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Midnight Train To Nowhere Ch. 01

By: Heathen Hemmingway



Is this a fantasy or just a piece of fiction? Maybe, just maybe, it is both. 



Chapter 1

Not too long ago, on a midnight train bound for nowhere. 

 He was the type of person who rarely slept, a restless soul who only succumbed to deep sleep when he was exhausted. So, he sat there in the hard contoured vinyl seat watching the miles roll by through the small window as the train churned across the landscape. The time was just past midnight and there were heavy thunderclouds hanging low in the sky, threatening to rain at any moment. With no starlight showing through the clouds, the night sky was as black as pitch. The moon was a pale silhouette behind a blanket of carbon-colored clouds. 

As the train bore along the tracks, its single headlamp barely penetrated the inky night a few yards ahead. The man saw only brief glimpses of things illuminated by the interior lights of the train car: a Saguaro here and there, an abandoned shell of a car long given up to the desert, and once he caught sight of a coyote's eyes, reflecting red as the creature went slinking through the scrub. 

His eyes grew weary from staring into the dark, so he shifted his gaze to the inside of the train car around him. That was when he noticed her. He wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed her before. She was sitting several rows ahead of him to his left in the seat closest to the aisle, and she was the only other passenger in the car. Possibly she had switched seats or had been reclining. The first thing he noticed about her was her hair. It was a soft straw color, almost gold but not quite. It looked fine and soft, like a baby's hair. Despite his fatigue, he felt a faint urge to touch her hair and see if it felt as soft as it looked. She turned her head to one side and he caught a glimpse of her profile. 

Her eyes were pale ice-blue and her lips looked a natural shade of red. He doubted she wore lipstick, possibly just some gloss. She sat upright and then looked behind her, and that was when their eyes met. It could have been from the same boredom that gnawed at him, or maybe it was a woman's intuition: maybe she knew someone was watching her. For some odd reason, he was taken with the urge to look away, but instead they sat there looking at one another for moments before he nodded his head in a silent 'hello' and she acknowledged him in the same way. 

In that brief moment he got a good look at her. Her hair was mostly straight with gradual curls near the nape of her neck and only the slightest hint of makeup on her face. She had high cheek bones that gave her a look of cool dignity and deep, soulful eyes. He could sense a mix of intellect and harsh determination in her eyes. She looked to him like a woman who had been through Hell and fought her way out clean. And in that brief moment after their eyes met, he found himself wanting her very much.

They looked at each other for a few more awkward moments then they each turned away, as if in concert. As they looked away, he caught one last glimpse of her ice-blue eyes, and the strangest thought came to him. 'You've never had a muse...' an alien voice whispered to him from somewhere inside of his mind. The words struck him, left him sitting there staring blankly for a moment or two, before he closed his eyes and shook himself, as if waking from a dream. 

A brilliant flash of light bloomed from the darkness, lightning dancing across the sky followed by the familiar pattering of raindrops. They made a solid thud as they landed on the roof of the train, and the man was surprised at how loud they were inside of the comfortable, well-insulated train car. The sound of the rain grew louder, and the train car swayed a bit as a strong gust of wind found them. Thunder boomed overhead and drew out into a long, low rumble that reverberated through the speeding train. He smiled slightly and closed his eyes, almost instantly lost in a childhood memory brought on by the sound of the rain. It reminded him of the sound of rain on a tin roof.

His childhood home was an immense and solid thing, originally a plantation home built in the early 1800's. Apparently the plantation fell into a long, gradual decline and over the years bits and pieces of the surrounding land were sold off until the house sat on a small plot a fraction over two acres large. He imagined it would have been an interesting progression to watch from afar, the house sitting grandly at the center of a huge plantation like the Master of its own world, only to have the property dwindle away around it until it sat lonely on a small plot of land, like a peach hanging from a limb, slowly drying up and withering away until all that remained was a leathery orange-red hide and a gnarled pit hiding just below the skin. 

It was a good home, though, especially considering the circumstances of his upbringing. He was born into what could fairly be poverty. Fortunately enough his mother worked with such an intensity and determination that he rarely noticed the limitations that life presented him. The house itself was a personality in his youth, an ever present feature of life that gave him comfort and fueled his interests and curiosities. The house was mostly built from heart pine, rough hewn timbers coated with thick layers of Creosote and pitch to retard water damage and discourage insect infestations. 

The inner walls were made of thin tongue-and-groove slats that ran from floor to ceiling, with a thick barrier of rot-wool insulation underneath. The walls were covered with linoleum in a range of base colors, from a cool mint green in the kitchen to a breezy light blue in the living room and parlor. The outer doors were massive and heavy (he had many memories as a small child, pushing with all his might to open one of those mammoth doors, feeling like Superman himself for completing such a task single-handed). 

The windows were huge and impressive things, with six large panes at the bottom half and six at the top. There were large primitive thumb locks atop the bottom frames, with a long cast-iron shuttlecock hidden inside the frame on both sides. They were quite an ingenious design, given the time they were made. When someone wanted to open the window they slid the thumb lock to one side and then pulled up on the base of the window frame. The heavy window frame slid up with the greatest of ease, thanks to the concealed shuttlecocks, which acted like a counter weight. Once they were put into motion, the long weighted shuttlecocks would slide down and the window frame would glide up. They were often considered to be one the most endearing features of the house. 

