Dead rail, p.1
Dead Rail, page 1
DEAD RAIL
BY ALEX BELIDA
© Alex Belida 2025 All Rights Reserved
(Cover Photo & Design by the Author)
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. No reference to any real person is intended or should be inferred. All trademarks and brand names mentioned herein are the property of their respective owners, including the title “Master Model Railroader” which is a registered trademark of the National Model Railroad Association. Alex Belida is an NMRA member and is Master Model Railroader® #685.
[The author was assisted in the initial outlining of this book by OpenAI’s ChatGPT, but wrote, reviewed and edited all content, taking full responsibility for the final narrative, characters and themes.]
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
To Pat and the Crew
Masters’ Comments on Dead Rail
Chapter 1: Arrival at the Expo Center
Chapter 2: The Theft
Chapter 3: Secrets in the Vendor’s Hall
Chapter 4: Printing the Future
Chapter 5: A Dangerous Meeting
Chapter 6: The Trap is Set
Chapter 7: Revisiting the Crime Scene
Chapter 8: A Dangerous Name
Chapter 9: A Race Against Time
Chapter 10: A Dangerous Encounter
Chapter 11: Chaos
Chapter 12: Pieces of the Puzzle
Chapter 13: A Dark Figure
Chapter 14: The Holloway & Eastern Connection
Chapter 15: Into the Yard
Chapter 16: Time to Regroup
Chapter 17: The Discovery
Chapter 18: The Showdown at the Expo Auction
Chapter 19: A Dangerous Visitor
Chapter 20: A Familiar Enemy
Chapter 21: A Deal with the Devil
Chapter 22: The Bombshell Announcement
Chapter 23: Back to the Craft
Chapter 24: The Last Bargain
Chapter 25: Retaliation
Chapter 26: The Vanishing Act
Chapter 27: The Final Stand
Chapter 28: The Story That Shook the Rails
Chapter 29: An Unexpected Honor
Chapter 30: Suspicion
Chapter 31: Closing In
Chapter 32: The Price of Betrayal
Chapter 33: A New Vision
Chapter 34: Another Hidden Link
Chapter 35: The Final Session
A Final Word from the Author
About the Author
To Pat and the Crew
Adam, Brian, Katherine, Kelly & Taylor
With Parker, Calum, Wilder & Emmett
Masters’ Comments on Dead Rail
Mat Thompson, MMR®: “I’m never going to another model railroad convention without a sharpened X-ACTO knife up my sleeve.”
Ernie Little, MMR®: “All I can say is wow! After reading this I am thinking maybe I need to get some protection to take with me to train conventions.”
Chapter 1: Arrival at the Expo Center
Ethan Mercer adjusted the strap of his messenger bag as he stepped through the glass doors of Washington D.C.’s Convention Center. The cool blast of air conditioning was welcome after the humid summer heat outside, but it did little to calm the simmering tension in his gut. The National Model Railroad Expo was supposed to be the highlight of his year—a weeklong celebration of craftsmanship, history, and the modeling passion that had defined his life.
Instead, the lean researcher at the National Institutes of Health, a man in his mid-30’s with tousled dark brown hair, deep-set hazel eyes, and a rugged charm, sensed he was stepping onto a battlefield.
“Ethan!”
Tony Delgado, a D.C. police inspector who was his longtime friend and a fellow modeler, waved from near the registration desk by the main entrance. A compact man with sharp features and an
ever-present grin, Tony had the enthusiasm of a kid seeing his first locomotive running around a Christmas tree.
“Tony,” Ethan said, shaking his hand. “Ready for the circus?”
Tony snorted. “Oh, you have no idea. The Club Pavilion hangout is already a war zone.”
Ethan sighed. It was what he had expected. Miles Garrick and his faction within the Washington area model railroad club were stirring up trouble again. Ethan’s status as club president and as a
Model Railroad Master had never sat well with Miles, who had spent years trying—and failing—to earn both titles himself.
“Figures,” Ethan muttered. “Where’s the rest of the crew?”
“Harold’s over at the vendor’s hall drooling over brass engines, and Jack’s running interference with Miles before he gets himself thrown out.” Like Tony Delgado, Harold Tate and Jack Rollins
were on the D.C. club’s Board of Directors and close friends of Ethan.
“And Samantha?”
Tony laughed. “Last I saw, she was grilling a vendor about the impact of tariffs on cost of engines and freight cars. You know how she gets when she smells a potential story.”
Ethan couldn’t help but smile. Samantha Pierce was a freelance journalist who attended a lot of model railroad events. She specialized in writing about niche hobbies for various print and digital outlets, including the New York Times. She was fearless, sharp-witted, and relentless when she wanted the truth.
And Sam, as he called her, was very attractive. Her auburn hair was always tied up in a ponytail. She had sharp green eyes that missed nothing, and an easy, confident smile. She dressed practically—fitted jeans, leather boots, and always carried a notebook in her hand with a pen tucked behind her ear.
