The Bargain - One man stands between a destitute town and total destruction.

by Aaron D. Gansky

  Still under the thick haze of sleep, her mother said, “What?”

  “Carl’s picking up Tiffany’s mom. You have to drive us to the hospital.”

  “Don’t panic.” Her mother sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “We have time. These things take a lot of time. I remember when you were born—”

  “Not now, mom. Just get dressed.”

  Minutes later, Veronica grabbed Tiffany’s bag, put a jacket on Tiffany, and warmed up the car while her mother hastily got herself ready.

  The Subaru choked and rumbled. Veronica asked Tiffany. “Excited?”

  “Terrified.”

  Veronica took her hand “You can do this, Tiff. You’re strong.”

  “Don’t feel strong.” She looked at her knees.

  “But you are. You don’t have to feel strong to be strong.”

  Veronica’s mom slipped into the driver’s seat and tossed a plastic bag on the floorboard of the passenger side. “Snacks. Hungry, sweetheart?”

  “I’m good,” Veronica said.

  “The other sweetheart.”

  Tiffany smiled. “No thanks.” She grimaced and held her swollen stomach.

  Winter came with ferocity and an angry chill. The blue-black of morning pressed in on them, and their breath erupted in tiny spurts of misty clouds. Veronica wrapped Tiffany in extra blankets, including one spread over the plastic faux-leather seats.

  Veronica shivered. “Now I’m nervous.”

  “No need.” Her mother put a hand on Tiffany’s knee. “We’re going to do this thing. Together. They say it takes a village to raise a—”

  Tiffany screamed.

  “Okay. I’ll drive faster.”

  Tiffany rocked back and forth, running her hands over her stomach, her lips shaping the word “please” over and again.

  Veronica rubbed Tiffany’s back and neck and whispered reassurances. Somehow, Veronica expected some sort of precipitation. Didn’t it always rain or snow on dark nights like this, when the teen girl is rushing down the blackened highway at unsafe speeds? But no rain came. No snow, not even clouds. Just a canopy of silver stars sprinkled like salt on an indigo sky.

  Veronica’s throat tightened in a slow, internal strangulation, as if some sort of allergy choked her from the inside. She waited for this night, prepared for it, even looked forward to it. But it never seemed real. Even when she and Carl spent an entire Saturday assembling the crib and the bassinet and the changing table and opening baby monitors and pacifiers and organizing clothes based on size and style.

  They were ready for Emily, but a pervasive fear set above her stomach and under her neck, like a scream that couldn’t surface or be swallowed.

  Now, with Tiffany breathing quickly, rhythmically, squeezing her eyes shut tight, the sweat on her brow, Veronica’s stomach turned; a nervousness rose in her like a bad burger threatening to return. “You’ll be okay. You’ll be fine.” She hoped Tiffany believed her.

  She thought again of the Train Racer. What did they say about him? He was arrested for stealing a car, but for a good reason. His girlfriend was dying, wasn’t she? Hadn’t he stolen his parents’ car to save his girlfriend? Was he as nervous as Veronica? Did he shake in fear?

  No. He couldn’t because he raced trains and won. Faster than a locomotive, nothing could scare him. He must have held his head high. He would’ve been calm and collected. He would have soothed his girlfriend, and she would have believed she’d be fine. He’d have made her believe. Veronica steeled her voice. “Deep breaths, Tiff. Deep breaths.”

  * * *

  Winded and sore, Tiffany made it through labor fine. She lay in the bed panting, her arms and legs slicked with sweat. Her brown hair rumpled in a tangled mess on the pillow. Her face stayed red for an hour after the baby came wheezing into the world.

  After Veronica cut the cord, the nurse took the baby to a small station at the side where she cleaned Emily and took vital signs. Veronica didn’t like the way the nurse whispered to the other nurses, and then to the doctor. She didn’t like the look on the doctor’s face when he heard what the nurse had to say.

  “Yeah, absolutely,” he said to the nurse. Then, to Tiffany, “We’re going to take the baby down to the NICU. She’s wheezing a bit. Might be fluid in her lungs, but it’s probably nothing. We want to be sure.”

