The Insane Train

by Sheldon Russell

  “The train doesn’t go there, not on a regular basis, I mean.”

  “Look, Mister, you better move along. Loitering in the bus station is not allowed.”

  Hook went out on the sidewalk and sat down on the curb. Some days it didn’t pay to take the first breath. He fished a crumpled cigarette out of his last pack and lit up. Now what the hell was he supposed to do? He was broke, hungry, and anxious to get back to Andrea. Any sane person would have made arrangements to ride in on a passenger from Topeka. But not him. He never did what was easy, not if he could manage to make it hard.

  At what point he became aware of the woman on the corner, he couldn’t say. But something familiar caught his eye, the way she stood with her arm cocked on her waist. He squashed out his cigarette and worked his way closer. She turned, the sunlight striking her profile.

  “Oatney?” he said.

  She looked over at him. “Could be, Mister. You got a sawbuck?”

  “Oatney, it’s me, Hook Runyon.”

  Oatney shaded her eyes against the sun. “I’ll be damn. I thought you were a bus bum looking for a freebie. Jeez, Hook, you look like hell.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m headed back to Fort Supply. Lost my stuff bailing off a freighter.”

  “You were bumming a freighter?”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said.

  Oatney pushed the hair back from her eyes. In spite of impending old age, she looked pretty good.

  “You hear from Seth?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Look, Oatney, you wouldn’t have a twenty to get me back, would you? My billfold’s on its way to San Antonio.”

  “Just started the day, Hook. Leave my money in the room. These bastards will steal all you have.

  “Here comes a cop. He’s been circling all morning.”

  Hook turned to leave, but the patrol car pulled at an angle in front of him. The cop who stepped out looked like someone from a silent movie. He wore sunglasses, his hat pushed back on his head, and his mustache had been blackened with mascara. He placed his baton across Hook’s chest.

  “Hold on,” he said. “You ain’t going nowhere.”

  “What’s the problem?” Hook said.

  The cop turned to Oatney. “Come on over here, Missy. Don’t you know that prostitution is against the law in Kansas?”

  “Just talking to my friend,” she said. “Is that against the law?”

  “Let me see some identification,” he said.

  “I left my purse in my room,” she said.

  “She’s telling the truth,” Hook said.

  “And who are you?’

  “I’m a railroad detective,” he said, “a yard dog.”

  “Now who would have thought?” he said. “So you would have a badge?”

  “I lost it in a boxcar this morning.”

  “I see,” he said. “It’s right hard to keep track of anything nowadays, ain’t it?

  “And what were you doing in a boxcar, I wonder?”

  “Hitching a ride.”

  “A railroad detective bumming a ride? Christ,” he said, “you people think I’m an idiot?”

  “We don’t know you that well,” Oatney said.

  “The both of you get in the car,” he said.

  The next morning, Hook and Oatney stood in front of Judge Hampton as he read over the charges. He pushed his glasses up on his forehead and squinted down at Oatney.

  “Madam, do you understand that prostitution is illegal in Kansas?”

  “She wasn’t selling anything, Judge,” Hook said.

  “Shut up, you,” he said.

  “Two days in jail,” he said, “and a ten-dollar fine.”

  “I don’t have ten dollars,” she said.

  “Four days,” he said. “Judge,” Hook said, “I’m railroad detective.”

  “And I might be Abe Lincoln,” he said, “was there a fool big enough to believe it. Soliciting prostitutes in our fair city is not something we abide. Add in trespassing on railroad property, and you’ve also earned two days and ten dollars.”

  “I lost my billfold, Judge.”

  “And I my patience. Make that four days in our facility. I trust this is the last I’ll see of either of you. Take them out, Deputy.”

  The day they got out, Hook waited for Oatney in the stairwell of the courthouse. “Oatney,” he said from the shadows.

  Oatney paused, staring into the dim light. “Hook?” she said.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  Oatney joined him. “You’ve aged ten years, Hook. Jesus, I hardly recognized you.”

