Tacoma Straits

The man wasn’t European. Probably from the East coast. Shannen knew the minute the words tumbled out of his mouth. His native London accent once again reminded him that he was a little fish in a big pond. 

 “It’s rather noisy, isn’t it?”

 Shannen looked up. “Yes, it is, rather.” That wouldn’t be right. He masked the way rather came out, enunciating the r’s. He stared at the man in front of him. He only carried a satchel, bulging with something bulky. “Would you take a seat?”

 “If you’d oblige me,” the man said, and took the opposite seat. People hurried in and out of the train, the mass exodus spurred by someone finding a rat in the dining carriage just as the train stopped at Hammersmith Station. “Where’re you headed?”

 “Oh, I was going to see my mother in Melmont.”

 “Melmont?”

 “Small town.”

 “Ah.”

 “And you?”

 “Chemult.”

 “Oh?” Sam said nothing when he realized he didn’t recognize the name. 

 A minute passed.

 “So, where is this Melbert?”

 “Melmont. Near Tacoma.”

 “Tacoma!” The other man jolted up from his soft-cushioned chair. “That’s damn near a day away!”

 “Yes,” Shannen said, a little embarrassed. “I know.”

 “You ought to just write her a letter. Send a telegram, even.”

 Shannen slumped over, not daring to look at the man in the eyes. “She’s caught Tuberculosis.”

 The man lowered himself back into the plump seat. He stopped. “I’m sorry…” for a split second it seemed he would say something more but only paused.

 “What’s your name?”

 “Samuel Shannen.”

 “You must be joking!” The man let out a rollicking laugh. “What a name!”

 Shannen had to admit he didn’t like his name very much; but even a man who doesn’t like his name still has pride. 

 “My friends call me Sam, but most call me Shannen.”

 The other man composed himself.

 “Well, Sam. I’m sorry your mother is ill.”

 Shannen smiled. “Thank you-”

 “Laufeyette. Edward.”

 “And what am I to call you?”

 “Edward,” He said, a woman draped in furs bumping into him. “Everyone does.” The woman in fur swore, a bird in a cage she carried squawking as she hurried to her seat.

 “Oh dear,” Shannen murmured. “You know, I wasn’t expecting…”

 “So many people?” Edward leaned forward, his sharp green eyes staring him down. “I know how it feels.”

•••

 The noise of the train did not let up for hours; the train sped up after stopping in Corvallis; it would be hours until they reached Melmont. 

 Once the dining car came by. Edward was asleep, and Shannen, who rather disliked eating alone, only chose a glass of pisco punch. 

 By the time Shannen had drained his glass and the sun had set hours later, Edward had awoken. 

 “We there yet?”

 “Not by a long shot, I’m sure,” Shannen murmured. A dog from the car behind them barked noisily. He turned and groaned. “Oh, what is this, a zoo?” 

 Edward stood up for a moment to stretch, only to bump into a man with a ridiculously-overly-waxed mustache. The man sneered. “When did they start allowing the poor into First Class?” He huffed and walked off, a lackey carrying several massive suitcases in tow.

 Edward sank into his seat. 

 “You alright?” Shannen asked, reaching out to him. “I-”

 “Save it,” Edward mumbled, waving a hand in resignation. “You understand, s’that it? You want to tell me all about how you don’t listen to them, that I’m better than that, or how I’m going to do great things with my life, just-you-wait-and-see?”

 “And what makes you think I’ll say that?” Shannen frowned.

 “They always do. Men like you.”

 “I think that’s quite an assumpt-”

 “Tell me what you were going to say, then,” Edward leaned forward again, and Shannen closed in on a greasy strand of hair falling over his forehead. “I’d just love to hear it.”

 “I was going to tell you that you make a very handsome poor man,” Shannen laughed, picking up his paper that he bought at a newsstand back in Montana five days prior. He opened the front page. “Besides. Money doesn’t make a man. I would not have even pinned you for the sort, if it’s true as that man intended.”

 Edward blushed. “Er - thank you, but-”

 He stopped, his mouth dropping open in horror. 

 Shannen lowered the paper before he could even see the headline. “Sorry?”

 “Could I see your paper?”

 Shannen shrugged. “Sure. I haven’t had the time to read it yet, although - what the blazes are you doing?”

 Edward was ripping out the front photo. “I need this.”

