Bobby’s hands grabbed at the rope around his neck. He had it, but couldn’t do anything. He was pinned against the ledge of the boxcar, bent over backwards. As he struggled with the rope he saw the woman get up and back away. She didn’t seem to want anything to do with helping him.
“You’re good to go. Thanks.” A quiet voice came from above Bobby’s head. The woman nodded and fled down the rail yard.
Fucking bitch.
Now he fought harder, trying to wedge his arm between his body and the boxcar so he could turn around and see his attacker. He wanted a go at him, but the bastard had him pinned good. Worse yet, he was getting light-headed from the lack of oxygen and knew he was going to pass out.
*****
Bobby woke to the rumble of a train. His brain was sluggish, but his vision confused him even more. He was looking at the stars in the night sky. Then the sound of the train seemed closer, so he struggled to look. Only his head wanted to move. Holding his head up, he looked down at his body and realized where he was. He screamed into the gag in his mouth.
Tied spread-eagled on the train tracks, he faced upwards with his spine strapped to the steel rail. He put his head back down on the rail while the stars stared back from above.
The sound again, closer still. Bobby brought his head up again. There it was, a train moving slowly through the yard. He tried desperately to figure what track it was on, swiveling his head left and right. He couldn’t keep his head at that angle for long, reluctantly putting it back against the rail for a break.
Moments later he started to scream again. The fucking thing was coming right at him… Didn’t the driver see him?
Bobby moved his head up and down trying to get someone’s attention, anyone’s.
The train was thirty yards away.
Twenty.
He fought to keep his head up, staring at the locomotive, trying to see the engineer, searching for a face in the window.
He couldn’t know that the engineer had seen him, but couldn’t identify the pile of rags alongside the rail.
Bobby didn’t see the figure hiding beside a nearby building either.
He couldn’t know it was the last second when the engineer recognized what he was looking at. But what could he do? You didn’t stop these things on the dime.
All Bobby knew was the train was coming and he had to watch for some reason. He couldn’t turn away. He looked up when it was yards away and watched the large front end of the steel monster coming. He thought he heard brakes, he did see wheels, and the last thing he knew was pain.
His brain had a second to register the impact… then there was nothing.
*****
El Paso, Texas
The trap was set. The friggin’ train had finally started moving in the middle of the night and Sam and the boys were in El Paso by morning. They found a westbound freight on the next track with a long run of boxcars.
He’d had the crew jam rocks into the sliding door grooves on all the boxcars except one. Then they all climbed into the final car leaving the door slightly ajar, jamming it so it wouldn’t open any further. It made it darker inside.
Sam had used this setup before. Anyone looking for a ride would try the doors on the other boxcars and end up at this one. They wouldn’t be able to see inside the car and would climb in unsuspecting.
When one of the boys peeking out of the car said a couple had just come onto the track and were walking in their direction Sam got excited. “Get away from the door. Everyone get in the corners, stay quiet.”
The stretch between El Paso and Phoenix was a long one. A woman to play with would be perfect. He didn’t know what she would look like, probably not much he figured. They usually weren’t. That didn’t matter one bit to Sam. He liked the sense of control, he liked knowing he could do whatever he wanted, anything he could think of.
The people had to be getting close. Sam’s heart pounded, his palms were wet. He closed his eyes, focusing, trying to listen for footsteps on the gravel, anything to indicate they were near.
The anticipation was excruciating. He felt his jeans bulge, how many times had he been in this situation. Knowing you were about to have a piece of ass you could do anything you wanted with, but not even knowing what she looked like. He pictured a bunch of women, different nationalities and sizes. What was this one going to be like?
The sound of feet on gravel caught his attention, he stared out of the dark corner, watching the silhouettes at the door as they stopped.
A grin played across Sam’s face, maybe she was going to like it.
*****
Las Vegas, Nevada
The figure leaned against the wall killing time. He glanced at the slumped body of the woman he’d used as a lure laying behind him. The body wouldn’t move, but he had to make sure. Mostly, he watched the limp body of the guy tied down on the track.
He straightened a bit as the guy woke up and realized his predicament. He knew the precise moment when the guy tied to the track realized the train was coming. The target looked frantic, but all he could move was his head, snapping it up to look around.
The hidden figure assumed the Raildog was trying to place the sound which was coming from everywhere in the dead of night. You wouldn’t be sure where it was coming from until it showed itself. The light came first, sweeping ahead of the train, followed by the squealing of steel wheels on steel rails.
The figure looked from the train, to the body on the track, and back again. He watched the distance close. He thought he caught sight of the engineer rising off his seat, then he heard the brakes start to scrape and grind on the wheels. It didn’t matter. It was way too late.
He watched the train roll towards the body and slice it in two. Not very neatly. Blood and guts exploded out, splattering across the rail yard while the bones were smashed and ground apart. A section of the body got hung up underneath the train and dragged along the track, but for the most part two pieces were left on each side of the rail.
Knowing the train was stopping, and that authorities would be on the way soon, the figure turned and bent over to pick up the slumped body. Turning behind the buildings, he stayed out of sight as he approached a different train facing south. He dragged the body into a corner of a boxcar and climbed back out.