It was a solid home that he found himself missing many times when he wanted to remember nothing else that was a part of his past. It had a history and intrigue about it, at times foreboding and mysterious, but always stolid and welcoming to him like a fortress behind a great stone wall. And for him, its best property was the front porch.

 At the front of the home was a short set of brick steps that led to the front door and to the left was a long rectangular porch with a tin roof. Over the years the porch had been home to a great number of chairs, porch swings, hanging plants and all manner of pleasantries, but the tin roof always remained. It was painted and repainted a number of times and sheets of tin were replaced here and there. The tin roof was unexceptional and mundane for the most part, but when it rained it became a lively and exciting thing. 

The raindrops made a range of curious and alien sounds when they fell onto the wide, thin sheets of tin. In a light drizzle the raindrops seemed to purr like a sleeping cat, and when it stormed the tin roof came alive with a powerful rapid-fire staccato of machine gun fire. The sound was deafening at times. It was a grand distraction, a place where his imagination ran wild listening to the sound of nature attacking the tin roof with all its ferocity. He would sit with a book by L. Sprague De Camp or Robert E. Howard, consuming chapter after chapter about a wild Cimmerian behemoth with fierce blue eyes swinging a, enormous battle axe, bright white teeth gritting in determination and a scowl of defiance on his rough-hewn face. 

His senses were amplified by the thunderous report of the rain on the tin roof, shaking the whole world and reverberating through the entire house. To him it sounded like an oncoming army – a thousand, no, ten thousand horsemen charging across a plain toward some hapless opposing force. Tall men with sun-bronzed skin wearing layers of thick armor with chain mail showing underneath in places, riding atop wild eyed war horses – destriers he remembered they were called – with flecks of foam flying from their mouths as they charged headlong at a breakneck pace into the embrace of either certain death or a bloody victory.

The tin roof also had an added bonus for him. The falling rain was channeled into a multitude of small waterfalls, all spaced evenly apart where the overlapping joints of tin were nailed down. He had a dozen small waterfalls to play in, so long as it rained.

Another loud burst of thunder pierced the night and he opened his eyes, shaken abruptly from his pleasant memory. He looked at the woman again, and he could see she was gripping the arm of her chair tightly, her nails dug into the vinyl fabric. He couldn't help but smile a little, and found himself wanting to comfort her. He felt a sudden pang at his side, a familiar stab of deep seated pain. He needed to use the restroom, and he had been hoping to avoid it on this trip if possible. He held a strong belief that people who inhabit public bathrooms often had poor hygiene, and at best were not nearly as clean as he would like for them to be. As a traveler with countless miles under his belt, he had seen his fair share of filthy public restrooms.

 He resigned himself to the task and slowly stood, his knees screaming in protest from sitting in the cramped chair for so long. As he stepped out into the aisle he felt the train car jostle a little, a slight side-to-side motion that threatened to offset his balance. He put one hand on the seat next to the aisle to steady himself, and suddenly the train lurched and bucked violently. The woman screamed a sharp, piercing shriek and then the lights flickered once and went out. He made an attempt to sit down again, only to be thrown forward as the train car lurched again with a loud screech of metal. He tried to right himself, only to trip on his own feet and fall flatly in the center of the aisle. 

He slowly rolled over onto his back, his back and knees protesting loudly. He gingerly sat upright, his hands instinctively reaching into his jacket on each side. It was a habit he developed a long time ago. Under each arm was a pancake holster holding a forty caliber pistol. The sound of the rain was deafening in the train car, drowning out everything. The lights blinked on once briefly, went out again then came back on slowly, the fluorescents pulsating feebly before resolving into solid bright light. He looked up to see that he was in the aisle next to the scared woman, her eyes fixed on him. She wasn't looking at his eyes, though. His jacket opened in the fall and she was looking at the two guns he carried with a definite concern.

'She's scared.' A voice in his head whispered. 'Very scared.' 

He decided to say something to defuse the obvious tension – the gal was scared shitless and sitting next to a gun-carrying stranger, so he couldn't fairly blame her. Before he could think of what to say she spoke up. 

"I thought it wasn't supposed to rain in the desert." She quipped, a slight tremble in her voice. She was scared alright, but she was making at attempt to gain control over her fear, and the man in black respected that. To him that suggested a person with strength.

"I have to agree with you, ma'am." He said as a jolt of pain shot through his back, making him since. "And apparently when it does, it makes up for lost time. It's one hell of a storm."

She held her hand out to him and he took it carefully. He took his time standing, slightly embarrassed at the various pops and clicks his knees made as he did so. Another bolt of pain shot up his back and he quickly took the seat opposite the woman on the opposite side of the aisle. 

"Thank you, very much." He said. "That was not exactly the most graceful first impression." He added, almost blushing .

"Oh, that wasn't my first impression." She replied with a nervous smile." So are you a policeman? A detective I guess?" 

He started to respond, but the familiar pang came again, and he once again resigned himself to using a public restroom. 

"I need to use the facilities, that was what I was attempting before I ate the floor." He mused. "And no, I'm not a policeman or a detective, but I do operate in a similar capacity. And when I return I'd love to hear about that first impression." He added with a small smile.

She smiled back at him, and he could detect a nervous apprehension in her smile. She was a pretty woman with many striking and attractive features about her, but he could clearly see that worry was gnawing at her. He was taken with the strong impression that she was nervous long before the weather turned foul. She had a look about her that said she was a woman on the run. 

