice answered, “Eighty-nine here.”

  “Its five. We’ve got problems. Get all the guys in Spokane together and meet me when I get in. I should be there in three hours tops.”

  “Yes boss, see you there.”

  Albert put the phone away and leaned back, he wanted some more sleep and closed his eyes to try inducing it. If he had been more alert he would have noticed the guy who jumped on one of the boxcars behind him in Pocatello. Then he would have been watching at this stop to see what the guy did.

  Instead, a figure was moving towards Albert’s car, catching him off guard when he climbed up into the freight car. Even at this point Albert felt safe, he ran this section of rail and he was tough enough to defend it.

  “Get the fuck off this car, it’s taken.” He didn’t bother to get up, just gave the intruder the finger.

  He couldn’t believe it when the guy set down his bag and slid the door closed. It was dark outside, pitch black inside. Albert had a sudden surge of uncertainty. He jumped up, confronting the intruder.

  “You not hear me fucker? Get the hell out.”

  Albert’s eyes began to adjust to the darkness. As he tried to locate the guy he heard the sound of something spraying. The heavy mist hit his eyes, nose and mouth as he walked into it unawares.

  The pepper spray was like a punch in the face. Albert recoiled, “Holy Christ!”

  Through his blurry vision he noticed movement, and then something jammed into his leg. The electricity shook his body, his nerves fired like a thousand needles jabbing at him, his muscles strained as his breathing locked up.

  Albert fell over backward, fighting with every fiber to not go over face first. That always hurt. As he laid there the thought hit him, Why is this guy doing this?

  Was it hours or minutes later?

  Albert realized he must have passed out. He could just make out a figure in black hunched over a small lantern by the door, a shoulder bag open on the floor beside him.

  He went to move and found he was tied upright against a skid of boxes. Shit this isn’t good. He could see his attacker rise up, the light behind him throwing him into outline as he turned. Albert lost all sense of normal, his heart began to jump as his knees went weak. All he could see was the gleam of the steel blade in the lantern light.

  Then the figure stepped in front of him.

  “Hey buddy, easy. Jesus.” He blinked. His voice felt tight. “What do you want, I can help you man.”

  The laugh echoed in the confines of the boxcar. In the silence that followed Albert heard a low voice, “I got all the help I needed from that asshole in Pocatello.”

  Albert tried to push backwards, but the skid wasn’t moving. He struggled to understand what the guy’s intentions were as his shirt was cut off with a few well-placed slices. He wondered what kind of predator this monster could be when his dirty jeans were torn off and he was left standing almost naked in the cold dark.

  He shivered when the guy moved in close and whispered into his ear. He tumbled the words around in his brain and tried to understand. Then he screamed at the top of his lungs in sudden pain.

  He looked down, terrified. Afraid to look, afraid of what he would see.

  His tormentor had shaved a slice of meat off his thigh and left it there like it was a chunk of bologna. Lightheaded, he thought he was going to pass out again, he watched the blood start to well up and begin seeping out over the whitened edges of the skin. An involuntarily jerk made the hanging piece of flesh wobble back and forth.

  He choked and looked up at the ceiling, trying to hold down the puke that was forcing its way north. What the fuck was happening?

  Suddenly, he realized the guy was on the other side of him, whispering again. He wanted to hear the words, to understand the message, but he kept focusing on the action that came with the words.

  He didn’t know how long he screamed. He had to – but couldn’t – look down. His mind didn’t want to see the picture, but he forced his head to turn anyway.

  He didn’t recognize his own voice, “Oh God, no.”

  He had to understand what was happening: maybe if he understood he could stop this guy. What was the voice saying? The guy stood beside him filling his ears with a story.

  There was no scream this time. Albert chose the easy route, and passed out instead.

  The next time he woke, he was groggy and confused, until the sight of the little lantern by the door and bag on the floor snapped him back to the horror in a hurry. His stomach was already heaving again and his head was swirling when he looked down.

  Albert closed his eyes, and then opened them again.

  Both his legs had strips of flesh hanging off them. His tormenter had worked his way around each leg, slicing down, creating flesh strips about four inches wide. One row circled each of his thighs with a second row around his calves.

  It was the sight of his shin bones staring back at him that finally got his stomach heaving and he leaned his head forward just in time to vomit all over the floor.

  He struggled to catch his breath while spitting the last remnants out. Albert knew he was really in trouble. Fuck. This guy was going to kill him.

  “Please man, listen to me.” He struggled to get the words out. “Why? Why me?”