  “It’s the beard,” he said, “and the fact I haven’t slept for four days.”

  “Or bathed either by the smell of you. The judge here is a real dick,” she said.

  “Listen,” he said. “I’ve got to get back to the fort. Could you spot me a little money?”

  “Got a smoke?” she asked.

  “No,” he said.

  “Jesus, Hook, you don’t have a smoke?”

  “Well, will you?”

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “I kind of liked those folks, you know. They took up with me and no questions asked.”

  “It’s hard to be uppity when you are in an insane asylum,” he said.

  “Maybe I’ll just go back with you. You think Doctor Helms would hire me?”

  “If she doesn’t, you can stay in my caboose,” he said.

  “Alright,” she said. “I’ve money in my room, but no freebies. I’ve my principles, you know.”

  36

  Hook and Oatney boarded the bus just at dusk. Oatney had sprung both for the tickets and a carton of Luckys, which they had divided before leaving her room. By the time they’d reached the city limits, darkness had fallen, and the prairie sky blinked with a million stars.

  Soon Oatney slept, her head falling against Hook’s shoulder, her hair brushing his ear. He wondered at her strength and her softness, how they coexisted, how in her world she could still manage a smile and face the day. She never railed against injustice or succumbed to the malice and hatred due her. Had she been a man, her spirit would have long since flickered away like a spent candle.

  Andrea, too, had such strength. Men, in their determination to control and change their world, refused what they knew intuitively: their flashes of bravado paled against the smoldering strength of the women around them.

  By the time they pulled into Fort Supply, the moon had ridden from sight, and the darkness before morning claimed all in its spell. They climbed from the bus and stood in the chill. Hook lit a cigarette and rubbed the tension from his neck.

  “Where do we go from here?” Oatney asked.

  Hook looked out at the fort, where the first morning lights were just winking on.

  “I’ll take you to the caboose,” he said. “You can catch up on your sleep while I check things out.”

  “You ain’t expecting a freebie, are you?”

  “No freebies, Oatney.”

  “’Cause if you were, I might make an exception in your case.”

  “Thanks, Oatney, but Andrea and I are kind of close, you see.”

  “Sure, I understand. You change your mind, let me know, hon. Oatney can make you forget your worst days.”

  “Thanks, Oatney. I’ll remember.”

  “You think Doctor Helms will take me back?” Oatney asked. “She’s nothing if not practical,” Hook said. “And if she doesn’t?”

  “You can ride out with me when they pick up the caboose.”

  Oatney slipped her arm through his. “Seems like that’s where we started. Sometimes I feel like a mouse in a maze.”

  “You may be in a maze, Oatney, but you’ll never be a mouse. Come on, it’s not such a far walk from here.”

  The caboose sat in the morning dawn like a red matchbox. They were nearly upon it when Mixer bolted out from underneath the wheel carriage and raced toward them with his tail wagging.

  Hook ruffed his head and pulled his ears. “What you doi
ng out here, boy?” he asked.

  “I thought you said Andrea was taking care of him?” Oatney said.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Maybe he got lonesome for the caboose.”

  “Maybe so,” he said, unlocking the door. “Make yourself at home. I’m going on to the fort.”

  “You don’t think the yard dog will pick me up for being on railroad property, do you?” she asked.

  “I hear he’s a mean son of a bitch,” he said. “But this time I’d say you’re pretty safe.” Dropping down onto the tracks, he looked back up at Oatney. “I’ve a paycheck coming soon. I’ll get that money back to you.”

  “Who’s worried?” she said. “I got your caboose.”

  Mixer followed at his heels as Hook made his way to the fort. Now and again he would range out with his nose to the ground in hopes of stirring up some trouble. As they passed the guardhouse, Mixer marked the porch step and then again at the entrance to the women’s ward.

  Roy met Hook at the door, his hair disheveled, sleep in his eyes.

  “I’ll be damn,” he said. “It’s the yard dog.”

  “Hello, Roy. You sleeping with the ladies now, are you?”