She watched him as he walked carefully to the restroom at the end of the train car, his steps slow and deliberate. He didn't seem cocky or disrespectful, which was something she had grown to anticipate in any man who showed any interest in her. She was, after all, terribly frightened and making a monumental effort hide it. She wasn't certain if he was a threat to her or not, but he was armed (heavily armed she reminded herself) and his words left her with mixed feelings. 'I do operate in a similar capacity'...

Midnight Train To Nowhere Ch. 02



Chapter 2

The Kid

The teenage clerk was looking at him with a blank stare, like someone trying to peer through a dirty window. The clerk craned his neck to look past the angry man in the grey pinstriped suit standing at the counter in front of him. The man realized the clerk was looking at something behind him and turned to see what it was.

"What is it?" The man barked. "What the hell are you looking at? And do you have my car or not?" He demanded angrily.

"He's probably looking at the sign on the door." Said a voice from behind him. "You know, the one that reads Economy Rentals."

A man in a blue mechanic's jumpsuit was standing there, and it was clear by the expression on his face that he was not happy. "And no one's rude to my Son, Mister. Now what's your problem?" He growled.

"I'm not the one with a problem." The man barked in response. "Do you have my car or not?"

The man in the jumpsuit took a step closer to the angry customer, barely two feet away. "Oh, you got problems, Kid. The first problem is that someone with an ounce of common sense doesn't come into a business with a sign that reads 'Economy Rentals' and expect to rent a new BMW 740 IL, that's one problem. The second problem is that you must have chickenshit for brains to expect you can get one without calling ahead to reserve it." He growled, leaning in close to the man, who weighed roughly half as much as he did. "And your biggest problem is that if you don't get the hell outta my shop I'm going to stomp a mudhole in your ass and turn around and walk it dry."

The man in the grey suit stood there for a moment, as if in disbelief. It didn't take much analyzing to decide that he could very well have his ass handed to him, and given the nature of his mission, that would not be a good idea. An angry person tends to be a very strong person, he thought to himself, and an angry person twice your size could easily deliver a righteous ass whipping, and quickly.

Without another word the turned on his heels and walked out. He was cursing under his breath, his blood boiling. He wanted to return to the shop and put a slug between the owner's eyes and then shoot his smarmy-assed son in the crotch. "No one talks to me like that." He hissed under his breath as he stomped his way across the parking lot.

It was a blistering hot day, typical for the time of year in Dallas. Heat radiated off of the asphalt in distorted waves, and he was almost immediately sweating head to toe. He spied another rental shop across the highway and headed in that direction. After all, he was within a mile of an airport. As he dashed across the highway toward the shop, he was still cursing and muttering under his breath. "No-fucking-body talks to me like that. I oughta wait until you leave and slit your fucking throat, you fat greasy redneck." He scowled." And nobody calls me Kid."

The shopowner watched the man in the grey suit as he stomped away. He turned to his son and smiled a broad, wicked smile.

"Son, let me show you how to deal with a rude prick like that." He chuckled, reaching across the counter and picking up the telephone. He punched a button and held the receiver to his ear. "I got Billy on speed dial." He said with a wink. "Billy? Hey Billy this is Rick. You got a dude about to walk in your door, and he was just in my shop. He's one rude little son-of-a-bitch. He was nasty with Jack and acted like he wanted to show his ass. He's wearing a high-dollar grey suit."

'Yep I see him coming in the front now.' A detached voice said from the other end of the line.

"I want you to give him the royal treatment." Rick said with another smile.

'You got it brother.' The detached voice responded, followed by a click.

"So what's Uncle Billy gonna do?" The teenage boy asked excitedly.

"I dunno for sure." The man replied, followed by another huge grin. "But you can bet your ass he's going to wish he never tried to rent a car in Dallas, that's for damned certain."

On the train bound for nowhere

He settled back into the seat across from where the woman was sitting, still feeling a bit embarrassed. "I guess I'm lucky I didn't lose all my teeth when I fell on my face." He mused.

'You're lucky one of those guns didn't go off' She thought to herself, but immediately decided that saying it would be a bad idea. She wasn't certain of that kind of person he was yet, so she didn't want to take any risks she hadn't already.

"And I work in private security." He said. "I'm between jobs right now and I'm taking advantage of the down time. I've always wanted to take a trip on a train, and I've always wanted to go to Arizona to see the Zuni petroglyphs, so I'm killing two proverbial birds with one stone."

She sighed in relief, his words disarming most of her apprehensions. She doubted that crazed serial killers or rapists knew anything about ancient Native carvings, and the man had nothing in common with the goons her ex tended to surround himself with. She was still nervous and worried, though -- it was too much of a risk to trust anyone too quickly. She was, after all, a woman on the run. She felt a need to say something, to gauge his response so she would know how to proceed from there. They were still the only two people in the train car and she was uncertain if she wouldn't be better off alone. At first he had made her very nervous. It was the way he carried himself, like he could be one of those steely unblinking special-ops types her ex thought so highly of. After hearing him speak she was somewhat less anxious, but old habits taught her not to be too trusting too soon. 'Don't dare be honest if he asks you what your first impression was.' she thought suddenly, followed by another and more frightening thought. 'If you lie to him about your first impression he'll know it and then you're in big trouble.'

