Shane Cooper

by Shane Cooper

Tucker reached up to grab the small wooden handle shaped like a Tee tethered to a short chain, paused as his eyes flicked between the clipboard dangling in his face and out the slit window where a bright green sign announced he was approaching the town of Wiggin Colorado. His wrist watch with the small train engine logo, given to him after ten years of service, glowed the time, three-forty, A.M.

Reviewing the instructions on the clipboard, his thoughts wondered to how many people in this town, just a few-thousand, were about to be affected with his actions, a simple pull of a chain. He knew the route well, often times cringing between guilt and guilty pleasure knowing he’d change peoples day with one simple pull of the chain.

Knowing what had to be done, he pulled and held for ten seconds as he approached the road crossing. A long low erie wail announced his approach. At hundreds of decibels above normal, it screamed into the night, even though car lights were absent for miles around. Red pulses winked in the distance as he saw the arms wind their way down. Pausing, he counted three seconds before pulling again, sending the long air induced scram to the far reaches of the horizon.  Bouncing it’s irritating sound from brick building to house, the nightly screams let everyone know, Tucker was there, slowly crawling through their town with several million tons of coal behind the massive engines he now controlled. Plains Northern had provided the finest engines money could buy and he was grateful for the opportunity. Even though the route was his, this was his first with such a monumental load.

Wiggins, like most towns in the eastern plains, had strict laws governing trains announcing their approach to every single crossing regardless of their category, like if lights were installed, arms dropped or if there was nothing at all. Three crossings now beckoned in front of Tucker. He noticed several lights in the distance wink on through the trees. He’d done his job, someone was awake, probably looking at a clock, and cussing. He pulled the chain and grew a wicked guilty smile.

Nearing the first bend at nearly fifteen miles per hour, Tucker checked the various gauges, brakes and other monitored controls to insure his job was secure and cargo would not cause any anxiety.

A faint glow in the distance caught his attention causing him to narrow his gaze. He leaned forward to assess what he was seeing and ascertain if it was important or just another poor sap flipping on his back porch light cursing him under his breath. He’d seen it all. Pajama clad men had stood on the side of the tracks shaking their fist or showing him their middle finger, he’d even had the privilege of watching a whole group wave signs in protest to his horn activities. He ignored them all knowing it was their local governments fault, not his. Don’t kill the messenger, he’d think, shake his head and plod on with his intended destination in mind.

As he eased around the curve slowly, his eyes caught site of a distant flash in his moving headlight. He froze the whirling headlight locking it straight. Instantly, the message hit his brain. “Stop your train, NOW” announced in day-glow yellow hanging on a large object floating above the two lines of steel disappearing beyond the huge bright beacon.

Grabbing the worn silver handle, he pulled the brakes hard, down-revved the massive diesels and pushed two large red buttons engaging the additional lights at track level. With his watch hand, he pulled the t-bar sending an extra amount of air to the horn above, creating the loudest warning possible that he was coming and the tonnage pushing on his back might be a problem.

Sparks flew from the wheels as the brakes grabbed doing their job. Even at slow speeds, weight was something not to be trifled. As the train groaned slowly trying to stop, steel complained on steel, fingernails on chalk boards ground and large bolts popped between each car added to the cacophony of noise ricocheting through the night. He punctuated the noise made by the massive line of steel cars, engines and rails with several obnoxious horn blasts, telling the object across the tracks he was coming and doing everything in his power to stop or move out of the way.

With inches to spare, the massive train ground to a halt. The over sized single head light waved against the side of the tractor trailer like a night club bar, without the thumping music. He’d stopped in time and Tucker let out an audible blow of air with billowed cheeks, wiped his forehead and tried to see if there was a truck attached to the dark trailer blocking his view.

Before he could determine his plight and who would have left a trailer in his path, two nearly invisible black clad bodies stood at the window. One pointed some kind of machine gun in his direction, the other flipped his four fingers motioning Tucker to exit the trains cockpit. With wide eyes, he complied.

Two thick muscular arms grabbed Tucker by the meat of his upper arm, pulled at his armpit hair and half dragged, half lifted him towards the rear of the trailer. Another black clad arm with a massive watch showing three different time zones appeared from nowhere. Both large trailer doors were pulled open with a creak.

Silently, with swift fluid motions and zero strain, the two men lifted Tucker to floor level of the trailer, pushed him inside and slammed the doors leaving him in pitch black. He heard muffled words at his feet, the only words he’d heard, “Let’s go!”

Laying on the floor on all fours in pitch black, Tucker shook his head and stammered. “What the hell!”