 “But-”

 “I can pay you back later.”

 Shannen frowned. “But...how? I mean - never mind.”

 Edward tossed the mangled paper back to him. “What?”

 “I thought you were too poor to pay a man back. You are poor, aren’t you?”

 Edward nodded slowly. “But I’m to be coming into some money soon.”

 Shannen arched a brow. “And what business are you in, Mr. Laufeyette?”

 “I work with my brother...we’re door-to-door salesmen.”

 “That’s...dubious.”

 “What do you mean? It’s a perfectly normal occupation-”

 Shannen lifted up the remnants of a story, poking at the date in the upper right-hand corner. “9/13/03. That was seven days ago. Bought it two days later.”

 “Ah,” Edward says, weakly. He stands, suddenly looking very pale. His satchel hung loose on his rakish frame. “I ought to be-”

 A young man bumped into him, his bag falling to the floor. 

 Shannen gaped. 

 In fact, most of the other people on the plane gaped too. 

 There, lying on the floor, was a beautiful, glittering emerald. Shannen looked at it for a moment, only to return his gaze to Edward, an amused expression on his face.

 “I don’t suppose that has anything to do with last week's news?” He said, holding it up. Someone from behind them snatched it from his hands, and studied it dutifully before staring at Edward. It was a man, dressed in an unassuming overcoat, but there was something very official about him. 

 “Oliver George! Famed jewel thief,” he said, holding out a hand. “Detective Robert O’Hare.”

 Edward - Oliver - backed into the crowd. He smiled bashfully, which Shannen, famed for his own detective skills, noticed: but everyone else found it suspicious. 

 “I don’t suppose we could work out a deal?”

•••

 “We’ve got a 500 dollar bounty on your head, son,” O’Hare said, pulling him towards the head of the car. “Come on. Next stop is Salem. We’ll have you put up in a county jail before you can say your prayers.” But Shannen yanked him back. 

 “Please!” He said, sharply, forming a rift in the sea of people, forcing them to step aside. He let go of Oliver, straightened himself out. He smiled, which everyone found to be genuine. 

 Except for Oliver. 

 He too was noted for his detective skills, especially of the human expression. 

 “I found him. Isn’t that enough to allow me to turn him in?”

 Oliver turned pale, but Shannen threw him a look that said Be Quiet. 

 “Those are the rules,” someone pointed out. Robert nodded, obviously upset at loosing the chance of earning some sort of reward for turning him in - but rules are rules. And Robert O’Hare was never one to break the rules. 

 “Fine. Drop him off at Salem, but I-”

 “Oh, no,” Shannen says, waving a finger, jerking Oliver’s hand his way. “He’s mine. I’m taking him to Melmont.”

 Everyone in the car stopped. 

 “Where’s that?” 

 “Washington.”

 “Son, we ain’t even left Oregon yet,” a man behind O’Hare growled. Shannen shrugged. “Then we’ll have to wait until we leave Oregon, hm?”

 The crowd dissipated into grumbling and some complaints, until only Robert, Oliver, and Shannen were left standing. 

 “I’ve been trying to catch you for months,” Robert murmured. He turned to Shannen, his cool eyes staring him down. “You let him get away, there’ll be a bounty on you too.”

 “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be well taken care of.” Shannen said, not daring to look to Oliver. He didn’t have much of a plan yet, but he’d come up with one soon enough. 

 He had time. 

 Around 7 hours, to be exact. 

•••

 Six and a half hours later, the car was nearly empty save for a man in a suspicious trench coat and a young woman trying to calm the baby she was holding. 

 “Most people would have disposed of me the first chance they got,” Oliver murmured. The police had been alerted. He knew it was over. It was always the guys like him that do it. And he should have known, just from the sight of him - but from the look in Sam Shannen’s eyes he had sort of hoped he wouldn’t be the one this time. “Least you waited.”

 “You don’t even know what you’re in for,” Sam murmured, engrossed in the lives of the Katzenjammer kids, the last section of his paper. Oliver shuddered. “I do, actually.”

 Sam lowered the page, his brow arched yet again, given him a rather severe effect. 

 “You’re lucky then,” he said, dropping the faux accent, reveling in the shocked expression of his friends face. “Ah, you weren’t expecting that, were you?”

 “Er-I thought - sorry - you aren’t American?”

