The Insane Train

by Sheldon Russell

  “More or less. How you doing, Pap?”

  “Good seeing you again, Frenchy. Weren’t you in Amarillo for a while?”

  “About a year. I been bumped so many times, I forgot where my wife lives,” he said.

  “I best be on my way,” Pap said. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks for taking care of Mixer,” Hook said. “If you want to visit him, just let me know.”

  Pap waved his hand over his head as he walked away. “Oh, sure, sure,” he said. “Maybe I’ll have him over for Christmas in about twenty years.”

  “I’m not exactly clear on who we are picking up in Barstow,” Frenchy said.

  “I guess Eddie forgot to give you the details.”

  “Eddie lies about everything but forgets nothing,” Frenchy said. “So I figure it’s something no one else wants to do.”

  “They had a big fire out to the Baldwin Insane Asylum. They’re moving the inmates to Fort Supply in Oklahoma.”

  Frenchy took his cigar out of his mouth and stared at Hook. “Mental patients?”

  “Looks that way.”

  Frenchy took off his hat and rearranged a few wisps of hair on his bald head.

  “That son of a bitch,” he said.

  “Thing is, about twenty of them are classified as criminally insane.”

  Frenchy looked off down the tracks and then put his hat back on.

  “The insane train,” he said. “That’s us. Well, I hauled a load of railroad officials to Chicago one time. Couldn’t be any worse than that.”

  “At least these boys are in straitjackets,” Hook said.

  Hook sat in the cupola of the caboose and watched Needles disappear into the dusk. Mixer had fallen asleep before they were out of the yards, and now the steam engine crawled across the desert like a caterpillar on a stick.

  Soon darkness descended. He listened to the click of iron against iron and smelled the smoke churning down the line. Hook climbed from the cupola and stretched out on the bench. They should be in Barstow by morning if they didn’t break down, which could easily happen.

  A lot of uncertainty lay ahead, but he’d be glad to get the assignment underway. Most of all, he would be glad to see Nurse Andrea once again.

  Hook picked up the company truck from the operator in Barstow, who, with the disappearance of the supply clerk, had taken over the sign-out sheet.

  He drove directly to Baldwin Asylum and found Andrea washing down the chairs and tables with disinfectant. She looked up and smiled when he ducked under the tent flap.

  Pushing aside her hair with the back of her hand, she said, “You’re here.”

  “And with the train,” he said. “She’s sided outside of town. I’m afraid she’s not much to look at.”

  “Well, anything will be better than this,” she said.

  Hook looked around. “Where’s Seth and the others?”

  “They aren’t back yet,” she said. “We had a little bad luck.”

  “Oh, no. What did they do?”

  “Food poisoning,” she said.

  “What?”

  “It’s been a long week for all of us.”

  “Is everyone alright?” he asked.

  Andrea slipped off her rubber gloves. “Esther’s still not up, but she’s doing better. Luckily, I brought my lunch that day, as I usually do. I don’t know how we would have managed otherwise. Thank goodness no one in the security ward came down.”

  “And the boys’ ward?”

  “Several down,” she said. “Doctor Baldwin sent your men home to recuperate. I’m looking for them back anytime now.”

  “And Frankie?” he asked.

  “He left the compound that day to run errands.”

  Hook walked to the end of the tent and looked over at the boys’ ward.

  “Has anyone checked as to why the food spoiled?”

  “The health department came,” she said. “They found nothing out of order.”

  “Did they check the temperatures on the freezers, things like that?”

  “They said there were no problems with the equipment.”

  “I’m going over to the cafeteria,” he said.

  Hook found the head cook, a Mexican fellow with flour up to his elbows, kneading a pile of dough as big as a five-gallon can.

  “I’m with railroad security,” Hook said. “Maybe you could answer a few questions?”

  The cook dusted the flour from his hands and the front of his shirt.

  “The health department say okay,” he said.

  “That’s what I understand,” Hook said. “What do you think happened?”