With a sense of purpose, the figure marched down the yard until he found a train along the tracks pointing north. He had to keep moving. He needed to get to Salt Lake.
After riding the tracks a lot over the years and he knew the system like the back of his hand. He spotted his freight train, right on schedule it started jerking while the engine pulled the slack out of the linkages and the cars rolled forward. He jogged alongside and hopped aboard with ease. Looking back at Las Vegas, the last thing he saw as his train moved out into the darkness were the lights of the cop cars moving towards the station.
*****
Las Vegas, Nevada
Bill Dewton couldn’t believe his damned luck. “What do you mean he’s dead?”
The detective was almost apologetic. “We got the heads-up yesterday afternoon from Kansas. The guy was killed last night. What could we do?”
Bill was pissed. He’d done everything he could to get there ahead of things, but he was still running behind again. Fuck. “You guys seen the tattoo?”
“Yup, a number four, just like you said.”
“Damn. This guy was my only hope at getting some fresh intel. I wanted to talk to him.” Bill’s face showed what he was feeling.
“I did get something for you though.”
He perked up, his head came up to stare at the man, “What do you got?”
“A live body. Had the yard checked out, top to bottom, and we came up with another one of them. This guy is number thirty-six.”
Bill leaned back smiling, his relief evident. He shook his head, laughing. “You were holding back on me. Where is he now?”
The detective smiled and got up from his chair. “He’s waiting in interrogation
four. Let’s go.”
Bill went in himself and spent the better part of an hour working the guy over. “One more time, tell me again.”
“I told you everything man,” his witness waved his arms in a big circle. “They have a square shaped territory, the sections run into each other forming the sides. That’s the box man.”
Bill kept at him, “How many in the gang?”
“I told you, I don’t know. I’ve seen guys with tattoos as high as seventy. There could be more. Each section boss recruits his own crew, and they call the big boss who must keep track of the tattoo numbers. I don’t know.” The gangster was scared and willing to answer anything. The cops outside telling the witness he was the prime suspect didn’t hurt one bit.
“You said they have houses?” Bill was trying to get at the money.
“All the bosses do. One on each section.”
“Where’s the money coming from?”
“I keep telling you. This gang is all about the money. That’s what they do. We rob people on the trains. Sometimes they’re travelling with lots of cash. We catch people and hold them while we clean out their bank accounts or credit cards. Everybody pays dues to the bosses every month.”
Bill shook his head. Considering the time frame, ten years, maybe more – how much money had they made in that time?
When he had squeezed as much as he could out of the witness, Bill left him in the interrogation room. The locals would look after him now. He had to sit somewhere and think. This gang was big and had been around a while. Now suddenly they were going down like flies. Whoever was behind it had to know the gang well. The perpetrator obviously knew which boss held which section, and even though other members were getting killed in the same action, the perp seemed to be focusing on the low numbers.
He had taken down numbers three, four, and five. Bill figured he wouldn’t want to be number one or two right now. He replayed the interrogation in his head. Albert Simms was number five, taking care of an offshoot that ran up to Spokane.
Bill scratched out the box on a sheet of paper he snagged off the side of a desk. If Simms was on a section stretching off of the box to the north, Bobby Rackman was on one side and his brother Doug on the other. That left the top of the box and the bottom. Which number was on which section?
He sat back in the chair. What now? He realized his daughter’s case was slowly taking a back seat to this bigger puzzle, but he had to assume that solving the disappearing numbers game might get him the right answer in the end anyways.
What Bill needed to do was get to one of the two sections, either top or bottom, and try to get ahead of the action for once. He stepped over to a computer. He needed to check the sections and figure out where the stops were. He had to get in place before another lead died.
Chapter 12
Cheyenne, Wyoming
The sudden vibration of the cell phone broke through Cliffy’s daydream. He rubbed the stubble on his face and realized he was probably getting dirty. Came with the territory, but still. Lately three days on the road felt like ten.
He lifted the phone to his ear like it was a nasty chore and took a breath before answering, “One here.”
“Thirty-six, sir. We have a problem in Vegas.” The deep voice was serious, to the point.
Cliff didn’t need to hear any more. He leaned his head back against the rough wood. He knew what was coming. It had to be Bobby. He didn’t want to know how, he knew it was going to be bad, “What’s going on?” He decided to play it slow.
“Number four is dead boss. He was tied down to a rail line and a locomotive split him in two.”
Cliff cringed. His hand pushed in on his gut, attempting to smother the uneasy feeling. He liked Bobby. They’d visited from time to time, drinking and spending some money at the casinos. Bobby was like him, not spending as much time on the rails these days. He was ready to give it up as well. He wouldn’t be now.
“He didn’t deserve that.” Cliff didn’t know what else to say.
“No, he sure didn’t. We’ll try and find the bastard that did it though.” The voice was determined.
“Okay, I’ll get back to you soon as I can.” Cliff clicked off the phone and stared at it for a moment. Good luck with that.