 “I suppose this answers it, doesn’t it?” Sam stands and digs deep into his pockets, pulling out wads of different currencies; included was his wallet, which he tossed to Oliver. When the man opened it, his mouth opened a little before he closed it.

 “Your name...you...lied?” The inside was lined with the flag of Great Britain, his name and photo completely different. 

 “No,” he said, grabbing it from his hands. “I’m real. Never lied to you. But...in the event that something were to happen…” he shrugged nonchalantly. “I’d need an identity, wouldn’t I?”

 Oliver looked down. 

 “I understand that, I do.”

 “But you don’t like being lied to, eh?” Oliver’s silence answered his question. “A bit ironic, if you ask me.”

 “And how?” Oliver snapped, crossing his arms. 

 “You’re a jewel thief!”

 Oliver leaned forward, peering past Sam’s shoulders, then looked back at him. “Stop!” He hissed. “I’m already going to jail...let’s not dwell on it, alright?”

 “Fine.”

 “Besides, I don’t even lie when I take the jewels.”

 “And? Your point?”

 “My point is that you don’t know much about me. When I take those jewels I’m not lying.”

 Sam shut his eyes. Oliver must be mad, he thought. “And what would you say?”

 “I’d tell them that I need them.”

 Sam’s eyes opened. “And why the hell would you need thousands worth in jewels?”

 “Just like you.”

 Sam frowned. “Huh?”

 “I need them, for my sister.”

 The frown that had once been on Sam’s face softened. “I’m sorry.”

 “She’s ill as well. And I thought that with the money...I could take her somewhere nice. To the seaside, maybe…”

 “The detective said he’s been chasing you for months.”

 Oliver nodded. “I’ve been all around the country, looking for the perfect place, collecting money, storing it, sending letters and gifts when I can. If I hadn’t been caught then I might be there right now, with her…”

 Sam extended a hand. 

 “You will be, I promise you that.”

 Oliver began to reach out for it before pulling away. “But-”

 “I may not be a jewel thief, but I’ve sort of made a fortune getting out of the muck of things. So. I get you out of your muck, and you get me out of mine? Fair?”

 “What are you, exactly? A con artist? Some European bandit?”

 “Neither.” The train was beginning to slow down. Sam held out his hand again, his eyes staring him down, begging him to accept. “Are you coming along?”

 “Sam…”

 “It’s now or never.”

 Oliver shifted nervously. Noticing this, and his reluctance to filter out of the car like the other inhabitants, Sam pulled him towards the window. “Look outside.”

 Oliver drew back a thick velvet curtain and gasped. In awe of the valley of ridges and trees that hung in front of crystal clear skies, he almost knocked Sam over. 

 “It’s beautiful.”

 “I know,” Sam said, fumbling with his things. “I’d like you to have this.”

 Oliver let the curtain go. “Sorry?” His eyes bugged as Sam handed him several hundred dollars and a passport, which covered as much as his bounty and more. “My god…”

 “It’s enough to...well. I’m sure you’ll figure that out. When we leave, follow me. You may use my papers if in trouble, and in any event you can always pretend to be my…”

 “Friend?”

 “Brother.”

 “Right.”

 “Anyone left in this car?” The conductor called, ringing a bell. Someone outside began directing passengers in. Soon an attendant would be in to check tickets. 

 Oliver’s lower lip trembled. He suddenly seemed quite vulnerable. “Maybe I should go; you need to see your mother and I my sister.”

 “I-” Sam started, but was cut off by Oliver’s arms around him. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

 “I have to go,” Sam said, grabbing his suitcase. “My mother-”

 “I know. You have to do what’s best for your family.”

 “But what about you…?”

 “I’ll sit right in your seat until we reach Chemult. I’ll use the train bathroom and shave and eat my meals in here. And I’ll be just fine. No need to worry, eh?”

 Oliver glanced back at the beautiful scenery outside, still taken aback by his surroundings; but when he turned back to say his last goodbye to Sam, he was gone. 

 He rushed to the window and saw Sam in his English-style sweater and trousers, and his long, neat coat. He stood out quite well, in a good way. Eventually the inspector came through the car and checked the papers; when he saw Oliver’s, he nodded. Immensely grateful, Oliver stared out the window and smiled. Sam reciprocated. And when Sam waved goodbye, he waved back.