The Insane Train

by Sheldon Russell

  “Alright,” she said. “But I want no harm to come to my patients.”

  “I understand, Andrea. And thank you for reporting this to me first.”

  Andrea stood outside of the door for several moments. Back at the tent, she gathered up her things.

  “I’m going home now,” she said to the ladies from the kitchen.

  “And leave us alone?”

  Andrea checked her watch. “I’ve been here ten hours without relief. That’s long enough. If you need help, I’m sure that Frankie Yager would be happy to oblige.”

  As Andrea got in her car, she glanced back at the boys’ ward. Frankie was sitting on the porch smoking a cigarette, watching her.

  The real estate agent had placed a for-sale sign in the front yard of Andrea’s house, a red and white banner as big as a tabletop. Andrea sat in her car for some time looking at it. The old house wasn’t much, but it was all she had, all her parents had managed after a lifetime of hard work. Selling it now smacked of betrayal, even though she knew in her heart they would have understood.

  Once inside, she took a shower and then poured a large glass of wine. Her legs ached, and she’d barely had time enough to eat. Why she had agreed to go off on this crazy trip, she couldn’t fathom. It was not like they appreciated her.

  And then that business with Frankie Yager, having taken advantage of her patients. She hadn’t seen him, but she knew what was going on. She took another drink before opening the curtains. The sunset, Barstow’s saving grace, blazed on the horizon. Her stomach tightened. Why had she volunteered to go? Maybe the reasons were more personal and less about her patients than she’d allowed herself to think.

  One had much to be cautious about when it came to Hook Runyon. A man didn’t become a railroad bull without a proclivity for the hard side of life. And she knew little about him, though she sensed the toughness, the aggression lying just beneath the surface, the way his eyes followed every movement like a stalking cat.

  Andrea watched as the sun oozed below the desert rim. She finished her drink and rose to turn on the light. The phone rang out of the darkness.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Andrea?”

  “Yes. This is she.”

  “Hook here. I thought you might like to do the flea markets with me?”

  “I’ve really a lot to do before the trip.”

  “Around ten? I have the company truck.”

  “Well, then,” she said. “I suppose. I am feeling the need for a break.”

  “Great,” he said. “I’ll pick you up.”

  Andrea lay in bed and listened to the far-off whistle of a train as it raced through the desert. So why then was she drawn to this man? Perhaps it was because of his intensity and unpredictability, his raw intelligence and rough edges hacked out like an axe carving. Perhaps the very things she found wanting were what set him aside and made her anxious for tomorrow.

  18

  Andrea stepped from the front porch when Hook drove in. She slid in beside him and hiked her foot on the dash to tie her shoe. Her hair lay in wet curls.

  “Hi,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “I’m moving slowly. The hours at Baldwin are killing me.”

  “Hi back,” he said. “So where is a good flea market?”

  “Take a left on Main. It’s out by the fairgrounds. I haven’t been in a long time.”

  Hook shot a U-turn and rolled down his window. The town still slept, and the morning air smelled of the desert. He pulled in at Jan’s Restaurant and bought them coffee.

  “Good,” she said, blowing the steam from her cup. “So what are we looking for today?”

  “Shakespeare’s first folio,” he said.

  Andrea rolled her eyes. “In Barstow?”

  “Well, barring that, I’d settle for some bargains.”

  The vendors were still setting up when they drove in. Andrea followed Hook’s pace as they made their way to the stalls.

  “I admit it feels good to get away,” she said.

  “Let’s start over there,” he said, “and make the loop.”

  They poked through costume jewelry, racks of musty clothes, kitchen utensils, and stacks of old hubcaps. Andrea sifted through a collection of thimbles, a table heaped with Carnival glass, and a basket of agate marbles.

  At noon they ate hot dogs topped with mustard and homemade chow-chow, washing it down with Dr Peppers fished out of a horse tank filled with crushed ice.

  At each opportunity, Hook picked through the books, checking the title pages and the dust jackets with care. When he could carry no more, he looked over the stack in his arms.

  “What say we go?”

  “It’s either that or bring in the truck,” she said.

  So as the sun lowered in the west, they drove down Main with Hook’s loot safely ensconced in the back.

  “How about a Mojave burger?” he asked.

  Andrea lifted her brows. “I guess it’s too late to save my figure at this point anyway.”

  Hook wheeled in at the Mojave Hamburger.

  “It would take more than a burger,” he said.

  Andrea blushed. “Yeah?”

  “I’m the law,” he said, “and cannot tell a lie.”

  “I’m not good at flattery,” she said. “It comes from being a caretaker my whole life.”

  “Say,” he said. “Let’s order to go. I’ll show you my caboose.”

  “Now there’s an invitation,” she said. “But I think not.”

  “You can meet Mixer, my dog,” he said.

  Andrea glanced up at him. “It’s safe, this invitation?”

  “You can fault me for lots of things, but forcing myself on a woman isn’t one of them. Too much pride, I suspect.”

  “I guess it would be alright,” she said. “But only for a little while.”

  When they pulled onto the right-of-way, Andrea looked down the line of outfit cars. The old steamer sat as cold and silent as a dinosaur. For some time she didn’t speak.

