The Train of the Lawless

Am I dying?

Kenneth McMallory felt the rushing sway of the world around him, a world that was encased in darkness. His limp body rocked as an enraged force carried him to his fate.

This is it…

But the rhythmic movements back and forth, the grinding noises of metal on metal, the chugging…it was all familiar.

I’m on a train, Kenneth thought, I’m alive.

Kenneth rubbed his dry eyes as they adjusted to the dimly lit room. Indeed, he was in an ordinary train cabin. It was a modest room with a single window covered by a dusty, emerald curtain. Just like the tacky ol’ ones ma had, Kenneth reminisced. Across from the couch he was laying on was an oak table with a single lit lantern.

Kenneth fixed his slate-blue trilby as he lethargically sat up. His whole body ached, and the sound of his quickened heartbeat pounded in his head. He sat for a few moments with his face nestled in his palms.

How did I get here?

His eyes searched the room for clues, but there was nothing remarkable. Eventually, he stood up and gave himself a minute to get acquainted with the rocking of the train. He was always fond of trains, but not in a situation as strange as this one.

Where am I?

Kenneth sluggishly walked over to the window. He pulled the old curtain to the side and stared at nothing but his own haunted reflection. The world outside was completely dark, as if the window itself had been painted black. Even on a cloudy night, Kenneth’s keen eyes would be able to detect at least some shapes or movement. But beyond the window was an unsettling chasm of darkness.

Kenneth McMallory was known to be a more reticent type of man, but he was rarely left speechless.

“Where…” he grumbled out loud, still groggy from what felt like an unnaturally long sleep.

I’ve been drugged. That’s how they got me here.

But Kenneth did not know exactly who “they” were. With a job like his, he made enemies on a daily basis.

My badge…

Panic shot through him as he hastily fumbled through the many pockets of his charcoal trench coat. With a relieved sigh, his calloused fingers grasped the smooth metal that was in his inner breast pocket. His private investigation badge. In fact, Kenneth noticed that all his usual items were on him. His revolver, his wallet, even his notebook and pencil. But that badge was equally as important as his gun. Both saved his life on many occasions.

Without his badge, there was little to separate him from the slew of mobsters and petty criminals that littered the city. Kenneth methods were not to the Police and Justice Department’s official standards, but they were effective. “Creative” is what the Chief called it. That was just another word for illegal. Breaking and entering, stealing, foraging, murdering, Kenneth had done it all. Not that the Chief nor any of the officers ever complained. As long as he got the results they wanted, he was a detective, not a criminal. Justice was a shady concept in their city. The court cared more about incrimination than justice. A “creative” P.I. like Kenneth McMallory was the secret boon of the Police and Justice Department. He could obtain damning evidence by any means necessary, and the Chief could continue the façade of honor and justice. Once you were pinned as a mobster, or even just a common criminal, you were condemned. You could try to fight for a fair trial with all the money in the world, but you would fail. You would go to the state prison, and you would die there. The Chief would personally make sure of it, even if it meant sending an innocent man to his death. Justice was political and the law was corrupt. That was the way of life.

Kenneth McMallory was just another mobster, but one with a badge and police support. This meant that countless people wanted him dead.

But here he was, alive and unharmed as far as he could tell. Another thought occurred to him. As a man who destroyed criminal enterprises and had an in with the police force, he could make someone a pretty penny off his ransom.

Either way, Kenneth would not sit back and let another man toy around with his fate. He was going to find whoever put him here and make them regret their choices. Kenneth tested the steel door of the cabin room. Surprisingly, the door was unlocked, but he did not open it right away. Instead, he took a minute to prepare himself. If someone kidnapped him, then why would they leave him in an unlocked room with his gun?

One thing was certain, if he was drugged and thrown on this train, then there was likely danger outside this room. Luckily, he still had his trusty revolver. The Negotiator, he called it. He rarely missed with it, and it made handling tricky situations rather advantageous for him. He checked the cylinder of the gun. Fully loaded. He was ready to take justice into his own hands once again. Kenneth took a deep breath and opened the door.

The Negotiator proudly pointed into the empty hallway of the train car. A few lanterns lit the taupe, carpeted walkway. All the windows were concealed by the same curtains from his room.

Kenneth checked both directions swiftly before he stepped into the hall. The train roared as its speed hastened. Even though he could not see how fast it was going, he could feel it.

He lowered the revolver but held it firmly in his hands. This hall was unusually small. There were only two doors, his and the one at the end of the hall to the left. The right side ended with a solid wall. Strange, he thought. Even caboose cars usually had a back door, but then again, Kenneth had only been on a train a few times before.

Well, only one way to go.

On one hand, this made things easy for him. On the other hand, it meant that whoever put him had planned where he could go. But Kenneth McMallory hunted down danger, fought mobsters, and defied justice for a corrupt system on a daily basis. Sure, the setting was unusual, but this was just another day on the job. Reminding himself of this gave him the confidence to continue down the hall to the imposing steel door. He read the engraving on the door.

Engine Room.

Good. I’ll stop this cursed train.

As he touched its cold handle, he swore he felt the train rush even faster. It felt unsteady, as if it was gradually losing control. A dreaded thought occurred to him. So far, he seemed to be the only one on this train and it was reaching an unnerving speed. What if someone put him here with the intent of a fatal crash? Dramatic, yes, but those seeking revenge rarely did it subtly.

Regardless, Kenneth had to keep going. He would not let anyone make him hide away in a corner. If someone wanted to kill him, he was ready to “negotiate”. He pulled the steel handle down and swung the door open.

