As the thinker of the group, Cliff eventually realized a few things. One; they could cover more ground if they split up and took sections. Two; the best place for them was the central states. Sure, everyone wanted to go to New York or California, but that was Cliffy’s point, everyone had to go through the middle to get there.
There were four big names in the rail business. Two of them, the Norfolk Southern and the USA CSX Transportation Company worked the Eastern seaboard. The gang learned to stay clear of those lines because of the security hired to patrol the yards. Besides, there were too many stops and starts where the cities were packed close together.
The other two companies were the Burlington Northern and the Union Pacific, both operating in the central and western states. These outfits were too big and spread out to properly patrol or keep things under any kind of real surveillance.
What Cliffy realized was that all the lines going east or west had to come through a few choke points. He based the territories on them. Cliff had kept the east-west line running across the north between Salt Lake City and Des Moines for himself. He also took the number one tattoo.
The other four guys had lines that completed the box. Sam Dorson, number two, took the east-west line that ran across the southern states, from Phoenix to Houston. The two Rackman Brothers, tattoos three and four, formed the sides of the box. Dougie had the north-south line between Houston and Des Moines, and Bobby had the north-south line between Phoenix and Salt Lake.
There was a lot of traffic from Canada down to California as Chinese and other Asians used that line to sneak into the U.S.. The fifth Raildog, Albert Simms, took care of a branch off the square that ran north out of Salt Lake up to Spokane and Seattle. He plugged that leak.
Now anyone moving anywhere on the rails was bound to come through their box, it was just a matter of time. It took a while to get a handle on things, but eventually each boss had crewmembers working under them that allowed them to keep a presence on the rails all the time.
That the fucking thing was still running like clockwork was amazing. Each of the bosses was paid dues by his members for the privilege of working the line. Cliff had twenty soldiers that paid a couple hundred bucks a month apiece for the privilege of making free money. That was a cool four grand a month he was making these days off his plan and it had been like that for years.
The real money was in the bonus riders you stumbled upon, the people that were out there travelling with all their possessions. Someone’s heartache was someone else’s score. His guys all made money, or they wouldn’t keep getting back on the trains. They sure wouldn’t keep paying dues. They robbed whatever cash they found, held some victims hostage while the others cleaned out their bank accounts, and ran up any credit cards they discovered.
The only prerequisites needed for the work were a penchant for causing pain and no moral conscience to think of. That part had been easy for Cliff, at least in the beginning.
“Hey guys. How’s everyone doing?”
“Good Cliff.”
He didn’t waste a lot of time collecting dues, he liked getting that out of the way. He did take a second and make some notes in his little black book. “You guys ready to roll?”
The crew was off the dock and heading towards the freight trains before Cliff managed to climb down himself. He liked traveling in numbers, something that always worked. Everyone knew the schedules, so he wasn’t surprised when his crew led him to the right train. This one was heading out after midnight, running east towards Des Moines.
The crew took over two boxcars and waited. Cliffy sat with his legs hanging over the side even after the train eventually started moving. He stared out at the passing buildings, lost in thought.
*****
Reno, Nevada
Sarah sat at the window in her room looking out at nothing in particular. David wouldn’t be back for a while now, and that left her sad as usual. She lit another cigarette, watching the smoke drift up from her hand. Idly, she took a puff here and there just to keep it lit.
She should probably open the window so they didn’t bitch about the smell, but fuck them, they shouldn’t mess with her stuff.
She was pissed. Someone had taken the designer house magazine she kept on the little table. It was years old, but it reminded her of another time, another place. It had to be that bitch cleaning the rooms. It must have happened when she was out for her walk. They all thought they could just walk in and do anything they wanted. One day she’d show them. She’d get hers.
A bird landed momentarily on the windowsill and broke her train of thought. It was gone as quickly as it came and she went back to contemplating David’s situation again. She had no idea what he did, or where he was most of the time, for that matter. He seemed to not want to tell her anything.
The boy had saved her back then. Gotten her help and then found her this place. She had money and the bills were taken care of, she’d even encouraged him to use it; he’d not taken a cent. Did he work? Have a girl friend? Where did he go when he left here?
How did ten years go by and she not know these answers? For some reason they never talked about it. There was one thing they discussed occasionally, but David seemed unable to help in that one area, although he promised he would. She wondered if it would ever happen.
In those early years she had been so caught up in her own world of pain that she forgot about him. Had he finished school? Did he have any other clothes that weren’t black? And what was that whole black thing anyways? By the time she returned to the real world she felt she’d lost the right to question. Besides, she had to admit she was just happy he came to see her at all.
The grey twilight was giving way to black outside the window, but Sarah continued to stare. She didn’t want to turn on a light, because then she’d see her own reflection in the glass. So she sat in the dark and looked out into the night.
*****
Pocatello, Idaho
The rough character walked slowly alongside the tracks, unconcerned. This was his turf. He was early to catch Albert and the crew coming down from Spokane but he couldn’t help himself.