  Tiffany cried in heavy sobs, shook uncontrollably.

  The doctor put a hand on her shoulder. “She’s going to be okay.”

  Tiffany shook her head. “It’s not that.”

  Veronica stood next to her and held her hand. “Then what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Later, the doctor told Veronica and her mother it was perfectly normal to cry after labor. The strain on the body and the dramatic shift in hormones could send anyone slipping into incredible mood swings. It would subside in a few hours. Until then, she’d be on edge.

  Veronica relayed the message to Carl, her mother, and Tiffany’s mom. They nodded and followed her confidence. Tiffany was strong. She’d pull through fine. And if Emily was anything like Tiffany, she’d pull through, too.

  But weeks later, Tiffany hadn’t shaken her tremors or her tears. She rarely smiled, handed Emily off to Veronica or Veronica’s mother for entire days. They didn’t mind watching Emily, an angel of a baby, but wondered about Tiffany. They worried about post-partum.

  Tiffany refused to talk about it. Often, she refused to talk at all.

  Weeks later, when Tiffany strolled into Sue’s, Veronica determined to give Tiffany a piece of her mind, but her righteous irritation was interrupted by Tiffany’s tears. Instead of lecturing, she asked “What’s wrong?”

  Tiffany sat on a stool and cried. Carl peeked in from the window. Sue’s was empty, as it usually was five minutes from closing. “I couldn’t take it, just couldn’t take it anymore.”

  Panic choked Veronica. “Tiffany, sweetheart, I need you to tell me what happened. What did you do?”

  “They weren’t my eyes. They weren’t anyone’s eyes. She didn’t have eyes, Veronica.”

  “Tiff.”

  “It wasn’t my baby. I don’t know whose it was, but it wasn’t mine.”

  “Tiff, sweetheart, where’s Emily?”

  Carl turned off the grill and wiped his hands. He came through the swinging door and stood behind the counter with Veronica.

  Tiffany managed to speak between sobs. “She’s sleeping on the tracks.”

  Veronica leapt over the counter fast, left foot then right, fast, faster, because in the distance a train whistled, and she could tell it was close, and it was fast.

  Fast, faster. Left then right.

  The train racer could fly. He ran so fast his feet left the earth. If he wanted to, he could break the sound barrier. Veronica could hear it, somewhere far away, up in the afternoon sky, a pop, a ripple of thunder.

  Right then left and her feet left the earth. The tracks were in front of her, and she lunged, jumped with both arms out because the train was there, and Emily screamed and her head was on the rail, and then it was off, it was in Veronica’s arms, and Veronica twisted in the air and landed on her back, Emily safe in her arms, and Veronica’s left leg just at the knee, on the track.

  So fast.

  She heard the crack, the pop, the breaking of the sound barrier.

  She’d raced the train, and she’d won, and she almost didn’t notice the pain, the weight, the stabbing, but the cold took her, and the train rushed by, and something warm and wet slid up her leg, her left leg, which wasn’t there anymore, but under the charging train.

  Chapter 23

  Monday, September 7th

  “You okay? You’re going all pale.”

  I leaned back in my chair, put my hand behind my neck.

  “You wan
t water? Never mind. Water here sucks. How about another Diet?” She leaned forward. “I thought you were some big bad reporter. Why so worried now? I told you, Emily was fine.”

  I shook my head. “On the tracks? I’ve seen unspeakable things. Wars and terrorist attacks and the worst Mother Nature can muster. But a baby on the tracks?”

  Irritation colored Veronica’s voice. “She’s fine. Don’t believe me? Want to see her? She’s at home with Mom right now.”

  I did want to see her, but I shook my head. I didn’t realize Mason’s train-racing story had become an urban legend, but it made sense for a town like this. There’s little to do other than run.

  It seemed Hailey was a town of runners. Mason ran from his future. Greg and Aida ran from the law. Caleb’s wife ran from him. Bernard ran from the truth. I said, “So what about Tiffany?”

