Ch 6: The Chase Begins

March 16th, 4:15 AM CT, Hilton Chicago O'Hare, Chicago, IL

Barry Bostwick rolled himself out of bed and, wearing silk red pajamas monogrammed with his initial, picked up the telephone beside his bed, punching an auto-dial button on the phone.

"I want coffee, a bowl of fruit- ... WHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS ISN'T ROOM SERVICE? FUCKING CONNECT ME! ... I want a bowl of fruit, eggs Benedict, ham steak, fresh squeezed orange juice ... I don't care; squeeze some fucking oranges-and some coffee ... What? ... NO, I want it in thirty minutes or less ... I don't care how you do it, do it," and slammed down the receiver.

Barry stripped naked and then went into the bathroom carrying a laminated picture of his Jilly baby naked, tied to the the bed with her legs forced open.

He turned on the shower, but he didn't start to clean himself yet. Instead, he took his rapidly hardening cock in his hands and, staring at the picture, and stroking himself, thinking about how nice it would be to have her for another year all to himself to play with and enjoy! Within moments, he started to spurt.

When he finished, he washed himself thoroughly, dried, and got dressed in a sharp dark grey Armani suit, a solid gold Patek-Philippe, and various rings and other golden trinkets. He carefully styled his hair, and then glanced at his watch.

He marched over to the phone, picked up, and pushed a button. "WHERE IS MY FOOD!?" he demanded just as there was a knock on the door. He threw down the phone, and strutted over to the door.

Yanking it open, he upbraided the waiter: "What took you so long? You are getting no tip!"

He slammed the door on the waiter, who was visibly still panting from running all the way, after dragging the food into the room. He ate with great care, making sure not to get any food on his clothes. He called down for a limousine to take him to the airport, and then headed down.

As he waited just outside the lobby, he lit an H.Simmons cigarette with a gold Dunhill lighter. He smiled to himself. Tonight, he could have sex with his Jilly doll once again- and on a train, no less.

March 16th, 7:05 AM EST, Lake Shore Limited Mile 618, Cleveland Lakefront Station, Cleveland, OH

John Caldwell stirred in his bed and got up. Sleeping was difficult. Normally John could sleep like a rock on the train but this was different. He felt almost like his son was in danger of ... of what? Himself? Still, he knew his son. And what his son was capable of. His ... abilities. Him worrying was probably unjustified. But fuck, ain't that what a father is for, anyway?

He raised the shade just enough to see that they were stopped in Cleveland at the ugly and characterless Cleveland Lakefront Station. Ugly, ugly building. Turning around he noticed there was a newspaper under his door. Standard first class Amtrak service, ya gotta love it, he thought.

He padded over to the door and picked up the newspaper, then laid back down on his bed and turned on his reading light. No need to wake up Gretel yet. He had taken time to notice that this car was "Pacific Slope," which amused him since that was the car they fallen in love in 18 years ago. Felt like only yesterday.

He had noticed this train's consist as it had arrived. Apparently the agent had put him in the Boston sleeper, not that it mattered from Rochester to Chicago. The train was led by four F40PHs, the first two and second two in back-to-back configuration. There had been eight baggage cars attached to the front of the train. EIGHT! But then, after last year's derailment at Batavia, it was understandable that they wouldn't want to put the culprit Material Handling Cars in front of the passenger cars.

After the eight baggage cars were three Pacific and Pine series Budd 10-6 sleepers- it had been too dark to read their names- and he thought one was one of the new Dorm/Lounge cars. Then there was a Slumbercoach, Loch Sloy. There was an Amfleet II lounge car, followed by four Amfleet II coach cars, then a Heritage dining car, another three Amfleet II coach cars, an Amfleet I Dinette car with table seating in one end, and his Heritage 10-6 sleeper completing the Amtrak cars in the line up. Behind his car, though, was a beautiful heavyweight business car named "Suitsme". In its blue-and-white with gold trimming paint, it was a beauty.

After losing himself for a minute in thinking too much about equipment, as he was wont to do, he opened up the newspaper and read, with boredom, some of the headlines. One was: "Last State to Abolish Slavery", which was an article about how Mississippi was going to finally ratify the 13th amendment this day. Sure took them long enough, the little shits.

And then an article caught his attention. "Death Train" was the title, and being a train nut, he read it. His eyes, which were half asleep in the early morning as always, popped open to their full size as he read.

Amtrak's California Zephyr became the harbinger of three deaths last night in the town of West Burlington, Iowa. Just nine minutes after the train departed Burlington, IA, it slammed into a dark blue and silver 1994 Ford F250 owned by Kyle Palmer of West Burlington. Officials say that Mr. Palmer, a machinist at the Frito-Lay plant in the town, was most likely killed instantly when the 14-car-long Amtrak train, lead by three of the railroad's newest and most advanced 'Genesis' engines, hit his truck.

The truck was completely demolished and burst into flames, with practically nothing left of it. "When a train hits a car, it's no contest," said Thomas Downs, President of Amtrak. "It's why we invest so heavily in informing people not to try to race a train." There was nothing left recognizable of the truck.

John wondered why they were making such a big deal of this "death train", as this sort of stuff happens all the time. He was afraid something worse happened on the train, so he read on: