The Black Train

about craft beer.”

Wheezing laughter chopped up Prentor’s next line: “They’re watching your show because they think you’re sexy! Emeril ain’t happy, let me tell you. And we know it’s on the mark ’cos last week we did a Web site poll for sexiest man on the network? You won—”

Collier dropped his phone into the coffeepot.

Shit!

The clerk’s back was turned. Collier dumped the pot in the sink, and tried to pat the phone dry with paper towels. This is the best day of my LIFE! Excitement drove his heart rate so high, he knew he’d have to calm down—he could scarcely think. He rushed his coffee to the counter, fumbled for money…

A glance out the window showed him the homeless mother sitting at the parking lot’s edge with her kid. They were sucking the ketchup and relish out of the packets. Jesus…At once he thought of Dominique spending half the day running food to the homeless, and the sermon by the minister who looked like the Skipper.

Collier grabbed several bottled sodas, then told the turbaned clerk, “Give me ten hot dogs and ten of those cheese roll things.”

The clerk shook his head, ringing it up. “Sir, sir, these dirty people, they are all addicted to the drugs and on welfare. It is not good to give them things. They must earn them like us.”

Collier hated conversations, but he knew the difference. “Buddy, that woman out there’s no drug addict. Not every homeless person is a drug addict.” Being from L.A., Collier knew the difference. The panhandlers wore $200 sneakers. Homeless addicts didn’t drift to remote areas like this.

“You are silly man to give anything to such scum—”

“Just ring me up.” Collier held his tongue.

The clerk shoved the bag at him. “That’s why this country is so fucked up, you give to dirty people who don’t want to work hard like I have to. In my country, we make the useless work and sterilize them so they cannot bring more babies for more welfare!”

More stereotypes flared, but Collier just grabbed the bag and headed for the door.

“You don’t come back to my store!” the clerk added. “You are a silly, ignorant man!”

Collier turned. “Listen, dickbrain. I’m not silly and I’m not ignorant. I’m Justin Collier, Prince of Beer, and I have the number-three show on the Food Network, and you can pack that in your hookah and smoke it all the way back to whatever freedom-squashing, terrorist-harboring, dictatorial SHITHOLE you come from,” he said, then walked out.

“Fuck you! I say to you—fuck you!”

Collier was hardly bothered at all by the unpleasant confrontation. All that mattered to him right now was Prentor’s phone call. I’ve got my show back! his thoughts kept trumpeting. But his cell phone was still hot. As he strode across the lot, he tried to shake the coffee out of it. Got to call him back right now…

The homeless woman and child were still sitting on the curb sucking ketchup. “Excuse me, miss,” Collier said and set down the bag, “but I heard what that guy in there said to you. I got you some hot dogs and stuff.”

The smudge-faced woman looked in the bag, then burst into tears. “Oh my God, thank you, thank you! We haven’t eaten in a day! Finally someone nice comes along! God bless you!”

They began tearing into the food.

“Do you need a ride to a shelter or something?” Collier offered.

“Oh, no, thank you,” she sobbed, cheeks stuffed. “They won’t let us into the shelter so we live at the underpass right down the road. Usually the Salvation Army truck comes by and gives out sandwiches but they didn’t come last night. But thank you so much for this food!”

Collier felt overwhelmed. Damn. What should I do? He took a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet. “Here, why don’t you take this?” he said and gave it to her.

The woman almost sidled over in her tears of joy. “Thank you! Thank you so much—” She leaped up and hugged Collier.

The toddler looked cross-eyed stuffing another hot dog into his mouth.

“God bless you, sir! God bless you!”

Eventually Collier had to urge her back. “You’re quite welcome, but I have to go now. ’Bye…”

“Thank you, thank you!”

Collier walked off. Was this the type of charity the minister had called for? Or did I just do it to feel good? he wondered.

It didn’t matter.

The exuberance of his show’s renewal slammed back. Yes-sir-ee! The sexiest man on the Food Network! He opened and closed the cell phone several times but the screen never turned on. I gotta get back to the inn, call Shay and tell him not to date the contract until after my divorce…

Collier was five yards away from the homeless woman when he heard her voice behind him:

“Pokey? This is Dizzy—yeah, yeah, yeah, and don’t you hang up this time, you shit!”

Collier turned and was astonished to see the woman talking on a cell phone that looked even more expensive than his.

“I know, I know, you told me a million times, no more rock on credit. You just meet me at the underpass and bring five rocks. That’s right, five!”

What the hell…

“I’m not shitting you—yes, I’ve got it! Some guy just gave me a c-note so you MEET ME in twenty minutes and bring five rocks! Holy SHIT, am I gonna crack it up tonight!” Collier felt excreted on by crows. A hot dog flew out of the kid’s hand when the woman yanked him by the arm and strode off, the bag of food forgotten.

Collier stumbled back to the car.

“You see! You see!” railed the clerk out front. “Ignorant, silly man won’t listen! You—how you say? Kiss my ass!”

Collier wanted to run back to the car.

“Yes! Yes—oh, look, now silly, ignorant camel’s ass of a man is getting into car painted woman’s color!” He cracked out accented laughter. “And I see your show on your stupid American television and is—how you say? Piece of SHIT!”

Collier didn’t say a word. He simply got into the Day-Glo green vehicle and drove away.

He didn’t go to the airport. It seemed overreactive to just bug off. He’d stay one more night, check out properly, and say good-bye to Dominique.

Which only left his fears…

Back in town, he checked every other hotel and bed-and-breakfast: no vacancies. He didn’t even hesitate to admit it now: I’d really prefer NOT to spend another night in that haunted-to-the-max mansion. He supposed he could sleep in the car. Or…

Maybe Dominique would let me spend my last night at her place…

A much more promising idea, but would she go for it? Did she trust him to respect her celibacy?

Collier didn’t dwell on it, or anything else. Sute’s final revelations about what had happened in room three back in 1862 packed too much of a wallop. Maybe Mrs. Butler could give him another room for his final night. The memory of Sute’s daguerreotype only added weight to his decision not to return to the room…

Do I really believe in ghosts? he asked himself.

It was going on five o’clock now. Dominique’ll be on duty soon. When he next checked his phone, the lights came on, but the screen read NO SIGNAL. I could go back to the inn, call Shay from there, he knew, but when he pulled into the parking lot, the house seemed to grimace back at him.

Damn.

Did he hear a dog barking when he got out of the Bug? His gut clenched.

It seemed to come from down the hill, where the creek coursed through the woods.