  Carl had another Diet Coke in his hand and set it on the table. “I turned her in, but nothing came of it. Cops don’t care. You could cap someone right in front of a cop, and they wouldn’t blink, just so long as you don’t get blood on their uniform. See, they’d have to explain that and file a report, and they hate paperwork. Anyway, they drive out, talk with Tiffany, and tell her to see a doctor. You want something to eat?”

  I thanked him, but declined. “Still digesting my kielbasa.”

  “Veronica warned you.” He pulled up an extra chair and sat beside Veronica. He put his arm around her, his meaty, red hand on her shoulder, and she sank into him.

  “How long ago did it happen?”

  Veronica shrugged and looked over at Carl. “Emily’s about six months now, so about five months back.”

  Carl nodded. “We didn’t mark the date on the calendar.”

  “I guess not.” I paused, formulating my next question. I wanted to ask about the credit card and Mr. Walker, wanted to know what happened to him, or to Veronica for stealing the number, but I couldn’t get my mind off poor Emily. Thinking of her on the tracks chilled me to the core of my soul. So helpless, she trusted her mother to care for her.

  “Is Tiffany still watching her?”

  Veronica shook her head. “Tiff finally went to a doctor. They put her on some pills, and she seems better. But she’s not watching Emily anymore. Mom and me watch her mostly. Tiff comes over sometimes, but she’s never alone with her. Never hurts to be careful. Anyway, I think she likes this arrangement. She’s in a finishing school and wants to go to college.”

  I crossed my legs under the wobbly table. “What about you? Have big plans for the future?”

  “I want to finish high school first. I had some colleges interested in me before I went one-legged on them. Kind of killed my plans for a track scholarship.” She knocked on her leg. “I missed so much school this year because of this thing, I’ll be lucky to pass my classes and not have summer school. After that, one more year and I’m done. I can figure college out next year.”

  Carl’s eyes moved from mine to the window behind me. He stood up quickly and walked back to the kitchen. “Customer, babe.”

  Veronica sighed and stood up. “You again?”

  Nick shuffled in. He’d rolled his long flannel sleeves to his elbows. “I ain’t staying.” He turned to me. “Come on.”

  “Where’re we going?”

  “You want to talk or not?”

  “I do, just curious.”

  “Call it a field trip.”

  I didn’t trust him, but I had a job to do. If God wanted me to do this, He’d keep me safe. My faith caught me off guard. I’d never believed in God, yet I trusted Him now. Nadine would be proud of me. “Let me pay for my Cokes.”

  Veronica shook her head. “Get out of here, Connor.”

  I smiled. “What would Sue say?”

  “Why would Sue know?”

  “Gotcha.”

  I grabbed my coat, though the day had warmed, and followed Nick outside. He pointed to an early eighties Corolla. “Get in.”

  His short clipped sentences and hurried gait made his agitation clear. His shaking left hand made me nervous. He pushed it into his pocket, opened his door, and slid in. I waited for him to unlock the passenger door, said a quick prayer, and hunched into the small frame of the car. Nick was bigger than me, but I’d learned early on that size has little outcome on a fight. If it came to it, I could hold my own, unless he’d brought a knife or a gun to the fight. I’d come to expect things like that from Hailey. Angry people with no sense of justice or fairness—a potentially lethal mix.

  I asked him again as he started the engine, “Where we headed?”

  “I wanna show you something.” He pulled the clunking car onto 29. I hoped it would make it wherever he had in mind. Then again, maybe I’d be better off if it just broke down. “Ever been to the Cluster?”

  “Driven past it is all.”

  “Not the same.” His car smelled of half-smoked cigarettes and old pine air freshener. Instead of a car radio, he had a gaping hole with wires running up and down. I thought to say, “nice car,” but figured he’d see through the faux politeness. It’d be tough to say with a poker face.

  “Tyler wants to meet you at Sue’s tomorrow, same time. He’s got the day off, but he’s a creature of habit.”

  “And you?”

  “We’re talking now. I thought you got that.”