With his back against the boxcar’s wall, he sat opposite the open door watching the countryside whizz past and felt the energy draining out of every pore. His shoulders slumped and all of a sudden he felt old.
Did he want the fight? Was it worth it anymore? The better question was, was he still hungry for it? It was obviously a fight for the whole line. Cliff leaned his head back against the wooden wall as the train shook along the track.
The answer was no. He knew it and was just taking his time acknowledging it.
Cliff looked down at the cell phone, the only connection he had to the gang. His hands shook as a wave of anger flooded through him. He wanted to end things on his terms, not this way. Somebody forcing him out wasn’t sitting well. But then, there was always a new dog on the block. He’d once been one.
Knowing he’d left this way was going to stick in his gut for a long time.
Cliff reached his arm up in the air and threw the cell phone out of the moving boxcar. His initial regret was quickly replaced with relief. He sighed and slumped forward, resigned to turning his back on the whole thing.
Everything seemed easier once he made the call. No more decisions to make. He’d get off in Cheyenne. It wasn’t that far ahead. He could catch a quick freighter going back towards Salt Lake and get the fuck off the tracks.
As soon as he said it to himself, he knew it was over. Suddenly life on the tracks lost its appeal. He thought of the future and didn’t see a freight car there at all. Just the sight of the valley spread out below his back deck.
It was strange how something he put so much time into for so many years could mean so little now.
It had been one hell of a ride. The gang had been going full steam for the last number of years, but it had been harder in the beginning. Trying to take over their sections and build up crews had taken a few years and there had been some close calls.
Running into other gangs when they didn’t have the numbers required balls-to-the-wall guts, and the will to punish those who resisted. They had really wanted it, and that was usually enough to carry them through.
The original crew had been serious stuff. The Rackman brothers, Albert, Sam and himself. Shit. Cliff realized he should have called Sam before throwing away the phone. The guy at least deserved a warning.
Cliff saw images behind his eyelids, the past was spread out in brutal color, mostly red. Once they had tasted blood, there had been no turning back. He knew it was all a work of art. But it was time for a new canvas.
*****
Las Vegas, Nevada
Bill got out of the taxi near the train yard. He’d ditched the Vegas detective as soon as the guy mentioned phone calls from the FBI interested in a series of dead bodies in train yards. They were looking specifically for the guy who had set up the search criteria in the computer system.
For some reason Bill didn’t want to be part of their circus. He’d seen that before. It was invigorating to be back on a case, but right now he didn’t want to bother with the layers of bullshit that came with command structure. Fuck that.
What he wanted was to stay on this trail and get to the bottom of whoever was knocking off this gang. He couldn’t get his daughter back, he was sure now that he’d missed that chance, but he could make sure the whole gang was down. That’s what was driving him.
He was going back on the track. On one level it didn’t make sense. Why not fly, or drive, to a section of the box and wait for someone to show up.
On the other hand, being on the ground, on the rails, put him in the middle of the action. He could run into other Raildogs, or he might help someone along the way. It was just like undercover, sometimes you had to get in there and get dirty.
No one would be able to trace him now
. He walked towards the northbound freight train. That’s where he wanted to go. Number one was supposed to be out of Salt Lake, he’d start there. He climbed up into a boxcar and sat down near the door. His breathing was steady and his eyes were alert. Bill smiled to himself, he was back in the game.
*****
Fort Worth, Texas
Neither of the boys slept much once they got out of Amarillo. Bart was horrified by what he’d seen. Forget about the assholes out to cause shit and pain that you had to watch out for. It was the needle using junkies that shook him to the core.
He’d spent the night muttering to himself. Was that real? Did he really see people with parts of their bodies hanging open, rotted off, and dying before his eyes? He wasn’t sure if it was the open wounds or the bizarre calmness of the scene that threw him.
He’d looked over Danny’s shoulder and saw the men playing cards. But it was the holes in the shoulder and arm of the card player that caught his attention. His eyes snapped back and forth between the gruesome sight and the cards until his brain couldn’t sort either out.
How many people were on this drug? Bits of Zombie movies flashed through his mind. It was damned near the same thing. He shivered violently.
There was a change in Danny too. Actually, he didn’t know the kid well enough to be sure it was a change. He watched him sitting on the edge of the car in the train’s wind stream, his curly hair flapping and twirling.
He sensed Danny was more confident in some way. It was like the kid was coming out of his shell.
As the train slowed to enter the Fort Worth freight yards the cars started to bump and clang together. He got up to look outside.
They wanted to go straight through, continuing towards Houston, but the train slowed to a stop. Bart looked around slightly agitated, his fingers fiddled with the lighter in his pocket. He was starting to hate stops along the way. He just wanted to get to Florida, the quicker the better.
“You hear that?” Danny asked.
“What?” Bart turned his head.
“Some yelling coming from up there. Sounds like a fight.” Danny leaned out as far as he could. “I don’t see anything though.”
Bart listened carefully, and sure enough, he could hear something. “Shit, I hope they’re not coming this way.”
Danny gave a strange look. There wasn’t any fear on the kid’s face. “We got to check it out.”