He was a newbie. He’d been a Raildog for six months now and only got his tattoo three months ago. He didn’t care what time the others came through, he just knew he couldn’t afford to miss them. The gang had given him a whole new lease on life. Shit, it gave him more money in six months that he’d had in the last two years.
He ignored the northbound train leaving the yard. It had only stopped briefly before continuing on towards Washington. There would be another one later, but that didn’t matter either, he was watching southbound traffic.
He stood waiting, looking down with pride at the number ninety-two tattooed on his inner wrist, when a sound behind one of the buildings caught his attention. Action? Interested, he jogged over to the building and looking around the corner.
Standing quietly, he listened hard for a moment. When he didn’t hear anything, he turned to walk back. He wasn’t prepared when something hit him square in the face. Then everything went black.
Over the next couple of hours he drifted in and out of consciousness. It was like waking to hell. He had visions of trees blowing in the wind and a madman with a blowtorch.
He didn’t want to wake up. The smell of burning flesh made his stomach heave up into his throat. He didn’t dare to look down. The sight had to be gruesome. He heard someone screaming and crying. “Yes, No, I don’t know.” Then he realized it was himself and the crazy fucker would raise the torch up again.
Please god, he thought to himself, I’ve said everything I know.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ve told me everything,” the psycho replied.
Did I say that out loud? Jesus, he was losing it.
He watched the madman adjust the yellow flame until it became a finer blue. He wasn’t an expert, but for some reason he knew that meant the flame was even hotter. He couldn’t help but feel the real questions were coming now.
He wa
s sure it was important not to pass out, and he struggled against the ropes as his tormentor moved in close.
“Does anyone hear a Raildog if he screams in the woods?” The flame sliced into flesh.
Chapter 4
Pocatello, Idaho
Albert stood at the opened door of the boxcar and let the rushing wind wake him up. The morning sun warmed his face as he watched the outskirts of Pocatello roll past. It was one of the few towns with rail yards big enough that the Raildogs expected the trains to stop in on the way to Salt Lake.
The open spaces changed to side roads lined with farms, which gave way to industrial areas and warehouse districts. They were close to the yards when his phone began vibrating in his pocket. He turned from the wind to block the sound and took the call on the gang phone. “Five.”
“It looks like we got a bunch of cop cars in the yard. There’s flashing lights everywhere.”
His lookout farther up the train wasn’t giving him much time to think. Could be nothing, but it could be something.
“Okay, we all get off before the yard. Right side, in the valley near the bridge.”
Riding the same section over and over meant you knew where everything was and you had time to plan escape routes at every station. He turned to the others in the car, “Pack up boys, we might have a problem. Everyone off at the valley coming up on the right.”
The crew whipped their stuff together and they were all hanging off the side of the train waiting for the valley in less than a minute. As the train started slowing into the yard they knew the speed wouldn’t be too fast for jumping. Albert strained to see the track ahead as he watched the ground flashing by, looking to pick the best spot.
The track crossed over a road that turned and ran beside the line for a couple hundred yards before it turned away and the ground came up level with the track again.
“Jump on the slope and roll down to the road.”
The train crossed the bridge and the bank appeared. Albert looked at the others once and pushed himself off the train.
He let his feet hit the ground, already pitching sideways to roll out of it and save his ankles, a skill he learned long ago as an All-State quarterback, before he started drinking. As his elbow hit there was no time to think about where his life would have went if he hadn’t blown out his knee, then his shoulder hit, then the back of his head that was tucked in with anticipation. One roll, two, then his hands reached out to stop his momentum.
Albert took a quick look back, the others were in various stages of tumbling and cartwheeling down the bank. A few newbies stopped suddenly when they finally slammed into the road. The experienced didn’t let themselves roll that far.
A quick scramble back up the bank and Albert checked that they hadn’t been seen.
“Mickey, get up here. Go find out what’s happening.” He watched the younger guy take off along the shoulder of the track towards some old buildings.
The wait seemed to take forever. Forty-five minutes later Mickey slid back over the side of the bank. “Shit Albert, it’s bad.”
“What’s going on?”
“It’s one of our guys, that new one Dirk, or Rick, or something. He’s been fucked up. They had him in the meat wagon, but I heard someone talking.”
Albert realized Mickey had stopped, his face was strained like he was visualizing something. “Well out with it. What happened?”
“Someone tortured him in the woods over there,” Mickey pointed. “And dragged him into the middle of the yard. Left his body between the tracks.”
Mickey seemed to stall again, but forced himself on. “He was burned bad boss. Someone used a blow torch on him.”
Albert knew who it was, Dickson Wallis. The new kid was number ninety-two in the gang. Tortured, why? Who? When? “When did it happen?”
“They’re saying sometime late last night.”
Albert had to think. He needed to call Cliffy and let him know what happened, but he had to act here first. He wasn’t going to let this thing go. You didn’t fuck with Raildogs and get away with it. That had always been a priority.
Since the beginning, the different parts of the gang had always kept in touch. Whenever it was necessary, the guys would travel to another section of line to help another crew. Cliff had been right about that. He’d said that eventually they would have a hundred men on the tracks to throw at a problem if needed.
