Bill Pronzini: Night Freight

His head had begun to pound now, thinking about it. His mind whirled and jumbled with the thoughts as he sat there in the empty box.

He lay down on the floor and pulled the suitcase to his body, holding on to it very tightly, and after a time, a long time, he slept.

He awoke to a thin patch of sunlight, shining in through the open door of the box car. He stood up and stretched, and his mind was clear now. He went over to the door and put his head outside.

The sun was rising in the sky, warm and bright. He looked around, trying to place where he was. The land was flat, and he could see brown foothills off in the distance, but it was nice and green in the meadows through which the freight was passing. He could smell alfalfa, and apple blooms, and he knew they had gotten up into northern California.

As he stood there, he could feel the train begin to slow. They came around a long bend. Up ahead he could see freight yards. The freight had begun to lose speed rapidly, now.

He could hear the hiss of air brakes and couplings banging together, and the train slid into the yards. There were two men standing in the shade of a shed out there, half-hidden behind it, dressed in khaki trousers and denim shirts, open down the front, and one of them had on a green baseball cap.

They just stood there, watching the freight as it slowed down.

He turned from the door and went over and sat down by the suitcase again. He was very thirsty, but he did not want to get off to go for a drink. He did not want anyone to see him.

He sat there for fifteen minutes; then he heard the whistle from the engine and the couplings banging together again, and the freight pulled out.

But just as it did, there was a scraping over by the door, and he saw two men, the same two who had been out by the shed, come scuttling in through the box door.

The freight picked up speed. The two men sat there, looking out. Then one of them stood and looked around, and saw him sitting there on the floor at the opposite end of the box.

"Well," this one said. He was the one in the green baseball cap. "Looks like we're going to have some company, Lon."

"Sure enough," Lon said, looking around.

They came over to where he was.

"You been riding long?" the one in the baseball cap said.

"Since Phalene," he said. He wished they had not come aboard. He wished they would go and leave him alone.

"Down in the citrus?"

"Yes."

"Where you headed for?"

"What?"

"You're going someplace, ain't you?"

"Yes," he said. "To Ridgemont."

"Where?"

"Ridgemont," he said again.

"Where's that?"

"In Idaho."

"You going all that way on the rails?"

"Yes."

'Well, that's a long pull. You want to watch yourself up that. They don't cotton much to fellows riding the freights."

"All right," he said.

They sat down. The one called Lon said, "Say, now, you wouldn't happen to have a smoke on you, would you, friend? I just been dying for a smoke."

"Yes," he said.

"Much obliged."

They both took one. They sat there, smoking, watching him. He could tell that they were thinking he did not look like a man who rode the rails. He was not like them. The one in the baseball cap kept looking at his suitcase.

It was very hot in the box car, now. The two men gave off a kind of sour odor of dirt and sweat. This, mingled with the heat, made his stomach crawl.

He stood and went over to the door to get some air. He was conscious of their eyes on his back. It made him feel uneasy to have them watching him like that.

The freight moved on at considerable speed. They rode in silence most of the day, but the two men continued to watch him. They talked between themselves at brief intervals, but never to him, except when one of them would ask him for another cigarette.

As the afternoon turned into night, it began to cool down. Very suddenly there was a chill in the air. He could smell the salt then, sharp and fresh.

The one in the baseball cap buttoned his shirt up to his throat. "Getting cool," he said.

"We're running up the coast," the one called Lon said. "Be damned cold tonight."

They kept looking at him, then over at his suitcase. "You know, it sure would be nice if we had something to keep us warm on a cold night like it's going to be," the one in the baseball cap said.

"Sure would," Lon said.

"Say, friend," the one in the baseball cap said. "You wouldn't want to let us have anything in that bag there, would you?"

"What do you mean?" he said.

"Well, it's sure going to be chilly tonight. Be real fine if you was to have something in there to keep us warm."

"Like what?"

"Maybe a blanket. Or a coat. Like that."

"No."

"You sure, now?"

"There's nothing in there like that."

"You wouldn't want to be holding out on a couple of fellows, now would you?"

"Then suppose you just open up that case and let us have a look inside," Lon said.

He put his hand on the case.

"You got no right," he said.

"Well, I say we do," the one in the baseball cap said.

"I say we got plenty of right."

"Sure we do," Lon said.

They stood up.

"Come on, friend," the one in the baseball cap said. "Open up that case."

He stood up too.

"No," he said. "Stay away. I'm warning you."

"He's warning us," the one in the baseball cap said. "You get that, Lon?"

"Sure," Lon said. "He's warning us."

They stood there, the two men staring at him. He clutched the suitcase tightly in his right hand. Then, as they stood there, the freight began to slow. They were coming into a siding.

Outside it had begun to get dark. There were long shadows inside the box car.

The men watched each other, warily, and then, suddenly, Lon made a grab for the suitcase, and the one in the baseball cap pushed him back up against the wall of the box, and Lon tore the suitcase from his fingers.

He backed up against the wall. He was breathing hard. They shouldn't have done that , he thought. I told them. They shouldn't have done that .

He took out the knife.

Lon stopped pawing at the catch on the suitcase. They were both staring at him.

"Hey!" Lon said. "Hey, now."

"All right," he said to them. "I told you."

"Take it easy," the one in the baseball cap said, staring at the knife.

"Put the suitcase down," he said to Lou.

"Sure," Lon said. "You just take it easy."

"It was just a joke, friend," the one in the baseball cap said. "You know. A couple of fellows having a little game."

"That's it," Lon said. "Just a joke."

"We wasn't going to take nothing," the one in the baseball cap said.

He held the knife straight out in front of him. The blade was flat and wide and very sharp.

"Put it down," he said again.

"Sure," Lon said. He leaned down, never taking his eyes off the knife, and let go of the suitcase. The catch had been loosened in the struggle, and from Lon's pawing, and when it hit the floor of the box, it came open.

He said, "You get off this train. Right now. You just get off this train." He moved the knife in a wide circle and took a step toward them.

The one in the baseball cap said, "Oh, my God!" He took a step backward, and his face was the color of chalk. The freight was at a standstill, now.

"Get off," he said again. His head had begun to hurt.

The one in the baseball cap backed to the door, watching the knife, and caught on to the jamb and then turned and stepped off. Lon ran to the door and jumped off after him.

He put the knife away. He stood there for a time, and his mind whirled, and for a moment, just a moment, he remembered what had happened last night with Joanie—how he had forced his way into her flat, raging with anger, and told her he knew about the other man, and how she had denied it and said she was going to call the police, and how, then, he had hit her, and hit her again, and then he had seen the knife, the knife there on the table in the kitchen, the flat, sharp knife, and then it went black for him again and he could not remember anything.