  “I’ve an orderly room in the back,” he said. “Price is right, though you’re never quite off duty.”

  “Just blew in,” Hook said. “Oatney followed me back. Said she hadn’t gotten enough of this place.”

  “That’s great. Don’t mind me saying so, but you look like hell, Hook.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “You drinking busthead again?”

  “Spent a little time in the Wichita hoosegow. Case of mistaken identity,” Hook said.

  “Least you didn’t lose your arm this time,” Roy said, searching for his cigarettes.

  “Much as I enjoy standing here on the porch explaining my life to you, I need to talk to Andrea.”

  Roy lit his cigarette. “Well, hell, Hook, why didn’t you speak up?”

  “I just did.”

  “She ain’t here.”

  “Not here? Where is she?”

  “I don’t rightly know.”

  “Is she working the security ward?”

  “No, she ain’t.”

  “Goddang it, Roy.”

  “She left, Hook.”

  “Left?”

  “Andrea went home.”

  Hook rubbed at his neck. “She told you that?”

  “Well, not exactly. She said she didn’t think she could work here much longer, and first thing I know, she’s up and gone.”

  “When did she leave?”

  “Well, I don’t know exactly, do I, ’cause she didn’t say.”

  “Why wouldn’t she say, Roy?”

  “She didn’t say, Hook. Christ almighty, that hoosegow didn’t do much for your personality, did it?”

  “Did she say anything about leaving Mixer behind?”

  “No, she didn’t. But everybody I know would leave that crazy mutt behind given the chance.”

  “It doesn’t fit, Roy, her just taking off like that.”

  “Maybe she was sore, Hook. She’d been training over in the security ward. That’s enough to drive anyone crazy.”

  “Did Helms say why she left?”

  “Helms doesn’t tell me squat, Hook. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about leaving my own goddang self. Helms has chewed on my ass until I can’t keep my britches up anymore. Last time, she accused me of stealing sugar out of the cafeteria.”

  “Did you?”

  “Not out of the cafeteria.”

  Hook stepped off the porch. Dawn had broke, lighting the headstones in the old fort cemetery.

  “Andrea mentioned leaving when I talked to her on the phone,” he said. “But I didn’t expect her to just take off.”

  “You know how women are, Hook. It’s either rain or shine. Speaking of which…”

  “What? You been cooking again, Roy?”

  “There’s just enough gypsum in that springwater to keep a man regular,” he said. “Maybe you’d like a sample? Taxes are paid.”

  “I quit drinking, Roy, and would suggest you do the same while your liver’s still intact.”

  Roy dropped his cigarette on the porch and smashed it out with his shoe.

  “God gave me a liver as is necessary for having a drink now and then,” he said.

  “You’d of thought he’d given you a brain, too,” Hook said. “A brain ain’t required for drinking, though a liver is. You’d do well not to question the decisions of your Maker.”

  Roy pushed the cigarette butt off the porch and into the bushes. “Helms gets hysterectomy when I smoke,” he said. “Where is Helms?” Hook asked. “Most likely having breakfast with the criminally insane over in the security ward. She’s got that Shorty doing orderly duty. Says he has the right temperament for working with them inmates, him being a mechanic and all.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “If it don’t work, just whack it with a goddang hammer until it does,” he said.

  “You sure Andrea didn’t leave any word for me, where she was going, a phone number?”

  “I know it’s hard to believe,” Roy said, “you being such a charmer and all.”

  “Thanks,” Hook said. “Maybe I’ll just report you for stealing sugar.”

  Roy opened the door. “Something tells me my secret is safe,” he said.

  Mixer followed Hook to the guardhouse. He dropped down at the front door and put his head between his paws.

  “I’m going to talk to Doctor Helms,” Hook said. “Don’t kill anything while I’m gone.”

  As he climbed the steps to the upstairs cells, the wails and cries of the demented rose up. When he opened the door, the smell of urine and sour wafted over him. The inmates watched him from behind their bars, the humanity in their eyes extracted in some cruel joke of nature. Left behind were but cold remains and empty shells, life reduced to skin and bones and emptiness.

