Excerpt:

NaNoWriMo 2009
Maggie jerked awake as the rail car clanged into a stop at it’s place on the siding. She smiled to herself and then snuggled down deeper into the blankets. She had gotten so used to this mode of travel that she had slept through the train entering the station, the uncoupling of the passenger cars and the shifting of the cars to the siding, only waking up for the final stop. She could still remember when it had been impossible for her to even doze off while the car was in motion. Every rock and roll or change of speed had jolted her awake and made her heart race, wondering if it was the forerunner of a derailment. Now it was so old hat that she could sleep through nearly anything.
She felt the bed rustle as Ben too settled in to a more comfortable position in the stillness of the night. He had never shared her apprehension at riding the rails, and even seemed to sleep more soundly to the rhythm of the rails. Mag drifted off to sleep again, knowing that their stay in Omaha for the next few days would be a busy time.
She awoke several hours later to sunlight streaming into the window of the converted caboose that she and Ben now called home. It was a snug home but cozy, comfortable and efficient. She could hear Ben moving around the outside of the car, getting it ready for a stay of several days. Just like any recreational vehicle, there was water and sewer to hook up and gas and electric service to connect. The passenger car “parks” were so conveniently set up and managed that it would take only the work of a few minutes to get it set up.
Mags rose and stretched, then pulled the sheets and blankets into place on the bed and then raised the Murphy bed back into its place in an attractive cupboard built into the wall. The well oiled hydraulics made the simple job a breeze, and the incorporation of the Murphy bed into the design of the caboose had made a big difference in the comfort level of permanent living in a forty foot rolling home on wheels.
Ben had already made coffee in the galley, so Mags popped a couple of bagels in the toaster and prepared a tray for their breakfast. When her work was completed, she placed the tray into the dumbwaiter and pushed the button that would raise the compartment up to their “dining room” in the cupola. The narrow circular staircase that provided access to the small cupola was a little too treacherous to navigate while carrying anything, especially a loaded tray of food and drink.
As she settled herself onto the bench, from her high vantage point, she saw what was taking Ben so long. On the next siding, which held the cars that had arrived the previous day was the luxury passenger car of Tom and Sarah Wilson. Ben and Tom were standing on the grassy verge between the two cars enjoying a cup of coffee and friendly conversation. Maggie rapped on the window to get their attention, then waved at Tom and motioned to Ben, letting him know that his breakfast was ready. She struggled with the sticky sliding window for a moment before it slid open. “Tom, we’ll join you and Sarah later, but right now Ben’s breakfast is getting cold.”
“Good morning, Maggie,” Tom grinned up at her. “I’m sure Sarah is thinking the same thing. We’ll see you two later.” He patted Ben on the shoulder then turned and climbed the steps into the rear landing of their custom restored car.
Ben came bounding up the stairs, or bounding as much as one can bound on a narrow circular staircase. He settled in next to Mag on the bench with a sigh. “Ah, almost home at last.”
“Wherever we are is home, remember?” Mag chided as she poured him a cup of coffee from the carafe and slid his plate of toasted bagel over to him. She followed it up with a peck on the cheek, which he returned before spreading the cream cheese on his bagel. “I know, and it’s great. But it’s also great to be back in Nebraska.”
Ben had spent his entire career with Union Pacific Railroad at Bailey Yard in North Platte, the largest railroad classification yard in the world. He had loved what he did and had a fond place in his heart for the operation and men and women working there.
When Union Pacific opened up the program of restored rail car ownership to all retirees, Ben had been one of the first to jump on board. Initially only open to upper management and executives, the program provided a way to purchase retired rail cars, to be renovated at the buyers’ expense, and had also developed major rail car parks throughout the Union Pacific system, as well as providing transportation of the cars on freight trains. It was now common to see rail cars of every description, restored into rolling homes, attached to the ends of long freight trains. The original cars were luxury passenger, club and dining cars, but when the program was opened up to all employees in the early 1980’s, enterprising railroad enthusiasts began to creatively restore anything on wheels – freight cars, refrigerator cars, cabooses and even a few tankers.