“Howdy, Kenny.”

Abraham “The Devil” Dawson. There he stood, an extraordinary man in an ordinary engine room. He was a cheat, an extortionist, and a murderer. He was the one man that Kenneth McMallory had great difficulty tracking down. The last time he saw this mobster, they were at a stand-off in the Lonely Man’s Pub. That day, Kenneth used his “negotiation tactics” to take down one of the most elusive criminals.

But here The Devil was, dressed in his ashy duster and fiddling with the unlit cigar in his hand. His auburn beard was overgrown and scruffy as usual, but it could never contain his arrogant smirk. He wore his favourite crimson Stetson, but there was no bullet hole in this one. He leaned against the wall of various steel pipes, dials, and mechanisms that powered the train’s engine.

Could this be an imposter? Sure, he had the resources to pull off such a stunt…but…those eyes. Those apathetic, soulless eyes. This was the real Abraham “The Devil” Dawson. Kenneth would bet his Negotiator on it.

“What, Kenny? Missed this handsome mug so much, I’ve left ya speechless?”

“I shot you. Right between those hideous eyes of yours.”

Abraham gave his classic condescending chuckle, as he lit his cigar.

“Well, that’s no way to talk to a man ya shot now, is it?” he blew out the cigar smoke rather casually, as if it was any other day at the Lonely Man’s Pub.

The train roared even louder against the tense silence in the room. It seemed to be hurdling through the darkness even faster now, Kenneth noticed.

“So, you did this? You drugged me and put us both on this blasted train? And for what, Abraham, revenge? I know you like your flair, but even this is a little much. You should have just shot me when I was passed out.”

The Devil took another puff of his cigar. The thick, white smoke cascaded around the room and clung to the air.

“Where are we headed, Abraham?”

Again, that condescending chuckle, but this time it sounded more sinister than usual. Kenneth delicately reached for his Negotiator, feeling the cold grip in his hand.

“I’m stopping this train. I don’t care how many times I have to shoot you.”

“Now, what would Barbara think of her husband saying such nasty words? Pretty little lady she was. And what was ya little girl’s name? Eh, doesn’t really matter, does it? They’ve been long dead. But if only they knew what kind of man ya really are,” Abraham snickered.

Without another second of hesitation, Kenneth let his wrath overcome him and drew the Negotiator. He aimed right for the same spot he hit before. This time, he was taking out Abraham “The Devil” Dawson for good.

The smell of oil filled the room as the wall lantern flickered. The train’s angry chugging and groaning grew even more violent.

Focus, Kenneth thought. He held the revolver steadily against the dying light of the smoky room.

“It was nice knowing ya, pal,” Abraham sneered as he tipped his Stetson.

The lantern finally failed, and darkness took over. Kenneth stealthily found the closest corner and aimed the Negotiator into the vast blackness of the room. He calmed his breathing and prepared for a rather inconvenient fight. But it was nothing that Kenneth McMallory was unfamiliar with by now. He waited, ready to take down The Devil one last time.

But aside from the clunking of the train, the room was quiet. No footsteps, no doors opening, not even Abraham Dawson’s unnerving laugh. In fact, Kenneth was alone. His detective mind raced with explanations for that criminal’s unlikely escape. He ran his hand along the wall until he found the door he came in from. He fumbled for the handle and prepared himself for whatever might be on the other side. Abraham? A group of his thugs? Either way, Kenneth McMallory was ready.

With the speed that came from years of experience in combat, Kenneth swung open the door. He used the cover of the dark, smoke-filled room and aimed his trusty Negotiator into the train hallway.

However, to his utter surprise, he was not looking into the hallway that he had just come from. This room was identical to the one he woke up in…except…

“Kenneth!”

“Ba…Barbara?”

“Dad!”

“Dotty?”

His beautiful wife and daughter stood across the room, grinning at him. Impossible. But there they were, with matching chestnut hair and wearing their favourite pastel pink dresses. Kenneth was never much for fashion, but that shade of pink had always been his favourite since the first time he had seen them in those dresses.

Dotty clumsily ran over to her dad, hugging his leg. Barbara elegantly glided over and kissed Kenneth.

His disbelief and sheer happiness were at war. How could they be real? Am I crazy?

But he looked at his loving wife’s eyes, those beautiful honey brown eyes. They were warm and full of life, and so unlike the eyes of all the killer’s he had tracked down in his life.

Maybe he had gone insane, but frankly, he did not care in this moment. All he wanted to do was hold his wife and daughter. So, against all rationality, he scooped Dotty up in one arm and hugged his wife with the other.

“I’ve missed you both so much,” Kenneth whispered.

“We’re here now, dear”

“I love you, dad!”

The train’s rocking did not seem so violent anymore. It was as if Kenneth finally got in tune with it, and now it was almost relaxing. Barbara took Dotty’s hand and led her to the now cozy looking couch. Kenneth was left barely standing, still happily in shock.

“Come sit, darling. It’s time to go home,” Barbara said as she gently patted the seat. Her smile melted away all of Kenneth’s fears.

After a lifetime of lawbreaking in the sullied name of justice, Kenneth McMallory was ready to be an honest man.

He gladly took his place beside his wife, embracing her closely with his arm around her shoulder. Dotty climbed onto her dad’s lap and his other arm held her securely in place.

For a few silent moments, they cuddled up to the rocking of the train. For the first time in many years, Kenneth felt genuinely at peace.

“How much longer, dad?” Dotty asked sleepily.

“Not much longer now, my little polka dot. Not much longer.”