Lately, Sam had been making him uncomfortably aware of just how much he liked being around her.
Shaking off his thoughts about Sam, Ethan registered, picked up his convention badge, and made his way toward the grand exhibit hall.
The massive hall buzzed with activity. Model vendors were busily engaging with the scores of enthusiasts making their way around the room. Along the sides of the hall were rows of intricately detailed display layouts in various scales from G to Z, most reflecting precision and artistry. The air carried the faint scent of fresh paint, and the distant electric sounds of model train engines. Ethan’s attention, however, was drawn to the centerpiece of the entire Expo: a one-of-a-kind antique brass New York Central Hudson, displayed in a glass case on a raised platform.
Even among rare steam models, the 4-6-4 Hudson was something special. A fully functional, museum-quality O scale replica, originally made by Lionel in 1930, its polished brass gleamed under the exhibit lights. This model was owned by Chester Carlson, the current U.S. Defense Secretary. It had been given to him by his late grandfather, one of the former owners of the New York Central Railroad.
What made this engine even more valuable was that Carlson had modernized it with the installation of a DCC decoder, a speaker and a smoke system—components all made by Golden Dragon, a Chinese firm that was regarded as one of the world’s leading manufacturers of advanced, precision model train components. Carlson, a longtime member of the National Railroad Modelers Association and former member of the organization’s Board, had kept it in his office at the Pentagon. He told curious visitors that he liked to have it nearby to remind him of his roots. He would take it home occasionally to run it on his large layout. Carlson was auctioning it off in a benefit for the NRMA and it was expected to be one of the highlights of the annual convention. The opening bid was set at $75,000.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a smooth voice said behind him. Ethan turned to see Vince Darrow, a well-known collector and a man with ambitions far bigger than his wallet. Vince was dressed
impeccably, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, his gold tie pin shaped like a locomotive.
“Sure,” Ethan said warily. “But I’m guessing you’re not just here to admire it.”
Vince chuckled. “Always so suspicious. Can’t a man appreciate fine craftsmanship?”
Not when that man had a reputation for acquiring rare models through questionable means.
Before Ethan could respond, a commotion erupted near the Club Pavilion, a meeting room for the various national model railroad clubs. Voices were raised, and he immediately recognized one of them—Miles Garrick.
“Here we go,” Tony muttered, his policeman’s instincts triggered.
Ethan exchanged a look with him before heading toward the growing argument.
Miles Garrick stood with his arms crossed, his expression smug as he faced off against Jack Rollins. Jack, normally the peacemaker, looked ready to punch him.
“I’m just saying,” Miles sneered, “some of us think the D.C. area club could use new leadership. Someone who actually deserves it.”
Miles was in his late 50s, tall, broad-shouldered, with thinning brown hair and a well-groomed beard. He was always impeccably dressed, even at casual events, favoring dark turtlenecks and
slacks. A wealthy former business executive who turned to model railroading as an escape after his company was sold, he was capable of excellent craftsmanship. But he had a cold, calculating demeanor and believed he deserved more recognition. He deeply resented the younger generation of hobbyists like Ethan.
Ethan stepped in before Jack could take a swing. “You’re still bitter about the Board election last year, Miles? Thought you’d have moved on by now.”
Miles turned, eyes narrowing. “Funny, Mercer. You act like you own this club. Maybe it’s time someone else
had a shot.”
“That’s not how it works,” Ethan said evenly. “We vote. And if you think badmouthing me will get you the position, you’re wasting your time.”
Miles smiled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
With a final glance at the crowd that had gathered, Miles turned and walked away.
Jack spoke sharply. “That guy’s gonna do something. I can feel it.”
Ethan had the same feeling.
Chapter 2: The Theft
The theft of the brass Hudson occurred later that evening, long after the crowds had thinned.
Security guards did their rounds, but no one noticed when a near-identical replica was placed in the display case, the real engine slipping away into the shadows.
Ethan and Samantha had gone to the bar of the hotel attached to the convention center for a drink when his phone rang with the news.
“What do you mean it’s gone?” Ethan asked, gripping his phone.
“The Hudson,” Harold Tate’s voice crackled through the line. “It’s missing. Someone put a fake in its place.”
Ethan and Sam exchanged a look before bolting from their seats.
By the time they reached the exhibit hall, security was already surrounding the display case. There was still a brass Hudson inside it—or so it seemed until Ethan got closer and confirmed what Harold had said.
“It’s a fake,” he murmured.
Tony frowned. “How can you tell?”
Ethan pointed. “The real Hudson had a small imperfection here on the cab roof. This one doesn’t.”
Sam took out her notebook. “Someone swapped it.”
Ethan nodded. “And they did it fast.”
The real Hudson was out there, hidden away.
And Ethan had a sinking feeling this was only the beginning of trouble at this convention.
Organizers placed the convention center on lockdown. Security was doubled, vendors were questioned, and tensions ran high.
But before anyone could make sense of the theft, another shock rippled through the Expo. The body of Vince Darrow was found in a storage room behind the vendor’s hall, his skull fractured.