  The cook shrugged.

  “What about the coolers?” Hook asked.

  “No problem.”

  “You saw nothing out of the usual?”

  He picked up his rolling pin and commenced working out the ball of dough.

  “I check coolers like always,” he said.

  “I see. Well, thank you for your time.”

  Hook turned to leave, when the cook said, “Maybe the oven lights.”

  Hook stopped. “The lights?”

  The cook nodded. “Number five breaker.”

  “Do the ovens have their own circuit?” Hook asked.

  “Sí,” he said.

  “Maybe you could show me the breaker box?” Hook said.

  “In back,” he said, laying down his rolling pin.

  Hook followed the cook into the utility room. It smelled of Lysol, and a single bulb cast its yellow glow into the darkness.

  “Number five there,” the cook said.

  “And what is that one just next to it?” Hook asked.

  “Number six,” he said, lifting his brows.

  “I mean, what does number six go to?”

  “Coolers,” he said.

  “But number six hadn’t been thrown when you came to work?”

  “Number six okay. Coolers okay. Nothing wrong with my kitchen.”

  “No, I don’t think you did anything wrong,” Hook said. “Thanks for your help.”

  Doctor Baldwin hung up the phone when Hook walked in.

  “Mr. Runyon,” he said, “I’ve just gotten a call from Eddie Preston. I understand our train has arrived?”

  “When Eddie said it wouldn’t be the Chief, he wasn’t kidding,” Hook said.

  “Well, we’ve had a bit of bad luck around here.”

  “So I hear.”

  “Unfortunately, it has delayed our preparations for the transfer.”

  Hook crossed his legs and spotted a hole in his sock the size of a quarter where Mixer had chewed. He put his leg down.

  “Doctor Baldwin, do you have any reason to believe that someone would do you or this institution harm?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “You’ve had lots of bad luck lately.”

  Doctor Baldwin rose out of his chair, turning his back to Hook.

  “This is an insane asylum, Mr. Runyon. There are lots of troubled people here and many with checkered pasts. I suppose there’s the potential for that sort of thing. But I’ve always run a compassionate program, and I know of no one who wishes me harm.”

  “I’m not a big believer in coincidences, and you’ve had a pretty fair run of them,” Hook said.

  “Are you suggesting a connection between the fire and the food poisoning?”

  Hook stood. “Just a thought. When do you think you’ll be ready for the transfer?”

  “The beginning of the week, with a little luck.”

  “And what about the security ward?”

  “We’ve decided to administer extra sedatives, chloral hydrate specifically. The side effects are minor, gastric irritation, nightmares, flatulence, but it should work, providing that the journey does not take too long.”

  “I see. I don’t mean to press, but the company frowns on its equipment sitting idle. The sooner we get this on the road, the better.”

  “I’ll do my best, Mr. Runyon. Do you happen to know when your men will be back?”r />
  “I’m headed there now,” Hook said. “I’ll let you know.”

  Hook parked the company truck on the side of the road and picked his way down to the bridge. Pigeons winged upward into the blue as he ducked under. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the shade. A breeze swept in, and ashes swirled up from the cold fire. The men had to be around somewhere, given they’d not gotten their first pay yet.

  “Hello,” he called out, but no one answered.

  Perhaps they were at the pool hall or down at the courthouse where they went sometimes to wash up in the bathroom.

  The sound behind him had a quiet danger, and he whirled about. A man towered over him. Hook reached for his sidearm.

  “Go on,” the man said. “I need a reason to blow off your goddamn head.”

  Hook lowered his hand. He knew the voice, had heard it somewhere before. When the man stepped forward, he could see his badge.

  “You,” Hook said.

  The cop smirked and rubbed at his whiskers with fingers the size of sausages. His barrel chest heaved up and down.

  “Criminals always return to the scene,” he said.

  “Had I cracked your head, you’d still be in the dirt with your brains leaking,” Hook said.

