The Engine Car greeted me with silence.

 

On an average night, the red hot machinery would roar down the tracks like a feral tiger–but not now. We had been stalled on the tracks for some hours, waiting for help to arrive at our location.

 

It was dark; the coal furnace had burnt itself low some time ago. I had just closed the door behind me when a gruff-looking man of sixty stepped from the shadows. Two soft blue eyes sat above cheeks streaked in coal dust.

 

He walked directly to me, his soot-covered hand gripping my own. As we shook hands, I asked, “Are you the conductor?” 

 

With a smirk in his eyes, he said, “Aye, sir. That’s me. You the detective I’ve been hearing about?”

 

“Indeed I am. How did you know?”

 

“Oh, Thomas hasn’t shut his mouth since we left Sacramento last month. Only a deaf man could find peace on this train.”

 

“Remind me, who is Thomas?”

 

“Stanton’s personal servant. Knows more than any one man should.”

 

“I see. And what is your name?”

 

“Adrian Bellows, sir. What can I do for you?”

 

“Bellows? That’s a good name for a man who works so closely with heat.” Pleased to find his smile growing, I continued, “Well, Mr. Bellows, I need your help establishing a few things. How has the engine performed on the way home from Teotihuacan?" 

 

“Oh, she’s been firin’ beautifully, sir. We’d been making damn good time, until Thomas told me to shut the whole thing down.”

 

“Did he come to the Engine Room after the shots were heard?”

 

“Yea, came in a real huff. Said Mr. Stanton’d have my head if I didn’t stop the train right then and there.” 

 

“You almost tossed me to the floor with the stoppage.”

 

“Mr. Stanton’s orders. I’m just a staffer, sir.”

 

“Understood. I have a few more questions, if you don’t mind. Where exactly have we stopped on our return journey? And do you know when those stops were made?”

“I do, sir. The log is right here. And we made both of them stations exactly on time. Can be sure of that.”

He smiled proudly, handing me a sheet of paper smeared with black finger prints. 

 

“And what do you do at these stops?”

 

“Well, I get off and inspect the train to see if anything's broken, swap stories with the local suits, and resupply if needed.” 

 

“When you deboarded, did you see anything out of the ordinary today?”

 

“Not in Mexico City. Place was a zoo. Barely room enough for the train amongst all the chaos. And the authorities searched our baggage like they was panning for nuggets in a pot of stew. But, don’t worry, sir: you as a law man know good and well, we’re clean as a whistle. They found nothin’ in them suitcases but ink and underwear.”

He winked at me and smiled. I nodded my head and motioned for him to continue. 

 

“Well… ‘twas dark by the time we rolled into Juarez tonight. Makes it much harder for me to see that things are done right. I didn’t even hear the fella when he come up on me, but as I was inspectin’ things, some suit pulled me aside.”

“A rail authority?”

 

“Yes.”

“Is that unusual? What did he want?” 

 

"Very unusual, yes; and I never did find out what he wanted. Man didn’t speak a word of English and kept tuggin’ on my sleeve, yellin’ about some piece of paper in his hand.”

 

“Had you seen this person before?”

 

“No…stopped at Juarez many times. Never seen that fella, though.” 

 

“Did he have any remarkable features?”

 

“Not that I noticed, but seemed local to me…. Well actually, Detective, there was one thing that caught my eye: he had some sort of tattoo running up the side of his neck.”

 

“Oh, could you describe it further?”

 

“Was way too dark to see. I just know he had one.”

 

He stepped to me and grabbed my sleeve, saying, “See? He kept me nice and close to him–like this–with all the pullin’ he did on my jacket.”

 

“Strange.” I said, pushing his hand from my coat sleeve. “Anything else?”

“Yes, Detective. I was in a real rage, as you might expect. When I finally pulled free and turned back toward the train, ‘saw someone at the Baggage Car. Slipping through the rear door, real quick and quiet, like he didn't want to be seen."”

 

“What? Did you report this?”

 

“No, not in this line of work. Learned to not ask those questions real quick, Detective. Not looking to find a new employer any time soon. Mr. Stanton pays a fair wage.”

 

“I see…Well, what was he wearing? Do you remember?”

 

“Um, I believe he was wearing a black coat and black hat. Couldn’t say much else. Caught just a glimpse of him as he closed the door behind himself.”

 

“Okay, thank you Mr. Bellows. That will be all for now.”

 

I made for the exit, but he put an arm in front of me. Our eyes met, and he said, “Let me know if you see my prybar, Detective. I can’t find it since Teotihuacan. Thief that took it is a dead man; you can count on that.”

 

He laughed and opened the door for me to leave.

 

“I will let you know if I see it.”