From some distance in front of his face, Tucker heard a shaky voice choke something in his direction. “Hello, anyone there?”

###

Sheriff Bart Johnson held the brim of his cap with this thumb and fore finger while scratching the top of his nearly bald head. “This how you found it?”

His night patrol officer, Zane Blackcrow nodded as they both carefully stepped over steal rails, walked around the front of the large locomotive train, diesel engines were still quietly chugging. “Local cop here in Wiggins called it in, asked for assistance. Between you and me, I think Wiggins finest slept through the whole thing.”

Bart stopped directly in front of the hulk, put his hands on his hips and stared up at the lights glinting unnecessarily in the early morning light. With a wiggle, the rotating light continued it’s vigilant search for nothing in particular.

“Damnedest thing, Blackcrow. —Damnedest thing I ever saw.”

Bart called his night patrol man by his last name, everyone did. Zane didn’t mind, reminded him of his proud indian heritage. “We aint’ gone up, touched anything or even looked around. Pretty much left it like this until you got here.”

“Well, let’s go see what we can see.” Bart held his arm out towards the ladder that led to two catwalks lining the locomotive. The engineers door swung wide open above them, it vibrated with the idling engines.

Blackcrow gripped the hand rail about to ascend, when Bart commanded. “Stop!”

Bart leaned in, cupped his ear and whispered. “Hear that?”

Following his bosses lead, Blackcrow craned his neck and strained his one good ear. Off in the bowls of the second or third locomotive was a distinct inconsistent clang.

“That’s either morse code, or someone is banging out a Lynyrd-Skynyrd song.” Bart smiled at this deputy.

Crunching through the gravel next to the lead engine, Bart made his way to the second engine, Blackcrow on his heals. Bolting up the ladder two steps at a time, Bart paused at the top rung listening for more drum solos trying to make out it’s name. Creeping down the catwalk, he passed at the open door, took a quick glance into the small room, ducked his head and stopped. The banging got louder.

A long steel pipe was wedged between handles of a door with the universal sign indicating it was the engineers restroom. Through the ugly green steel door, the lone singer continued his personal rendition of Free-bird, throwing in a little twang of air guitar. “… If I leeeave here tomorroooow…. Wahowahaaaaw… Would you still remember me? …Wahowahowaaaaah!”

Bart and Blackcrow opened the door to catch one of the other engineers freeze in mid strum with a shocked look on his face. “‘Bout time someone showed up. I was gettin’ tired of my own voice.”

###

Standing in the cramped locomotives cockpit, the technician wiped down what he could looking for finger prints. Bart stood out on the small deck at the front peering in the tiny window. Leaning out, the tech shook his head. “Nothing. It’s clean as a whistle.”

Clanging down the ladder, Bart met his waiting crew, Johnny, Lanky and Tommy, otherwise known as the “why” bunch because of the letter ending their names, not because they asked questions. They’d been milling around the odd scene, kicking rocks, pretending to look for clues and were really waiting for direction from their boss. “Well boys, looks like we got us a mystery.”

Johnny nodded his chubby head at no one in particular, causing the multiple folds to bunch as he agreed with his boss. His primary job with in the small county department was to insure donuts never ran out. He didn’t disappoint, but was a bit of a DC hog himself, (Donuts and Coffee) and it showed. He waddled around in circles pushing on loose railroad ties, kicking rocks when he picked up a lost flattened piece of copper.

Tall and thin from south Texas, Lanky was a skinny drink of water that looked like a miniature uncle Sam at a parade. His stilted legs were shorter, his knobby knees punched through brown pants. Larry was the official name on his drivers license and patrolman certificates, but everyone called him Lanky. With a hitch, he pulled up his belt where tools of the trade barely fit over his thin hips. He turned and followed Johnny as they combed the area looking for clues.

Tommy stood next to his boss close, a little too close for Bart’s taste, but he didn’t mind, most days. Today Tommy, the suck up, was just a little too close. Tommy had that Jerry Lee Lewis look, thick, jet black hair, slicked back with enough grease to handle a semi. With the air of being on the verge of being tipsy, Tommy looked over his bosses shoulder and tried to read the initial report from the local officer. Bart waved him off. As a short man, Tommy had always been under appreciated, he tried just a little too hard. Today, he felt like he was going to make a difference. Leaving his boss, he bounced around the tracks combing the area for unknown clues.

Blackcrow on his knees a few feet in front of the locomotive looked up at Bart. “Tire tracks. Big ones.” He waved his hand across the dark steel tracks. “Something was on the tracks. Trailer or large truck, be my guess.”

