On the Wrong Track by Steve Hockensmith

Author:Steve Hockensmith
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2011-10-27T23:00:00+00:00

Twenty-one

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

Or, Kip and Samuel Give Us Something New to Chew On

Whatever my brother’s reasons, I knew better than to ask about them there at the table. Gustav plays his cards close to the vest when it’s just him and me. Throw in Kip and Samuel and half a dozen other men in easy eavesdropping range, and he’d stuff those cards down in his boot.

So I just contented myself (for the moment) with a big bite of honey-slathered bread and a simple “So now what?” Which came out more like a “Sho noo wha’?” actually, but as my brother’s long accustomed to hearing me talk with my mouth full, he had no trouble understanding.

“Now I’d like to ask the fellers here some questions.”

He looked first at Samuel, then at Kip.

“Questions?” Samuel said. He’d been relaxing with his long, lean body propped up against a chair the next table over, but now he stood up straight and brought his feet in close together.

Kip froze with a hunk of bread just inches from his mouth. “Us?”

“Yup. You.” Old Red started to take another bite of bread himself, but he changed his mind at the last second, dropping the half-eaten slice back on his plate and pushing it away. “You’ve been up and down this train more than anybody other than Wiltrout. If something queer was goin’ on, you’d be the ones to spot it, most likely.”

“What do you mean ‘queer’?” Kip asked.

“Somebody actin’ odd, lollygaggin’ where they shouldn’t—that kinda thing. I’m wonderin’ about the vestibule up by the baggage car, in particular. Y’all didn’t catch sight of anything up thataway, did you? Strange comin’s and goin’s?”

The porter and the news butch looked at each other. Kip shrugged, then Samuel shrugged, then they both turned toward my brother and shrugged together.

“Didn’t see nothin’ like that,” Samuel said. “I was too busy.”

“Sorry,” Kip said. “Same for me.”

Old Red screwed up his face like a man who’s accidentally swallowed his tobacco juice.

“Well, how about that key of yours, Kip?” he asked. “It ever turn up?”

“Nah. I had to borrow one of Wiltrout’s spares. And, boy, did he chew my ass for it.”

“So you still ain’t got no idea where yours got to?”

“None at all. I just went to fetch that novelty”—he winked—“that the drummer asked for, and when I got up to the baggage car … well, you saw. My passkey was gone.”

“And you hadn’t loaned it to nobody? Or left it lyin’ around somewheres?”

“Nope.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if someone swiped the kid’s key without him noticin’,” Samuel said. “We get passengers with nimble fingers from time to time. Some of them yeggs could snatch the gold from your fillin’s between bites of bread.”

I swallowed my latest mouthful and ran my tongue over my teeth. “Still there.”

“This is a pretty high-class run to have pickpockets,” my brother said.

“Better class of pockets to pick,” Samuel pointed out. “You pussyfooters are supposed to keep tabs on the thieves and cardsharps, but we never even know if we got a company spotter aboard—cuz you’re keepin’ tabs on us, too.

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