  “You talk pretty tough for a one-arm son of a bitch,” he said. “I’ll take off my weapon and badge,” Hook said. “Maybe you’d like to do the same?”

  The cop smiled. “Between you and me?”

  “That’s how it will be,” Hook said, taking off his badge and sidearm.

  The cop lowered his head and growled, charging across the opening like a Mexican bull. Hook sidestepped, catching the cop’s foot with his own. The cop slid down the embankment headfirst and into the campfire. When he got up, there were ashes on his face and in his hair.

  Hook circled, keeping to the high ground. Once again, the cop rushed him, his yelp quivering and pitched. Hook delivered a blow from the shoulder, catching him hard in the nose. His head jolted back, and blood sprang from his nostrils, streaming into the corners of his mouth. His legs wobbled, and his eyes filled with water. Cursing, he shook the fog from his head.

  Again, he rushed, maneuvering Hook into a bear hug. He stank of booze and tobacco, and his hair dripped with sweat. Hook struggled for breath and for enough strength to break away. When the cop’s ear presented itself, Hook chomped down. The cop screamed and grabbed his ear, which now dangled in a bloody flap.

  Hook broke away and seized him behind his neck, driving him headlong into the bridge pier. The cop staggered and dropped to his knees. Drool spilled from his lips, and his eyes rolled white as he pitched forward into the dirt.

  As Hook slid his sidearm back into its holster, Seth rose from out of the weeds. Santos and Roy stood up behind him.

  “I been waiting a long time to see that,” Seth said, grinning.

  Hook dusted the dirt from his pants. “Thanks for the help, boys.”

  “Man oh man,” Roy said. “That cop has got a powerful headache on the way.”

  Santos walked around the cop and smiled. “You want him in the river?” he asked.

  “I think he’s had enough,” Hook said. “You boys didn’t see any of that, right?”

  “I’d sure like not to see that again sometime,” Roy said.

  “Where’s Ethan?” Hook asked.

  The men looked at one another. “Ethan went home,” Seth said.

  “Back to New York?”

  “His momma fell sick,” Roy said.

  “I didn’t think Ethan had family.”

  “Maybe he just got tired of living under a bridge,” Roy said. “I sure as hell am.”

  Hook walked over to the main pier where the three stones were laid out in a row.

  “I understand you boys have been under the weather?”

  Seth shook his head. “Sober, too.”

  Hook knelt and studied the newly turned soil and the stones.

  “I reckon Ethan won’t be coming back this way anytime soon?”

  “He said he was real sorry that he had to leave,” Seth said. “But he didn’t want to bother no one with his troubles.”

  “Well, a man’s got to do what’s in his mind,” Hook said, taking out his billfold. “Here’s a little advance. You boys can pay me back out of your first check. I want you to get a room, clean up, and come back to work on Monday. We got a train in, and things are on the move. Baldwin’s in need of help.”

  “What about the cop?” Seth asked.

  “I’ll take care of this. You boys get on out of here.”

  Hook waited for them to gather up their belongings and climb the embankment before he rolled the cop over on his back. The knot on his forehead was the size of a walnut, and dark rings had already gathered under both of his eyes. But he breathed with a steady stroke, and his lids flickered.

  Hook gathered up the cop’s sidearm and badge and tossed them on his chest before climbing up the embankment. The patrol car had been pulled onto the side of the road. He opened the door and hit the switch on the two-way.

  “Central, central,” he said. “This is Bye-Bye Bluebird. You got a man down under the Fourth Street Bridge. Better get out there with an aspirin.”

  As he drove back to the caboose, he thought about Ethan and about how a man could slip out of this world without so much as a ripple.

  17

  Andrea found Esther under her cot rubbing black pepper into her nose.

  “Oh, Lord, Esther,” she said. “You mustn’t steal the pepper shakers. Do you understand me?”

  Esther sneezed, and her eyes filled with water. Andrea took the shaker and cleaned Esther’s nose with her handkerchief.

  “Why do you do that?” she asked.