In unison, everyones radios crackled. A stoic female voice announced new developments. “Dispatch to Sheriff-one. We got us something up over in Weld as well.”

Bart pressed his mic. He wasn’t a real stickler for protocol as he should, but he got the job done. “MB, watcha’ got.” MB the dispatcher preferred her initials over her formal name, Mary-Beth. No one called her by her birth name. It’d been MB for as long as Bart could think back. He remembered the first time he’d called her Mary-Beth. She blew up like a toad and said she hated that name, sounded like a hick from the backwoods and preferred her initials.

“Not gonna believe this Big B’, but there’s another abandoned train over in Ft Lupton, like the one you got.” MaryBeth liked initials and had christened Bart as Big B’. Some thought it was for Big Boss, most knew it was for his Simpson like name, Bart, which he despised, often cussing out the producers who’d come up with the fictional cartoon name.

All of the deputies and sheriff froze their activities and looked at each other in astonishment.

“What’s that?” Sheriff Bart asked.

With a crackle, MB finished. “Weld County Sheriff wants to talk. I’ll patch him through to your car.”

Bart marched towards his cruiser with his deputies in tow, leaned in and grabbed the built-in car phone. “Bart here.”

“Bart, this Ron, heard you had a similar thing over your way.”

Nodding as he spoke, “Yep, kinda weird, what’s the story over there?”

After comparing notes, they surmised that they had the same situation and should collaborate as the day progressed. Bart outlined what they surmised, that a truck or trailer had been parked across the tracks blocking the train during it’s slow crawl through town. Ron reported similar evidence along with the fact that only the primary engineer had been abducted, the second had been knocked out cold when found. Bart asked about the approximate timing and discovered that the Ft Lupton train had been stopped nearly one hour before the Wiggins train. Plenty of time for both to be done by the same perpetrator.

“Ron, we’ll be in touch. Let us know what you find.” Bart hung up the phone, got out of his car and shrugged.

“Yo Big B’, got something!”

Bart quick walked back through the scrub brush towards the train and was handed a slip of paper from the tech who’d been poking through the cockpit.

“I was looking at all the papers on the clip board, found this.”

Every deputy crowded around as tight as their tool belts, bellies and shoulders would allow. On the slip of paper was a single line, a web site. Lostengineers.webs.com

Bart looked up and shook his head. “Well, I guess that’s our first clue. But? —Who’d want to kidnap a bunch of train engineers? —Damnedest thing I ever seen.”

###

Back at the station, Bart sat down with their computer tech and pointed the computers web browser to the site. All of the other deputies had been sent to the four corners of town to perform a sweeping search block by block of the city, for no other reason than to keep them busy. They’d been instructed to see if there were any abandoned tractor trailers, just in case.

Donny the part time tech, who was a University of Northern Colorado student over in Greely, opened the web site and printed the single line left by it’s maker.

“What’s the MASTER key needed to unlock the mysterious lost engineers? It can be found in the chiefs bubblegum.”

Bart looked at the kid and shrugged. “Any ideas?”

Shaking his head. “Nope.”

“Who’s the chief?” Donny asked.

“And, what’s that got to do with gum?” Bart added.

Tommy marched into the office with his fingers on his belt, stopped at the coffee pot and poured himself a cup of cold coffee. Everyone turned and looked his way. Freezing, he looked over the coffee mug mid-sip. “What?”

“Aint you suppose to be out looking for clues?”

“Uh, yeah, I already looked over half the town, there’s nothing but scrub brush, some old broken down mobile homes and the same houses that was there yesterday. Nothin’” Tommy shot back satisfied he’d given a decent answer.

“Alright, well, guess what, we now have another clue, so the more minds workin’ on it the better.” Bart showed his deputy the message, turned back to the tech who’d started doing a search for “lostengineers”, finding nothing.

Slick haired Tommy started rummaging through desks, when Bart looked over at his deputy with a furrowed brow. “What the hell’re you doin’?”

“Looking for some gum, why? Says right here, the clue is in the chief’s bubblegum”

Bart marched over to where Tommy stood over a desk with half the drawers drawn out leaning at an angle and poked his deputy in the chest.

“No body chews gum ‘round here, it’s against department policy.” With a slam, Bart reached down and slid the top drawer back into place a little too hard rattling lamps and pencils in coffee mugs.

“Geez, Big B’, you nearly took off my fingers.” Tommy sucked on his middle finger a little too oddly.

Bart grabbed the slip of paper from his deputies hand, shook his head, rolled his eyes and marched back to where the tech was pouring over the site.

