Knight's Late Train Read Online Free PDF Page B

and sees all those bruises on his face. For an ugly guy, he sure thinks he’s pretty — he’ll flex and pose at a water puddle.”
    “I need some information,” I told Chic. “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”
    Big Deal interrupted, “I’m the damn trainmaster. You ask questions here, you ask me.”
    Chic offered us a couple of seats next to his desk, still ignoring Big Deal. He sat down and said, “So, lookin’ for Doc, I’ll bet.” He crossed his legs tight and rubbed his chin.
    I never understood how some guys could do that — put one thigh over the other while sitting up. I mean; when I cross my legs, the best I can do is put one shin over the other knee — and I’m pretty flexible. If I even thought of crossing my legs like Chic’s, they’d hear my nuts crack in Nebraska. But I remembered Big Deal called him a transvestite and even Chic said something about finishing his sex change . I didn’t want to think about what might be going on under his pants.
    This place was truly starting to creep me out.
    I asked, “Yeah, what do you know?”
    “I’m the last one to speak with Doc and Specks. Doc radioed in their location about an hour before Specks gave the last transmission. Doc sounded normal to me. Said the snow had started heavy and they were pushing it east from Rangely. Then Specks came on fifty minutes later and said Doc got a cell phone call and seemed to have gone nuts. He was talking about dog catching another train. Haven’t heard a thing from either one, since. That was seven days ago.”
    “What’s ‘ dog catching ’ mean?”
    Chick said, “ Generally, it’s when a fresh train crew, usually an engineer and conductor, go out to relieve another crew that’s DOL — dead on the law. That means they’ve exceeded their Federally-allowed hours of service, and they can’t work any longer or go any farther operating any Federally-monitor equipment until they’ve rested according to Federal guidelines — law.”
    “Have any ideas where they could be?”
    “Not a one. I do know they sure got a ton of work to do. That weather set in faster than anybody’d expected, and then a second front hit and stalled out on top of everything west to Salt Lake City. We’ve got five stranded trains between here and Gold Miner’s Bend; two are loaded ore trains and two loaded mixed manifest.”
    “One of the stranded ore trains is the Mother Lode Express ?”
    “Yeah.” Chic nodded. “And that’s the one Specks said Doc wanted to dog catch.”
    This whole thing bothered me. I was overlooking something, or pertinent information was passing me by. I scanned the room to find an impetus to push my analytical mind out of the rut — out of the paradigm box — to key my imagination.
    I gazed a t the framed photos on the wall; pictures of old railroaders, of locomotives, of freight cars.
    “What’s the fifth train?”
    “It’s just a local. Goes from Rangely to a small ski resort community named Fool’s Rush. Mostly carries dry goods and supplies, especially during ski season — when the trucks have a hard time gettin’ through.”
    “Anything unusual happen around here lately — out of the ordinary?” My gaze landed on the photo of a large tanker freight car. “Derailments? Missing material?”
    “Nothing,” Big Deal interrupted, again. “What are you, some kind of detective? You’re not the police. You’re an ex-con.” He glanced at Chic. “Don’t answer any more of his questions.”
    Chic acted as though he didn’t hear him — seeming to have an epiphany as he glanced at the same wall-hanging photo I was viewing. “The missing cars!”
    “Missing freight cars?” I asked.
    “Shut up!” Big Deal said, “This man’s a criminal. He’s up to no good, and so’s his father.”
    “Yes,” Chic said. “We lose freight cars all the time. Shit happens. Cars get left on sidings by mistake, get switched into industry tracks that they’re not supposed to go to. Their numbers