Ethan stared at the crime scene from behind the police tape,
Sam looked on with him. “Well. Guess you were right, Ethan. The theft was just the start.”
Ethan’s fists clenched. He had no love for Vince, but murder? That meant the stakes were far higher than anyone realized.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Ethan Mercer stood in the storage area, staring at Vince Darrow’s lifeless body. Detective Carla Monroe was already at work, her sharp eyes scanning the scene as officers snapped photos and collected evidence. She was a woman who commanded attention—not just because of her presence, but because of the way she took control of a room with quiet authority.
She turned toward Ethan and his friends behind the police tape, her notepad open. “Alright, gentlemen, I need statements. Who found the body?”
“A security guard,” Jack Rollins answered. His face was pale, his usual easygoing demeanor absent. “He came back here to check the loading area and saw Vince slumped against that shelving unit.”
“I need to talk to him,” Monroe nodded. “But before I do, when was the last time any of you saw Darrow alive?”
Ethan thought back. “About an hour ago. He was at the brass Hudson display when I saw him last.”
Monroe’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s the same exhibit where the stolen locomotive was taken from, right?”
Ethan and the others nodded.
Monroe flipped a page in her notebook. “That’s the one that we now know was a fake, right?”
Tony, who had worked cases with Monroe, stepped in. “That’s right, detective. Any update on that? Do you think they’re connected?”
“I don’t think anything yet, Tony” Monroe replied. “But we have two major crimes—one theft, one murder—and that means I need to ask questions. You could be a big help.”
Tony said he’d do whatever was needed. He knew how this worked. “And I want to find out who did this,” he added.
Monroe studied him for a long moment before finally closing her notebook. “Appreciate that, Tony. Let’s get to work.”
With that, she turned away, leaving Tony, Ethan and their friends standing amidst the wreckage of what should have been several days of celebrating their craft—now reduced to suspicion, stolen property, and a dead man.
Chapter 3: Secrets in the Vendor’s Hall
The next morning, the convention carried on, albeit under heavy security. Vendors were jittery, attendees whispered, and tension was thick in the air.
Samantha Pierce walked beside Ethan as they made their way through the vendor’s hall, eyes scanning the crowded booths.
“You think Monroe can solve these crimes?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know,” Ethan said. “But we can help figure this out. We know most of the people here.”
Sam tapped her pen against her notebook. “The way I see it, there are two big questions. Who stole the brass Hudson? And was Vince killed because of it?”
Ethan nodded. “If Vince knew something about the theft, that could have made him a target.”
Sam’s expression darkened. “Or maybe he was in on it, and it went wrong.”
Ethan hadn’t considered that. Vince had always been a little shady, but murder? Still, the timing of his death was too convenient to ignore.
They stopped at a booth specializing in brass locomotives. The vendor, an older man with thick glasses and a vest covered in train pins, gave them a wary glance.
“Help you folks?”
Ethan leaned in slightly. “We’re looking for information about a stolen brass Hudson.”
The vendor’s lips tightened. “I don’t know anything about that.”
Sam tilted her head. “You sure? Because I hear high-end brass engines sometimes change hands unofficially in places like this.”
The vendor’s face twitched. That was enough to confirm he knew more than he was saying.
Ethan pushed a little harder. “If someone was looking to unload a rare piece without too many questions, who would they go to?”
The vendor hesitated, then sighed. “Look, I don’t deal in that kind of business, but there’s a guy—Conrad Blake. He’s a private dealer, makes a living flipping rare models.”
Ethan glanced at Sam. Another lead.
Sam scribbled the name down. “Where can we find him?”
The vendor sighed again. “He’s usually in the hotel bar at night. But be careful—he doesn’t like being asked too many questions.”
Ethan nodded. “We’ll handle it.”
As they stepped away from the booth, Sam smiled. “Looks like we have a date at the bar tonight.”
Ethan’s stomach did an involuntary flip. Not the time to get distracted.
Still, he couldn’t help but think—spending the evening with Sam, even under these circumstances, didn’t sound all that bad. But that was hours away and Ethan had a modeling workshop to attend.
“Coming with me?” he asked Sam. “We are here after all to enjoy the convention and I have a workshop to attend.”
“I’m not letting you out of my sight. Let’s go,” she said with a smile.
Chapter 4: Printing the Future
The workshop room hummed with quiet anticipation as Ethan and Sam stepped inside. Long tables were arranged in neat rows, each equipped with a laptop and a small 3D printer. Around them, model railroaders murmured in excitement, their gazes flicking between the presenter at the front and the various prototype models on display.
On a nearby table, a collection of model Galloping Goose railbuses sat in different stages of completion—some in raw, unpainted resin, others gleaming with finished detail.
The Galloping Goose, a quirky railbus built from old automobiles and trucks, had been a staple of narrow-gauge railroads in the early 20th century. And now, thanks to 3D printing, modelers could create their own versions in any scale they desired.