The man in black could see the angst on her face and tried to console her.

"And I've never been on a train before today." He added. "I guess I'm off to one hell of a start, eh?"

She immediately smiled, surprising herself. "Me too." She giggled. "I have never been on a train before this morning."

"Wow, you've been riding since this morning? And these hard vinyl seats haven't driven you insane yet?" He replied.

'You told him too much!' she thought in a panic. 'Now he knows you've been riding the train all day. He can figure out where you got on at! He probably already knows that you're trying to get as far away as you can!'

"It was a last minute decision." She said. "I could either fly or take the train. I've flown a lot so I decided to see what it's like to go cross-country on a train. The food is better, but the ride sucks."

He laughed aloud, and as she watched him she could not find a single thing he held in common with her ex or the self-important pricks he associated with. 'Except for those guns.' she thought. 'Except for those guns.'

The rain had faded away to a slight drizzle. Outside the lightning was still playing merrily through the sky, although neither of them seemed to notice. The partition door between the train cars opened and an attendant walked through. He was an older fellow with salt and pepper hair, his blue uniform crisp and perfectly pressed. He approached them with a bewildered smile.

"I've been working for this line since 1972 and never have I seen that before. I hope you folks are okay back here. "He said, obviously concerned. "We're still not certain what caused that yet."

The man and woman both smiled.

"I got my britches dusted pretty good but I think we're okay. I do appreciate you checking on us, though." Said the man in black.

The attendant smiled and looked to the woman. "If you'd like I'll be happy to bring you folks a couple of pillows from the first class car. They won't miss 'em." He offered.

"It's okay, I'm fine, too." She responded. "We're fine, really."

"Okay, but you feel free to let me know if you two need anything back here. You can get the front by using the intercom just outside of the door up here to the left. You folks have a good night." He said with a genuine smile.

As the attendant ambled away she looked at the man in black again. 'It's do or die time.' she thought. 'Preferably do, not die.'

"So what type of private security do you do?" She asked, hoping her voice didn't betray her attempt at hiding her worry.

He gave her a pensive look and then he hung his head and closed his eyes, as if in deep thought for several moments, then he opened his eyes and looked up into hers. It occurred to him at that moment that she was taller than him, and it made her even more attractive in an exotic way.

"The rough kind." He sighed. "The rough kind."

'He's honest.' She thought. 'He looked at you like that because he doesn't want to lie.'

Before setting foot on the train, her life had been different. She had always taken pride in being one of those people who could always be depended on to tell the truth, no matter what the result may be. Yet, since boarding the train she had been imagining and fabricating every lie she would have to tell along the way to make her great escape. She shrunk at the thought of the things she might have to say, as she spun a new life for herself along the way, hoping each lie she told would not give her away. The thought of what was waiting for her as she ran weighed heavily on her, and before she realized it she was crying.

'This is it.' She thought. 'This is where he picks you apart. He's got you figured out now, and he's going to pull out a cell phone and call Finch and you'll be back there before you know it.'

To her surprise (and relief) he leaned across the aisle and put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a comforting squeeze. "Ma'am I'll be happy to leave you alone if you'd like. I regret if me being here upsets you."

It took a moment for his words to sink in, and as they did she cried even harder. He was the first person who had spoken kindly to her in many days. "No." She cried, wiping angrily away at the tears. "No, not at all." She continued, looking up into his eyes. 'Truth time, Girl' she thought, and in that moment decided to take what could be the biggest risk in her life.

"Look." She said as she tried to gather herself. "I'm not good at lying or being dishonest. And I don't want to be, either."

He sat there without speaking, waiting.

"I was worried about your guns because I'm trying to put some distance between me and my crazy-ass ex-boyfriend. He's..." She stopped speaking for a moment, her voice trailing off, and then she continued. "The violent type. I'm scared that he's got someone looking for me, he's that kind of guy."

'I'm the violent type, too.' The man in black thought to himself. 'And I like to think I'm one of the good guys. But honestly I don't know if I am or not.'

"I admire your honesty." He said with a charming smile. Not a car salesman smile, just a genuine warm smile. "That took some guts."

One thing she had observed about men was that they tend to get irritated when a woman cries, as if it is an inconvenience or an embarrassment to them, and they just want to see her get it over with as soon as possible. But the man dressed in black just sat there, waiting calmly while she struggled to gain control of her emotions. Something about him was different. As she fought back tears, she realized that she was suddenly afraid of the thought of him leaving. If her ex did send someone, or worse show up himself, at least she had this man here with her. 'Do or die.' She thought again.

"My name's Lucille." She said rather defiantly, extending her hand to him. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nails." He replied, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. "And I know it's a rather unusual name. But it's what I got so I'm sticking with it."

"Nails, huh? That's pretty original." She quipped as she took a tissue from her purse and wiped under her eyes. She seemed to gain her composure quickly, like a woman who often had to think on her feet. Like a woman who had been through hell.

"It is, I guess. But not as nice as Lucille. So were you named after a relative, a redheaded movie star or B.B. Kings guitar?" He asked jokingly.

She blessed him with a beaming smile and laughed aloud, the first good laugh she had experienced in weeks. In that moment he thought she was quite beautiful, and the way she looked at him told him that she knew it.

"None of the above." She said, still laughing. "My mom just liked the name Lucille."

