CHAPTER 6
Pigeons flapped through the shafts of morning sun that beamed down from the glass-domed ceiling of Wilde City’s Grand Central Station. The sound of trains chuffing steam was almost drowned out by the throng of the excited crowd of photographers, journalists, socialites, and dignitaries making their way across the vast marbled lobby of the train station, all of them heading to the same destination, a brand new platform and trainline that had been specially built to house Hart Industries’ latest innovation—the rocket-train.
Harry was staying close to me, his hand constantly brushing against mine as though he was desperate to hold it, desperate to make sure I didn’t get swept away from him in the milling multitude.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I wasn’t used to crowds. Hell, I hated them. They were like a collar buttoned too tight or a summer day so damn hot you couldn’t breathe. “It ain’t too late for me to back out now.”
“Buck, don’t you wanna get to the bottom of this case as soon as we can? ”
“I’d rather take you home and get to the bottom of you ,” I whispered in his ear.
“Settle, mister. You’re on the job.”
At that moment, a wave of excitement rippled through the crowd as someone said, “There it is.”
Necks craned, people tried to see over each other, and the tide of spectators swept us beneath an ornate golden arch emblazoned with the words ‘Welcome to the Future.’
The crowd filtered onto a platform, cleaner and fancier than any other platform I’d ever seen at Grand Central Station. The mosaic walls were covered in promotional banners for Hart Industries featuring bright, vibrant illustrations of Hart’s fleet of luxury passenger liners, as well as his grand and imposing airships sailing over the cityscapes of Paris and Berlin. And now joining the ranks of his transportation empire were depictions of a train so fantastical it looked like something out of a Jules Verne novel.
“Is that what the rocket-train really looks like?” I asked Harry, pointing to one of the illustrated banners. “It doesn’t even look real.”
“Oh, it’s real alright. Wait and see.”
I didn’t have to wait long. As a swell of awe-filled ‘ooohs’ and ‘aaahs’ filled the space, a long, large mechanical beast came into view. It sprawled down the length of the platform like a giant iron caterpillar covered in gears and cogs, bolts and bearings, sprockets and springs and piping and portholes, round and rimmed with brass like the windows on a ship. They ran all the way from the enclosed engine in front, along the three carriages in the middle, and down to the caboose at the tail of the train.
The engine was covered in metal valves and vents that looked like the gills of a steel shark. There was a veil draped over part of the engine’s side, concealing something yet to be revealed.
The three carriages in the middle of the train were labeled with signage that read “Presidential Suite,” “Dining Car,” and “Passenger Car.”
Meanwhile, the caboose was designated “Cargo and Storage.”
But there was something that struck me as odd with the design of the train, apart from the portholes for windows: the carriages were connected with sealed passageways, joining one car to the next, making it one seamlessly linked locomotive from head to tail.
“It sure is something, huh, toots?”
The voice coming from behind me was, of course, Stella. But what the hell was she doing there? And how the hell could she see the damn train over all those heads?
The second question was answered when I spun about to see her perched like a parrot on the shoulder of Lois… or was it Lucy? Whichever it was, there Stella was with the glamorous blonde Logan twins who worked as Harry’s personal assistants.
“Stella? What are you doing here?”
“I got an invite from the luscious Logan twins, naturally.”
Lois and Lucy both gave me a red, glossy smile. “Nice to see you, Mr. Baxter.” They turned to Harry beside me. “Morning, boss.”
“Morning, ladies. Morning, Stella.”
“How ya doin’, moneybags?” Stella asked Harry before tipping her head toward my black eye. “Did you check out the shiner Buck got from workin’ your case? Good thing his eye didn’t pop right out of its socket. But hey, that’s just the hazards of the trade I guess.”
I clenched my jaw, anticipating the look of surprise and betrayal that came my way from Harry. “You told me it was a bunch of drunk bozos in an alley.”
“Harry, I can explain.”
“I think you’d better. I didn’t hire you for this case to watch you get beat up. And I certainly didn’t hire you so you could lie to me. ”
“Harry…”
At a dais beside the engine of the train, several men in expensive suits appeared, with Howard Hart center stage and his wife beside him.
“Explain it to me later, Buck. My father’s about to begin his speech. Maybe you should start looking for that driver of his. Just promise me you won’t get hurt again. Like I said before, the sooner this is resolved the better.”
I felt like I’d been put in my place like a naughty child, or worse, an incompetent employee. Perhaps I deserved it for lying about the bruising I got, but it still stung. Part of me felt embarrassed, being chided like that in front of Stella and the Logan twins. But part of me also felt heartbroken and disappointed in myself that I’d upset Harry… that I’d let him down by lying to him.
I felt my face flush. Along with the shiner I was now no doubt a cocktail of red, black, and blue.
I plucked Stella off Lois or Lucy’s shoulder. “Come on, Stella. We got a job to do.”