The parks, which resembled the bowls of hump yards had been designed around the standard RV park, with hook ups, shade and the conveniences of swimming pools, fitness centers, club houses, stores and other amenities, which varied from location to location. The park at the Omaha Nebraska yards was one of the most luxurious, as was only fitting for the home of the Union Pacific headquarters. Located next to the Missouri River, it offered not only a beautiful setting, but spectacular river and city views and was conveniently close to the historic Old Market shopping district.
Every October the park filled to capacity, with overflow spilling into Council Bluffs, Lincoln and other locations up and down the line as owners gathered for the annual meeting with Union Pacific to learn about the latest updates to the program and to voice comments and concerns. It was also a time to catch up with old friends, whose paths might not criss cross at any other time during the season as everyone went their separate ways across the Union Pacific system, and even onto other cooperating railroads such as the Burlington Northern Santa Fe or CSX, each of which maintained similar programs for their retirees, and provided cooperative agreements for other railroads. These agreements effectively opened up the entire country, as well as most of Mexico and Canada to the program. A few enterprising and wealthy owners had even managed to travel throughout most of South America by spending some well placed cash.
All in all, it was a great life. Riding the rails had always held a certain romance, and owning your own rail car and being able to travel wherever the rails were laid was a constant adventure, with all of the comforts of home thrown in the package.
“So what is on your agenda for the day?” Mag queried. The annual meeting was still a couple of days away, but Ben also served as secretary for the owners coalition, and there would be executive board meetings and owners meetings as well as workshops covering a variety of issues faced by the nomads scheduled for the Omaha gathering.
Ben groaned, “We’ve got meetings with the Federal Railroad Administration bureaucrats to discuss the new inspection requirements.” The FRA, like any federal government agency, was rife with redundant rules and regulations that it took a staff of lawyers to wade through. Part of the dues that the individual owners paid to the association went toward paying for these lawyers. It was a huge, but exceedingly necessary expense. Since the owners were all retired railroaders who had spent their careers dealing with the FRA, nothing came as a surprise, and most recognized the important safety net that the FRA oversight brought with it. However, the rules were constantly being changed and updated, and the fines for non compliance could be huge, so everyone had an interest in keeping informed on the changes.
“There’s going to be an entire day devoted to workshops on all of the new regulations dealing with the customs inspections on the Mexican border. There’s hell to pay for the drugs that have been coming through on the rails, and the retiree program is subject to the same inspections.” The Union Pacific had recently been fined more than ten million dollars for not putting a stop to the smuggling of millions of pounds of illegal drugs on the rail cars that it leased from the Mexico rail system. “So what fun stuff do you have planned for the day?” His tone indicated that he was sure that her day was going to be much more enjoyable than his, and he was right. Mag had set in on some of the FRA meetings and negotiations in the past and know how long and tedious a process it was.
“I am going to be slaving away on the streets of the Old Market, researching my annual travel article on the entertainment district. There are quite a few new clubs and restaurants that have opened up since we were here last, and I’ve got to check them all out.” She thought of a few of the more enticing sounding ones she had discovered. “It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it.”
“Hmmm,” was Ben’s response as he slouched dejectedly on the bench, obviously communicating what he thought about her tough job. “I think I can get away for lunch. Are you going to be anywhere exciting around noon?”
“As a matter of fact, that is exactly what I have planned to do,” responded Maggie. “I’m going to spend the morning just walking the streets, getting my bearings and gathering some background impressions, then I’m planning on Butsy Le Doux’s for lunch. It’s been there for awhile, but I understand it’s recently been renovated and has an updated menu. You love Cajun food, so you’ll enjoy it.”
“That is going to be just what I need. What time are you thinking about going?” They settled on 1:00, which would be after the lunch rush and would give Ben a chance to regroup after his morning meetings. They enjoyed their breakfast and the view from the cupola, from which they could see and point out the cars of their friends. “There are a lot of people here already,” Maggie commented. “Are there any plans for getting together this evening? I’ll bet I can find the perfect place on my wanderings today.”
“Only gathering for cocktails in the clubhouse at about 9:00 tonight. I’ll see what Ben and Sarah and maybe a few others want to do, and we can discuss your ideas at lunch.” Checking his watch, he finished “I’ve gotta go. The first meeting is at 9:00 at UP headquarters, and it’s going to take me awhile to get there.”
