Chapter 13: The Wrong Train Race

October 8th, 1995, 11:40 PM CT, Mile 2342 Union Station, Phoenix, AZ

The finger for the train sat in the parking lot of Phoenix Union Station, in his brand-new 1995 Range Rover County, smoking a cigarette, and luxuriating in the scent of it and the Connolly leather of the poorly-built British luxury off-roader. He was intently listening to his electronic radio scanner waiting to hear from the freight train as it passed through so that he could give a good estimate, and ensure that it was indeed the correct freight train that was coming through. He was surprised at the amount of activity by the station.

He watched as the days-late Sunset Limited pulled into the station. This surprised him a more than a bit but he figured that the freight train would be passing it while it was in the station. The Espee never gave priority to Amtrak, so there was no chance of it getting in front of it. His train should be pulling past the station in relatively short order; indeed, it was a little on the late side already.

He was drinking coffee out of a mug that he had been resting on top of the center console. He finished his cigarette, and put it out in the ashtray. He checked that his railroad scanner was tuned to the right frequencies and was waiting for the freight to announce its presence. He was already a bit surprised that he hadn’t heard anything of it yet; but he was expecting it.

“Amtrak 1, to dispatch, come in, over,” came over the radio. The call repeated several times before the answer came back. The dispatcher was likely either asleep or in the bathroom. On low traffic routes like this, it was not at all unheard of for the dispatcher to not be immediately available for contact. The Espee was known for its impressive level of basic mismanagement, and it was just continued confirmation of it. It was amazing they made money with how badly they maintained discipline.

His job was really easy. All he had to do was make sure the freight passed. If it didn’t, or there were any major delays, or another train got in front of it, he had to call Cigar and inform him so they didn’t derail the wrong train. It was understood that if everything was running smoothly, he didn’t need to make potentially incriminating radio contact. This would prove to be a fatal mistake.

He was relaxing, as he knew the response would be to have the Amtrak train wait, perhaps even a long time, for the freight to pass in front of it. There was no way that the Espee would give the Sunset Limited priority over pretty much any train, let alone a hot-shot. Doubly so given that this train must have been several days late to even be here. It made no sense.

“Amtrak 1, this is dispatch, go ahead.”

He laughed because he had heard Espee mishandle Amtrak here so many times before. It was so bad it was almost laughable; he knew that the mishandling of Amtrak was actually a source of merriment among the rank and file of Southern Pacific employees.

“We’re good to go, request permission to proceed, over,” the Amtrak conductor explained.

He knew the response would be asking it to wait. The question was for how long.

“Please hold a minute, over,” the dispatcher instructed.

“Huh?” the finger said, a tad surprised.

“Hotshot one-six-two, please come in, this is dispatch, over,” the dispatcher asked.

“Dispatch this is Hotshot one-six-two, over,” came the reply.

“How far out are you from Phoenix now, over?”

“About 25 miles, dispatch, over,” the reply came.

Hah, the Amtrak would be waiting a long time to go, the finger thought, The passengers were going to love being even later!

“Amtrak 1, this is dispatch, do you copy, over?”

“Roger dispatch, this is Amtrak 1, over.”

The next words almost gave him a heart attack. Literally.

“Amtrak one, proceed as signaled, you have highball, over.“

He dropped his coffee cup and it spilled all over the radio, which promptly shorted out. He also spilled quite a bit of the scalding hot coffee on his lap, burning himself.

“HOLY FUCK! SHIT SHIT FUCK GOD DAMNIT FUCKING HELL!” the finger screamed and tried to get the radio working, then realized he didn’t have that luxury as the train blasted its horn and started to depart the station. Despite the pain he was in, he was now in a position of responsibility over hundreds of people and possibly their lives.

He pulled a power slide roaring out of the parking lot, almost hitting someone, the fragile and unreliable Rover 4.0 liter all-aluminum V8 growling like a demon possessed. His tires howled in protest as he threw the large and very heavy all-solid-axle truck around, its permanent all-wheel-drive system scrabbling for traction, even on the pavement.

Fuck the lack of roads to Hyder, he cursed, I gotta get to the base of operations and stop them, or they are going to derail the fucking Sunset Limited and we are going to be in deep shit!

Out loud he thought to himself, “We gotta cut the wire, we gotta!”

October 8th, 1995, 11:40 PM MST, Mile 2342 Union Station, Phoenix, AZ

The group was now sitting in the lounge car. They had enjoyed the meal and it was now late at night. Some were tired, some were not. The day’s light had long faded, and the view outside would be nearly pure darkness if they weren’t still sitting in Phoenix. The old station building could be barely seen outside the windows, masked by the stark reflections, a product of the still-bright interior lighting.

It was late, the upstairs bar had long ago closed, and soon the downstairs cafe would close too. The majority of the train’s passengers had adjourned to their seats or rooms to sleep away the long night before tomorrow’s expected arrival in L.A. The long trip, now running more than three full days late, was on its last leg. Soon everyone should be where they were planning to be: the soft sunlight and oppressive heat of Southern California.

The lounge was cool in temperature- it was climate-controlled to keep it livable with a hundred people inside, beneath the baking hot greenhouse, which no longer had the sun heating it up. It was mostly empty upstairs- downstairs a few coach passengers were attempting to stretch out in the booths and go to sleep laying down. Upstairs, only a few hardy souls and the group of newfound friends remained. They were still having fun, but nobody could deny the late hour.

Jill and Jessica were sitting alone together, having girl talk.

“So Jill,” Jessica asked, “What’s your relation to George? I see the way you two look at each other.”

“Well...” Jill hesitated, not sure whether she should tell or not. She was a friend, but...

“Come on, no secrets,” Jessica persisted.

