Stacked Deck: A Short Story Collection

Night Freight

He caught the freight in Phalene, down in the citrus belt, four days after they gave Joanie the divorce.

He waited in the yards. The northbound came along a few minutes past midnight. He hid in the shadows of the loading platform, watching the cars, and half the train had gone by before he saw the open box, the first one after a string of flats.

He trotted up alongside, hanging on to the big gray-and-white suitcase. There were heavy iron rungs running up the side of the box. He caught on with his right hand and got his left foot through the opening, then laid the suitcase inside and swung through behind it.

It smelled of dust in there, and just a bit of citrus, and he did not like the smell. It caught in his nose and in the back of his throat, and he coughed.

It was very dark, but he could see that the box was empty. He picked up the suitcase and went over and sat down against the far wall.

It was cold too. The wind came whistling in through the open door like a siren as the freight picked up speed. He wrapped his arms around his legs and sat there like that, hugging himself.

He thought about Joanie.

He knew he should not think about her. He knew that. It made things only that much worse when he thought about her. But every time he closed his eyes he could see her face.

He could see her smile, and the way her eyes, those soft brown eyes, would crinkle at the corners when she laughed. He could see the deep, silken brown of her hair, and the way it would turn almost gold when she stood in the sun, and the way that one little strand of hair kept falling straight down across the bridge of her nose, the funny little way it would do that, and how they had both laughed at it in the beginning.

No, he thought. No, I mustn’t think about that.

He hugged his legs.

What had happened? he thought. Where did it go wrong?

But he knew what it was. They should never have moved to California.

Yes, that was it. If they had not moved to California, none of it would have happened.

Joanie hadn’t wanted to go. She didn’t like California. But he had had that job offer. It was a good one, but it meant moving to California and that was what started it all; he was sure of that.

Joanie had tried, he knew that. She had tried hard at first. But she had wanted to go home. He’d promised her he would take her home, he’d promised her that, just as soon as he made some money.

But she had wanted to go right away. There were plenty of good jobs at home, she said. Why did he want to stay in California?

He’d been a fool. He should have taken her home right away, like she’d wanted, and to hell with the job. Then none of it would have happened. Everything would be all right, now.

But he hadn’t done that. It had started a lot of fights between them, her wanting to go home and him wanting to stay there in California, and pretty soon they were fighting over a lot of things, just small things, and he had hated those times. He hated to fight with Joanie. It made him sick inside; it got him all mixed up and made his head pound.

He remembered the last fight they had. He remembered it very well. He remembered how he had broken the little china figurine of the palomino stallion. He hadn’t wanted to break it. But he had.

Joanie hadn’t said much to him after that fight. He’d tried to make it up to her, what he’d done, and had gone out and bought her another figurine and told her he was sorry. But she had gotten very cold and distant then. That was when he knew she didn’t love him any more.

And then he’d come home from work that one night, and Joanie was gone, and there was just a note on the dining room table, three short sentences that said she was leaving him.

He didn’t know what to do. He’d tried everywhere he could think of that she might have gone, the few friends they had made, hotels, but she had simply vanished. He thought at first she might have gone home, and made a long-distance call, but she was not there, and no, they didn’t know where she was.

A week later her lawyer had come to see him.

He brought papers with him, a copy of the divorce statement, and told him when he was to appear in court. He had tried to make the lawyer tell her whereabouts, so he could see her and talk to her, but the lawyer had refused and said that if he tried to see her there would be a court order issued to restrain him.

He quit his job then, because he didn’t care about the money any more. All he cared about was Joanie. He could remember very little of what happened between then and the time the divorce came up.

He hadn’t wanted to go to court. But he knew he had to go, if only just to see her again.

And when Joanie had come in, his heart had caught in his throat. He had stood up and called out her name, but she would not look at him.

Then her lawyer had gotten up and said how he had caused Joanie extreme mental anguish, and threatened her, and caused her to fear for her life. And how he would go off his head and rant and rave like a wild man, and how he should be remanded by the court into psychiatric custody.

He had wanted to shout that it was all a lie, that he had never said anything to cause Joanie to fear for her life, never done any of the things they said, because he loved her, and how could he hurt the one person he truly loved?

But he had sat there and not said anything and listened to the judge grant Joanie the divorce. Then, sitting there, it had come to him why Joanie had left him, and told all those lies to her lawyer, and why she wanted a divorce and didn’t love him anymore.

Another man.

It had come to him all of a sudden as he sat there, that this was the answer, and he knew it was true. He did not know who the man could be, but he knew there was a man, knew it with a sudden and certain clarity.

He had turned and run out of the court room, and gone home and wept as only a man can in his grief.

The next day he had gone looking for her, through the entire city, block by block. For three days he had searched.

Then he had found her, living alone, in a flat near the river, and he had gone up there and tried to talk to her, to tell her he still loved her, no matter what, and to ask her about the other man. But she would not let him in, told him to go away and would not let him in. He had pounded on the door, pounded...

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 onto 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 there. 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 damn 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 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?”

“No.”

“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 Lon.

“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 towards 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 onto 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.

The freight had begun to pull out of the siding. It was picking up speed. The whistle sounded in the night.

He turned and walked to where the suitcase lay, open on the floor of the box. He knelt down and began to cry.

He said, “It’s all right now. We’re going home. Going home to Ridgemont. Just like I promised you, Joanie. We’re going home for good.”

Joanie’s head stared up at him from the open suitcase.