  “Feels good,” Esther said, pulling at her nose.

  Lucy, whose head still bore the marks from the tent pole, tapped Andrea on the arm.

  “Esther’s leaving,” she said, holding her doll over her shoulder.

  “Oh, dear,” Andrea said. “Esther, come back here.”

  Esther wandered back toward the tent with her bottom lip stuck out. She had one shoe on, the other in her hand, and her dress turned wrong side out.

  “I’m going home,” Esther said. “It’s my turn.”

  “No, Esther,” Andrea said, handing her a washcloth. “You have to clean the tables for me.”

  Esther grinned and proceeded to scrub the tabletop. “I’m in charge,” she said.

  “Yes, you are,” Andrea said, pushing the hair back from her eyes. “When you’re done with that one, clean the next one, too.”

  “Nurse Andrea,” Lucy said. “Ruth has her tit out.”

  “Ruth,” Andrea said. “Button your blouse up before you cause a riot.”

  Ruth shrugged and buttoned her shirt.

  Even though Doctor Baldwin had sent Andrea a couple of ladies from the kitchen to help out, they were inexperienced and could do little more than watch. But at least most everyone had recovered from the food poisoning, and Frankie had not cranked up his record player.

  An hour behind schedule, Andrea had the meds ready. As she worked her way through the list, she realized that Bertha was missing.

  “Keep a lookout,” she told the kitchen help. “I’ve got to find Bertha.”

  Andrea searched the parking lot and then the picnic area but found nothing. Though Bertha could be difficult, she had never left on her own before. Andrea walked up to where the mass grave had been dug and then down the hill to where the bushes thickened along the fence.

  “Bertha,” she called.

  When Bertha stepped out of the bushes, Andrea jumped.

  “Bertha?” she said. “Good heavens, you scared me. What are you doing out here?”

  Bertha’s face and neck were flushed, and the buttons on her dress were mismatched with their buttonholes. Leaves clung in her hair.

  “Picking grapes,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Grapes.”

  “Bertha, there are no grapes o
ut here.”

  Bertha brushed the leaves out of her hair.

  “Come along,” Andrea said. “You mustn’t wander off like that. You wouldn’t want to be confined to a cell, now would you?”

  Andrea took her by the arm as they walked back toward the tent. Just as they were crossing the parking lot, she spotted Frankie Yager going into the boys’ ward. He looked over at them as he closed the door behind him.

  “Bertha, you weren’t out there with someone, were you?” Bertha shook her head. “You would tell me, wouldn’t you? You know it’s against the rules?”

  “I know,” she said.

  Andrea knocked on Doctor Helms’s door and waited.

  “Yes.”

  “May I speak with you for a moment, Doctor Helms?”

  Helms looked up from her desk. “Is it urgent? I’m rather busy.”

  “It’s just that Bertha ran away this morning.”

  Doctor Helms looked over the tops of her glasses, her eyes as black as tar.

  “And did you get her back?”

  “Yes,” Andrea said.

  “Then what is it you need?”

  “The thing is, I think she’d been with someone in the bushes by the fence.”

  “Oh? I see, but then these things happen in an institution, Andrea. You must have seen it before.”

  “Yes, I suppose I have.”

  “Well, then, take away her privileges for a while. It’s about all we can do.”

  “In most cases I would agree that it’s not so important, Doctor Helms. But I think this requires attention.”

  Doctor Helms took off her glasses and unfolded her legs from beneath her desk.

  “Could you be more specific?”

  “I believe she’d been with Frankie Yager,” she said.

  “You saw them together?”

  “I saw him coming back just as we did.”

  Doctor Helms came around the desk. “These are serious allegations. You’d have to be quite certain.”

  “I didn’t literally see them together, if that’s what you mean.”

  Helms walked to her bookcase, pulled a book out partway, and then pushed it back in.

  “I’ll keep an eye on things. If your allegations prove to be true, I’ll see that disciplinary procedures are put into place. Until then, please keep this to yourself.”