Weird Tales volume 38 number 03 Canadian (19 page)

''What would I do?" said Larue half to himself, peering out over the tracks as they ran up to the train in widening twin Hnes, only to fall away under the floor of the coach.

'What would I do?" Larue repeated. "Me, I'd have to find a new way to get over to the foundry and back. This has been good enough for me for ten years. And what about you?'' He turned his head and laughed at the old man. "You were here when I started on the run. Guess you've been here since the el. Take her down and they'd take old Pete Nevers down, too, eh?"

Nevers was sitting like a ramrod. The train coasted off the bridge and flashed itself ungracefully around another curve.

"Never mind, Pete," said the laborer. "Can't do without the eL can we." and he laughed off down the aisle as the cars slowed down for the 109th Street station.

TT1S words were little less than pro-■*-■*■ phetic; a forewarning in these days

when cities everywhere were doing without els. For it was at lunch time several

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weeks later that a casually turned paper in the hands of a fellow worker caught Larue's eye.

"Hey, wait a minute! Let mc sec that, Eddie, will yuh?"

"Huh ?"

"Geeze, what do ya know! They're going to pull down the old West River Bridge el. Now how do they expect me to get to work!"

Eadie laughed. "Swim across, ya dope!"

Larue read the article all the way through. It seemed they were going to use the rails for scrap iron; the cars were to be sent to another part of the country where they were needed more.

Bus service across the bridge would be instituted.

That evening coming home on the el, Jack dug his boot into the door of the engineer's compartment. He was feeling the three drinks in him gulped down since the five o'clock whistle. When there was no answer to the third knock, he jerked the door open.

"Pete, I see they're going to pull down this cl!"

The old man shook his head and then turned slightly to look at the foundry worker.

Jack went on, "That's what they say. I saw it ui the paper. They're going to pull it down and we'll be taking busses across."

"They'll never stop the el," the old man rasped. "A thing like this, it ain't like a dog you can shoot or an old car you can throw in a junk heap. It's alive, I tell you! They can't kill it!"

Jack started at the vehemence in the old motorman's voice.

"Get out of here," the engineer said suddenly. "Get out of here, ya—"

Larue, taken aback, stood in the front of the car for a moment.

"Why you old devil!" he came back. "What's got into you ? You're scared, eh? You're scared because they're going to take down this rotten old el. Yeh, because you know when the el conies

down, Nevers, you're finished, too. You ain't no good without it, are you? I know that. Nothing else you can do!" The laborer slammed the compartment door and departed.

That night in his little room on Nestor Street, Larue's conscience won through the liquor. He felt remorseful about old Pete Nevers. After all, he'd known the old man for years. Nothing too chummy, mind you, for Nevers kept everybody sort of at arm's length, but he had ridden the old man's train for what seemed like ages. Of course, it was tough to have them pulling down the el, taking away your means of livelihood, Pete. All of a sudden, Larue got the idea he must see Nevers. That was it. He knew the old man lived across the river near the desolate el yards where the old tired trains waited, sorr.e for eternity, others newer, for the ne:;t day, those next days that now were limited. Larue pulled on his jacket and barged down the stairs into the street.

It was dark as he headed for the el station. On the platform at 109th he waited, vaguely wondering why he was doing this, and then thinking over a whole chain of circumstances, little kindnesses Nevers had done, money he'd lent Larue . . . and not all of it paid back the foundry worker recalled guiltily.

It always amazed Larue. The rest of the el workers were chronic complainers. "Hardly enough to keep your face fed," was their line. Nevers was not one to complain. Maybe a man like that could find something else. Certainly he was reliable. Larue considered the opportunities in his foundry. Watchman, or something. That was it!

A train rumbled into the station and Larue boarded it. This wouldn't be one of Nevers* runs. He'd made his last trip and was already through. The elevated scraped its way out of 109th and poked along between the glaringly lighted tenements and finally onto the West River Bridge. The night was warm, and Larue poked his bare forearm out the window, letting the holtish breeze nudge it as the train reached the peak of the bridge

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103

middle and then started down toward the opposite end. Beyond was the West River stop, and then several minutes away was the Fender Street stop. Larue got off. He'd been up to Nevers* place once before.