  When he blinked the guy was right beside him again and Albert couldn’t stop shaking. He must look like a scared dog about to piss right there on the spot. The guy started talking, this time slowly and louder. He was telling a story that took Albert a long time to recognize. Suddenly he knew what this was about. It didn’t make things any better.

  He tried to place the story, the events his torturer was talking about. It had been so long ago. At least now he knew why it was happening. In some weird way that made it easier to understand. You do the crime, you do the time.

  He almost chuckled to himself. Obviously there wasn’t going to be a lot of jail time applied here. This street justice was something Albert understood.

  He tried to scream and realized he didn’t have anything left. He looked down with more fascination than horror as he watched the guy slice a long curling strip
of flesh off his bicep, then another off his forearm.

  What a strange angle for the skin to hang. It reminded him of cleaning fish when he was a kid, trying to slide the knife between the meat and skin.

  Albert woke for the third time as the guy sliced into his cheek. He let his head fall forward. He was weak now and seemed to be having trouble holding himself up. He couldn’t avoid seeing the carnage on his body, as his head hung down.

  A hand grabbed a fistful of hair, lifting his head before the knife sliced into the other cheek – then let it drop again. Albert was staring at the strips of skin hanging from his chest. He could hear the blood drops hitting the floor. Curious, he pressed his tongue towards his cheek and wasn’t horrified when it went past his teeth and into open air.

  Christ, he must look bad.

  The sound of the door opening and a rush of fresh air made him turn his eyes even though he couldn’t raise his head. He saw a figure jumping out of the train car. That was when Albert realized the train was slowing. Was he home? Somewhere in his head he knew he wasn’t going to make it. But still he struggled one last time to breathe and stand up straight, before giving up and slumping forward against the ropes.

  Chapter 6

  Topeka, Kansas

  The afternoon sun beat down on the long freight train as it pushed out into the open spaces of the midwest. The train shook a bit more on these older rails, but that was fine with Raul.

  He leaned back against the train car, his legs stretched out in a sitting position with Maria on top of him. The steady rocking of the train was enough for both of them. She straddled his legs and let the vibrations move her up, down, and around.

  He was intoxicated with her, she made no effort to move and he was so close. He knew that one of these bumps or corners was going to set him off and he relaxed, just enjoying the moment of anticipation.

  Maria’s eyes stayed closed as the train’s momentum rocked her back and forth. A couple of bumps and she slammed down on him. They had been riding like this for twenty minutes and that was the last straw. Raul leaned his head back further and moaned.

  She joined in, rubbing herself against him and closed her eyes, enjoying the pleasure for the second time. Finally, she slumped forward against his chest, her head on his shoulder.

  Raul held her, letting her rest. He knew she was stressed out, but they were through the tough part now. The big cities were behind them and he knew the track from here a lot better than the jungle of lines back east. They would turn south now, heading for New Mexico and down into El Paso.

  He had no idea he’d just crossed into the Raildogs box. He was cruising now, the border was next and then he would be able to relax with his woman for a few days before meeting the bosses. He let his eyes close and enjoyed the smell of Maria’s hair.

  It would be good to be home.

  *****

  Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

  The boys all called him Dougie. Doug Rackman liked being a leader. It fit his cocky attitude well. He was the number three in the gang, ahead of his brother Bobby’s number four.

  He liked his section of the line from Houston up to Des Moines with Oklahoma holding the middle. That gave his boys a good shot at anyone leaving or heading for the east coast. Beginning of the month was party time for his crew and Doug did like to party. He would meet up with the gang, collect his dues of course, and then get them all shit-faced for the night. It was a small price to pay to keep an eye on things.

  He took another look at his watch. He liked the gold case with its silver dial. It was the only thing he wore on the tracks that hinted at cash. Normally, he kept a low profile, and grubby clothes worked best on this job. He tucked the watch back in his pocket. Where was the six p.m. freight from down south? He had crew coming in on it.

  Like his brother, Doug’s red hair and freckles made him easy to find, even easier when he was hanging around the old steel mill next to the freight yards. Someone from the gang was always there, it was a message drop as well as hangout. Dougie and a handful of others were waiting to meet the guys from down south before heading north to Des Moines.

  His house up there was away from any tracks. Just like Cliffy said, it gave them somewhere to get off and hide out when needed. The first big scores they’d got in the beginning were used to set up each line with a house.

  None of the places were anything fancy, but it was something none of them had ever had before. Doug figured he was only in the house half the time. He preferred being on the rails or staying at one of his girlfriend’s places. First of the month though, he was there to party with the crew like clockwork.

  “There they are.” One of the guys hanging near the fence spoke up.

  Doug looked up as Devon and Rashad came walking down the track.

