Raildogs
by Rejean Giguere
Copyright 2014 - Rejean Giguere
ISBN 978-1-927047-27-1
Ontario, Canada
www.rejeangiguere.com
This book is a work of Fiction. All characters and events (and some places) are products of the Author's imagination.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed for your own personal enjoyment only. The book may not be resold or given to other people. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the author.
Raildogs
Prologue
The conversation was obviously over. Dougie Rackman balanced himself against the side of the boxcar as it rumbled down the southbound rail. This couldn’t be happening. He tried to focus on something, anything, except the sound of his heart hammering against his ribs.
He felt more than saw the others scrambling around in the dark. Someone banged and scratched against the outer walls. Another let out a short sharp scream.
He looked up, his eyes desperately seeking a glimpse of daylight – a gap that offered the possibility of escape. He could hear footsteps above. The smell of the fuel invaded every corner as it poured through holes in the ceiling of the boxcar. Fumes rose from the pool of gasoline as the shaking train sent the liquid spreading slowly across the floor.
As he examined the number three tattooed on the inside of his wrist, he realized he was as angry as he was scared. He was third in line. This shouldn’t be happening to him.
His head snapped upward at the muted roar of a blowtorch…
Chapter 1
Reno, Nevada
The figure sat unmoving, immobile. Hands on the arms of the chair, a light shawl was wrapped around her shoulders. Anyone walking the grounds would see Sarah Perez sitting in her window on the second floor and think she was some invalid relaxing in the sunshine, enjoying the nice early-summer weather. Anyone who walked the pathways regularly would know she was there every morning and night, absent only during her own afternoon walks.
This morning her gaze was again fixed on something beyond her window. Was it the flocks of birds wheeling across the sky? Perhaps the flowers and shrubs leading to the tree line? Maybe the mountains off in the distance? Or was it something that no one else saw?
Sarah looked young for this type of long-term care home, but at forty-five she had already been here for ten years, and had long ago settled in.
Her lip curled slightly as the sound of a tap at the door brought her back from her thoughts.
“Who is it?”
“Lunch time.”
She was pretty sure she heard the orderly mutter under his breath.
“You crazy hag.”
She hated the staff, and most of the decrepit old farts and crazy morons who lived here. But for some reason she liked her room and the view. That had been important back in the beginning and it was still true.
“On the table would be fine.”
She stubbed out her cigarette and pulled the window closed, her sole concession to the non-smoking rule. Quietly, she moved towards the small table. The staff had long ago given up trying to make her eat with all the others in the dining room.
The orderly dropped the tray on the table and grabbed the pastry before heading for the door, “You won’t be needing this.”
Her right eye twitched twice. She knew the light shake in her shoulders was anger. Looking down at her hands, she tried to unclench her fists. They had been stealing from her and taking advantage like this ever since she arrived. She hadn’t really noticed in the beginning, but back then she was in pretty bad shape. Now she saw it every day, and it just wasn’t right. But it had gone on so long that making it stop might take more effort than she had inside her.
Sarah watched him leave with her desert in his hand and looked down at the remaining food. She didn’t like it, or hate it. It was a damned necessity, rather bland and inoffensive. It didn’t take long to eat and before she knew it she was back at the window staring off at something. Or nothing.
The battle raged in her head constantly these days. In the beginning the demons had consumed her, and she lived pretty much in her mind. But in the years since she had created a balance of sorts. On most days she was living real life, just as much as she was stuck living in her head.
They all thought she was a little crazy, and at one time she would have agreed. Now she felt like she was just biding her time. She knew the years were going by, but she still grasped some belief, some hope, kindled by thoughts of walking away, free of this place. And she still had her son.
No one knew that he was who she was watching for. He would visit when he could, and so she waited for him.
The guilt was heavy at times. She’d had so many plans for them, for him. Then it had all come crashing down. Sarah shook her head and stared down at her fingers as they curled together on her lap. She’d abandoned him too young.
Lately, she had begun to examine this world she’d made for herself. She wondered how he was surviving out there and what kind of person he had become. Was he happy? He never really told her what he did for money.
It was time for her afternoon walk. She had to keep in shape, in case she ever got up the courage to walk out that door forever.
*****
Salt Lake City, Utah
Cliff Turner scratched his head. He knew he was a scruffy kind of guy. He smiled to himself. He was a crafty son of a bitch as well. Running a hand over the two-day-old steel wool on his face, he looked out over the rolling hills of the Wasatch Mountains. “Not bad Cliffy, not bad.”
The twenty acres of trees and scrub brush acted as a buffer zone around the modest house. The new place was private, one that no one knew about. It had been months since he had been to the crewhouse in town. He spent most of his time now on the deck that hung out over the rocky valley in back. It didn’t matter, day or night; he just sat there and stared. There was something about this place that allowed him to let his guard down.