HE WALKED along the still, dark streets until lie came to a dingy building, even older and more run-down than his own. He mounted the steps to the third floor and knocked on the door.

"Come in," said the old man's voice, and Larue went inside.

"Ah, my friend," said the molortnan.

"Hello, Pete/' said the foundry worker nervously. "I had to come over. Sorry about getting sore this afternoon. That was very dumb of me. After all, I know the time you've been in. this business, it's kinda tough to have them take away your living, but—" he brightened, "I be: you can find plenty else. I was even thinking about the foundry. . . ."

"Jack," said the old motorraan raising a hand, "don't worry about me or the el."

"Damnit, I don't care about the el," said Larue. "I just want to help you tie in to something else."

Nevers shook his head quietly. "I can't never leave the el," he stated simply.

Larue took some gum out of his pocket, bit into a piece and offered one to the old man.

"No thanks. Nice of you to come, Larue, but you see it's not so simple as me just changing jobs. It's like, well, like taking one of those cars and doing something else with it. I'm kinda the el, that's all."'

Larue's glance took in the bare room. Poor old fellow, probably didn't have enough to eat as it was. There wasn't a sign of food anywhere.

"I just wanted to know how it was, Pete."

He crossed to the motorman and stuck out his hand. The old man grasped it appreciatively in a strong grasp. His handshake was surprisingly steel-like as he shook his head l^T.i-1 i^at £ r.o. i 2-Ctft

v.urry. If the el, she gees, my troubles are over all the same."

Larue wrinkled his head perplexedly.

"I'd like to see if we couldn't do thing for you at the foundry."

The old man disengaged his hand from the laborer's and put it heavily on Larue's shoulder.

"Thanks, lad," he said, "thanks, but t won't be needing anything."

Larue groped his way down the stairs and out into the street, feeling that he hadn't accomplished very much. There was a chilliness that he carried with him as he walked toward the Fender Street station. He remembered how very cold the old man's hand had been. Oh well, he'd done his best.

He shrugged and mounted the steps to the elevated platform. On the way home, from force of habit he stood in the very front of the first car as it rocked back across the river. But Larue found himself more and more concerned with the old man despite his unsatisfactory visit. His hands felt the metal sides of the car, and the coldness of the steel reminded him of the old man's handshake. He shook his head. Nevers probably wasn't any loo well.

NOT many days later, Jack boarded the el and saw somebody outside Nevers' compartment at the head of the train. Another elderly gentleman, he was, with a frayed el-line coat and a heavy gold chain across his vest. Larue shrugged to himself. Even the conductors would be in a tough spot when they pulled down the old structure. As the cars neared Jack's station, he pushed forward to say hello to Pete. The other elder!)' man looked at him closely but seemed to accept him on Nevers' warm welcome.

"Well," said the conductor. who : e name was Philpot, "looks like we'll all be looking for something new."

Pete shook his head with that same dogged stiffness that Larue had noticed be fore.

"Sure," the foreman of his foundry

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told Jack, "sure Larue, we can use a reliable old codger around here. We just lost two men from the watchman detail.''

That night Larue went again to Pete's lodgings to break the good news. Instead of Nevers, he found the aged conductor, Phil pot.

"Haven't seen him," said the old era-

"Haven's seen him," said the old employee. "You know, Larue, he spends more and more time down at the yards jusl sitting. . . . Funny, ain't it? Yup, sitting in the empty el cars."

Larue scratched his head: "Well, what are you doing over here?"

"Ohhh," the old conductor laughed, "I've kinda moved in here with Pete. You know the el ain't so high these days, boy. Not much money, and looks like even that was going to end when they start gouging and cutting and pulling us all to pieces."

Larue leaned against the door as Phil-pot began reminiscing.

"Yup, the iron horse on stilts they used to call us. Those were the days when the cl was the way to go places. Not all your fancy damn underground trains and busses and all that. You took the el, mister, or you didn't go."

"Yeah," said Jack, "Yeah, but don't waste time worrying about that, Mr. Phil-pot. You fellows got to get out and get something new."