  Van Diefendorf, who had been placed in an isolated cell near the end of the long hallway, sat on his bunk, wearing nothing but his underwear, his body as white as paper. A network of veins coursed beneath his translucent skin. As Hook walked by, Van Diefendorf rubbed his hands together and watched him through blond brows that sprouted from above his eyes.

  Shorty sat on a high stool at the end of the hallway with his arms folded over his chest. He wore a uniform, apparently of his own making, since the color of the shirt and pants didn’t quite match. Straitjackets hung on a row of nails behind him, and an axe handle leaned against the wall.

  “Shorty,” Hook said. “Is Doctor Helms around?”

  “She’s fixing meds in the back,” he said. “Keep these animals tamed for a few hours.”

  “Who’s doing the plumbing around here, what with you taking over guard duties?”

  “Plumbing’s alright, given the lack of opportunity for more fruitful work, I suppose. But since this here insane asylum came to town, I’ve found my real calling. Doctor Helms says I have a knack for orderly work. These here inmates may have done their dirty deeds out there in the world, but in here they damn well know Shorty’s the boss, that much I can tell you.”

  Just then Doctor Helms came down the hall, a tray of meds in her hands. She set it down and focused in on Hook through the bottoms of her glasses.

  “Mr. Runyon,” she said. “I thought our business had ended. Did we fail to reimburse the railroad properly? I’m afraid Doctor Baldwin had stopped attending to business. I’ve kept all the receipts.”

  “I would have heard from Division had there been a problem with the payment,” Hook said. “I wonder if there’s some place private we might talk?”

  “My office is downstairs,” she said. “But I don’t have a great deal of time. Since Doctor Baldwin’s illness, my duties have doubled, as you might guess.”

  “Your office would be fine.”

  He followed her down the stairwell to her office, the cool breeze coming up the stairs.

>   She pulled her chair up to her desk and folded her hands in front of her.

  “Now,” she said. “I’ve told you everything I know about Elizabeth’s unfortunate accident. Do the police need yet more?”

  “This is not about Elizabeth,” he said, “though the case remains open. It no doubt will until all the evidence is in.”

  “Has it occurred to you, Mr. Runyon, that Elizabeth may not have died had the railroad provided us with proper transportation and security?”

  “Until I know more details, I can’t make those kinds of assumptions, Doctor Helms.”

  “Yes, well. Would you mind getting to the point? I’ve work to do.”

  “Two things, actually. First, Oatney has returned. She’s staying in my caboose. Do you think there might still be a place for her here?”

  Helms pushed her chair back. “I’m aware of Oatney’s past, of course. Folks do talk, even in here. But then none of us is perfect. I could place her in the women’s ward. There are times when a woman’s hand is needed. However, she should understand that if she leaves again, she’ll not receive another opportunity.”

  “Thanks. I’ll tell her.”

  Helms clasped her hands and tapped her thumbs together. “You did say you had two things?”

  “It’s about Andrea, actually,” he said. “Andrea quit, Mr. Runyon. I’m surprised no one has told you.”

  “I’d heard,” he said. “She didn’t say where she was going?”

  “Home, I presume.”

  “Back to Barstow?”

  “Andrea’s departure was quite abrupt.”

  “I don’t understand why she left,” Hook said. “Nor I, Mr. Runyon. Perhaps Andrea’s dedication to Doctor Baldwin prevented her from working under my leadership. In any event, she found it impossible to continue her employment here.

  “Now, if there’s nothing else?” she said.

  “Have you heard from Doctor Baldwin?” he asked.

  “Doctor Baldwin is still in the hospital,” she said.

  “When will he be coming back?”

  “That’s unclear. Though Doctor Baldwin is physically improved, he continues to exhibit signs of stress. I’ve agreed to serve as director until he is fully recovered.

  “I really must be going, Mr. Runyon.”