Die trying, p.4
Die Trying, page 4
He’d never felt much desire to return there, to visit the place where his father had perished. But it seemed a strange coincidence that he would be staging a train robbery within spitting distance of New Kingston, as if it were meant to be.
Chris looked out the window. The empty expanse of open country gave way to streams winding through hills and then the patchwork quilt of fields. A far more varied country than he’d become used to, as varied as the heat and the dry would allow at least.
“Right here,” he said.
“Huh?”
“Right about here is where we’ll board the next train that passes through, just as it’s moving past New Kingston on the right. It’ll be later in the evening then. The times are different, but it works in our favor. The darker the better, right?”
“Of course,” Katie said, shifting in her seat. “By my own experience, a train like that, there could be up to half a dozen agents aboard. There’s gonna be heat.”
“Reckon you can handle it?”
“I’m handy with a revolver, but I can’t guarantee that I can take out that many men on my own.”
“You misunderstand me,” Chris said. “I don’t mean to confront them—nobody gets taken out if we can help it. The idea is for this to be a nice clean job. We get in, take what we need and get out again.”
“So how d’you reckon we’ll handle the agents if we’re not gonna shoot any of them?” Katie asked, bemused by Chris’s suggestion that they spare men who would be seeking to shoot them full of holes once the robbery commenced. “Are we stepping aboard the train and then issuing our surrender? Shall I start sewing a white flag now to save us some time?”
“No. The agents will be guarding the express car. It houses the safes that hold passengers’ valuables. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“Well, luckily for us, Kiel has a compartment several carriages up. We can detach the express car from the rest of the train and let it simply drift behind us. That gives us access to Kiel’s compartment and leaves us free to hold the train up without any agents interfering.”
“A good plan, but there’s a major flaw.”
“Go on.”
“Won’t the map be in one of the safes? If we detach the carriage where the safes are kept, how are we going to remove the map from it?”
“Well, ordinarily that would be a problem. But Richard Kiel doesn’t trust them,” Chris said.
Katie frowned. “Doesn’t trust what? Safes?”
“He doesn’t let the map out of sight. Always keeps it within easy reach. Lockhurst told me as much. He’ll have the map with him in his compartment.”
That brightened Katie’s countenance. “Well, then! That’s better—so all we gotta do is walk in and take it. Piece of cake.”
“An extra-large piece of cake,” Chris corrected her.
Katie said, “How do you plan on disconnecting the express car?”
Chris stood and retrieved his bag from the overhead compartment. He gingerly set the bag down on the seat next to Katie and opened it. He reached in and pulled aside several shirts to find a wooden box. He opened the box, revealing four sticks of dynamite nestled among dry straw.
Katie looked down at it, dumbfounded. “You’re crazy.”
“It’s perfectly safe.”
“No, it ain’t. You know that all too well,” she said, red in the face. She moved up to the end of the seat as if that small change in proximity would protect her from any sudden detonation. “Why didn’t you tell me you were carrying explosives?”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t want to be on this train with me and it’d jeopardize my whole plan.”
“You’d have been right,” she said, eager for him to pack the dynamite back into his bag. “So your plan is to sever the carriage with dynamite. Are you insane?”
“I guess you’ll find out,” Chris said, sliding the lid back onto the box and sealing it shut.
CHAPTER THREE
Burnham’s Rest was the end of the line. They took rooms at a local guesthouse, and in the cool of the night, they found somewhere to eat, happening across a bar that was nestled between two crumbling buildings and that served hot stew alongside shots of tequila. Neither of them were particularly fussy by that point and they ate what was served to them—a chicken broth laced with too many green chilies. It was so hot, it made their eyes water and their noses run. But it was hearty and it was good and the tequila was strong. Soon Chris and Katie were laughing at each other’s jokes far too loudly and they were sure to vacate the bar before the glares of the other patrons turned into something more.
The town was mostly quiet but had pockets of activity. They passed a square and watched three Mexicans arguing with one another. Surrounded by empty wine bottles, the three men swayed this way and that as they yelled in one another’s faces. A fight broke out between them, resulting in two of them ganging up on the third and beating him down to the ground. They delivered several kicks to the man’s face, then robbed him of whatever he’d had in his pockets.
Chris shook his head. “Welcome to Burnham’s Rest, ladies and gents.”
“We should’ve stepped in,” Katie said.
“No, we shouldn’t have,” Chris told her.
She knew that he was right. The two men staggered off, leaving the third man facedown on the floor. As they looked on, he tried to push himself up off the ground, then collapsed.
Chris waved a hand. “Come on. He’ll be fine. A few teeth short, though, I reckon. He won’t be biting straight into any apples anytime soon.”
They wandered through the haphazard, dusty streets, trying to locate their guesthouse. After losing their way more than once, they eventually stumbled upon the front door of the place and pardoned their way inside. The landlady berated them in broken English as they went upstairs to their rooms; she complained about the time of night and the noise they were making as they ascended the staircase. Chris saw Katie to her room, then continued down the hall to his own.
The next morning, she answered the door to find Chris standing there, washed and dressed. He looked well rested but for the shadows under his eyes.