I put her down, and as we turned to walk through the crowd, I glanced back over my shoulder at Harry. His brow twitched and danced with so many emotions—betrayal, annoyance, hurt, maybe even remorse at the way he spoke to me—that it was impossible to tell what the overriding feeling in his heart was at that moment.
Then a spectator in the crowd stepped between us, and another and another, until soon I couldn’t see him through the throng.
I was still trying to spot Harry and wasn’t looking where I was going when I bumped into one person, then another, then stood on Stella’s foot.
“Say, watch it, ya klutz!” she grumbled. “I know you can probably only see outta one eye at the moment, but you still got one good eye to watch where you’re going.”
“Sorry, you know how much I hate—”
“Bein’ told how to behave by your bossy, big-spender boyfriend back there?”
“I was gonna say, crowds. You know how much I hate—”
I was interrupted again, this time by the metallic squeal of a microphone, followed by a distorted tap-tap-tap . “Can everyone hear me? Good morning, can everyone hear me?”
Every face in the crowd turned toward Howard Hart, standing in front of the microphone on the dais. Camera flashes began to pop in the front few rows of the gathering, and Howard pulled his wife close. They both smiled for the cameras.
“What’s goin’ on?” Stella asked, tugging at my trouser leg. “Buck, what’s happening? Geez, where are those leggy Logan twins when you need ’em?”
I sighed impatiently and picked Stella up, shuffling her into a piggyback position where she could peer over my shoulder at the proceedings about to take place.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us here today to unveil not only the very latest in innovation and technology, but the jewel in the crown of Hart Industries; a mode of transportation destined to take not just Wilde City, but the entire world into the future.”
Rapturous applause echoed through the station, as Hart not-so-modestly tried to quell the crowd with a lowering of his hands. “I know, I know, this is cause for much excitement. The all new rocket-train is a project years in the making, using state-of-the-art mechanics in its engineering and the finest lavishly-appointed interiors to create the ultimate first-class, high-speed rail experience. But have you come to expect anything less from Hart Industries? First, we conquered the seas with our luxury fleet of ocean liners. Then we conquered the skies with our flotilla of airships. Now, it’s time to conquer the land with this groundbreaking vision of the future. A vision made possible thanks to our collaboration with Berlin’s most influential tycoon, Herr Gerhard Garbutt.”
As the cheering continued, Stella and I watched a bespectacled man step onto the stage. He was the complete opposite of Howard Hart: where Howard was tall and dashing, Herr Garbutt was short and strangely twitchy; where Howard had a generous head of smooth silver hair, Herr Garbutt’s thin streaks were combed from one side of his balding scalp to the other; where Howard smiled with confidence, Herr Garbutt seemed to struggle just to summon up a sneer for the audience.
He gave a wave that looked more like he was raising his hand to the sky, and uneasily I recognized it as the salute of the new political party making waves in Berlin… the same one that bore the emblem on the pin I’d pulled off the one-eyed man’s lapel.
I turned my face to whisper to Stella. “I got a real bad feeling that things are getting more complicated by the minute.”
“You’re tellin’ me,” said Stella, not looking at me but gazing wide-eyed at the stage. “Look at the goon behind the sauerkraut.”
I turned back to see none other than the one-eyed German himself, standing in the background behind Herr Garbutt. “God, I hate being right. This case is turning into a real fucking trainwreck, I can see it coming.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” continued Howard Hart. “While the purpose of today’s presentation is to give you a first glimpse of the rocket-train, this Saturday will be the day we truly showcase the wonders of this extraordinary machine and what she’s capable of. Believe me when I say Wilde City, and indeed the world, will never be the same again. My new rocket-train will blaze a trail not only into the next century, but the next thousand years, heralding a golden age of transportation. I give you… the Millennium Express!”
With that, the veil draped over part of the engine fell away, revealing the words The Millennium Express in shimmering gold lettering on the side.
At that moment, Hart and Garbutt exchanged a quick look that made my blood run cold. Why, I couldn’t say. All I knew was, I didn’t trust anyone on that stage. That is until…
“And joining me on Saturday’s launch of the rocket-train will, of course, be my beautiful wife and the future heir to my empire, my son, Holden Hart.” Howard looked into the crowd. “Holden? Where are you, son? Come up here and take a bow.”
I saw the top of Harry’s blond head as the crowd parted for him, before he stepped up onto the dais to the adoring cheers of the crowd.
The sound of their applause filled me with anxiety and a strange sort of jealousy. That crowd might have adored Harry, but nobody loved him like I did. Nobody knew him like I did. As he stood there waving and smiling to the crowd, with his father’s hand planted firmly on his shoulder, all I wanted was for Harry to turn to me.
To look at me!
To find me in that sea of faces.
But he was too busy soaking in the adulation.