Was he really having second thoughts about the whole damned thing these days? Was he running out of steam? Or was it his balls? Was he getting soft? He formed his hands into fists, looking down at the white lines etched across the clenched knuckles. He still had his strength, so what was eating at him?
Did he have the answer in the back of his head already? He was finally in a position to consider letting this whole thing go. He was still so much farther ahead than when he started. Christ, what a trip it’d been.
Ever since Cliff had a chance to separate himself from the filth of the road, he’d been watching the neighbors who also lived along the canyon road. He’d begun to decide he really liked the way they lived. Lately, whenever it was time to go back at it, he’d been less and less interested. Everything that used to matter; the adrenaline, the power, the honest-to-god brutality, didn’t seem to have the same pull as it used to.
Some part of him hated craving the freedom he got from having cash – too much easy cash – but some other part of him was becoming accustomed to this new life. Perhaps that was what was picking at him. He knew he had to keep the process going if he wanted to have it all.
Unclenching his fists, he looked back down, his eyes stopped on the tattoo. The number one was just two inches high, half an inch wide. Just one color, the black brand looked crude. On the inside of his right forearm, the number could be seen by anyone whenever he shook hands.
“You’ve come a long way Cliffy, a long way.”
He knew it was time. He had a gang out there. After all these years it worked well enough that they didn’t really need a leader there all the time, but Cliff still needed to make sure his baby was
chugging along. Besides, however many doubts he had about the grind, the feeling of power was proving hard to give up.
Power had been everything in the beginning. He’d gotten drunk on it and abused it. Shivers went down his spine at the thought. Jesus, had he done damage. Once he had put the gang together it had been a free-for-all. Anyone who got in the way paid dearly.
Cliff smiled at the memories, the high they’d been on. Some days he had the odd twinge at the amount of carnage they had caused, and the pain the poor bastards who crossed his trail must have felt. Maybe he even experienced a little regret.
Right now he had to get changed and ready to head out on the rails again. He snorted. He may be trying to look more like the folks living around these parts, but he still wasn’t pulling it off. He looked down at his cargo shorts and loafers. There was something rough and awkward about his look that didn’t fit into designer clothes too well.
From the chest in the basement he pulled out a pair of grease-stained coveralls, a black watch cap, and work boots. Stuffing a few things into an old shoulder bag, he checked the mirror by the door to make sure he looked the part. Not good enough. He rolled his lip into a snarl, and nodded. That ought to do it. He knew deep down this was who he was, but still, he felt a little uncomfortable in his own boots these days.
He looked back at the discarded loafers sitting at the bottom of the steps. The thought of giving it all up, choosing comfort over hardship, was becoming more tempting.
His Raildogs were spread out across America, riding the freight trains and preying on the never-ending supply of riders looking for a cheap way to travel the country.
Cliff pulled out his black book, checking to see which members of the gang were current on their dues and which ones he still needed to collect from. If you wanted to make money on his tracks, you became part of the gang and paid your dues. He liked knowing they were out there now, making money and causing mayhem.
Driving down from the hills, his beat up old Chevy step-side truck would be safe for few days somewhere as public as the parking lot at the all-night Wal-Mart in Salt Lake. He climbed on the city bus for the final ride down to the freight yard.
The old loading docks and switching yards were in a run-down section of town where the old carpet and textile factories used to be. Now the boarded up warehouses were slowly becoming condos. He could never figure why someone would want to live in such a place.
To him it was just another day at the office.
*****
Billings, Montana
Bart Forest eased back inside the tree line and glanced left at his partner.
“You ready man?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He didn’t know how Danny was going to be able to run beside the train with those stupid brown dress shoes. He reached down and pulled one last time at the laces on his Doc Martens. Good and tight.
Bart really wasn’t sure exactly how he got involved with the kid. The kid may be only eighteen, but the dude dressed like somebody’s grandpa in a department store windbreaker and brown dress slacks. His bright curly red hair flopped down over his black-framed glasses. The only thing on the kid that didn’t stand out was that big old suitcase he carried; it was a dark enough green to blend into the trees.
The two of them had spent the winter hatching a plan that all came down to this very moment. The long row of freight cars was headed their way. The only free ride out of Billings was on the Burlington Northern. Once they got further south there would be other rail lines, but right now this was it. Weeks spent watching around the clock, taking notes, meant they were sure which train to catch.
They knew enough to stay clear until the train started to leave. There was always a chance that someone from the railroad would walk down the train track looking for riders, and they had no intention of getting caught. Shit, they could even end up in jail. Worse, the trip would be over before it began.
The train jerked and the car’s couplings slammed together, steel on steel, as the long line of cars rolled forward.
“We gotta go man.” Bart pushed away from the tightly packed trunks of the Aspen trees. “We gotta go now!”
“I’m with ya.” Danny was up and running right behind his buddy, the two of them sprinting hard down the slope to meet the train.