  “Of course.” I tried to see through the streaks of bug guts on his windshield. “Just wondering what changed your mind.”

  “Aida came by the plant and had a chat with me.”

  “Thought as much.”

  He turned off 29 onto Gespar Road, which winds at sharp angles and crosses under the train tracks and pours into the Cluster. The people of Hailey admired these homes, envied them despite the battering they’d taken over the years. Many would never pass code. Roofs had fallen in on some, while others were missing walls. More windows were broken than whole, patched together with plastic lining and duct-tape. The lawns were little more than patchy brown mounds surrounded by dirt and weeds.

  Two sets of tracks split apart just south of the Cluster and ran on either side before meeting back up about twelve miles north on 29. The cement plant sat just north of the Cluster like a concrete castle. Its smoke stacks stretched high into the air, and plumes of oyster-colored smoke ascended like a burnt offering. He parked the car on the shoulder, and we looked over the Cluster.

  “I don’t live here. Most everyone else does.”

  His voice had lost its edge. Instead of sounding agitated and irritable, he sounded contemplative.

  “So I hear.”

  After a few minutes, I pulled out my notebook.

  He got the hint, and said, “Doc says I’m dying quick, so I figured I might as well tell ya everything. Been living with it long enough, anyway. Ain’t got much to lose, right?”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. About the doctor.”

  He shrugged. “It happens, right? Every hero has to fall sometime.”

  Chapter 24

  A HERO’S FALL

  Nick walked out into the desert just outside the Cluster to clear his head. In the distance, a train whistle sounded and sounded again.

  Rain dampened the desert. It came in spluttering sprinkles, then in drenching sheets. The storm had come in the morning, fast and unexpected. It hit hard, then waned to wispy fog, then returned in precipitous force.

  Couldn’t even trust the weather anymore. Couldn’t trust nothing.

  He’d trusted his job, but now some Virginia company moved in to buy up the plant just to downsize it, maybe close it completely. If the sale went through, he’d be out of a job.

  The train whistle shrilled, shattering the sheets of rain.

  He’d trusted his wife until he walked in on her this morning. Another man held her half-naked body in his arms. His face was too thin
for his big beard. They didn’t look at him when he came in; they simply went on kissing and fondling and asked him to close the door on his way out.

  What had his mother-in-law called him? A man of no consequence.

  What did she know? Wasn’t no one nicer than Nick in all of Hailey, and that meant something. And he had the best collection of comics west of Nevada.

  The train whistled in the wind, screamed through the rain. Nick pulled his hat lower, checked the tracks over his shoulder. Slick with rain. Train was running too fast. Must be braking.

  The books held value; they were worth plenty of money, no matter how much his wife or mother-in-law called him childish. They didn’t understand. Comics could be big business, a way to escape misery and mediocrity. Hailey had plenty of each.

  The train howled; its brakes squealed on the slick tracks. The wheels rattled like drowned lungs.

  How long until he lost everything in his life? His house? Job? Wife? A week? Two? He’d keep his comics and lose the rest. What he wanted more than anything was to open a small comic shop in Eve’s Horn. He had enough back issues to get himself started, but what did he know of business? And where would he get start-up money?

  An explosion lifted him from his feet. Heat shattered the chill air, turned rain to steam. He sat up fast. A ball of fire raced down the tracks. The train arched its back like a frightened cat. Metal wheels spun; the rear of the train lifted in the air like a scorpion ready to sting. It slipped sideways, came in fast and rushed toward the Cluster.

  Iron and steel groaned as the train folded in on itself like link sausages. It careened through brittle homes; wood splintered; roofs collapsed; people shrieked over the racket—parents, children, wails lifting like invisible elevators.

  So many screams.

  This wasn’t the normal freight train.

  It was Saturday, wasn’t it? Not Friday, like he originally thought. That meant this was a passenger train. The cars, long rectangles of steel and glass, twisted and flipped and pushed through the homes of the Cluster.

  How many people were home this Saturday? How many sat in their living rooms watching the news, never expecting to become the feature story?