Dead Man's Tunnel (6 page)

“I need some transportation this morning, Scrap,” he said. “How about a loner?”

Scrap wiped the dipstick on his glove.

“That's what a popcar's for, Hook, so you can run up and down the track. That way you don't have to worry about catching copper thieves.”

“I need to check on some things in town,” he said. “Maybe I could borrow your truck?”

Scrap slid the dipstick back in and turned to Hook. “Oh, sure, sure,” he said. “You can have just anything you want. Maybe you'd like to have my sister, too, or the shirt off my back.”

“Just your truck,” Hook said.

Scrap took his pipe from his pocket and blew on the stem.

“Well, I need my truck, but there's that old army jeep I guess you could borrow, seeing as how the railroad can't afford a vehicle of its own.”

“I thought you sold the transmission out of it.”

“Well, I put one back in. I ain't entirely helpless, you know.”

“The jeep will do,” Hook said.

“And you can just fill it with gas while you're at it, and you might check the goddang oil once in a while. And just 'cause I loaned her out, doesn't mean you can go tearing all over the country. I ain't the U.S. government, you know.

“Say,” he said, “did you hear anything last night?”

“I haven't been able to hear anything but this crane since I came.”

“A ruckus down by the back fence,” he said.

“Didn't hear a thing,” Hook said.

“So it must be my imagination, I suppose.” Scrap said, handing him the keys. “And what's in town that's so all-fired important, anyway?”

Hook dropped them into his pocket. “You ever known men not to talk about women, Scrap?”

“They'd be more likely not to eat,” he said.

“Yeah,” Hook said. “That's what I figure, too.”

 

7

B
ACK AT THE
caboose, Hook located a can of pork and beans in the cardboard box he kept under his bunk. Having spent his funds on books, he'd come up a little short on chow money. But payday wasn't that far away, and he'd gotten by on less in his time.

Mixer returned from somewhere with egg yolk on his mouth.

“I'm not asking,” Hook said, letting him in. “But if Scrap catches you down there, things could get out of hand.”

Mixer, not being overly sensitive, begged for the last of the beans. Hook scraped them into his dish.

Afterward, they walked down to the shop where Scrap kept the jeep. The top of the jeep, if it ever had one, had long since been lost or sold by Scrap.

The jeep fired off and sent a cloud of blue smoke lifting over the yard. Hook slipped the gearshift into reverse and eased out the clutch. The jeep didn't move.

Scrap came around the corner with Pepe, his top hand in the yard.

Hook worked the shift and goosed the engine again. “Damn it, Scrap,” he said.

“What's the matter?” Scrap asked. “Don't yard dogs know how to drive either?”

“It won't back up,” Hook said.

“Course it won't,” Scrap said.

Hook drooped his arm over the steering wheel. “Why won't it?”

“It don't have a reverse,” he said.

“What?”

“Jesus, Hook, a reverse. It don't have one.”

“Why the hell not?”

“This is a salvage yard, not a dealership. Sometimes salvage parts don't work a hundred percent, you know.”

Hook shook his head and looked over at Mixer, who was engaged in washing his privates.

“You expect me to drive this thing without a reverse?” Hook asked.

Scrap retrieved his pipe and knocked it against the heel of his shoe.

“My expectations are not so high when it comes to yard dogs,” he said. “But even a yard dog might figure out that going forward is the only option when there ain't no reverse.”

“My life isn't always forward, Scrap. In fact, it's mostly backward since I came to this place.”

“Well now, sometimes a man has to make do with what he's got,” Scrap said. “And getting huffy don't help.”

Hook took a deep breath. “Do you and your employee there think you could push this pile of junk back so I can get on with my business?”

Scrap fired up his pipe and looked at Hook.

“I suppose it don't make Pepe here much difference, seeing as how he works by the hour. So he probably don't care if he's pushing yard dogs or greasing up my crane like he's supposed to be doing. On the other hand, me being the boss and being it's my time…”

“Scrap, do you know how long it takes a broken head to heal?”