What sounded easy in the planning was proving harder in reality. The rocks of the rail bed were loose in places and running in the dark was never a sure thing. They had to get close enough to the railcars to grab on, and the sound of the steel wheels rolling on the rails was nerve-wracking. One slip in the wrong direction and the wheels would get you. There were plenty of examples on the internet to drive that point home.
The boys had even seen a story about a town in Brazil that had built a hospital at the train station because of all the people who were injured trying to jump on the freedom train running north to the US.
Bart, a little quicker, ran along side the train, trying to decide which car to jump on. He wanted a grain car because the V-shaped hopper left enough space at each end to shelter under out of the weather.
A steady stream of refrigerated cars left little option. They weren’t supposed to be too bad, the little overhang of the cooler unit stuck out on the end of the car above a level area of grating where they could sit with their backs wedged against the wall.
“This one,” Bart looked back for a split second, then grabbed the railing on the end of the car. Keeping his legs going, he stayed even with the train for a few seconds as he searched for a foothold on the steps.
He knew he couldn’t run with both hands holding on for long, so he jumped into the air and pulled hard at the same time. His eyes locked onto the steps as he flew through the air and slammed against the steel.
It took him a spit second to be sure he’d stopped there and wasn’t about to fall off, before he scrambled up to where they would be able to sit. Bart relaxed a second, then looked around, remembering Danny. Was he going to make it?
He watched the kid trying to gain traction as he ran. The friggin’ shoes were slipping and sliding while his suitcase acted like a pendulum, swinging him off balance as he ran, but he had a fierce look of determination as he kept pushing.
Bart wasn’t even sure why he was hanging with this kid, let alone taking off on a trip with the guy. He didn’t need anyone. He liked being a loner. He didn’t care that he had no friends at school or in the neighborhood. He didn’t think there was a cool one in that bunch of pussies.
Danny ran beside the car, looking ahead and then over at the train as his legs pounded forward.
“Come on Danny, before it’s too late.” The train was slowly picking up speed.
The kid reached out with one hand and grabbed the rail. As he ran, he swung the suitcase back, and then with one last blast of effort, windmilled it around towards the stairs. The suitcase’s momentum jerked Danny off his feet as his body followed and slammed to a stop against the steps.
Bart grabbed the suitcase and pulled, hoping the kid was holding on tight. It took a second for Danny to get his footing and begin to push the suitcase up onto the landing. Shaking, he crawled up and lowered himself beside the case.
The two of them sat there holding on tight as the train shook it’s way along the track. It must have been more than ten minutes before they looked at each other and burst out laughing. They’d made it. The laughter went on a little longer than it should have, they both knew they’d been scared shitless.
Dragging his packsack close, Bart reached in and pulled out a couple beers. He cracked the tab on the can of Bud and lifted his hand. “Cheers buddy. Nothing but sunshine now.”
He could tell the kid was hesitating. Did he even drink? Finally Danny opened up the beer and tipped it forward in response, “Florida.”
*****
Houston, Texas
Trains were stopped, loading, hooking up or moving. The twenty or so sets of rails were all pretty much full. Some trains were eastbound an
d others westbound, but the Pacific Southern was heading north towards Oklahoma City.
The two black men watched the train closely, waiting until the last second to jump on. They wanted to see as many cars go by as possible before then climbed aboard, hoping to see other riders.
Athletic and tall, Devon wore his shoulder length hair in dreads, for this trip he’d made sure his running shoes, cargos and sweatshirt were all black. His only distinguishing feature was the gold-capped tooth visible when he grinned.
“I want some action tonight Ras man.”
Rashad was shorter, thicker and balder. A linebacker in high school, he knew how to use his weight and more importantly, he liked to use it. Devon looked over at his partner, Ras wasn’t a thinker or a leader, but he sure was back-up.
Devon saw it first, a flash of something red coming right at them. He moved to the edge of the ditch and started to run. Rashad reacted late, taking off towards the train. The bright color wasn’t normal and Devon wanted to be close when it went past.
The red flashed by. Bingo. It was a packsack on the back of a refrigerated car. Devon didn’t see anything else, but someone could have been lying down, out of sight. They should have hid that packsack. He smiled to himself.
“People on the train Ras man, run!”
The train was picking up speed.
They make it look easy. It took a flat-out run to keep up, and the rail car with the red packsack was gone, but the two men raced beside the train. One after another they quickly grabbed hold and jumped up on the side of one of the boxcars. They’d clearly done it before.
Catching their breath, they didn’t seem disappointed. Devon was patient, “The train will stop again at the north yards, there’s always extra cars to hook up. We can move up then.”
Rashad leaned out, keeping an eye up the side of the train, watching for anyone jumping off. They rode in silence with no idea what was coming, just understanding that there was going to be some kind of action shortly. Sure enough, the train slowed as it entered another rail yard. Devon knew it could be stopped for a minute, or an hour. Either way the two men wouldn’t wait to find out, they both hit the ground running.