The Blood Gang

Chapter 3

I boarded the train and walked down the aisle to the very last car, hefting my knapsack over my shoulder. Michael was behind me, wearing both straps of his backpack. I sat in the last room and closed the door behind us. A man and woman sat across from us. The man was wolfing down a chicken salad sandwich while the woman sat at the other end of the seat and gazed out the window. The train started.

The man shoved the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and extended his hand. "John," he said with his mouth full, spitting crumbs onto the floor.

I shook it. "Flores. My son, Michael."

"My wife, Kathy. Thinks I have no manners. We're going to her mom's house in Connecticut to pick up the kiddies and argue divorce terms. Custody and such. She thinks I'm sloppy, I don't have manners, I yak too much."

You have no idea. "We're moving to Chicago. Far as this train goes."

"Green Hills got to you, huh? Heard about that. Bomb." He pulled a candy bar out of his suitcase and ripped off the wrapper. "Want a piece?"

"I ate."

Michael nodded. "Uh huh."

I tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, what did I say about phones?"

He grumbled and put it away, then pulled out a book and started reading.

John shrugged. "Kids. No respect for a nice, long chat. Too wrapped up in their music and their YouTube and their online dating."

I nervously glanced at Michael. "Exactly."

I heard the door to the car slide open. Someone stepped in and closed the door.

I grabbed a hat and a book, plopping the had on my head and burying my face in the book. John shrugged and pulled out another bar.

Out of the corner of my eye, I eyed the glass door. A man in a dingy, brown vest, pants and leather boots appeared in front of the glass door and peeked in. I could've sworn I'd seen him before, then it hit me -- he worked for Fernando.

A train officer tapped him on the soldier and started talking. He said something back. The officer shrugged and made some remark that brought over another officer. The officer asked. The man answered. The officer nodded with a smile... and pointed to the room.
The second officer opened the door. "Is there a Flores Clinton in here?"

"Nah. Just John and Kathy George, and those two are Frances and Martin Pollock. We introduced ourselves not too long ago. Uh, why not have a seat? Plenty of food to go around!" Thank God for John.

The man grunted and turned to the officer. Who was gone. He growled and left.

John whistled and closed the door. "That's some guy you got there."

"Tell me about it."

(LATER)

Everyone else was asleep, and I had to go to the bathroom. I quietly put down my hat and book and got up, silently exiting and closing the door behind me. Then I walked towards the stalls in the back and entered one.

I came out a few minutes later, washed my hands and started making my way back to the others.

"Flores."

When somebody who works for your enemy and searched the car for you earlier calls your name from behind, you do not stop and turn around, you do not try to reason with them.

You fight.

I spun and kicked his jaw. He bounded forward and slammed a fist into mine, bowling me through the door and into the third (we were in the fourth) car, then he started walking towards me.
I jumped up and ran, making it into the second car before a briefcase smacked my back. Then he kicked me. Seeing as getting up was temporarily not an option, I army-crawled to the door, receiving many blows to the legs. I finally stood up as the man slammed me into the conductor's car.

The conductor spun. "Oi mate, what're you doing here?"

I grunted. "A little help would be nice!"

He blinked as the man punched me. "Words of wisdom?"

"NO!" I dodged a kick.

"Then what?"

"FISTS!" I slammed my foot into my attacker's groin.

"Uh, okay." The conductor knuckled my attacker in the nose.

The man roared and kicked him out the window. I winced at the cracking of bones and the scream cut short. Then I got up.

The man grunted and pounded my head, pushing me into one of the levers controlling the train.

The train derailed.