“It’s one of these build-it-for-free places. Nothing really here.” Donny spoke leaning into the screen.

“Hey boss, what’d they use to call light bars on cop cars?” Tommy spoke walking around the room looking for something.

“Shut up Tommy, you’re annoying the hell out of me today.” Bart kept his eyes on the computer screen then asked the tech, “Search for Master, maybe we’re looking for some kind of key.”

“Seriously, boss, what’d they call them?” Tommy persisted.

“Not now Tommy, go do some paper work or something.”

Tommy turned, walked to one of the older offices and leaned up to look at black-and-white photo on the wall. In exasperation, he pulled the frame from it’s nail, walked back to where Bart was leaning over his computer techs shoulder.

“Bubblegums, that’s what they use to call those old big blue and red bulbs on the old cop cars.” Tommy had shoved the photo directly into his bosses line of sight.

Bart grabbed the frame and starred at the old photo, which contained a group of policemen shaking some suits hand all next to an old police cruiser. A silly grin grew across his face as he reached up and slapped Tommy on the shoulder. “Well I’ll be. You might be on to something.”

Tommy beamed from ear to ear, the praise from his boss elevated his ego a few notches. “So, I’d guess that the Master key is hidden in someones light bar.”

“Not just anyone’s, probably Blackcrows. He’s the only chief we got.” Bart was saying as he headed to communications.

“MB, call Zane and have him head to the office pronto.”

###

Bart stood holding the small dull orange envelope they’d extracted from the slit between the blue lights on Blackcrows light bar. He looked at the two deputies, Tommy and Zane trying to figure if they just rip it open or wait until someone check for finger prints.

“Just open it, boss.” Tommy urged.

Bart was worried that if they’d mess anything up it’d be thrown out of court. On the flip side, if they didn’t find the missing engineers, it could be worse, they could be dead or dying. Looking at his watch, he eyed the envelope and made a decision.

With his sausage fingers, he ripped open the little package and slid out the contents onto his pudgy palm. A large thick gold key with “MASTER” embossed on the side, along with a slip of paper rested in his hand.

Bart held up the key. “Probably what unlocks where ever they are.”

Tommy was a little too sarcastic. “You think?”

Unfolding the paper, Bart read out loud, then handed it to the tech. Another site was printed in simple black and white. Lostengineers.freeweb.com

Without prompting, Donny pulled up the site and was once again presented with a simple message. “What’s Lucky 7, or is it 21? Find the place with beds and maids abound, nothing square, but something round and your wish will come true.”

Bart had the tech print the message, where he marched into communications. “MB, call all the deputies off their tasks and have them stand by. Better yet, read this over to them and ask what they think. We’ll need all the brain power we can muster.”

Ron called and asked if they’d had any leads. Bart updated him on the situation and asked if they’d be willing to help if something came up that sounded like it’d show up on their end. Ron answered “of course” and hung up.

Bart looked at his watch and saw that it was nearly eleven am, it’d been nearly seven hours since the last abduction and nearly twelve hours since the first kidnapping. All total, there’d been five abandoned engines sitting idle in different towns along the northern front-range of Colorado, all pointing south towards Denver. It appeared that the last was the only one with any clues, Wiggin Colorado.

Ron in Weld county had called about his strange situation, Boulder County had called in about the train blocking half the town of Longmont, and Lamar county had called about a train sitting idle near the cement plant. They’d all found nothing but idle engines with a line of train cars causing traffic jams and pissing off a lot of people. Each sheriff determined that the final stage had happened out in the plains and that they must hold the key to finding the missing engineers.

Blackcrow, Tommy and Lanky had gathered in the briefing room and had started putting clues on the white board along with a hand-drawn map of each of the abduction locations. Bart walked in and was actually impressed with their initiative and said as much.

“Draw a line between the locations and time’s to see if we can figure out the sequence and if anything makes any sense.” Bart urged his staff. “Also, jot down each clue and key words as we get them. Somebodies messing with us and I don’t like where this is going.”

“Boss?” Donny the tech kid had entered the briefing room and caught Barts attention. “There’s something else. You should see what I found.”

On the computer screen, Donny had pulled up several articles about each town where trains sat idle. Each municipality had passed strict laws governing various rules about train activity.

Bart patted his tech on the shoulder. “Good work, boy. There could be a clue in there somewhere. Let me know if something pops out atcha’.”

Back in the conference area, the deputies were deep in thought looking at the board, scrubbing their chins raw and pacing. Actually giving it some serious contemplation, thought Bart. He was beginning to become more impressed with his team by the hour.

