The rolling hills, occasional farm, and the stretches of waving grass were a sight to behold, especially from the top of a rail car. Phil took a deep breath and drank in the moment. He was on the run from the law, he was being pursued by a strange woman, and he wasn’t sure he’d have a job when he got back. Right now there was only the warm sun, the smell of fresh air, and a feeling almost like he was flying.
*BANG* *BANG* *BANG*
Phil suddenly snapped back to his task. Bob was banging on the door, and Phil reached down and banged back three times. The latch to the door was in sight, and in looked about four or so feet away. Phil lifted his sore right arm. It was mostly numb, but it still hurt like hell when he rose it above his head. He shimmied towards the edge, but it was soon apparent his arm wouldn’t reach. He then considered waving his jacket or holding his shoe by the laces and waving it wildly at the latch. Slowly, he pulled himself back to the middle of the roof, and stuck his head through the roof hatch.
“HEY! Phil yelled. He couldn’t hear footsteps, but he heard the response in a few seconds.
“Yeah?”
“We’ve got problems. I can’t reach the latch.”
“Well, then come back in. We don’t want people calling the cops and telling them some yahoo is on a train car.”
“So what? We’ll be turned in as soon as we get to wherever we’re going.”
“What else can we do?’
Phil opened his mouth, but no words came out. The police would catch them sooner or later. There was no guarantee they’d even be arrested. Still, Phil felt he had to do something. “Just wait by the door, I have an idea.”
“Phil, what are you doing?”
“JUST GO TO THE DOOR!” Phil shouted. He turned around and crawled towards the edge of the train. Phil took a deep breath and turned himself around. Gently and deliberately, he started crawling off the edge. One leg was dangling off the roof of the car, when his other knee suddenly slid off before he was ready. Phil screamed as his rapid slide began.
***
Old man B’s arms were angrily crossed. He sat in the gray room, alone and indignant. He started muttering a sequence of numbers and letters. He was trying to remember his serial number from the army, but he was pretty sure his driver’s license number and social security number were mixing in. The door opened, and a uniformed officer B hadn’t seen before looked in. Old man B started at him as he brought in another chair and sat it by B. The officer said nothing, and soon he was gone again. Old man B folded his arms and rested his head upon them. He tried to separate all the numbers he had memorized in his long life. The door opened again, and then closed. B didn’t look up. He had no interest in talking anymore, but the Sioux Falls police were being awfully persistent. The next thing he heard was the last thing he expected.
“B, is that you?”