  “Hey boss. What’s up?” Devon and Doug touched fists.

  “Not much. Been waiting around for you losers.”

  Devon held out a handful of cash, payment for him and Rashad.

  “So, any action on the way up?” Doug asked.

  “A couple bums, then a kid with a buck and a half. Nothing big.”

  The guys all understood. This wasn’t a big-hit game, although one of those was always nice. This was about one hundred or two hundred at a time. People on freight trains usually didn’t have much, but whatever they did have they kept in their pockets. Get enough of them and they added up. That was the game. Get as many as possible. The big hit was just the bonus.

  “Hey that’s enough to pay your dues for next month too.” Doug smiled at the look Devon gave back.

  “Don’t think so boss. See you next month.”

  The boys all laughed and Doug jumped off the ledge where he’d been sitting. “Alright, lets get out of here, the train north won’t be here much longer.

  *****

  Colton, California

  Bill Dewton crouched low in the bushes. He couldn’t believe what he was doing. The leave approval had come in and he’d quickly jumped on it. With a month off he was now waiting for a northbound freighter.

  He was jumping a train. Illegally. He wasn’t taking chances either. He had his forty-five in a shoulder holster and a concealed knife strapped to his leg just above the ankle. The train started to jerk, clanging as it rolled forward. He’d studied the cars, trying to figure which one was best to ride on and had picked out a couple.

  Bill took a quick look up and down the track and jogged out to run beside the train. It wasn’t going fast but he sensed it was picking up speed. He looked at the cars and selected his target.

  He slipped once, then twice, and realized that running on rocks while you were looking sideways was a challenge. Widening his stance for stability, he placed his feet forcefully as he ran, reaching out for the metal railing.

  With one hand on the car, he looked down for a place for his feet and realized he hadn’t been thinking about that when he was watching the cars go by. Seeing a small metal ledge, he sped up his feet and leaped while using his arms to pull. Slamming against the car, he fumbled, his feet scrambling to find something solid.

  Breathing hard, Bill realized his adrenaline was pumping, and he smiled. There’s one of the rushes the riders must like. He pulled up hard and dragged himself onto the landing, where he sat and collected himself.

  This train car held storage containers that were double-stacked one on top of the other. The one on top was forty-feet long and the one on the bottom only twenty. That meant a ten-foot overhang at each end. Bill hoped that cover above his head would do.

  He had a lot to think about and too much ground to cover. Where was he going? Where to start? His daughter’s steps headed north. He sat down for the ride lost in his thoughts.

  Six hours later, as he watched over the side of the car he noticed the buildings in the desert landscape. Vegas was coming up. Bill got his stuff together and prepared himself.

  The train slowed as it neared the city limits, crawling through the outskirts. He was beginning to thi
nk they weren’t stopping, they were almost out of the other side of town when the train slowed almost to a stop.

  As quick as the freighter slowed it started to move again, the cars clanking against each other. Suddenly, two kids came out of nowhere. Running beside his car, they jumped on, one after the other. Bill’s first thought was that they’d done that before.

  His second was; Shit, what now?

  The kids were exhausted but still seemed focused on their mission. The first kid looked quickly at his partner and received a nod of the head. He turned to Bill, “We want your cash old man. You don’t want to get hurt.”

  Old man? Shit he was only forty-six. Sudden anger flooded through him, he could feel his shoulder muscles flex. The vein on his forehead throbbed. He reached into his coat and came out with the gun, “Who are you fucking with kid? Move one step and I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

  The second kid quickly took a step backwards and pushed off the train. He landed hard but he was out of the situation. The first kid turned and looked at the ground going by as the train kept moving.

  Bill could tell he was calculating, “Don’t even think it kid. I don’t miss this close. Ever.”

  “What the fuck you want man? Just let me go.” The kid was cocky, even when scared.

  Bill wondered what to do, then it hit him. “Roll up your sleeves, both arms.”

  The kid hesitated then did as he was told. Sleeves were peeled back, and the kid stuck out his arms. Bill didn’t see any tattoos, so he was pretty sure this one wasn’t part of the gang. He was a piece of shit though.

  “You know anything about guys with tattoos on the inside of their wrists?”

  “Sure man, everyone does.” The kid stopped there.

  “I’m a cop kid. So either tell me what I want to know, or I’ll drop you off at the next station.” He paused. “ Now if you tell me what I need, I’ll probably let you go.”

  He could see the kid think it through and knew the moment when he decided he couldn’t see a bad side. “Everyone knows the Raildogs have those tattoos.”

  “Who the fuck are the Raildogs?”