Too busy being the son that his father demanded he be.
I couldn’t bear to watch the pomp and ceremony another second. Quickly I said to Stella, “Come on, let’s find that damn chauffeur.”
Muttering apologies, I pushed and shoved my way through the crowd, piggybacking Stella until we reached the edge of the throng, and I lowered her down a little too abruptly. She landed with a plonk.
“Hey, careful with the merchandise, toots. I ain’t a sack of potatoes, you know. You still grumpy and grouchy? You need to build a bridge and get over it, we got a case to solve. Things are just gettin’ juicy, too. A high-class dame, a handsome chauffeur, a one-eyed German with a mean right hook who’s pals with the richest guy in town… Who knows what’ll pop up next?”
“I can’t wait to find out.” My tone was slippery with sarcasm, but quite frankly I could use the distraction, something to take my mind off Harry. “Over this way, I saw an exit sign leading to a loading dock. If this guy’s a real chauffeur, he’ll be out back trading cigarettes and scandals with the other drivers.”
“And if he ain’t a real chauffeur?”
“I guess we’re about to find out.”
While the Harts posed for family photos on the stage behind us, Stella and I made our way off the platform and out onto the loading dock.
Sure enough, a dozen drivers were gathered in a group beside their bosses’ Hudsons and Lincolns, puffing on cigarettes and laughing as they no doubt exchanged stories about their employers. And while I could see Hart’s limo, there was no sign of his chauffeur.
We made our way farther along the dock, away from the chatter of the drivers, and my uneasiness returned at the sight of a stack of large wooden crates, their sides stenciled with the words “Fragile” and “Do Not Open.”
“What the hell’s in those?” I pondered aloud.
Stella shrugged. “Fancy china. Crystal champagne glasses. Why should you care?”
“Precisely our thought,” said a voice. It belonged to a man in a black suit who suddenly stepped out from behind the crates. He was accompanied by not one, not two, but three more gentlemen in black suits, as well as a fourth man… young, handsome and dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform.
“Mr. Baxter, I believe,” said the first man. “You’re Mr. Buck Baxter?”
“How do you know who I am?”
“We spoke to Lanky Larry at the Cheshire. We know you had a run-in with Herr Garbutt’s bodyguard, Hans Hammer, and by the bruises on your face he certainly gave you a hammering. And yet here you are, back for more and about to step into the middle of something you’ll regret.”
“And who exactly are you?”
The man pulled a badge from his pocket and flipped it open. “Special Agent Smith, Federal Bureau of Investigations.”
Stella elbowed me in the knee excitedly. “I told you something else was gonna pop up!”
I ignored her. “The FBI? What the hell are you doing here?”
“The same question we’d like to ask you.”
I pointed to the chauffeur. “We’re here to investigate a suspected affair between Mrs. Hart and her driver. Although I’ve got a hunch he ain’t a chauffeur at all.”
“Special Agent Jarvis has been working undercover for several months, although we have concerns that his cover has been compromised now, given the fact that Herr Garbutt’s bodyguard was snooping around the Cheshire the same time as you. I’m afraid that’s something we can’t allow to happen again.”
“If you’re asking me to back away from my case, I’m sorry, but that ain’t happening.”
“Mr. Baxter, we’re the FBI. We’re not asking you to do anything. We’re telling you, if you don’t stop interfering with our investigation, we’ll have you and your assistant thrown in jail faster than you can blink.”
“You’ll arrest us?” Stella piped up angrily. “For what exactly?”
“How about possession of illegal opioids.”
“Oh yeah, I guess there’s that,” Stella mumbled guiltily.
“There’s also the charge of sexual solicitation, something Lanky Larry could attest to.”
“Hey, a girl’s gotta make a livin’.”
“And what you do with Mr. Baxter’s pipe while he’s not around? We’re pretty sure that’s illegal in at least twenty-three states.”
Stella gasped. “Have you been watching me? How very dare you! I hope you know I charge clients five bucks an hour for that privilege.”
“Given Mr. Baxter’s relationship with Holden Hart, we’ve been watching you both for some time from the abandoned apartment building across the street from where you work. At least we were, until someone put up those damn black curtains.”
Stella kicked me in the shin. “See? I told you we needed them.”
“It doesn’t matter now. The point is we have all the evidence we need to prevent you from being a hindrance. Of course, if you’re wise, you’ll simply drop the case and forget you knew anything about Mrs. Hart’s so-called affair.”
I hitched one eyebrow curiously. “So, if Mrs. Hart ain’t having an affair, and Special Agent Jarvis here ain’t a chauffeur, what exactly in the Sam Hill is going on?”
Agent Smith and his men laughed. “If you honestly think I’m going to tell you that, then you’re not half as smart as I thought you were, Mr. Baxter. Now why don’t you beat it before we pull out the cuffs and march you both downtown.”