As Ben showered, Maggie cleared away the remains of the breakfast and washed up. In the small caboose, if messes weren’t cleaned up immediately, things got uncomfortable very quickly. She showered leisurely after Ben left, did some more straightening and got a load of clothes started washing in the efficiency sized washer and dryer. That was another thing that added up quickly, and the washer only took small loads so it was better to keep up with the laundry as time went along. It was possible to run the washer while the car was in motion, but she could usually keep up if she waited for the break at the parks. A leisurely shower was a luxury she didn’t get on the rails, while in motion, bathing was quick and efficient as both the fresh and waste water storage tanks were none too large.
She poured herself another cup of coffee then returned to the cupola with her laptop. It was her favorite place in the caboose, especially when they were traveling down the rails. The views were spectacular, and the height and expanse of windows gave her the feeling of total freedom as if she had wings and were flying across the land. While she and Ben were ostensibly retired, both of them kept busy. Ben as a lifelong official in various capacities with the owners association, and Maggie as a freelance writer, specializing in travel articles covering the many locations she and Ben visit. The caboose was equipped with all of the latest technology to keep them both connected, including wireless 3G internet and satellite television, and they both had all of the bells and whistles devices to take advantage of the connectivity.
She put the finishing touches on a couple of short articles she had been commissioned to do for some travel websites, submitted those then updated her own web travel log. After checking her email, she settled down to research what had changed in Omaha since her last visit and planning her foray into the Old Market area and beginning the outline of several different articles. The National Weather Service promised that the beautiful autumn morning was going to turn into the perfect autumn day and it sounded like that was going to be the weather pattern for the next few days so it was going to be very enjoyable trekking around on foot.
Shortly before one, she was making her way to Butsy Le Doux when her cell phone rang with a text message from Ben. “I met up with Adam at the FRA meeting, and asked him to lunch with us. Will you grab a table for three?” Adam Brown was a railroad detective or “Cinder Dick” as they were often unaffectionately called. They ran into him frequently on their travels, as he also traveled by private car, albeit quite a utilitarian one, and he had become a good friend. Since one of the topics of discussion at the FRA meeting was the frequency of drug smuggling aboard freight trains, it was natural that he should be involved in the conversation. Mags liked Adam and was happy he would be joining them.
As soon as she walked through the doors of Butsy Le Doux, Mags knew that the recent updating of the décor and menu would be a success. Though the location was in the trendy Old Market district of downtown Omaha, the atmosphere spoke of the bayous of rural Vermillion Parish in Louisiana. The lunch crowd was thinning out, although it looked like it had been a large one. The wait staff was beginning to turn the emptying tables for dinner, but many lunch customers were lingering over coffee. Traditional Cajun music could be heard at a pleasant level from the hidden speakers, and the scents of Cajun cooking from the kitchen were enticing.
She didn’t know how adventurous Adam would be with Cajun cuisine, but she knew Ben would be up for almost anything, so she ordered the Cajun Sampler appetizer platter which included grilled alligator, stuffed mushroom, fried crab claws, brochettes, fried crawfish tails, grilled frog legs, fried oysters, and bite size catfish nuggets. Surely Adam could find something he liked from that line up. She also ordered a bottle of Seyval Blanc from the Cuthills Vineyard, a Nebraska winery located not far from Omaha. The dry fruitiness and low alcohol content would enhance the flavor of the spicy Cajun food, and it gave her a chance to sample the fare from a local winery.
When Ben and Adam walked through the door and she got her eye on them, she knew that the mornings’ session hadn’t been an easy one. They were in an intense conversation, and both looked grim. She stood to get Ben’s attention, and the two men broke off talking and headed her way. Ben gave her a peck on the cheek and she hugged Adam in greeting. “You two look serious,” she commented as the three sat down. “You could say that,” Ben replied, with a grin at Adam that was almost a grimace. Adam nodded in reply.
The appetizer arrived as well as the wine. Adam declined a glass, but was game to sample the alligator and crab legs. The three old friends enjoyed light banter while they looked over the menu and placed their order. Meg and Ben decided to split the Cajun seafood platter while Adam ordered the blackened tilapia topped with Crawfish etouffeé. When the server left, Meg queried “So, what went on this morning, or is it top secret?” Adam had been known to confide in his friend things that weren’t necessarily public knowledge, and sometimes Meg had to use all of her charms to wheedle the information from Ben.