He looked at her for several moments, admiring her and studying her at the same time. "Well, Lucille, it looks as if the rough part of the train ride is over. And I know this is probably entirely out of place for me to say this but I can tell that you're very nervous and upset, and it's really none of my business. But while I'm here I'm not going to let anything bad happen."

She felt her heart sink and swell at the same time, and she was struck for how to reply. 'Am I more vulnerable now or am I safer now?" she asked herself. 'Or does it matter?'

"Thank you." She whispered, and then spoke a little louder. "So long as nothing else happens to the train, right? But what are the chances of that?" She asked with a smile.

"I don't think that's very likely, I doubt we have anything to worry ab...." He started to reply, but his words were cut short by the train's horn suddenly erupting.

A loud, high pitched screeching noise surrounded them and the train car suddenly lunged forward violently. A bright spray of sparks could be seen through the windows on both sides of the car. The train's brakes were locked down and throwing a brilliant trail of sparks as metal ground against metal with tons of pressure. The man in black dove across the aisle and yelled to the woman, hoping she heard him through the hellish noise. "Get down!" He screamed.

She dove down between the row of seats and he crawled on top of her, covering his head with his arms. The cabin lights went out again and the sparks from the train's overtaxed brakes illuminated the train car like a rapid shutter flash from a camera. The metallic screeching went on for several more seconds then began to fade a bit, gradually dwindling down to a dull groan as the train painfully slowed to a stop with a heave and a series of loud clunks as the train's cars ground to a halt in succession.

He waited a few more seconds, listening, trying to determine if they needed to get out of the train car or stay put. He climbed off of her, righting himself into one of the seats. She was tucked under the back of the row of seats in front of them, frozen with panic.

"I think we're safe to get up." He told her, trying to sound reassuring. "Whatever happened, it's over. We need to get out of this car."

Just as he spoke he noticed a brief gleam of light from the corner of his eye. He slowly turned his head in the direction of the light, and through the train car's windows he saw a pencil thin beam of brilliant green light bobbing and bouncing along the ground just yards away from them. The beam of light moved upward and played along the windows, and he ducked down suddenly and pulled his jacket off, wrapping it around her.

"Wha? What are you doing?" She asked, confused.

"I was wrong." He whispered urgently "It's not safe to leave the car. Somebody is out there. And they have a gun. Do not move." He said with a frightening finality in his voice, and a second later he was gone.

"Oh no." She cried, her heart sinking in her chest. "It's Finch."



Midnight Train To Nowhere Ch. 03



Chapter 3

The Kid sees red

Jeremy Michael Finch was pissed. He was beyond angry, he was thermonuclear. He had heard the expression 'I saw red' many times before, but until now it never made sense. Tonight it came to him with startling clarity as the world literally turned red before his eyes. His hands were gripping the wheel of the old Chevy Vega so tightly that the knuckles were white. The last twenty fours had been a constant lashing of his ego and a non-stop test of his resolve. He suffered through not one, not two, but three delayed flights and a terminally long connecting flight with an even longer layover in an obscenely loud terminal, trapped with a whole horde of hoodrats and ghetto thug- monkeys, not to mention the small army of Latinos who seemed to have no less than three dozen screaming children.

Once his feet were finally on solid ground he had to tolerate some dumb-shit kid at the car rental, nearly having his ass beaten by the dumb-shit kid's equally dumb-shit father, and then to top things off when he finally got his hands on a halfway decent rental car, the AC conked out two hours later and then the goddamned thing died on him and left him stranded in the middle of Bumfuck Egypt.

He resorted to buying the first car he could get his hands on with what little of his cash remained, and only after an hour into the next leg of the trip did he realize he had left his wallet in the broken down rental. While screaming profanities so vulgar that he surprised even himself, he barreled back down the barren country road in his new car -- a ragged primer- grey Chevy Vega, only to arrive at the spot where the rental car died to find it gone. 'All my car's have got the GPS on them in case somethin' goes wrong.' He remembered the hick at the rental telling him. 'Gee-pee-ess', the rube had pronounced it, which in itself was irritating enough to make him want to kill the hick.

While he stood there in front of the Vega staring blankly at the spot the rental car once occupied, his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and snarled at it with gnashing teeth, pushing the SEND button and holding it up to his ear.

"This had better fucking be some good fucking news." He grunted.

Luckily for The Kid, it was.

"Tell me you've got my tackle." He barked into the phone.

'I've got your tackle.' A man's voice replied.

"Tell me you've got the maps and the train schedule."

'I have the maps and the train schedule.'

"When can you be at the rally point?"

'I'm already there. You've got two hours or you're going to miss your window of opportunity with the train. If it makes it to the Lubbock station the train's going to be full of passenger's and you've wasted your time. Not to mention the weather is shit so that cuts into your transit time. I would advise you hurry Finch.'

Just under two hours later he was sitting on a deserted gravel road, looking at a railroad crossing ahead of him.

"I'm gonna do it." He told himself. "Yeah. Fuck yeah I'm gonna do it."

He got out of the car and took a long look around. It was raining sporadically, large stray drops of raining splashing down and raising up little puffs of dust. Lightning lit up the sky at random and he could hear the distant rumble of thunder.

'Not only has it been one of the most frustrating fucked-up nights of my life.' He thought. 'I'm in the desert and it's fucking raining.'

After he was convinced he was totally alone, he spoke to himself aloud.