“Morning,” he said, his voice rough.
“You look like a man with places to be,” Katie said.
Chris held his hat in his hands. “I got a few errands to run. Gonna find us a couple of horses, among other things. We’ll meet Lockhurst at his place at six.” He dug into one of his pockets and handed her a folded piece of paper. It had an address written on the inside. “Don’t lose that. Be there with time to kill. I heard he’s a stickler for timekeeping.”
“Don’t worry. I’m never late to a party,” Katie said. “So what am I meant to do in the meantime?”
Chris smiled. He slid his hat onto his head. “Why don’t you give being a lady of leisure a try?” he said, and walked off.
Katie hovered for a moment, watching him walk away, then closed the door. She set the piece of paper down on the dresser and looked at herself in the dusty cracked mirror. She did not consider herself unattractive; to the contrary, she often caused heads to turn as she walked on by. Katie had spent her life fending off the advances of greasy, dirty men who wanted only one thing from her. But she did not get that sense from Chris. When he looked at her, his eyes did not wander; he held her gaze as an equal. She wondered how he thought of her. There was a lack of tension between them, which was good because she did not find him attractive at all. She’d seen plenty of men like Chris Burr—strong features, blue eyes, skin turned to gold from the sun—nice to look at yet all harboring the same darkness. But he was different. The darkness was most certainly there, but it was suppressed somehow, pushed deep down inside, out of plain sight. He allowed her to see what he wanted her to see and nothing more. She would not have mixed business with pleasure, not ever. But still, it was the first time she’d ever been on even footing with a man without there being something unspoken between them, sure to cause problems later on.
Chris Burr respected her. That was what was so perplexing about the man. He respected and seemed to trust her. And for that, Katie Roper almost felt bad.
* * *
* * *
Chris hadn’t been lying to her when he said the town of Burnham’s Rest had been decimated by the conflict between North and South. As she navigated the place, she saw firsthand the carnage that had been left in the wake of the war. Buildings reduced to rubble, bare husks left standing in defiance of the laws of gravity. She passed a church missing half its roof but still filled to capacity with churchgoers. A fountain, devoid of water, surrounded by the ruin of destroyed structures. The eyes of the cherub at the top of the fountain seemed to follow her as she drifted past and it was all Katie could do not to stare back.
I got a few errands to run, Chris had told her. Well, he wasn’t the only one with places to be. The fence she’d been told about was so hard to find, she almost gave up. He occupied a cellar beneath an abandoned tavern at the hind end of that dilapidated town, out of sight of the law. Katie had to rap hard on the cellar door twice for him to even ask who she was.
“Name’s Katie Roper.”
“I don’t know no Katie Roper. Get outta here.”
Katie glanced about. Luckily, the place was deserted. For someone trying to conceal his whereabouts, the fence was shouting loud enough. “Clarence sent me.”
“Clarence?”
“Yeah. You know who I’m talkin’ about. Now, are you gonna open up and let me spend my coin or not?”
She heard a series of bolts slide back and then the sound of a wooden plank being drawn across the surface of the heavy shutters. They were thrown open for her, revealing a staircase leading down into the darkness. A man stood on the steps, off to one side to let her pass. He was short, with a brown beard down to his chest strewn with silver curls.
“Don’t stand on ceremony, young lady,” he said.
Katie descended the stairs. “I’m no young lady. And you aren’t old.”
“Well, my eyesight ain’t what it once was, so I guess we’ll be meetin’ in the middle, eh?” the man said, slamming the shutters after her and bolting them closed. He followed her down the stairs.
Katie’s eyes adjusted to the dim lamplight. The man adjusted the lamp closest to him and the sudden intensity of its illumination forced Katie to look away.
“Clarence sent you?”
“That’s what I said.”
The man eyed her suspiciously. “How do I know you ain’t workin’ for the law?”
Katie turned to him, eyes narrowed against the light. “You don’t. Clarence told me to seek you out, so here I am. He said your name is Weinberg.”
The man nodded. “That’s me,” he said, weighing up the situation. “I guess if Clarence trusted you, then I trust you.”
“Good call.” Katie sat down on top of a barrel close by and folded her arms. “Now, I have coin to spend, as I said.”
“And I’m eager for that coin. Pickings have been slim of late. So what’re you looking for?”
She told him.
Weinberg’s eyes widened at the mention of it. “Are you sure? That stuff’s pretty potent.”
“I know how to use it.”
“But if you use too much . . .”
Katie stood. “I said I know how to use it. I’m not an amateur. You’re a fence, so sell me what I’ve come for or I’ll take my custom elsewhere.”
Weinberg held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Point taken, young lady. I was just makin’ sure you was aware, is all.”
“Consider me informed,” Katie said, sitting back down.
Weinberg rummaged among his things for what she’d asked for. He found it and passed it to her. Katie examined the item in the lamplight, assessing the color within.
“All good?” Weinberg asked, licking his lips.
Katie opened it and had a sniff. “Seems to be. But the proof is in the pudding, isn’t it?” she said, pulling her pistol on him.