“No, not top secret, but definitely serious,” Adam answered. Ben filled in, “This whole drug smuggling scenario is much worse than any of us thought. It seems that the rails have become the avenue of choice for marijuana, meth amphetamine and cocaine coming into the United States. We all just thought it was a little pot now and then.”
“And it’s not just the smuggling itself,” Adam continued. “There is a lot of violence connected with the operations, especially south of the border, but it’s also spilling over to the north, and the rails are no exception.”
Ben took up the story grimly, “It has been kept really quiet, but there have been private car owners who have been involved, some knowingly and some unknowingly.” He paused, to give his words effect, but also because what he had to say next was very difficult. “Just yesterday there was a private car found abandoned in the park in Brownsville. The owners are missing, and the place has been ransacked. It appears they may have been looking for stashed drugs, because even the floor boards were pulled up. And there was blood, lots of blood.”
Maggie sat in stunned silence. Violence to private car owners was not completely unheard of. Stories surfaced every few years about problems with transients who sought the refuge of the warm and comfortable private cars for their travels rather than the freight cars. The railroad had always provided extra security for the private car owners in the parks and as the cars were hooked to trains that were stopped or moving slowly through the yards prior to departure, so the incidents were kept to a minimum. But this… The violence associated with drug smuggling was known to be brutal, ruthless and most often lethal.
“It has become obvious that we have to convince the private car owners to cooperate in every way with the FRA inspectors, the railroad detectives, the Union Pacific, and even customs officials, the Border Patrol and whatever other Homeland Security agency is involved in putting an end to the smuggling operations,” said Ben.
“But surely that won’t be difficult,” Maggie protested. “Once people learn about the car in Brownsville, why would anyone resist doing whatever is necessary to protect themselves?”
Ben and Adam shared a serious look before Ben spoke. “It may not be that easy. The private car in Brownsville was owned by Lucas and Jamie Everett.” That fact explained their concern in getting the private car owners to rally around protecting themselves based on the Brownsville incident. Lucas and Jamie were known trouble makers, despised and actually hated by the majority of the other private car owners. Their wild parties, loud music and drug and alcohol use was notorious. The other car owners would believe that they brought what happened upon themselves, and more than that, they probably deserved it.
Lucas and Jamie weren’t the typical railroad retirees. They were young, only in their thirties. Lucas had been a railroad employee for only about ten years when he was injured on the job. He won a huge settlement from the railroad, part of which included the right to purchase a private car and take advantage of the retirees program. Their age and the fact that Lucas had won a settlement from the railroad wouldn’t have been a problem in itself, had they had behaved themselves. The private car owners were an adventurous lot, and not your typical retirees, but they were still retirees and expected the others who shared the rails and the parks with them to respect the rights of others to live a quiet lifestyle. The Everett’s caused trouble wherever they went.
“We have to find a way to get the owners to look beyond the fact that it was the Everett’s,” said Ben. “The railroad is carrying a big stick on this one. They are threatening to close down all of the parks along the border, and may be implement some new rules that are going to make our lives very difficult.”
Maggie sat in stunned silence for a moment. Ben reached over and squeezed her hand. He knew what she was thinking. Their little caboose was more than just a way to travel. It was a home and a lifestyle, and neither one of them could imagine living without it, and neither wanted it to change either. Anything that threatened their way of life was something to be battled against.
The server delivered their dishes to the table and the mood lightened as they all oohed and aahed over the delicious flavors. Ben complimented Maggie on her choice of wine, and Adam sampled a sip with his spicy Talipia. As soon as their appetites had been somewhat sated though, talk again turned to the problems facing the private car owners association.
“So, have you two developed a game plan yet?” Maggie queried the two men.
“Adam is kind of out of this one,” Ben replied. “He’s made it clear that his priority is law enforcement and he’s not particularly concerned about how it affects the PCOA.” Although his words were harsh, he delivered them with a smile. Both he and Maggie knew that Adam was a law enforcement officer first, and a friend to the association second.
“I’ll do what I can to give you the information you need to convince the owners that they need to take it upon themselves to cooperate in every way with the efforts to clamp down on the smuggling and the violence,” said Adam, “But I am totally in favor of everything the FRA and Union Pacific are proposing. This is a deadly serious situation.”
