Ch 11: Barry Dissolved

March 18th, 1995, 1:00 PM PT, Private Varnish Yard, Los Angeles, CA

Why did people want to be carried around in these ugly old antiques? Barry thought as he walked around the rail yard filled with privately owned, Amtrak-certified rail cars. There were old Budd sleepers, diners, lounge cars, and even coaches. There were old Pullman and Budd streamliner observation cars, and even a few Pullman sleepers. There were also some beautifully restored heavyweight business cars.

As he walked around, the weight and heft of the Beretta .25 assured him in his pocket. He was going to kill those fools.

But he focused on the one he knew was owned by the Caldwells. Unlike many of the others, the vestibule and end doors were dogged tight, and the retractable stairs were in the up positions. The car had lights on and he could see people moving about inside, as well as smoke coming out of its kitchen ventilator.

It had never occurred to him what a fortress a private streamliner could be. With stainless steel sides a quarter of an inch thick, insulation, and framing, and interior walls, the sides of the car were essentially bullet proof. Same with the car's inch-thick Lexan windows. The doors were secured with three latches, one at 5'6" off the ground, one about 8' off the ground, and the final one about 11' off the ground. Reaching the top two was impossible, climbing the 5' from the car floor to the ground nearly so with the stairs retracted.

He set to work on trying to think of a way to get into the car. He tried finding something to stand on, but couldn't. He tried hard to locate a mechanism to let the stairs down, and found there had been one- but it had been removed. In fact, unbeknownst to him, it was operated by a servo motor, which could be triggered either inside the car or by remote control.

Just then, he heard a latch being undogged, and looked up.

"Why, Mr. Bostwick," came the sarcastic drawl of John Caldwell, "We've been waiting for you."

While not mentioning it, John made a good point of showing the old Colt .45 Magnum in his hand.

"Why don't you come in?" John undogged the rest of the latches, raised the trap door, and lowered the stairs.

Barry climbed in, figuring he'd have to catch them off guard with his own weapon later. He walked down the long hallway, down the dip past the dining room, and into the living room at the back of the car. He picked a seat and sat down.

Seated at seats around the room, were George, Gretel, Brenda, and John. He didn't see Jill.

"Where the fuck are you keeping my niece?" he roared.

"None of your business, asshole," replied George.

"Now George, there is no need for that language," Gretel told him.

"Bah," replied George.

"Mr. Bostwick," John started, "We are fully aware of what you have been doing with your niece. Brenda here has also agreed to testify that you are an abusive person, and is prepared to show the numerous scars that you left on her body."

"She liked it," Barry drawled, "And that slut niece of mine is lying."

"Immaterial," John told him, "Brenda is willing to testify that it was rape. Furthermore, your niece isn't lying, and a jury wouldn't think so anyway. Normally, I'd just call the fucking police and have your fucking ass trucked off to the fucking jail where fucking shit like you fucking belong."

"Well why don't you?" Barry challenged, as if daring him to pick up the phone and do it.

"Because I'd rather have you sign this document," John placed a document before him, "Which transfers custody of your niece to me. Naturally I will need your other family members to sign the document too. And then you are free to go the hell back to Chicago and not come back here again."

"Because, buddy," George continued for him, "You will not get off so lucky if I ever see your fucking face again."

"I could have you arrested for kidnapping!" Barry bellowed.

"I doubt it, your niece willingly came to my room. I was even asleep at the time. Furthermore, she is from the state of Pennsylvania- the law there states that she can be with me, given my age, at her age."

Barry chose this minute to whip out his gun, intending to fire it at point blank range into John's head.

Barry made a mistake. One of the many, many mistakes he'd made over the past few days. This time, his mistake was not remembering George's almost super-human reaction time and reflexes.