Edward Lee - The Black Train

Well, I guess I knew it was too good to be true. But at least Cusher’s had been a stunning success… And I suppose I owe part of its discovery to him.

“I wish I could be more help.”

“You’ve been quite a bit of help already, Mr. Sute. If it hadn’t been for your piece, I might never have found out where Cusher’s is located.” Collier supposed buying several of the man’s books—especially the fifty-dollar job—was gratitude enough. “Let me take these to the cashier, and then you can sign them.”

Sute gushed behind Collier, and eventually signed the tomes with a confident expression. Maybe they’d be interesting, maybe not. But then something ticked in Collier’s ear.

“You said this one book was too harsh for a New York publisher?”

“That and a number of others. Not even the local college presses would touch them, even though these are the only books ever written on this aspect of town history. And it’s an important history, too—there are dozens of books on the railroads of Chattanooga during the war, yet the most unusual railroad of the same period was the one that Harwood Gast built. My book details, among other things, Gast’s actual use of the railroad, which was…atypical.”

The comment seemed bizarre. “I presume that any railroad during a war is used chiefly to transport troops and supplies.”

“Um-hmm, but not this railroad, Mr. Collier—and my sources are firsthand evidence. No supplies, and not one single soldier was ever transported on Gast’s railroad.” Sute nodded sternly, and indicated the books under Collier’s arm. “The railroad’s actual use is touched upon in those books, however. I hope you find them interesting.”

What is it with people in the South? Collier wondered, aggravated. They deliberately evade the point. The best storytelling ploy, keep the listener in suspense. “Come on, Mr. Sute. What was the railroad used to transport?”

“Captives,” the obese man said.

“Oh, you mean they used it to take Union prisoners to detention camps? Andersonville and all that?”

“Not…Andersonville. That was on the other side of Georgia, and, yes, that’s where most of the captured Union troops were sent. But I’m afraid Gast’s railroad had an exclusive utility: to transport captive civilians. Women, children, old men. The innocent. It’s unfortunate that the complete story was never published.”

“Yes,” Collier added, “because it was too harsh. You told me. But you’ve got my curiosity going. So…Gast transported captured Northern civilians on the railway—do I have that right?”

Sute nodded.

“And I guess they were transported to a separate detention camp…”

“In a sense, you could say that. It’s a harrowing story, Mr. Collier, and probably not one you’d like to hear in detail on a beautiful day such as this. You’re a celebrity, after all, and it’s wonderful to have you in our humble town. I’d hate for such a story to spoil your stay.”

Collier smiled. “It’s some ’ghost train’ or something, then, right?”

A curt “No.”

This guy is ticking me off now, Collier thought.

Sute shed some of the grim cast, and raised a finger. “But if you like ghost stories, I’ll admit, a few of those are touched on, too. Some nifty little stories about the house.”

The house, Collier stalled. The Gast House. “I knew it all along! So the inn’s a haunted house. I knew Mrs. Butler was bluffing…”

J.G. Sute’s broad face turned up in a grin. “Well, I’m on my way to lunch now, Mr. Collier, but if you stop by tomorrow I’ll tell you some of the tales.”

Collier wanted to bang the books over his head. “Come on, Mr. Sute. Tell me one story about the house. Right now.”

Sute drew on a pause—of course, for effect. “Well, without sounding too uncouth, I can tell you that many, many guests of the Gast House—dating back quite a spell—have reported a curious…influence. A, shall we say, libidinous one.”

Collier squinted at the thick mustachioed face. “Libidinous—you mean, sexual? ”

The schoolmarmish cashier frowned over her glasses. “Please, J.G.! Don’t start getting into all that now. We want Mr. Collier to come back, not stay away forever!”

Mr. Sute ignored the crotchety woman. “I’ll only say that the house seems to have a sexual effect on certain people who happen to stay there. One of whom was my grandfather.”

The cashier was fuming, but Collier couldn’t let it go. “A sexual effect in what way?”

Sute’s shoulder hitched up once. “Some people have experienced an inexplicable…amplification of their…sexual awareness.”

Amplification. Sexual awareness. Collier’s mind ticked like a clock. “You’re saying that the house makes people h—”

Before Collier could say “horny,” Sute polished up the inference by interrupting: “The house will incite the desires of certain people. Especially persons who are otherwise experiencing a decline in such desires. My grandfather, for instance, was in his eighties when he stayed there.” Sute smiled again, and whispered, “He said the place gave him the sex drive of a twenty-year-old.”

Collier had to make a conscious effort to prevent his jaw from dropping.

Just like me, from the second I set foot in the place…

“Mr. Sute? I’d be honored if you’d allow me to treat you to lunch,” Collier said.

But why was Collier so fascinated? He didn’t even try to discern it. Sute’s strange comment about “amplified” sexual desire, and the fact that Collier had experienced exactly that, could have just been timeliness and coincidence—in fact, he felt sure it was.

Still…

The house was having some effect on him—probably due to his boredom and angst. They walked around a busy corner, Sute still ego-stroked that this “celebrity” was interested in his stories enough to actually buy him lunch. Two birds with one stone, Collier thought; J.G. Sute was all too happy to lunch at his favorite local restaurant: Cusher’s.

“Would you mind if we sat at the bar?” Collier asked when he noticed two empty stools. Better yet, Dominique was tending the taps, cuter than ever in her dark, shiny hair and bosom-hugging brewer’s apron. Collier looked up hopefully, and when she smiled and waved, he could’ve melted. Oh, man. The perfect woman…

“The bar’s fine with me,” Sute said, but just then—

You fuckers! Collier’s thought screamed. Get the fuck away from those stools!

A middle-aged couple beat them to the stools.

Collier walked to the end of the bar. “Hi,” he said to Dominique.

“I’m glad you came,” she said. Caramel irises sparkled. “No room at the bar right now, but there’s plenty of seats in the dining room.”

Collier stammered, “I was really hoping to get to talk to you—oh, and I have that release form.”

“Great. When you’re done eating, just come by.” Dominique glanced at Collier’s unlikely lunch guest. “Getting an earful, huh?”

“Well…”

“Good old J.G. will keep you enthralled,” she said. “Last night you did seem pretty interested in some of the town’s folklore. Mr. Sute’s the one to talk to about that.”

“So I gather. But—” Shit! “I really wanted a seat at the bar.”

Her eyes thinned, and she smiled. “I won’t fly away.”

Christ, I really dig her, Collier thought. A hostess seated them in the dining room. I’m the one who invited this big dolt to lunch, so live with it. I’ll have plenty of time to talk to Dominique later.