“Come on, Pepe,” Scrap said. “Let's push this son of a bitch onto the tracks and hope a switch engine's coming down line. Some folks don't know a favor when it's given 'em.”

*   *   *

Once on the road, Hook lit a cigarette and let the wind blow through his hair. He'd been trying to remember the name on that letter ever since he'd left the guardhouse. It was Linda Sue or Linda Lou or something like that. Maybe it was Rhonda Faye. He just couldn't remember.

Maybe his brain had turned to mush from store-bought whiskey, all that artificial coloring and perfume shrinking it away. It was probably no bigger than a key lime by now. He should have stuck with Runt Wallace's moonshine, which, like the fountain of youth, invigorated a man's mind and deepened his thought.

In Ash Fork, he pulled into the post office and admonished Mixer not to get out of the seat while he was gone.

An old man sat outside the door of the post office. His legs were crossed, and his white socks drooped about his ankles. After slicing off a plug of tobacco, he tucked it into his cheek and then nodded at Hook, who nodded back.

Inside, Hook waited for the postal clerk to finish with a customer.

“Yes?” she said, lining up her official stamps.

Her skin was as brown as a roasted Christmas turkey, and purple ink stained the tips of her fingers.

“I thought you might be able to help me,” he said.

“You'll have to tell me what it is you want first,” she said.

“I'm looking for a girl,” he said. “Her name is Linda, I think.”

“Sir, this is a post office. We don't look for girls here.”

“No, you don't understand,” he said.

“I think I do,” she said. “Now, if you have something to mail, need postage?”

“No,” he said. “I'm trying to find this Linda something or other.”

“We don't give out anyone's address here,” she said. “This is a federal institution, and we have rules against such things.

“Next,” she said.

The woman standing behind Hook elbowed past. “Really,” she said, shaking her head.

Outside, Hook looked up and down the street and then lit a cigarette.

“That dog's been sucking eggs,” the old man on the bench said.

Hook looked over at Mixer, who was watching them from the backseat of the jeep. The egg yolk had dried on his whiskers, and he looked like a yellow daisy.

“He only did it once,” Hook said.

“You'll have to shoot him,” the old man said. “Once an egg sucker, always an egg sucker.”

Hook got in, slipped the jeep into reverse, and turned to back out. The motor roared. “Damn,” he said, climbing out.

Mixer jumped from the backseat and came around to the front of the jeep.

“Wouldn't shoot him here if I was you,” the old man said. “There's a landfill outside of town.”

“I'm not going to shoot him,” Hook said. “Least not today. This jeep won't back up. Maybe you could help push it into the street?”

The old man squared his hat and came over. Together they rolled the jeep out of the parking space.

“Thanks,” Hook said, helping Mixer into the backseat and then climbing in himself.

The old man wiped his chin with his sleeve and studied Hook.

“It don't have a reverse,” he said.

“I know,” Hook said.

“Means you can only go forward.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You can't park like you just done, or you'll have to push it out. I might not be around to help next time.”

“Thanks,” Hook said.

“Had a Buick once that would only go backward,” he said. “Plowed my garden with it. Put a hell of a kink in my neck, though.”

Hook paused and looked at the old man.

“You haven't seen Linda Sue, have you?”

The old man spit between his legs. “Sure.”

“You have? Where?”

“At breakfast over to Blue's Café, just like always.”

“Blue's?”

“Down about a block. Wouldn't pull in, though.”

“Why's that?”

“No reverse,” he said.

*   *   *

Linda Sue couldn't have been over five feet two and had a waist that would fit in a man's hands. She chewed gum, and a pencil stub had been slid behind her ear. She moved from window to table with the grace of a ballerina. The men laughed and joked and looked at each other knowingly.

Hook took a booth near the back and studied the menu. Remembering that he was broke, he dropped it back into its holder.

When Linda Sue spotted him, she whisked the coffeepot from the warmer and hooked her pinky through the handle of a cup. Without asking, she poured him a cup of coffee.

