Read Online Dead Man's Hand by Pati Nagle - Free Book Online

reality.
    Mr. Dickerson shifted in his seat, then reached an arm over the back of it toward Clive. “Here’s fifty dollars, that should be enough to get you a bus ticket and some breakfast and what not,” he said gruffly. “Don’t gamble it away.”
    â€œN-no, sir! Thank you, sir!” stammered Clive, amazed at both Mr. Dickerson’s prescience and his generosity.
    Fifty dollars! More than most poor fellows made in a month! Clive had had the good fortune to win as much or more at the gaming tables, but for charity it was an enormous sum.
    â€œThis is most generous of you, sir,” Clive said as he took the bills. They crinkled crisply in his fingers. “I am deeply in your debt. Might I have your direction? I’d like to repay you when I can.”
    The gentleman harrumphed again and reached into his coat pocket. “Here’s my card,” he said in a milder tone. “Good luck.”
    â€œGod bless,” added the lady.
    â€œThank you, and may God’s blessings shower down upon you both,” Clive said, meaning it from his heart.
    It was a satisfactory farewell all around. Unfortunately, Clive didn’t know how to get out of the lashings, or the vehicle for that matter. He fumbled at his left side, where the lady had reached around him earlier.
    â€œPush the orange button,” she said helpfully.
    He saw no buttons anywhere, save on his own clothing. The only thing orange he could see was a square on the middle of a stub into which the lashings were tied. He obediently pushed on it, and the connection gave with a mechanical pop that made him jump. He untangled his arms from the straps and they slid away behind him as if pulled by some helpful ghost.
    Clive shivered, reminded of exactly how strange all of this was: the vehicles, the roadway, the lights, the phantom steamboat. Yet other things were familiar, like the comforting crackle of the new bills in his hand.
    He fumbled at the hatch, looking for a way to open it. Again the lady helped him, directing him to pull upward on a metal lever. The hatch popped open and Clive stepped out. The rain had subsided to a drizzle, and the strange electric lights gave a blue-gray cast to the buildings and the street and the rail cars.
    â€œGoodbye, Clive,” said Mrs. Dickerson through her open window. “Good luck!”
    The vehicle rolled backward away from him, then swerved to the side, its lights flashing in the puddles on the road. Clive could see Mrs. Dickerson smiling at him. He waved a hand in farewell, watched the vehicle execute an impossibly tight turn and drive away, then looked at his surroundings.
    The low building had a strangely glowing sign that read “Bus Terminal.” He supposed he would be more comfortable inside it than out here in the drizzle, and maybe he could learn about the train timetables.
    He cast a doubtful glance at the rail car. Now that he was outside with it, he could hear it rumbling in a way rather like the Dickersons’ vehicle had done. Could rail cars now move under their own propulsion? He had spent a lot of time on riverboats lately, but he didn’t think he’d been so very out of touch.
    Maybe this was another dream. That made sense of all the things that didn’t make sense.
    He walked toward the building. The doors on the front of it were glass and had no handles that he could see. As he came near they slid apart to either side. Look as he might, he couldn’t see who’d done it.
    He walked into a large room lit by glowing panels set into the ceiling. Some were pink, some bluish, and one was flickering like a guttering candle. Rows of curiously rounded, unupholstered chairs sat mostly unoccupied, though there was a tramp hunched in one of them, softly snoring.
    Clive walked over to a counter where an old negro clerk was punching at what looked like an accordion’s keyboard. It made no music, only clicked. Perhaps it was intended for