Read Online The Hanging of Samuel Ash by Sheldon Russell - Free Book Online Page A

Eddie. That’s the point.”
    â€œEveryone has a name. I have a name.”
    â€œYeah, I know what they call you, Eddie.”
    â€œDon’t stir the pot, Runyon. I’m telling you.”
    â€œI want to check the company employment records. You know how those bastards are about the records. Maybe you could clear it.”
    â€œIt’s against my better judgment.”
    â€œSomething like this could come back on the company, Eddie.”
    â€œOkay, but I don’t want this thing strung out, you hear?”
    â€œRight. I’ll check with Topeka when I get back to Clovis.”
    Hook hung up and leaned back in the chair. He could use a shot of Runt Wallace’s shine about now. Talking to Eddie Preston could make a man dive headfirst off the wagon.
    The operator came in and handed Hook his clearance. “You’ll have to wait until the eastbound comes through. After that, you should have plenty of time to make it to Clovis.”
    Hook tucked the order into his pocket. “Thanks, Clyde,” he said. “I think you’re going to go far in this company.”
    *   *   *
    Hook killed a few hours scouting books down at the Salvation Army thrift while he waited for the eastbound to clear. When he heard the whistle go through, he made his way back to the road-rail. He hoped the damn thing didn’t fail him in the middle of the Chihuahuan, and him with only a half-pack of cigarettes left.
    He checked his rearview mirror. At least it would be dark soon and a hell of a lot cooler. As he drove through town, he thought about what the coroner had said. Maybe he’d been right. Maybe tracking down some indigent served no purpose in the end. In fact, the uncovering of his past may have been the thing he least desired in the hour of his death. And, like the coroner said, finding out whether Samuel Ash or someone else bailed off that wigwag would not change his circumstances one iota.
    Still, a man had died on railroad property, and Hook had never been one to walk away from a case. He’d tracked down many a man in his time and lived with the consequences of doing so, good or bad. The day he lost the drive to find the truth would be the day he turned in his badge, if he could manage to keep one that long.
    He took a left on Main and headed for the nearest crossing. If the man hanging from that wigwag turned out to be Samuel Ash, Hook figured him to be a war hero, and he had no intentions of letting them bury him in a pauper’s grave.
    He stopped on the first crossing at the edge of town and pulled onto the rails. Driving onto railroad tracks with a vehicle struck him as against the laws of nature, and his heart picked up a beat as he lowered the pilot wheels into place.
    But, once moving, he relaxed. Leaning back, he listened to the hum of the wheels as he sped off into the fading light. He figured, with luck, to be back at the caboose in time for a whiskey and water before bedtime.
    The old road-rail gathered up speed, the smell of oil and gas fumes drifting up about him. He turned over the steering to the pilot wheels and let the wind blow in his face through the window. Such moments as these were singular, dreamed of by boys and men alike.
    Much of his life he’d burned away in passions of one kind or another, be it women, hooch, or the lust for a rare book. But more and more he’d found sweetness in solitude, in moments like these when thoughts washed up like an ocean tide.
    He dozed, or so it seemed, and when he opened his eyes, red lights glowed about him in the darkness. He’d often imagined death this way, not violent and noisy, but an oozing away from one realm into another.
    But when the siren blasted from out of the blackness, he sat erect, his heart pounding in his chest. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the throb of emergency lights beating in the blackness like a bloody heart. The oncoming vehicle, unaware of his presence in the