“What will you have?” she asked, taking her pencil from behind her ear.

“Coffee's fine,” he said.

“Meatloaf's great,” she said.

“Thanks, just coffee.”

She cocked her hand on her waist. “What happened to your arm?”

Hook held up his prosthesis. “Alligator,” he said.

Linda Sue stared at him for a moment. “Oh, you,” she said. “Really?”

“Woman driver,” he said. “Then she broke my heart.”

Linda Sue snapped her gum. “You probably deserved it,” she said. “The broken heart, I mean.”

“Look,” he said, dropping his spoon into his cup. “I'm actually here to see you.”

“Me? You don't even know me.”

“Linda Sue, isn't it?” he said.

“How you know that?”

“Everyone in town knows Linda Sue. You're kind of a legend.”

She flashed a smile and looked over the room to see if anyone was waiting for service.

“Who are you, anyway?” she asked.

“Hook Runyon. I'm a railroad bull.”

“A what?”

“It's like a cop, except honest,” he said. “I've been working West's Salvage for a few weeks.”

“Scrap? I know him. He steals the sugar when he comes in.”

“That would be Scrap,” he said.

She pulled a half pack of Camels out of her pocket and checked the contents.

“What do you want with me?” she asked.

“I'm needing information on one Corporal Thibodeaux. I thought maybe you could help me out.”

“William? I know William. Hey, you trying to pick me up?”

“Would you like to see my badge?”

“Not here,” she said. “Blue watches everything from the kitchen.”

“Who?”

“The boss. That's what they call him. Look, I get off in an hour. Meet me outside but no funny stuff.”

“No funny stuff,” he said. “I'll be in my jeep.”

*   *   *

When Linda Sue slid in, she smelled of bacon and bubble gum. She lit a cigarette and turned to look at Mixer.

“What's that on his face?”

“Egg.”

She blew smoke out the corner of her mouth and pushed her hair back with her fingers.

“You shouldn't feed him eggs,” she said. “You'll make an egg sucker out of him.”

“Can I give you a ride home?”

“I usually walk, but I guess it would be okay. I walk lots every day at Blue's. I could probably outwalk anyone in town.”

“Where do you live?” he asked, starting up the jeep.

“Turn up there. I've got five acres and a trailer just off the highway. It's nearly paid off. Someday I'm going to build.”

When they got to the trailer, Hook circled around.

“You can park in front,” she said.

“Can't turn and I have no reverse,” he said.

Linda Sue hooked her elbow on the back of the seat.

“Nothing against you, but I'll see that badge now. A girl has to be careful.”

Hook showed her the badge. “Just a couple of questions,” he said.

“Well, come on in. I've got to get these shoes off. My feet are killing me.”

The trailer had a living area, which included a tiny kitchen and a built-in table. A beaded curtain separated the bedroom from the living area. She directed Hook to the couch while she lit a scented candle and put on a record.

“It's the first thing I always do,” she said. “It relaxes me.”

“Real nice,” he said.

“Now, what is it you wanted to know?”

“You are acquainted with Corporal Thibodeaux, right?” he asked.

Linda Sue sat down, slipped her shoes off, and leaned forward on her elbows. She wore small gold earrings, and her eyes were round and soft. She dropped a hand on her throat and looked up at him. He could see why the corporal might be taken with her.

“For about a year or so, I guess,” she said.

“And do you know what he does for a living?”

“Sure. He guards the tunnel. Everyone in Ash Fork knows that. They think it's nuts. Why would anyone guard that silly tunnel out there in the middle of nowhere?”

“How would you describe your relationship with the corporal?”

“That's kind of personal, ain't it?”

“Just for the record,” he said. “Are you engaged, anything like that?”

“We have a good time, dancing, going out, stuff like that, but we're not getting married or anything. He mentioned it a time or two. I've been married before, though. I don't need another boss. One boss in my life is enough.”