  “We’re taking the inmates in that?” she asked.

  Hook nodded. “It’s all they could come up with. She’s old but functional. That girl has hauled many a load across the desert in her time.”

  “And that’s your caboose?”

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you my collection.”

  Mixer met them at the door with something in his mouth.

  “Oh, dear,” Andrea said. “I believe he’s eating one of your socks.”

  Hook sat down his books. “Goddang it, Mixer.”

  Mixer dropped the sock, looked at it, and then looked up at Andrea.

  Andrea got down on her knee. “It’s alright, Mixer,” she said. “You want Hook’s sock, you can just have it.”

  Mixer wagged his tail and snuggled into Andrea’s lap.

  “That dog requires a strong hand,” Hook said. “Undermining my discipline is not good.”

  “Perhaps if you picked up your socks,” Andrea said.

  “Oh, now I see how it is.”

  Andrea stood, taking in the surroundings. Books were stacked everywhere, some still spilled on the floor from the trip across the Mojave.

  “Oh, my,” she said. “Do you really need all these books?”

  Hook looked about the caboose. “Essential,” he said.

  They ate their hamburgers, sharing with Mixer. Andrea sat cross-legged on the floor and watched as Hook examined each of the new acquisitions.

  “Ah,” Hook said, holding up a book. “This is the one that makes it all worthwhile, Sinclair Lewis’s Ann Vickers. I’ve been looking everywhere for it. It’s in fine condition, too.”

  Afterward, they sat on the steps of the caboose while Hook smoked a cigarette. Mixer worked his way down the outfit cars, marking each as he went, and then came back to curl up at Andrea’s feet. The sun eased down, and the sky erupted in a blaze of color.

  “Andrea,” Hook said, “I’ve been thinking.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “
About that fire.”

  “You are still not convinced of an accident, are you?”

  “Well, I can’t be certain, of course, but arsonists have their ways.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Knowing they’re about to burn something up gives them an advantage. They’re not inclined to burn what they value, not when they can save it ahead of time.”

  Andrea rubbed her hands together against the cooling evening. “I don’t understand.”

  “Take Frankie Yager, for example. That record player and those records are pretty important to him.”

  Andrea looked over at Hook. “Yes. He drives everyone to distraction with them.”

  “And they weren’t in the fire?”

  “No, they weren’t.”

  “And he failed to eat lunch at the cafeteria the day everyone came down with food poisoning.”

  “So did I.”

  “But you never eat at the cafeteria.”

  “I like having a minute to myself. I bring my own lunch every day.”

  “And no one in the security ward came down sick?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Doctor Helms, the inmates, the security guard?”

  “Not that I am aware of. Often their food is prepared ahead of time so that it can be taken to the ward.”

  “And then there’s that business with the breaker,” he said.

  “The breaker?”

  “Suppose I wanted to spoil the food without anyone knowing it. I could switch off the cooler breaker early the night before so the temperature would rise and spoil the food. Turn it back on later, and no one would ever know.”

  Andrea hooked her chin in her hands and looked over at him. “Do you think someone threw the cooler breaker?”

  Hook put his cigarette under his heel, squashing it out.

  “The breaker to the ovens had been thrown. It just so happens it’s positioned right next to the cooler breaker. Given the dim light of the utility room, well, you can see what I mean.”

  “You think the oven breaker was thrown by accident and not reset?”

  “It’s another coincidence in a long line of coincidences.”

  Andrea shivered. “Something happened the other day I haven’t told you about,” she said.

  “Oh?”

  “Bertha came up missing from the tent, and I found her in the bushes over by the compound fence. I think she had been with someone.”

  “It’s my understanding that sort of thing happens,” Hook said.

  “I saw Frankie coming back to the ward shortly after that. I think she had been with him.”

  “Did you report it?”

  “Doctor Helms wants more proof before she initiates anything.”

  “Frankie does get around,” he said. “There’s just one problem with this whole business.”

  “What?”

  “Why set a fire that kills a bunch of people and then poison the entire compound? A man would have to have a lot of hatred to do something like that. What would he have to gain here?”

  “He’s a pretty simple man,” she said. “He responds to his immediate needs and little else. Frankie is a reactor, not a planner. Who knows what might set him off?”

  Andrea leaned her head against Hook’s shoulder. When he turned, she put her hand behind his neck and brushed her lips against his.

  “Andrea,” he said.

  “Oh, dear,” she said. “I didn’t intend for that to happen. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s just that there’s things about me.”

  “You’re married?”

  “No, and there’s probably good reason for that.”

  “But there’s someone else?”

  “I’m not much of a catch for a woman. Some say I’m too quick to drop the hat. Others say my drinking gets in my way. Right now my job’s on the line for a thing in Flagstaff. If it goes against me, I’ve no place else to work.”

  “That’s what others say. What do you say?”

  “Me? In my line, if you wait too long to drop the hat, someone else drops it for you. As for the drinking, it’s true, I guess, though it rarely is more than a bit of fun. As for the arm, it’s damn hard to button my shirt or tie my shoes. Beyond that, I just keep on living like everyone else. I get done what needs to be done one way or another.”