Ben made a quick check of his watch. “We’ve got to go Maggie. There’s another full round of meetings this afternoon. Did you make any plans for tonight?”
“No, there is a Celine Dion concert downtown at the Qwest Center tonight. I think all of the fun places are going to be absolutely packed. Let’s just plan on a dinner in the caboose, then we’ll just join everyone else for the nine o’clock cocktail party in the clubhouse,” Maggie replied.
“Sounds good to me.” Ben stood and brushed her cheek with a quick kiss, then he and Adam hurried out the door. Maggie sighed. Her world had just been turned upside down. What had looked like just another boring annual meeting had just become a battleground that would need planning and strategy to accomplish the necessary outcome.
She checked her Blackberry to see what she had scheduled for the afternoon that could be canceled or postponed, and made some notes for her article that would feature Butsy Le Doux. While she was at it, she jotted down some notes to begin her outline for her plan of attack to help Ben guide the association into making the right decision regarding the drug smuggling problem. There was a lot more that she needed to know, but she would have a chance to ask Ben about it later, and there was a lot she could find out by doing a little digging on the Internet.
Most of what Maggie did and wrote about was strictly for fun. She loved guiding people to the quaint, quirky and out of the way places that they would thoroughly enjoy. She also didn’t mind guiding them away from something that didn’t live up to it’s billing. Her philosophy was to write about what she knew, so she made it a point to experience the things she wrote about. The research was most of the fun anyway. But she also knew how to be serious, and in this case it was deadly serious. As a writer, she knew how to plan, organize and research, as well as develop an action plan and arguments in a methodical, comprehensive format. She would apply those skills to the problem that Ben and Adam had presented her at lunch.
But before she could get started on any of that, she had one appointment this afternoon that just couldn’t wait. She had scheduled a meeting with Wayne Sealy the owner and Mark Sealy, the business and marketing manager of the Mystery Manor, Omaha’s longest running haunted theater. The theater’s season ran from the end of September through Halloween, and since Halloween was less than two weeks away, she was under a tight deadline for several articles in magazines and websites specializing in the paranormal. It was just over a mile away and she was on foot, so it was going to take her nearly a half an hour to get there. After she had gorged herself on the delicious Cajun meal, she welcomed the opportunity to walk off some of the calories. Besides, using the voice recognition on her Blackberry would give her the chance to jot down further thoughts on her travel articles and the drug smuggling conundrum. The only problem with that was many people thought she was just a crazy woman talking to herself.
She found the Mystery Manor to be suitably decrepit and scary. The show was well put together and the props and cast of characters were terrifying. As an added bonus, the house itself had a documented haunted history. She felt good in giving a visit to the Mystery Manor a ringing endorsement in her articles. She had been happy to learn that in addition to the Halloween season, the Manor had branched out into a Christmas nightmare show which would give the terror loving visitors another chance to be scared witless. All in all, she was glad it was still daylight as she walked back to the private car park near the waterfront, wondering how she was going to sleep at night until the fear wore off. How did people immerse themselves in that kind of atmosphere day after day? Ah well, to each his own. Live and let live, or in this case, die and let die.
It was later than she had hoped when she made it back to the cozy caboose home she shared with Ben. Even for pedestrians, the congestion caused by the construction of a new downtown baseball stadium near the Qwest center made travel difficult, and it was compounded by the already large crowds streaming into the downtown area for the Celine Dion concert. She was glad they had just planned to stay in the quiet park for the evening.
She had stopped by a little neighborhood market on her way back to the park and picked up some locally raised organic chicken breasts, some whole grain organic dinner rolls, organic pasta and salad makings, also all local and all organic. She had intended to pick up another Nebraska wine, but had found instead a tempting micro brew beer from the Schilling Bridge winery and Brew House. They would have a grilled chicken breast salad for dinner accompanied by the Get R Done American Golden Lager before the cocktail party. Ben would be pleased.
Ben arrived even later than she had. She had seasoned and grilled the chicken breasts, tossed the salad and warmed the rolls when he walked in the door. She could tell it had been a long day by the deep lines around his eyes. She pried off the top of a beer, poured it into a glass and handed it to him. “So it shows?” he grinned at her.
“Yes, it shows. But at least you’ve still got your sense of humor.” Maggie replied.