I wasn’t keen on putting on a pair of metal bracelets and spending the rest of the week in the big house. Hell, I was more determined than ever to crack this case now. If the Feds were involved, then Harry’s mother was in deeper than any one of us first imagined. But getting thrown in jail wasn’t gonna get us anywhere.
So, with a reluctant tug on Stella’s shoulder I said, “Let’s go. We know when we’ve worn out our welcome.”
“We do? I honestly ain’t sure that level of perceptiveness is in my wheelhouse.”
“Come on,” I said, forcibly dragging her away.
“Okay, okay. Fine. But if any of you peeping Toms plan on spying on me again, bring cash next time!”
“The Feds weren’t there to bust us. They were there to spy on the Germans.” I polished off another gin, set the glass down, and signaled to Ginger with a wave of one finger.
Stella and I were sitting at the bar of Ginger’s Gin Mill, trying to find a solution to the case in the bottom of an ice-filled tumbler. The gin joint was one of Wilde City’s more respectable speakeasies, decked out with private lamplit booths, sequined curtains that turned the room into a shimmer of shadows, and a bar stocked with the finest illicit booze in town, courtesy of Mamma Marlow.
“So, what’ll it be, handsome? Two more of the same?” Ginger already knew the answer, was already topping up our glasses. She was a buxom, brassy woman with hair the color of a house on fire. She had the temper of one too, although she reserved that for any schmucks who got too drunk and handsy and needed to feel the pointy toes of her shoes as she booted them out of her gin joint. For everyone else—those who knew her, respected her, obeyed her rules—Ginger was not only a good friend, but she was also a true ally when you needed one.
As our glasses filled, she glanced at me. “You know, Buck, if the wind changes, those worry lines are gonna stay etched on your brow forever. You’re too young and clever to let that happen.”
“Thanks, but I don’t feel like I’m either of those things right now.”
She slid our gins closer to us. “Then drink up. Something’s gotta smooth those cares away. It might as well be Ginger’s gin.”
With a wink she moved to the other end of the bar to serve a quiet old-timer intent on drinking his way to oblivion. I knew that feeling well.
With one elbow on the bar, I continued to think out loud, uncertain whether Stella was even listening still. “The question is, what the hell is Mrs. Hart doing sneaking off with her fake chauffeur to secretly meet with a bunch of Feds in a dive like the Cheshire?”
“Have we ruled out the idea of a Roman orgy yet?” Apparently Stella was still listening.
“Yes. I think it’s fair to rule out the orgy.”
Stella waggled her finger at me, judgy and drunk. “That’s because you walk through life with a closed mind, Buck Baxter.”
I straightened my back and creased my brow. “Excuse me. I don’t have a closed mind at all. I happen to be very enlightened.”
“Ha! Enlightened? You? Gimme a break. When you get in one of your moods, you don’t just walk around with a closed mind. You close everything. You close your ears, you shut your trap, you put up a wall so thick you couldn’t blast it open with a bazooka.”
“Knock it off, would ya? You’re starting to sound like Harry when we fight.”
“Well, maybe your prince of pennies is right.”
“Oh, trust me, Harry ain’t always right. He’s far from perfect.” I gave a sloppy gin-tanked sigh. “Some days I feel like I know him better than anyone else in the world. Some days I think—I know —I’ll love him more than anyone else has ever loved him. Then there’s days like today, when I see him turn into his father’s son, and I ask myself, ‘Do I know this man at all?’”
“I know how you feel,” Stella slurred into her gin, the rim of the glass on her lip and her brain clearly unsure whether to talk or drink… or try to do both at once. With a slosh she pulled the glass away, and with a wobbly shrug said, “Sometimes, when I look at those drop-dead gorgeous Logan twins, I ask myself, ‘Do I know these woman at all?’ But that’s because I still don’t know which is Lois and which is Lucy. Hell, there ain’t even a birthmark to tell them apart. Not a single damn mole. Sometimes in the throes of love I’ll bite one of them on the leg, you know, just so’s I can identify them by my teeth marks.”
“You really love the Logan twins? ”
“Sure, why not?”
“Then what was that you were doing with Lanky Larry?”
“That? Oh, that was just a little cash on the side. That wasn’t love. Love is much more than that. Love is mysterious. Love is deep. Lois has the teeth marks to prove that. Or is it Lucy?” She shrugged again. “At least one of them does.”
I was drunk, and Stella’s words faded away as questions ricocheted through my head like bullets from a Tommy gun.
Why was Mrs. Hart risking everything to meet with the Feds?
Did I need to bite Harry on the leg to truly make him mine?
What exactly was Stella doing with my pipe when I wasn’t in the office?
I decided I was done with drinking. If I wanted any kind of clarity, I was gonna need something much stronger.
I was gonna need a visit to the Peking Empress .