The Insane Train by Sheldon Russell Page A

shine down at the jungle,” he said. “Soon enough we’ll all be drinking Barstow river water. Why don’t we just make a quick run, Seth?”
    Seth rocked the steering wheel and looked up at Roy. “I can’t be using the company truck for carrying people to moonshine stills. Stills are illegal, as you well know. Anyway, this is a full-time railroad job. It isn’t like unloading trucks over to the grocery or mowing old man Johnson’s yard.”
    â€œMaybe some of us boys could hire on with the railroad, too, Seth.”
    â€œI don’t think so, Roy. It’s professional business, though it wouldn’t hurt to ask, I suppose.”
    â€œI thought you said you dropped the yard dog off in the morning and picked him up at night?”
    â€œI did say that. I can say it again if you didn’t hear it the first time.”
    Roy took a drag off his cigarette. He studied the red coal on the end.
    â€œSo what do you do between morning and night?” he asked.
    Seth flipped down the visor. In the dust on the back someone had drawn a picture of Kilroy with his nose over the fence.
    â€œI don’t know yet. Maybe when it gets hot, I’ll stop in at Barstow Drug for a root beer or drive out to the wigwag crossing and take a nap under the truck. Maybe I’ll visit the mayor or go to the chief of police and tell him about all the asshole cops he’s got on the force. How do I know what I’m going to do?”
    â€œJeez, Seth, you don’t have to get so riled up. My still is just out there by the salvage yard. I don’t mind walking in the heat.”
    â€œYour still is by the salvage yard?”
    â€œI built it close for supply parts. Them radiators can be damn heavy, especially when you don’t have no company truck to haul things around in.”
    â€œAlright, goddang it. Your mother should have pinched your goddang head off when you were born. The whole world would be better off. I damn sure would be.”
    Roy came around the truck and got in. “If a man’s got to be in Barstow living under a bridge,” he said, “he ought be there with a friend like Seth Durand, a man who’s never uppity, even when he’s driving a company truck.”
    Seth cranked up the engine, checked the side mirror, and pulled off down Main toward the salvage yard.
    Pretty soon Roy said, “It’s been a good long while since I had a root beer.”
    Seth glanced over at Roy. “We’re going to the still, Roy. That’s what you said.”
    â€œThat’s right, the still is where we’re going.” He took out his pocketknife and worked at a nail. “Takes a lot of effort to keep a still up. It’s art, you know, like painting or figurines.”
    â€œJust don’t think I’m going to do this every time you want to go to your still.”
    â€œI’m not one to be asking favors,” Roy said, turning his shoe up to pry out the pear cactus thorns in the bottom. “Far be it from me to interfere with your plans. You want a root beer, just go ahead and get one. It won’t bother me a bit.”
    Seth sighed. “You got money for a root beer, Roy?”
    â€œHell, Seth, did I ask for one? Anyway, you’re the man with a steady job and a private truck to drive around. I’m just a goddang hillbilly, thanking the Almighty my mother didn’t pinch off my head while I lay in the cradle.”
    Seth whipped a U-turn and pulled in at Barstow Drug. They went in, and he ordered two mugs of root beer. Roy drank his down and then watched Seth drink his. Finally, Seth ordered him a second round so he wouldn’t stare anymore. After that, they drove past the salvage yard and, from there, down a dirt road to Roy’s still, which he’d tucked back in an arroyo.
    â€œWhat do you do when it rains?” Seth asked, looking over the steering wheel.
    â€œIt don’t rain in Barstow.”
    Seth