"Yeah I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna derail a train. And I'm gonna kill that bitch."

He went back to the car and retrieved a large duffle bag from the trunk. He took a cloth from the bag and hurriedly wiped down the interior wherever he thought he may have touched it including all of the obvious spots; the steering wheel, the door handles, the seats, etc. As he was finishing he heard a faint metallic ringing noise, followed by a wheezy howl. He leapt behind the wheel of the Vega, cranked it and gunned the gas, dashing forward onto the railroad tracks just before the crossbars went down around him. He got out of the car quickly and ran to pick up the duffle bag. As he headed into the scrub to find a secure spot to stage his attack, he looked back at the Vega trapped inside the crossbars and laughed. Even if someone were to happen across the car before the train made the crossing, they wouldn't be able to move it out of the way in time.

"Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do." He heckled merrily as he disappeared into the brush.

The Kid catches a train

He wasn't walking toward the wrecked train; he was damn near strutting. If he were any giddier than he felt at the moment, it would have taken all of his restraint to keep from skipping his way to the train. He was sporting a huge erection, one that felt as hard as glass.

Less than five minutes earlier he was watching the train in the distance as it bore down on the Vega, only taking his eyes away long enough to pull a long snort of blow from a small brass canister he kept in his inside jacket pocket.

"Fuck yeah." He kept saying under his breath, and as the train grew closer he said it louder and louder.

The train's horn split the night with a screaming roar, and he could hear the brakes engage and lock down, followed by a blinding shower of sparks erupting from the running gear. The horn continued to wail, the train's lights flashing and blinking in an attempt to alert the driver of the car that was sitting on the tracks. Only unknown to the train's Engineer, the driver was secured away behind a dense patch of underbrush a hundred yards away.

Fuck yeah!" He bellowed, his voice drowned out by the train horn. "Fuck yeah! FUCK yeah!"

The wailing horn reached a fever pitch and died out just moments before the train struck the trapped Vega, and as it was crushed and folded under the train's engine he felt a moment of disappointment. He was expecting the train to leave its tracks and send cars flying like a grand scene in a disaster flick, but instead the front of the engine kicked up to one side at an odd angle and slowly pulverized the pitiful old Vega into an unrecognizable mass of metal.

'It's probably worth more now than then I bought it.' He mused as he stood up and made his way to the train.

The beleaguered train came to a gradual and painful stop, clinking and clattering as it did so. The train cars all made loud jostling and clanking noises as they came to a stop in order, shuddering and complaining into the distance behind the train. The Engineer jammed on the horn one last time, presumably to warn anyone in the area of the emergency. The Kid opened the duffle bag and withdrew a rectangular box made of heavy grade rubberized metal. The box had two locks, one on each end. The locks were the type with a series of rotating numbered barrels. He dialed each barrel to 666 and the locks popped open with a snap.

"Yesss." The Kid hissed. "Totally worth it."

The box contained a specialized Steyr AUG A3 rifle, an Austrian weapon made for the sole purpose of putting neat holes in someone's ass with great expediency. He had paid dearly for it, but he justified the expense by telling himself over and over again 'No one fucks with Jeremy Finch. Especially not some stupid bitch.'

The rifle was divided into separate components, the rifle, the sight -- a fine piece of optics fitted with a top-mounted tactical green laser sight -- and a pair of transparent polymer magazines that clipped together so that when the first magazine went dry, it could quickly be removed and turned over, allowing the user to insert the second magazine. He slapped the magazine into the socket with a snap and then slid the sight onto the rail, pushing it forward until it locked into place. Then he flicked the safety over and brought the rifle up, the scope to his eye. He looked through the scope and saw only darkness, pulled his head back from the scope for a moment and eyed the weapon cautiously then spat out loud. "Really man. Fuck me." He said, flipping the scope's lens cover up. "Seriously man, get your shit together."

He sighted in on the side of the train, sweeping to find a fixed target so he could quickly adjust the sight. Through the scope he saw a door on the car behind the engine open and an older fellow in a sharp-looking uniform step out, rather shakily.

"That'll do." He said, pushing a button the scope. The green laser lit up and instantly resolved into a fine pinpoint. He peered through the scope and played the laser along until it found the old fellow. He kept the laser beam behind the unknowing man, so he wouldn't catch sight of it until it was too late. "And wait a second..." He whispered, waiting. The train made another loud ratcheting sound as one of the rearmost cars ground to a halt, and then he snapped the laser pointer onto the man and pulled the trigger, three quick flexes of his right index finger. The gun made a muffled barking noise and the old fellow went down, the noise lost in the commotion made by the train.

"Thank you for your contribution." He smirked, then stood and made his way toward the train. There was, of course, the possibility that someone else would exit the train and see him, but he was prepared to contend with that as it happened.

'She went coach, and my guy said the last several cars should be empty. Bad thing about late night transit, alot of empty seats. So they would seat as many people as practical in the forward cars, with the first class car directly behind the engine and the coach cars behind that. And those rich fuckers in first class aren't going to risk their necks by venturing out unless they're in immediate danger, so they're much more likely to stay dug in. Just long enough for me to get in, kill that stupid bitch and get out. So, I make for the first coach car and work my way back quick. Anybody in my way gets it. I just hope there's no kids in there.'