  “Maybe you aren’t the only one who isn’t perfect,” she said. “I’ve been known to pout for days on end, and once I stole my dad’s whiskey out of his liquor cabinet and wrecked his car. I’ve got two arms, but I can be dog lazy when I take a notion. Sorry about that Mixer.”

  Mixer lifted his head and then went back to sleep.

  “You sound like a real risk to me,” Hook said.

  “The fact is, I’ve just gone through a bad relationship. This could be a rebound thing, and I don’t want that for either of us.”

  “Come on,” he said. “I better get you home.”

  Hook pulled up in front of Andrea’s house. She ruffed Mixer’s head and got out.

  “Thanks. I had a good day,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “The men will need to spend a little time in the security ward before we leave, Andrea.”

  “Things have settled down in the women’s ward. Move them if you need. We should be alright.”

  “And I think we’re going to be a man short.”

  “Oh?”

  “Ethan,” he said. “He’s taken off, some sort of trouble at home.”

  “Do you think he’ll be back?”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”

  “Look,” she said, “about what happened. I don’t know how all this is going to work out. But we’ve been honest with each other. No one can say we weren’t warned.”

  19

  Seth had barely slept with all the snoring and clamor of the Barstow Workers’ Hotel. That, on top of an especially disturbing nightmare, had made it a short night indeed. He preferred sleeping under a bridge to staying in a flophouse. At least the air was fresh, and the nights were quiet.

  He stood in front of the long line of sinks, deciding on the one nearest the door. The previous man’s whiskers still lined the sink, and a sliver of soap liquefied on the backsplash.

  He took a long look in the mirror, which had a crack radiating from one corner to the other. The scar on his face had faded with the desert sun, and the droop of his eye had lessened as his weight had returned. But a sandwich board could not have been more effective than the scar in reminding folks of the war, something most preferred to forget.

  After shaving, he rousted Santos and Roy from their bunks.

  “Goddang it, Seth,” Roy said. “Such a dream don’t come along all that often.”

  “Hook will be waiting,” Seth said. “And he ain’t so patient.”

  On the way to the Harvey House, they stopped at the back door of the Barstow Café and Grill, which could be good for a cup of coffee, sometimes a biscuit with butter if the Mexican cook was on duty.

  “You think that cop died?” Roy asked, munching on his biscuit. “That bridge support rang like a Chinese gong.”

  “Cops got heads thick as boiler patches,” Seth said.

  “You figure we’re going to the security ward?”

  “Soon enough,” Seth said, finishing off his coffee. “They didn’t hire us to march a bunch of women back and forth to lunch. Anyway, things are getting out of hand between Bertha and Santos here.”

  “She like it hot,” Santos said.

  “That’s why she’s in the nutty,” Roy said. “Anyone fall for you has to be bonkers.”

  Santos dropped the remainder of his biscuit into his mouth and grinned.

  Hook waited as Santos and Roy climbed out of the back of the pickup. He flipped his cigarette butt out the window and turned to Seth.

  “I’ve got to get locks put on one of those outfit cars for the security ward today, Seth. We can’t take any chances with those boys. Now, I called Baldwin this morning, and he want
s you to go ahead and report to Doctor Helms.”

  “We’re going to the security ward then?” Seth asked.

  “Looks that way.”

  “I fought Germans bare-handed, Hook,” Seth said, “but I got to tell you, the security ward scares the bejeezus out of me.”

  “You just keep your wits about you, Seth. You’ll be alright. Doctor Helms will be there to give you an orientation and such. Don’t let Roy be poking fun at those inmates. They haven’t the sense of humor I do. Any questions?”

  Seth looked over at the gate. “I been hoping to get paid before I got killed.”

  “Well, it isn’t payday, and the railroad doesn’t pay until it’s payday.”

  “Exactly what is criminally insane, Hook?”

  Hook pulled at his chin. “It isn’t altogether clear to me. They’re either criminals or they’re insane, but they can’t be both at once.”

  “They got to be one or the other?” Seth asked.

  “That’s right. A criminal commits a crime because he wants to. An insane criminal commits the same crime, but he doesn’t want to. That way he isn’t a criminal, he’s just insane.”

  “He can do it as long as he doesn’t want to? It ain’t against the law that way?” Seth asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Hell, Hook, that’s crazy.”

  “Exactly. That’s why there are doctors and then there’s us. So just don’t try to figure it out. Do what you’re told.”

  Seth opened the door. “Okay, Hook, if you say so.”

  Helms, looking like a blue heron, waited at the door of the security ward as Seth, Roy, and Santos climbed the steps.

  “There’s no smoking,” she said, pointing to Seth’s cigarette, “and no matches allowed in the ward.”

  Seth snuffed out his cigarette and gave her his matches. Roy searched his pockets and came up with nothing.

  “Follow me,” she said.

  Sounds issued from the bowels of the ward when the men stepped in. The smells reminded Seth of the flophouse they just left, the pungency of urine, sour clothes, and sweat. But the sounds were nothing he’d ever heard, an eerie concoction, like a mourner’s wail and a jackal’s howl all mixed together in sadness.