“I guess I don’t have to tell you how important this is, right?” Bart jumped to the front and got their attention. “The Feebs will be involved soon since this is a kidnapping case, but until then, let’s crack this thing open and show them we’re not some wind-swept grass-plains hick cops. Kay”

Blackcrow had a phone cradled in his neck while holding a pad taking notes. “Big B’, just talked with Ron. Supposedly there’s an old motel a few miles down the interstate that used to be called something twenty-one, he’s sending a unit over to check it out.”

Lanky jumped in, “hang on a minute, there’s also a “Lucky 7” that’s been closed down for years. It’s over on the old highway to Greely.”

Donny looked up and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I see it everyday on the way to class.”

“Lanky, you and Blackcrow head out. We’ll give you a call if something turns up. Now get.”

Bart started starring at the wall thinking hard himself and shouted back at the skinny deputy making his way towards the door. “Call me when you get there and tell me what’s around. Here, take a copy of the clues, just in case.”

###

Lanky leaned on the cruiser door, one leg cocked, the other straight stirring up ground dust steadying his skinny body. He starred out at the tall grass and dead trees that surrounded the abandoned motel. A big red horseshoe sign had faded over the years to more of a pink stood high above the cruisers hood. The letters L, C, Y and the number 7 hung haphazardly in odd angles. He cocked his head sideways, looked hard at the sign thinking, it’s kind of round, could be part of the puzzle.

Blackcrow had started around the back of the old building looking for anything that made sense. His nose for signs and marks in the dirt didn’t help. There was enough boot prints, shoe prints and scuff marks in the crusted dirt to kill any options. Most of the windows had been busted out, beer cans were strewn everywhere and the place was deserted. Inside a few of the rooms, he’d noticed old tired sagging beds with a recently used look. Probably a hide-away place for teens and vagrants, he surmised. He shivered at the thought of what took place in these shabby rooms.

Giving up on the sign, Lanky started walking the high-way ditch studying the rocks, dirt and culverts until his eyes fell upon the old swimming pool fence. The cover had long since ripped into a million shreds producing slimy wet spots in all of the low places. The pool is round, he figured. Jumping the fence, he paced the ledge looking for anything that would fit the odd clue they’d been given.

Blackcrow walked out from under the main office awning. The roof corner tilted at an angle flopping in the wind. Nearly hitting his head he ducked to avoid stitches. He walked towards his skinny colleague and shook his head negative. At the sagging chain link fence, he followed Lanky’s progression around the dilapidated pool.

“I think this ones the dead end. We should see what Ron and his boys found.”

Giving up, they both plopped into the cruiser and called in their discovery, or lack thereof, to MB.

“You boys better keep looking. Weld county boys didn’t find nothing either.” MB radioed back.

Both deputies scoured the horizon hoping for a miracle, when it hit them at the same time. Across the highway was a single plywood sign announcing cheap putt-putt golf, fun for the entire family.

“How’d we miss that?” Lanky pointed.

As they pulled into the grass infested parking lot of a once proud, one-dollar a game putt-putt course, they both saw overgrown ruins of different obstacles. A short castle stood with tumble weed caught in it’s half open gate, one tower was leaning at a sick angle. An obligatory green wind-mill stood with ivy growing out of it’s roof and two missing sails, the remaining two pointed at the ground.

Alighting from the car, they both started scouring the contemporary ruins of someones grand dream of making it big. Kicking a few lost orange and yellow balls, they seemed to be playing a round using their boots.

“Hey, Lank… over here.” Blackcrow waved his partner toward the embankment were an old red rock ledge had afforded the property owner with the only natural hazard on the course. Blackcrow was pointing a fake old well, one of the obstacles on the 9th tee.

“Sure, that might be it. It’s round and our wish might come true if we threw a penny in. Come on.” Lanky slid down the rock scree with Blackcrow following close behind.

At the well, they grabbed the wooden bucket winch that had fallen across the opening and pulled it free. At the bottom of the fake brick well sat a brown box wrapped in plain paper with rough twine.

Ripping open the box, Lanky pulled out an old dusty outdated hand-held eTrex GPS device. Turning it over, it was clear that the hunt was not over. The battery was missing and it looked like a chunk of the chip had been unplugged. Shoved in the battery space, they found another note. Lostengineers.mywebsite.com

They called it in, jumped in their cruiser, flipped on the lights and high-tailed it back to the station.

Authors note: Like all of my short stories posted here, if interested in reading the rest, please shot me a private email. Shane

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