The Sunset Limited Ch. 04

"You might as well leave them where they lie," he told the conductor when he heard them man walk up. "You'll need to notify the FBI as we near Los Angeles."

"Those two did all this?"

"Three, but yes."

"Oh, the one in your compartment. You think there are more of them onboard?"

"Yes, one more," he sighed. "To take out...me."

"Do you know who it is?"

He nodded his head. "Yes, I do," he said – as he folded up the paper.

+++++

The man from the toilet compartment had been moved by the time he returned to 'Berman's' compartment, and he went inside and slid the shattered door to, then sat across from her.

"You've been gone a long time," she said – then he handed the dossier to her as he pulled the Walther out and laid it on his lap.

She read the document, looked at the attached photographs in the dim light, then she looked up at him.

"This isn't me..." she said, her voice quavering. "Some one planted this. It's not me."

"Mossad? Why?" he said, pointing the Walther at her forehead. "Why would Israel be in on this, too?"

"This is not me!" she said, her eyes filling with tears.

He pulled the trigger once, just once, his eyes filling with tears too – then he smiled.

+++++

When the Sunset Limited pulled into El Paso he slipped off the train and walked through the old brick station, noting the news flashes coming from Dallas. The president had been shot and was being rushed to Parkland Hospital, and he shook his head as he walked out to the taxi stand in front of the station. He walked up to the first taxi and poked his head in the front passenger door: "Can you take me across the border, over to Juarez?"

"Sure thing."

He got in the back seat and sighed. "Go around the block first, would you? Just swing by the front again."

"It's your dime, mister."

He rolled down the window, was surprised at how warm it was here. "Seems pretty hot for November," he said.

"Almost ninety."

"You hear about Kennedy?"

"No? What's going on?"

"He's been shot. In Dallas."

"Really? Well, hallelujah! There is a God!"

He smiled at that, smiled at the implications of what that would mean going forward. Two countries – split right down the middle – each united in their hatred for "the other side."

They turned and were passing the station again, and he leaned forward a little. "See the woman there, in the brown dress – and the high heels?"

"Yessir?"

"Let's pick her up."

"Okay." The driver pulled over to the curb and Carter opened the door.

"Glad you could make it," he said to Sara Berman – and she slid in beside him.

"Did you see the news?"

He nodded but didn't say another word, and the taxi slipped back into early afternoon traffic, bound for Mexico.

This story © 2017 | adrian leverkühn | abw | fiction, fiction, fiction, and nothing but.