“Well, I don’t think it’s as bad as we had thought this morning.” At Maggie’s raised eyebrows, he hurried on, “Yes, the situation is still as bad, don’t get me wrong, but the measures that they want to put in place are mostly just common sense, and I don’t think there’s going to be too much resistance on the part of the private car owners.”
“That is a relief,” Maggie said. “Now sit down and eat this delicious dinner. I thought a little lighter fare was in order after the way we gorged ourselves at lunch.”
“You’ve got no complaints from me there. I nearly had to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon.” Ben joked. Over dinner and a few glasses of the beer, they both discussed how their afternoons had gone. When Ben suggested a visit to the Mystery Manor, Maggie politely, but emphatically declined. “It was scary enough visiting it in the daylight, when I was just getting a tour. I don’t think I want to go back when their whole goal is to scare the pants off their visitors. Did you know that haunted houses actually keep score of how many guests they make cry, pee their pants or puke? To them it’s a badge of honor. I’m going to have to wait until the sun comes up tomorrow to even write my stories.
Ben grinned at her, “Don’t worry, honey. I’m here to keep the ghoulies and ghosties and wee little beasties from getting you.” He squeezed her shoulder affectionately before gathering up the dishes on the table and beginning to run water in the sink to wash up. Maggie put the leftovers away in the refrigerator. “Do you think there will be much discussion about the drug smuggling at the cocktail party tonight?”
“All of the executive board of the owners association were at the meeting today, as well as all of the at large members, so all of the news is going to get around pretty quickly,” Ben replied. “But I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. The way news gets stretched out of proportion when it runs through the gossip mill, the owners will come to the meetings expecting the worst, so maybe they will think what’s being proposed will actually be reasonable.”
“And just what exactly is being proposed,” Maggie asked as she dried and put away the last of the dishes. Their tiny galley was too small for a dishwasher, but they found they both enjoyed the additional time for camaraderie and conversation that washing and drying the dishes afforded them.
They each poured another bottle of beer and then made their way up the circular stairs to the cupola where they enjoyed watching the sun set over Omaha’s downtown skyline.
“The measure that’s going to be the hardest to take is the moratorium on private cars crossing the Mexican border. This is going to affect the BNSF retirees more than UP’s, but there are still quite a number of us who take advantage of BN’s connections in Mexico. This rule is coming down right from the Homeland Security, and it’s non-negotiable. They are going to give everyone six months to comply though, so everyone who has planned trips for this winter will still be able to get them in.”
“I’m glad they’re taking people’s plans into account, but is it really safe to continue to allow a bunch of retirees to travel the rails in Mexico after all that has happened? Maybe we should try to encourage as many owners as possible to cancel their plans if they’re heading south of the border.”
“I agree, and so does the rest of the board,” Ben nodded. “The FRA and Homeland Security have other reasons for not implementing the ban for another six months, mostly personnel, but we feel that it is definitely unsafe to cross the border by rail at this time, and we’ve passed a resolution that we’ll take before the membership later this week. It’s non binding of course, but at least it will get the message across that this is a serious situation.”
“There’s also going to be increased security at all border parks, which some of the owners will find intrusive. We’re going to issue bar coded id cards that will be required for entry into the park, which will mean fitting each park with more secure fences and gates. There will be more security guards patrolling each park on the borders, and these will also be walking around with drug dogs.”
“Drug dogs?” Maggie asked. “These are retirees, most of these private cars have more drugs in them than a Walgreens. Not to mention that a lot of these guys grew up in the 60’s and 70’s, so some recreational pot smoking isn’t unheard of.”
Maggie was much more liberal than Ben in this regard. “Illegal drugs are illegal drugs. The dogs are going to concentrate on the big three – marijuana, meth amphetamine and cocaine. If some of the owners are using these, it’s just going to be too bad for them, because they are going to get caught. As they deserve to,” Ben replied sternly.
Ben knew that Maggie wasn’t above partaking in a little marijuana high from time to time. In her opinion it wasn’t any different than alcohol, but the law saw it differently, and so did he. “How can you be so upset over drug smuggling when some of your actions actually support the smugglers?” Maggie knew how he felt about this subject, and in all honesty, she was conflicted herself. She didn’t like breaking the law, but she liked the effects more than she liked to get a buzz from alcohol. In her opinion, the sooner marijuana was made legal but regulated, the better.