There was not a single soft spot in his heart for children; he didn't operate with anything inconvenient like rules of engagement or moral imperatives that would otherwise prevent him from hurting or killing a child, he just didn't like children and considered killing them to be an unnecessary waste of his time.

As he approached the train he played the laser sight along the windows, hoping to pick up some sign of movement. He couldn't detect anything in the dark cars, which made him a bit apprehensive. His blood was up, though, and the thought of beating that silly bitch half to death then shooting her square in her crotch was too much for him to risk any more caution. 'Besides, who would be stupid enough to fuck with me?' He thought. 'Who would fuck with me?'

He reached the first coach car and pushed the bi-fold door open with the butt of the gun and then stepped gallantly inside, sweeping the barrel of the gun from left to right in a swift snapping motion. He felt like Gary Oldman in a scene from a movie, parting a beaded curtain flamboyantly and making a dramatic entrance, a maniac grin on his face as he came to visit a panicked drug-holder tucked away into a corner of a run-down Little Italy tenement.

Instead he found himself looking down the aisle of the dark and empty train car. He waited for several long seconds, listening for any telltale sign of little Lucille hiding somewhere, maybe a harsh breath or a sob. He heard nothing. He made his way down the aisle toward the next car. He slowly opened the partition door and stepped into the next car, and suddenly a fist came out of the gloom and he was flying backwards through the air.

'Don't drop the gun.' Was the only thought he could manage as a blinding pain bloomed in his nose, an electric jolt of agony that threw his senses askew. The pain was so instant and intense that he barely felt as he struck the metal floor hard. 'Don't drop the gun!'

Unfortunately for The Kid, trying not to drop his gun would soon be the least of his worries. Standing in the partition between the two train cars was a man, dressed in black.



Midnight Train To Nowhere Ch. 04



This chapter is for the faithful who have followed The Man In Black while I struggled through a long and dark episode of writer's block. Calling it writer's block isn't really fair or accurate, folks. It was a like a writer's blackout. I am writing again now, and I have you to thank for it.

Chapter 4

The Kid meets the Man in Black

The Kid walked right into it, carelessly stepping through the partition into the next car. This gave the man in black the few seconds he needed to react, standing to one side and railing him with a hard drive-line punch, connecting perfectly square on his nose. The Kid flew back, his gun flailing upward as he fell. The man in black was fixed on the gun; he could better deal with the man once the gun was out of the picture. 

The Kid landed hard on his back, knocking the breath out of him. He had a death grip on the gun with his right hand, and he flailed and scrabbled to right himself so he could take a firing stance. A faint silhouette loomed over him for a fraction of a second, and as he tried to bring the gun upright he was crushed under a punishing weight. He felt his right shoulder pushed hard onto the car's floor and then felt a sudden jarring pain in his right wrist. He could see a man's black boot pressing hard against his wrist, and he made a feeble attempt at punching his assailant in the crotch with his left hand. A strong hand batted his left fist away, almost dismissively. He heard a gravelly voice speak in the darkness. 

"You just shit in your hat, Cochise." 

The fist reappeared from the gloom and the pain bloomed brilliant again, the world turning an eerie palette of silver and red. His head reeled back and struck the metal floor hard, and for a few brief moments the world went black. After what seemed like an eternity (which was in fact less than one minute) his senses slowly reconnected into a somewhat coherent spectrum, and he opened his eyes to see the man in black standing in front of him holding the Steyr. Behind the man was a cowering shape. It was Lucille. 

"You bitch!" The Kid spat, blood flying from his lips. 

The man in black reached out and swatted him across the cheek, a quick and hard slap that seemed to amplify the pain he felt. 

"Stand up." The man in black commanded softly. "Or I'll put one in both knees." 

The Kid knew if he was to have a fighting chance, he needed to be on his feet, and to regain his balance. The world was still spinning crazily and the pain was running over him like an army of angry ants. He slowly stood up, almost falling once, twice, and then finally grabbing a chair to balance himself as he rose on shaky knees. The man in black gave the gun to the frightened woman, and for a moment The Kid knew for sure she was going to empty the magazine into him. She took the weapon uneasily, taking a moment to steady it in her shaking hands. Instead of spraying him with bullets she looked up at her guardian with an uncertain, baleful stare. The man in black looked back at her and smiled gently. 

"Can you count to five, Dear?" The man in black asked her.

She stared back at him, confused. "Can I what?"

"It's quite simple," The man in black told her, in an almost casual tone – like a professor about to give an effortless explanation. "In situations like this, all you have to do is count to five." 

"Number One," He continued as she looked at him, clearly baffled. "Is the most important. It's critical that you get Number One right." 

He balled his fist up tight and punched the Kid in the throat; a quick hard punch struck like an adder and recoiled as fast. The Kid staggered back and gasped suddenly. 

"You don't want to crush their throat, just hit them hard enough to get their attention, you know – knock the wind out of them. Think of it as if you're punching a paper bag. You don't want to flatten the bag; you just want to crumble it a little bit." 

She watched, stunned as The Kid instinctively reached for his throat, trying in vain to catch his breath. 

"Number Two is very important, too." The man in black went on. "There's a right way and a wrong way to do it, you see." He said, and then hiked his right boot up and stomped down hard on The Kid's left foot. He instantly responded by inhaling deeply, his face turning a dark shade of purple. "It plays hell with their balance, and it hurts like hell, too. Never use your toe, though, or you might end up stubbing it and that might give them the chance they need to kill you, and that would not be a good thing, right? Be sure to use the middle part of your foot, the sole."

