Knight's Late Train Read Online Free PDF

him.”
    “It’d take a hell of a lot more to kill this bastard,” she answered. “A hobo worked him over with a buggy bar for a full thirty seconds last year. Got the whole incident on one of the yard cameras. They counted twenty hits. Dye came back at the dumb tramp, broke his neck and threw him in front of a moving box car.” She worked her jaw muscles as she stood over him. “And he hates your dad. He and Doc mix like piss and gear grease.”
    Just because someone didn’t get along with my father, maybe even hated him, didn’t mean they were a bad person — just maybe as bullheaded as he is.
    A voice from behind me shouted, “Stop!”
    I turned to look down the barrel of a 9mm Glock in the hand of a sandy-haired man of about forty.
    “Oh, put the gun down, Jones,” Rillie said. “You saw him. He swung first. He could have killed E Z.”
    I realized who the guy was by a few things my father had told me about the place. This man was the trainmaster and part owner of the Colorado Western Express short-line railroad, Big Deal Dill Jones.
    “E Z?” Jones’ eyes got big, now. “Doc Knight’s son? Well, well, well.”
    Those were not good “ wells ”. My father had definitely made an impression here at Slaughterhouse.
    Big Deal Jones asked, “What the hell you doing bringing this asshole here, Rillie?”
    “He brought me,” Rillie said. “He needs information.”
    “Doc Knight’s son won’t get shit here,” Big Deal said.
    I told him, “I’ve already gotten shit here. And considering your breath, I’d guess that’s all you’ll give me.”
    T he two women and two men sitting behind computers at their desks still gazed at me, astonished.
    One of the office pogues was a small bald man of about fifty. He left his desk and stepped up to Jones from behind.
    After shoving a black dry-erase marker into Big Deal’s side, the clerk said, “Go ahead and give me a reason to use this, Big Dill-do .” His voice was deep but oddly feminine.
    It must have been the blizzard. The entire yard office seemed to have gone stir crazy while waiting out the storm. But the small man’s bluff worked.
    Big Deal Jones opened his gun hand and raised the other. He asked El Marko man, “Where’d you get the gun?”
    Before he answered, I stepped up quickly and took the firearm away from Jones.
    My little ally began a loud cackle that got incredibly annoying after about three seconds. He swiped Big Deal Jones across his top lip with the strong-smelling marker, and then slipped it into Jones’ shirt pocket, making a wide, black line from his shoulder down his otherwise spotless, white shirt.
    “From my pen cup,” the brave little guy answered.
    The other three office workers chuckled.
    I put Big Deal’s handgun under my belt. “I’ll hold onto this until the Long Branch settles down some.”
    “I’m the train order clerk and operator, Chic Schmidt,” the small, thin man said. “Friends just call me Chic.”
    “Chickadee Schmidt,” Jones said. “Chicken Shit, that’s what Big Deal calls him.”
    “Like I say,” Chic answered, and held his hand out. “Friends call me Chic. This SOB is the trainmaster, Dill Jones — likes to be called Big Deal — and always talks in third person. He’s more like a bad deal to me.”
    “Big Deal’s gonna fire you someday, you little transvestite. If Big Deal gets a friendly witness in here, your union can’t say shit.”
    “See what I mean?” Chic said, ignoring him. “I’m building a discrimination case against the dumb bastard, and he doesn’t give a damn. That’s how smart he is, Mr. Knight. When I get ready, I’m going to sue his ass and go to Trinidad to finish my sex change with the lottery winnings.”
    “Sounds like a man with a plan. But it’s E Z Knight, not ‘ mister’ ,” I said and shook Chic’s proffered hand. “Just E Z to you.”
    “Some fancy kickin’ there, E Z,” Chic said. “Ol’ Dye’s gonna seriously hate your guts when he comes to