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Authors: Ridley Pearson
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protested.
“I’ll drive. I’ll even clean it up, if need be,” he suggested.
“And if he dies on us?”
“He’s not going to die on us. He’s made it this far.”
“I don’t know, Tyler. An ambulance is the right way to go.”
He shrugged and said, “Then you get what you can get out of the Four Stooges. Visitors to the camp? How many? When did clubfoot arrive? Let’s find where he did the foot with the axe, and let’s find some blood, or the axe, or
anything
to support it.”
Surprising him, she reported immediately, “They all four claim to have arrived just this morning; one from Cincinnati, one from Pittsburgh. The others wouldn’t say from where. Found that guy, just the way you did. They’re all headed south—to warmth. They heard the storm had closed the westbound lines. They’re holed up here until tomorrow, by which point they’re sure the tracks will be open again.”
“How much of it do you believe?” he asked, impressed by her.
“They want to distance themselves from that guy,” she said pointing back to the lean-to. “Maybe they did it to him. Maybe they don’t know anything about it.”
“Some kind of life,” he said.
“You got that right,” she agreed.
“Try them again.”
“Or you could,” she suggested.
“Which leaves you helping our guest into your car.”
“He’s not going in the Suburban,” she repeated, less convinced.
Tyler indicated the shelter. “Your call.”
“I’ll try them again,” she agreed.
“Good choice,” he said. He walked back over toward the wounded man, wondering if a six-pack would do the trick.
Tyler drove Priest’s Suburban so that she didn’t have to suffer the smell. She had made no mention of car insurance this time around, no protest to his driving. He had both the front and backseat heaters going full blast and all four of the Suburban’s windows down in an effort to dilute the stink. She followed in the Ford, a quarter of a mile or so back.
The lump was now a person—or what remained of one.
“You got a drink?” the man asked. He was lying across the backseat.
“I’ll get you a couple beers,” Tyler replied, “but I need a little information first.” He put the driver’s window up a little, in order to hear the guy. “We’re heading to a hospital.”
“I don’t want no hospital.”
“You want the beer?”
“You a cop?”
“A fed. NTSB. Transportation agent.” If he misrepresentedhimself, then he might later lose whatever information this guy might be able to provide.
“Just let me out here, would you?”
“No, I don’t think so. I’m buying you a drink. Remember? But we gotta talk a minute.”
“The hell you say.”
“How’d you do that to your leg?”
“Chopping wood. Right there in camp.” The man sounded tentative.
“When?”
“Two days ago.”
“Two days ago?” Tyler questioned. “The doctors can confirm this, you know?”
“Maybe three days ago. I been sleeping a lot.”
That didn’t fit with the boxcar timing. If the wound proved that old, then this guy hadn’t been part of the bloodbath. “There’s a gas station in a couple miles,” Tyler said. “Passed it on the way here. Maybe I stop for that beer there, if you’re being cooperative.”
“Yeah?”
“I’d have to believe your story,” Tyler said. “And I don’t.”
“You
are
a cop, aren’t you?”
“I’m a fed. I told you.” He waited. “You want that beer or not?”
He informed Tyler, “The guy needed to make an example. I was the example.”
“What does that mean?”
“He was asking questions that none of us wanted to answer.”
“Who was?”
“Big prick. I thought he was a cop, but shit, even a cop wouldn’t put a hatchet through your foot for wising off.”
Tyler took a moment to digest that. “What questions? Who was he asking?”
“Wouldn’t mind that beer about now.”
“It’s another mile or so.” Tyler repeated, “What kind of questions?”
“Wanted to know
“I’ll drive. I’ll even clean it up, if need be,” he suggested.
“And if he dies on us?”
“He’s not going to die on us. He’s made it this far.”
“I don’t know, Tyler. An ambulance is the right way to go.”
He shrugged and said, “Then you get what you can get out of the Four Stooges. Visitors to the camp? How many? When did clubfoot arrive? Let’s find where he did the foot with the axe, and let’s find some blood, or the axe, or
anything
to support it.”
Surprising him, she reported immediately, “They all four claim to have arrived just this morning; one from Cincinnati, one from Pittsburgh. The others wouldn’t say from where. Found that guy, just the way you did. They’re all headed south—to warmth. They heard the storm had closed the westbound lines. They’re holed up here until tomorrow, by which point they’re sure the tracks will be open again.”
“How much of it do you believe?” he asked, impressed by her.
“They want to distance themselves from that guy,” she said pointing back to the lean-to. “Maybe they did it to him. Maybe they don’t know anything about it.”
“Some kind of life,” he said.
“You got that right,” she agreed.
“Try them again.”
“Or you could,” she suggested.
“Which leaves you helping our guest into your car.”
“He’s not going in the Suburban,” she repeated, less convinced.
Tyler indicated the shelter. “Your call.”
“I’ll try them again,” she agreed.
“Good choice,” he said. He walked back over toward the wounded man, wondering if a six-pack would do the trick.
Tyler drove Priest’s Suburban so that she didn’t have to suffer the smell. She had made no mention of car insurance this time around, no protest to his driving. He had both the front and backseat heaters going full blast and all four of the Suburban’s windows down in an effort to dilute the stink. She followed in the Ford, a quarter of a mile or so back.
The lump was now a person—or what remained of one.
“You got a drink?” the man asked. He was lying across the backseat.
“I’ll get you a couple beers,” Tyler replied, “but I need a little information first.” He put the driver’s window up a little, in order to hear the guy. “We’re heading to a hospital.”
“I don’t want no hospital.”
“You want the beer?”
“You a cop?”
“A fed. NTSB. Transportation agent.” If he misrepresentedhimself, then he might later lose whatever information this guy might be able to provide.
“Just let me out here, would you?”
“No, I don’t think so. I’m buying you a drink. Remember? But we gotta talk a minute.”
“The hell you say.”
“How’d you do that to your leg?”
“Chopping wood. Right there in camp.” The man sounded tentative.
“When?”
“Two days ago.”
“Two days ago?” Tyler questioned. “The doctors can confirm this, you know?”
“Maybe three days ago. I been sleeping a lot.”
That didn’t fit with the boxcar timing. If the wound proved that old, then this guy hadn’t been part of the bloodbath. “There’s a gas station in a couple miles,” Tyler said. “Passed it on the way here. Maybe I stop for that beer there, if you’re being cooperative.”
“Yeah?”
“I’d have to believe your story,” Tyler said. “And I don’t.”
“You
are
a cop, aren’t you?”
“I’m a fed. I told you.” He waited. “You want that beer or not?”
He informed Tyler, “The guy needed to make an example. I was the example.”
“What does that mean?”
“He was asking questions that none of us wanted to answer.”
“Who was?”
“Big prick. I thought he was a cop, but shit, even a cop wouldn’t put a hatchet through your foot for wising off.”
Tyler took a moment to digest that. “What questions? Who was he asking?”
“Wouldn’t mind that beer about now.”
“It’s another mile or so.” Tyler repeated, “What kind of questions?”
“Wanted to know
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