He only had five guys with him on this trip, a few more were waiting in Salt Lake, but the rest were back in Spokane to start the month. That made Albert feel a little weak. The guys in Spokane were going to start boarding freight trains in two’s and three’s over the next few days to ensure their members were spread along the track from top to bottom.
He was going to have to change the plan.
“Mickey, you take the crew and try and find out more. I want the fucker that did this.” He thought for a moment, “I’m going to catch a train back north and rustle the boys together. We’ll meet you right back here on the slope tomorrow.”
Albert leaned in close and caught Mickey’s eye. “I want you guys to find whoever did this and hold them until I’m back.”
“If I find out who it is, they’ll be here, I guarantee it.”
Albert nodded, “Alright, get out of here.”
He leaned back against the grassy bank. The sun still wasn’t straight up yet, but he could tell it was gonna be a hot one. He had a couple hours to wait until the next northbound freighter would be through. Just another twist in the adventure.
He let his eyes close for a while.
*****
St Louis, Missouri
Maria seemed to be enjoying the third day of their trip better than the first two. Raul watched her soaking up the sun as they sped through the countryside. Her legs hung over the edge of the railcar as she moved her head to an unheard tune. The wind had whipped her hair around her face until she finally gathered it up and tied it into a ponytail. He could tell by the smile on the edge of her lips as she relaxed that she seemed happy to be out of the cold and rain of the days before.
The east coast was nothing but a river of concrete, too congested, too many buildings, and way too many other gangsters piled into the alleys and bars for him. You had to stay on guard everywhere you went.
The welcome sun had him stripped down to a t-shirt, showing off the HPL or Hermanos Pistoleros Latinos artwork that stretched across his shoulders. The gun tattoo at his waist, and the string of bullets tattooed up the inside of his right arm told a story. He had earned his rank the hard way. The gang had been formed as a defense organization for Mexicans stuck in prison. They may have gone into prison violent and angry, but they came out skilled and vicious. Raul wondered what the hell could you expect after putting someone in that environment.
With the sun blazing, he’d pulled his bandana low over the eyebrows, acting like a visor. He never bothered to hide what he was. It got him respect in some places, and brought him trouble in others. So be it, it came with the territory.
He could see Maria was still staring at the passing scenery, lost in thought.
“What are you thinking Maria?”
Thank god she was over being pissed about her clothes. Two nights of bad weather had shown her his reasoning, but she still wasn’t letting him off the hook.
“I still don’t understand why we had to travel this way. I really don’t. We could have just taken a plane. Or driven my car.”
“It’s the safest thing Maria. We can’t drive, we can’t fly. The feds would be on us right away. If we drove your car, it would only take one cop to pull us over and we’d be in deep shit,” his patience on the subject was getting short. “Once we get south you can enjoy yourself again.”
“Are you crazy?” She opened her arms wide to show off her baggy clothes, “I won’t be going out anywhere in this.”
“You look sexy in everything you wear,” he grinned at her.
“Well, I don’t feel sexy.” She crossed he
r arms and stuck her bottom lip out to make her point. “But you’ll figure that out soon enough.”
Raul laughed. He reached into his pack and pulled out a small bundle. As he unrolled the material it became her favorite red dress wrapped around a pair of high heels.
“See sexy, I know what you need. We both like you hot.” He hadn’t climbed up the ranks by not anticipating solutions to potential problems.
With a surprised look, Maria reached out to snatch the clothes, but he quickly rolled everything back into a bundle and put it in the bag. “Not here.”
She moved over, closer, and leaned against him. Raul went back to thinking about the work he’d accomplished back east and the first test runs that were coming. He checked his phone for messages. Nothing. That was fine. They’d just cleared St. Louis and were on their way towards Kansas. He was looking forward to turning south.
*****
Cheyenne, Wyoming
Bart and Danny drifted in and out of sleep. The train had been stopped for what seemed like an hour. It was dark, late, and a bit cold. They hadn’t dared sleep up until this point and the parked train seemed like the perfect opportunity.
The shouts jarred them both wide-awake. They couldn’t see anything, but the voices sounded like trouble. Drunks maybe, but definitely rowdy. Their boxcar was on a siding on the south side of the rail yard, almost right underneath the I-80 overpass.
Bart saw them first, four or five guys walking along a train on the main line. It took a second to figure out what they were doing. Quietly he said, “They’re looking for someone.”
The gang was almost right even with them and they could make out the voices better.
“Anyone in here?” A guy climbed up and checked a car. “Nope.”
“How about this one?”
Another jumped up to check the next car. “Not here either.”
The group continued along the train checking cars until one of them yelled, “Bingo!”
The boys exchanged looks. Danny knew instinctively this wasn’t going to be good. Watching, they saw the gang climb into the boxcar, seconds later two guys were thrown from the train.
The two men were surrounded in no time flat. The boys could see the pair trying to talk their way out of the problem, but the gang was clearly out to cause havoc. Suddenly, a gang member jumped in from behind and hit one of the pair hard on the head, then the pack reacted.