She was almost catatonic at this point, watching the man in black casually explain his methodology as he beat the living shit out of the man that she believed was most definitely going to kill her minutes before. 

"Number Three... well I think you'll like Number Three." He continued, then kicked The Kid in the crotch so hard his that his feet left the ground by an inch or so. The Kid started to fall forward but the man in black grabbed his shoulder and kept him upright. A little spout of bile flew from The Kid's mouth. He had no idea it was possible to experience such intense pain and remain conscious.

"And Number Four, Number Four is very important because it is necessary to completely remove their sense of balance." He instructed, hop-stepping quickly behind The Kid and kicking him in the back of the left knee. The Kid went down like a sack of wet concrete, landing hard on his knee. 

"And Number Five." The man in black said, drawing out the words into 'Num-ber Fiiive'. His voice had taken on a decidedly different tone, almost a backwoods drawl that belied his obvious intelligence. 

"Number Five is arguably unnecessary at this point, but why would you go this far and not seal the deal, right? Because nothing says 'your ass is mine' like a good hard knock to the back of the head." He said, and as if to emphasize he drew back and gave The Kid a hard open-handed slap to the back of the head, sending him to the floor with a thud. 

Lucille was still frozen, staring blankly in disbelief. The man in black took her hands, ignoring The Kid as he lie there defeated and helpless. He guided her hands up and pointed her toward the train car's open door. 

"Wh, what are you doing?" She asked in a panic. 

"Do you want to make sure this guy never bothers you again? And probably never bothers any other woman again?" He asked resolutely. 

"Yes." She stammered. "Yes. Definitely. Oh yes." 

"Be right back." He said, and she watched with macabre fascination as the man in black knelt down over The Kid, reached around him to loosen his belt and then pulled his pants and underwear down past his thighs, his bare ass reflecting in the moonlight. He returned to her, seeing the abject horror and confusion in her eyes. He put his hands over hers and pointed the gun off into the dark desert. 

"Squeeze the trigger." He said. "And hold it." 

She was too confused and frightened to argue, and she still felt a lingering sense of fright. A quiet 'Huh?' was all she managed, and then he cupped his right hand over hers and squeezed. Her finger pressed the trigger and the gun bucked lightly. At first she thought the gun had misfired and pulled her finger away, and then she realized it simply wasn't loud at all, and didn't kick in her hands very much either. He squeezed her hand again and this time she pressed the trigger firmly, holding it as the gun made a lightning-quick series of low snapping noises. A stuttering corona of light appeared at the end of the barrel, dancing like a lantern-light. Within seconds the snapping noises died, followed by a fast clicking sound as the magazine was emptied. 

"It's a nice gun, very expensive." He mentioned passively. "The clip is empty now." He said, looking into her eyes and winking. "And now the barrel is nice and hot."

He took the gun from her and walked back over to The Kid's prone body, then looked up at her and said "You might want to look away Dear." 

Lucille gave him an odd 'What?' gesture, not understanding what she was seeing, then in an instant she realized what the he meant do and turned her head to look away. She heard a quick sizzling sound followed by a high-pitched feminine scream that dwindled down into a beaten whimper. 

The man in black shoved the scalding hot barrel up The Kid's ass. 



Later, in the dark.

They were about a mile from train, walking shoulder to shoulder along a vacant dirt road. The storm clouds had long since passed over and the whole world was bathed in silvery-blue moonlight, accentuating the surrounding landscape into an alien array of colors, shapes and textures. Ordinarily she would have been frightened to death to be out in a place like this late at night, but as she walked with him she felt a strange sense of relief mixed with comfort. She realized that for the first time in months she wasn't afraid. The night was alive with sound of crickets and grasshoppers singing in chorus as they walked along the isolated dirt road. 

"I guess I should have been more honest with you, and if we had enough time I promise I would have been, Lucille." He said, breaking their silence. "I'm not exactly a saintly type." He said, hanging his head a little. "I'm the violent type, too. I can't lie about that. But I'm not like him." 

She was silent for a while, and when she spoke she said simply "No. You're not." 

"So you never told me what your first impression was." He asked, cautiously. "And if you don't want to say, that's fine, I understand." 

She thought over it for several moments and then sighed, as if she were taking a risk by being honest. 'Then again, your whole life has been a risk lately, hasn't it?' She thought to herself. 

"I thought you looked lonely." She said, offering no more. 

They walked a little ways further down the road, and after what seemed like some great deliberation he spoke again. 

"I am." Was all he said. They walked for a few more yards before he said anything else, enveloped by the desert sounds. 

"And..." He started. "I had my own first impression about you, too." 

"And what was it?" She asked, not entirely certain if she wanted to hear the answer. 

"When I first saw you I thought you were very pretty, for a lot of reasons, and I still do now. And you looked scared. But that's not the only thing I thought. For some reason I thought to myself that I've never had a muse in my life, and if I ever were to, I'd be lucky if it were someone as beautiful as you." 

She stopped and looked into his eyes, took his hand, and gingerly rubbed her fingers across the hard calloused palm. 

"Why on Earth would a man like you need a muse?" 

"I don't know why." He answered quietly. "Maybe you can tell me." 

"Maybe I can." She replied and leaned in to kiss him. "Maybe I can."

Fade To Black