"Mebbe, mebbc not," said the conductor. "I don't mind working, mind you. I never been one too look off center at work, but Pete, young fella, he worries me. This is getting him down. Since I moved in here—it's been a few days now —he hasn't et a thing." He paused, and then cackled as a thought occurred to him.

"I think he's living on that same juice as he sucks up into his train. He gets his nourishment sitting there at the throttle. No, sir, haven't seen him et a thing. 'Course he never was the kind of fella who brought the stuff in his pockets and munched away on the job. I never seen him do that in all the years I've worked

with him. But a man can't live on nothing, mister. Maybe it's like I say. It's the el power that keeps him going."

Philpot waved his hand under Larue's face, and Jack noticed the worn blue uniform coat.

"No siree, you can tell me about your other jobs and I'll say thank you and perhaps I'll take 'em and perhaps I won't, but tain't no use with Pete. He won't take anything else."

"But what'll he do?" persisted Jack. "I think I can work something over at the foundry. Watchman job. Pretty good pay."

Philpot leaned close. "Don't worry about him, mister. He'll get along all right. You know he swears he'll stay with the el."

"Aw, that's silly," said Jack. "What's the use of bucking the facts. The el's going to be blasted and pulled down. The paper knows it, I know it, you know it. You fellas will have to get something else or you'll starve."

Old Philpot cackled. "Don't worry, young fella. Pete lives without eating, and anyway, he says he's staving with the cl."

Jack turned to go.

"Now don't get uppity, Larue. I calculated you might tell me a bit more about the job."

"Well, I'd really thought about Pete," said Jack from the door, "and it doesn't look like he's coming in."

"Never can tell," said the conductor. "He might be here most any time. Watchman, did you say?"

"Yeah," said Jack, thinking by now that the other man was probably a bit touched.

"That's fine," said Philpot, "I could do something like that."

Jack set his jaw loyally. "I'm telling you, Mr. Philpot, I was thinking of Pete."

"No, young fellow," said the conductor, then lowered his voice. "Here, let me show you something."

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105

HPHE old man hobbled to a very old k*- trunk with patched leather handles at either end and a lock that was rusted with age. Quickly a nailfile appeared in his hand and he dexterously pried at the lock. The trunk lop yielded and he pulled it back.

"Look,'* he said. Jack leaned forward and peered into the interior curiously.

"Why," he exclaimed, "it's a lot of mets!—a lot of old metal parts!"

"Sure," said Philpot triumphantly. "You can see he's swiped levers and bars and facings off the el. Now that isn't the kind of man you want to be watchman!"

Larue was astonished.

"But why? Why would he take all that useless junk?"

"You can sell junk," suggested Phil-pot, wagging his head.

Just then there was an abrupt thud at the door. The metallic rasp of a key, and the next thing Peter Nevers himself stood in the entrance.

The three men stood silent for a moment, and then the motorman crossed quickiy tc the trunk, crashing the lid dov.-n with his hand. He turned accusing eyes on Philpot and Larue, eyes steely black with hatred. Larue stood there almost as a spectator. At first it seemed funny and then the vehemence of the man penetrated. Philpot was evidently in terror and he trembled and inched his way across to the door. Larue kept looking at the conductor to do the explaining, and when none was forthcoming; he turned to Pete himself and said simply:

"We just opened it up, Pete. Sorry. I had something I wanted to tell you about a job—"

Nevers raised a long, rigid arm until it pomted at the door in semaphore fashion.

"Get out!" he ordered. "Get out of here, both of you. Going through my things!"

He turned on Larue,

"And as for your job," Nevers said, *T don't need it!"

"What'll you do?" said the foundry worker.

"Stay with the el," growled Pete and starred menacingly toward them, his big old hands spread with obvious intention. The two ducked into the hall and headed down the stairs.

"Whew!" said Philpot, "guess he didn t like that."

"It's your fault," Larue reproached. "You shouldn't have nosed into his things That's what bothered him. He probably thought nobody knew. That was a damn fool thing to do!"

Philpot bristled: "I only wanted to show you. He shouldn't have got so sore. I meant no harm."