“He’s my boyfriend,” Jill admitted, “Well, we are planning to get married in a few years, actually.

“Ain’t he a bit old for you?” Jessica raised an eyebrow, and thinking about how her mother had married young to her asshole of a father.

“A bit, sure, but he saved me and even if he didn’t, I just love him for who he is. He’s the greatest guy in the world, Jess, you couldn’t believe how awesome he is. He’s what makes life good, girl.”

“Do you ... ya know...” The question was implied, and yet crystal clear.

“Yeah, we do,” Jill smirked, “A lot. Like all the time.”

“And your parents let you travel with- What?” Jessica stopped when she saw the look on her face. Something was clearly wrong with that statement.

“My parents are dead,” she whispered, “They died in a car accident four years ago.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry...” Jessica tried to console her. How can you console someone who has lost their parents?

“It’s alright. I know they are still with me in here,” she said, thumping her chest, “And life is really good now. Life has its ups and downs, but you really can only judge how good its been to you by how happy you are. If that is the standard, life’s been awesome, Jess, so I have no complaints.”

“So where does George come in?” Jessica asked, “Or am I being-”

“No, not at all. Their will was very poorly written. My relatives took advantage of it, and they all handed me around like yesterday’s garbage, because they were required to take care of me but none of them wanted to, but they had to in order to steal my parents money,” Jill explained.

“They stole?” Jessica asked, disgusted that people would do this to a poor, orphaned girl like Jill.

“Yeah, they took more money as ‘custodians’ then they spent on me. All of them. But that wasn’t the worst part,” Jill continued, “One of my relatives ... well he abused me and made me ... well he made me ... do things.”

“Oh my god,” Jessica remarked, “You’re lucky George saved you from all of that, aren’t you, Jill?”

“Yes, very,” Jill smiled.

“One set of relatives were taking me to the one who did stuff with me when I met George on the Broadway Limited. We fell in love. We have so much in common, you don’t even know,” Jill explained, “And, well, George and his dad are really, really well known on these trains. I’ll let him tell you all about it one day. Anyway, a friend of his helped us by throwing my aunt and uncle conveniently off the train at a perfect place.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” Jessica asked.

“Maybe,” Jill said, “But a conductor can do it and they got rowdy. Difficult to prove that they were extremely baited on that. Or so we think. We weren’t there watching.”

“So then what?” Jessica asked. She loved a story, and this one was certainly that.

“We boarded another train to head to George’s place in LA,” Jill explained, “But it was a really late train, and my Uncle caught up with the train and found us shortly before we got there. They started fighting, and George was able to hold his own for a while, but he lost balance and fell. Luckily, his dad appeared like out of nowhere and kicked my uncle in the nuts.”

“Ouch,” Jessica said, being more than a little amused.

“Yeah,” Jill agreed, “Especially since he was holding a switchblade when he tried to grab himself. Anyway, I had been laying naked on the bed at the time and I helped his dad, John, clean up the mess and so on. Then he introduced himself to me. Then,” she giggled, “He finally noticed that I was naked.”

They both giggled.

“What happened to your uncle?” Jessica asked.

“He-, uh, well, after we left him on the train we never saw him again.”

“Uh-huh. And now ladies and gentlemen, for her next trick, the girl will tell ... drum roll please ... the truth!“ Jessica smiled as she rolled her eyes.

Jill lowered her voice to a tiny whisper, “He got vaporized by a freight train while running like a scalded cat when George threatened him with a gun. Served him right.”

“You know, you’ve told me your secrets, so I’ll tell you mine,” Jessica said, “But you have to promise not to tell my mom.”

“Promise,” Jill smiled.

“My dad, who is an awful, awful man,” Jessica started, “Used to beat my mom and make her have sex with him all the time. I mean it was rape. And then when she started to put on weight and age, around the time I was nine or ten, he started raping me. I mean I let him because I didn’t want anyone else to be hurt, but...”

“Oh god,” Jill whispered, and hugged Jessica, “So Miguel-”

“No, he’s awesome. He’s not my dad,” Jessica explained, “My mom divorced dad when he tried to destroy her car. She loves it as much as she loves us and...”

“She didn’t believe you about the rape?” Jill asked, “How the hell can she divorce him over a car and not-”

“Never told her. He’d beat her to death if she ever ... He even tried to kill us by severing the fuel line in my mom’s car as we ran to catch this train. I couldn’t tell her, she would have confronted him. He would have killed her. She’s not a bad person, trust me, she just ... she thought marriage was death do you part, no matter what.”

“Wha?” Jill said in shock, “Tried to kill you by cutting the fuel line?”

“Yeah, the idiot didn’t realize that mom’s car is a diesel, and diesel isn’t particularly flammable,” Jessica smirked.

The two of them realized they had something in common, something big. They were both the result of abusive male figures. They were fast becoming best friends. That was why; they could sense that they had shared background in life experiences.

Around that time, George, Josh, and Akilah came up and motioned to her.

“Hey Jessica, I think I need to go to bed, and maybe eventually sleep too,” she winked, making George rather uncomfortable, “Good night!”

“Good night, Jill! Don’t sleep too much,” Jessica said, returning the wink.

George, drawing on his fine command of the English language, rolled his eyes.

October 9th, 1995, 12:15 PM MST, Desert, Arizona

The finger had just gotten to the turnoff from Interstate 10, and he cut across the dead lanes of the interstate, his tires screaming in protest as he almost rolled the ponderous British machine. He was now off the beaten road and knew that he had to cut through the dirt paths in order to minimize how much time it would take to get to their next radio. Luckily, his car was pretty good off-road, even if it was a shoddily-built example of why people preferred to not buy British cars.