Weinberg’s arms were up in the air in a flash as if he were being held up. “Hey, don’t shoot!”
“I’m not robbing you. I just want to ensure it works.”
Weinberg swallowed hard. “It . . . works?” he asked.
“We both know the only way to be sure is to test it,” Katie said, advancing on him, pressing him back into the shadows. “I think it’s only fair I see this stuff in action, Weinberg.”
“Please, no. No! Don’t make me,” Weinberg said, voice breaking. He eyed her pistol fearfully, face suddenly beading with sweat.
Katie was unmoved. She cocked the hammer back on her pistol. “I must insist.”
* * *
* * *
There you are,” Chris said as she approached.
He stood with his thumbs tucked into his belt. Chewing on a tough stalk of grass jutting from the corner of his mouth, he looked her up and down. Katie had gone back to the guesthouse and changed. Not into something fine or fanciful. Quite the opposite—she’d dressed down for the meeting with their employer. She wanted to look the part, to give the impression of being a worker, showing Lockhurst that she was more than capable. She had used the tactic many times. Removing the element of attraction allowed others to view her as an equal to men in the same field as she. That was just how it was. It sure as hell wasn’t fair, but it was what it was. A way of life if you worked for men and with men.
She didn’t like it one bit.
“What’re you wearing?” Chris asked.
“Clothes, last time I looked.”
“You haven’t dressed . . . you know . . .”
“Appropriately?”
Chris shrugged. “That could be the word I was thinkin’ of, yes.”
Katie looked down at her duds. “Matter of fact, I think this is more than appropriate,” she said. “I’m not here to charm the man.”
“You didn’t dress like this when we worked together before.”
“ ’Cause I didn’t know no better.”
Chris shook his head. “In any case, maybe leave the talking to me,” he told her.
“As you like. Charm him by yourself.”
The sky had turned a fiery red—as if the town of Burnham’s Rest was burning. From the ramshackle state of the place, it wouldn’t have been shocking if it were to go up in flames. From somewhere nearby, Katie could smell roasting meat and her stomach gurgled with hunger. There was something about a warm night and cooked meat that made her think of the past, of her childhood by the river. Not just a long time ago now, but a lifetime ago. It amazed her how memories could inform the person you came to be, even if you didn’t recognize who you’d been back then.
They arrived at the door of a three-story building with a fancy door and lanterns burning on either side of it. In contrast to everything else she’d seen in Burnham’s Rest, the headquarters of Boothe Lockhurst appeared to have survived the ravages of the war virtually unscathed. There were a few errant bullet holes here and there, but that was nothing compared with the sheer devastation that had befallen every other building in town. A servant answered the main door and invited them inside. Chris removed his hat out of manners.
It amused Katie how charming Chris could be when he needed to, how much of a show he was capable of putting on for the benefit of others. He had already decided to betray Lockhurst with her help and yet here he was about to get sycophantic.
Lockhurst descended a grand staircase, noting their appearance in the foyer and consulting the pocket watch attached to his waistcoat by a silver chain.
“Mr. Burr and Miss Roper to see you, sir,” the servant announced.
“Thank you,” Lockhurst said. He snapped his watch shut. “And on time, too. I do appreciate punctuality.”
“I’ve heard,” Chris said.
Lockhurst bypassed him to assess Katie. “Well, now, you said she was capable. . . . You said nothing of her bein’ pretty, too,” Lockhurst said. He asked for her hand, and when Katie offered him one, he bent down to kiss it. “Boothe Lockhurst.”
“Pleasure meeting you,” Katie said as politely as she could muster, pulling her hand away.
“Chris spoke very highly of you.”
“Did he?” Katie asked.
Lockhurst took stock of her. “You certainly look the rugged, can-do, outdoors type. A woman of the world.”
Katie had to stop herself from flinching at his assessment of her. “Well, Mr. Lockhurst, you should see me skin a rabbit!” she said in a plucky voice that was just shy of mocking the man.
He did not seem to notice.
Their employer broke out in laughter. “A woman with a sense of humor! You chose well, Chris. Now, how about we get a drink, huh?”
He showed them through to a dining room. It was not overly spacious, but it was decorated like a royal-audience chamber. Katie didn’t think she’d ever seen so much gilt in one room in her life. Lockhurst invited them to sit and relax as he poured glasses of cognac, dismissing his servant’s attempt at intervening with a flippant wave of his hand. “Have either of you visited France?”
Chris shook his head. “Nope.”
Lockhurst looked at Katie. “Me neither,” she said.
Their host smiled. “Wonderful place,” he said, handing them both their drinks. “They sometimes call cognac eau de vie. It translates to ‘water of life.’ ”
Chris swirled his cognac around in his glass, sniffed it, then took a good mouthful. “I can sure see why. That’s smooth,” he said appraisingly.
Katie followed suit. She wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“They age it in these big oak barrels, and over time, it reduces both in volume and potency. It’s something the French call la part des anges, which means ‘the angel’s share.’ After it’s aged long enough, it gets transferred to these huge glass bottles called bonbonnes.”
