something I didn’t know to say.
“How is it,” he finally said when it was clear he’d get nothing from me but a blank look, “that this train could brake so hard the passengers end up on their asses, yet a half-empty bottle sittin’ by an open side door not only doesn’t roll out, it doesn’t even fall over?”
“Oh,” I said. “Damn.”
Someone had put the bottle there after the train stopped. And the only reason they’d have for doing that was to lead lunkheads like me to a false assumption.
Without another word, I squatted down and fished my Colt from our bag.
“‘Ain’t no mystery to it,’” my brother grumbled as I hitched up my holster. “Feh.”
When I was ready, he turned and gave the door handle a twist. Or tried to, I should say. The door to the baggage car was locked.
“Shit … and I ain’t got any pickin’ wire on me,” Gustav said.
“We can’t just knock?”
“Best we don’t announce ourselves.”
Old Red tried the handle again, as if it might have taken a shine to us in the last few seconds and unlocked itself. It hadn’t.
“Trouble, gents?”
We turned to find Kip joining us in the vestibule. At the sight of our badges and guns, he let loose a low whistle.
“So … you really are railroad dicks.”
He looked impressed—and I felt embarrassed. The badge on my chest seemed silly, childish, like a costume party getup. Wearing it would take some getting used to.
“You tryin’ to get into the baggage car?” the news butch asked.
“Yup. O-fficial business,” Old Red answered. He wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest.
“I can let you in.” Kip put down his box of gimcracks and started fishing around in his pockets. “I keep all my merchandise in the baggage car, so I’ve got a passkey.”
Gustav’s eyes took on such a shine they practically glowed like hot coals. “A passkey? Like a skeleton key?”
“Yessir. Everyone in the crew gets one. It’ll open any door on the train.”
“Everyone in the crew, huh?” Old Red mumbled, the fire in his eyes dimming to a smolder as he drifted off into one of his dreamy trances.
“Don’t worry,” I said to Kip. “He’ll snap out of it in a minute or two. If he don’t, we can just throw a blanket over his head and come back for him in the mornin’.”
Kip gave me a small smile, but it wilted quick. He’d gone through every one of his pockets, and now he was starting over again.
“Where’d that little bugger go?”
“You can’t find your key?” my brother asked, blinking his way from his stupor.
The butch gave his trouser pockets one last, irritated smack. “It’s gone.”
“When’d you last use it?”
Kip shrugged. “A while ago. I came up to get a special package for that drummer—the one seated across from you two. He asked for something I don’t carry around with me when I’m workin’ the aisles. A Parisian novelty. For discreet gentlemen only.” He clucked his tongue and gave us a wink. The kid was sixteen at most, but he already fancied himself a worldly sport.
“This was before the train stopped,” Old Red said.
“Yeah.”
“Is there any chance he might’ve—?”
Suddenly, all the talk about a key seemed beside the point, for the door to the baggage car came swinging open.
“Alright, then. I’ll—,” Wiltrout was saying over his shoulder as he stepped into the vestibule.
The conductor’s words turned into a grunt as he collided with my brother.
“What do you want, ‘Holmes’?” he sneered when he saw who’d just bumped off his belly. He drizzled so much acid over the “Holmes” his tongue should’ve sizzled and melted.
“To do our jobs,” Old Red snapped back, pressing past him through the door. I was on his heels, and Kip was on mine.
“Ahhh, my champion—come to rescue me at last!” El Numero Uno called to Gustav merrily, sounding darned chipper for a man with enough rope wrapped around him to hog-tie a dozen calves. “Well, don’t you worry.
“How is it,” he finally said when it was clear he’d get nothing from me but a blank look, “that this train could brake so hard the passengers end up on their asses, yet a half-empty bottle sittin’ by an open side door not only doesn’t roll out, it doesn’t even fall over?”
“Oh,” I said. “Damn.”
Someone had put the bottle there after the train stopped. And the only reason they’d have for doing that was to lead lunkheads like me to a false assumption.
Without another word, I squatted down and fished my Colt from our bag.
“‘Ain’t no mystery to it,’” my brother grumbled as I hitched up my holster. “Feh.”
When I was ready, he turned and gave the door handle a twist. Or tried to, I should say. The door to the baggage car was locked.
“Shit … and I ain’t got any pickin’ wire on me,” Gustav said.
“We can’t just knock?”
“Best we don’t announce ourselves.”
Old Red tried the handle again, as if it might have taken a shine to us in the last few seconds and unlocked itself. It hadn’t.
“Trouble, gents?”
We turned to find Kip joining us in the vestibule. At the sight of our badges and guns, he let loose a low whistle.
“So … you really are railroad dicks.”
He looked impressed—and I felt embarrassed. The badge on my chest seemed silly, childish, like a costume party getup. Wearing it would take some getting used to.
“You tryin’ to get into the baggage car?” the news butch asked.
“Yup. O-fficial business,” Old Red answered. He wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest.
“I can let you in.” Kip put down his box of gimcracks and started fishing around in his pockets. “I keep all my merchandise in the baggage car, so I’ve got a passkey.”
Gustav’s eyes took on such a shine they practically glowed like hot coals. “A passkey? Like a skeleton key?”
“Yessir. Everyone in the crew gets one. It’ll open any door on the train.”
“Everyone in the crew, huh?” Old Red mumbled, the fire in his eyes dimming to a smolder as he drifted off into one of his dreamy trances.
“Don’t worry,” I said to Kip. “He’ll snap out of it in a minute or two. If he don’t, we can just throw a blanket over his head and come back for him in the mornin’.”
Kip gave me a small smile, but it wilted quick. He’d gone through every one of his pockets, and now he was starting over again.
“Where’d that little bugger go?”
“You can’t find your key?” my brother asked, blinking his way from his stupor.
The butch gave his trouser pockets one last, irritated smack. “It’s gone.”
“When’d you last use it?”
Kip shrugged. “A while ago. I came up to get a special package for that drummer—the one seated across from you two. He asked for something I don’t carry around with me when I’m workin’ the aisles. A Parisian novelty. For discreet gentlemen only.” He clucked his tongue and gave us a wink. The kid was sixteen at most, but he already fancied himself a worldly sport.
“This was before the train stopped,” Old Red said.
“Yeah.”
“Is there any chance he might’ve—?”
Suddenly, all the talk about a key seemed beside the point, for the door to the baggage car came swinging open.
“Alright, then. I’ll—,” Wiltrout was saying over his shoulder as he stepped into the vestibule.
The conductor’s words turned into a grunt as he collided with my brother.
“What do you want, ‘Holmes’?” he sneered when he saw who’d just bumped off his belly. He drizzled so much acid over the “Holmes” his tongue should’ve sizzled and melted.
“To do our jobs,” Old Red snapped back, pressing past him through the door. I was on his heels, and Kip was on mine.
“Ahhh, my champion—come to rescue me at last!” El Numero Uno called to Gustav merrily, sounding darned chipper for a man with enough rope wrapped around him to hog-tie a dozen calves. “Well, don’t you worry.
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