Jack Cassidy slipped the depot agent a fin. "I'm sure you can get me in a sleeper on the rattler to New York." The agent quietly took the money and checked the massive ledger in front of him. Adjusting his spectacles, he tapped an entry in the book.
"Well, Mr. Cassidy, we have one berth available on the train, but Mr. Gutman asked for privacy on this trip."
Jack stared hard at the agent. Normally it wouldn't have been such a big deal to wait for the next train to New York, but he was paid to do a job and that job required him to be in New York as soon as possible. Jack pulled out his wallet and slapped down three big ones on the agent's book. "I cannot stress how important it is I'm on this train."
With a practiced deftness, the agent palmed the bills and made a mark in the ledger. "I'm sure Mr. Gutman wouldn't mind having a bit of company on the trip." The agent made out the ticket and handed it to Jack Cassidy. Jack nodded and turned away from the counter. Taking a few steps, he stopped when he noticed a beautiful woman. She was dressed in a white jacket, which flared at her supple hips and framed her ample bosom. Her hat rested at a precarious angle was neatly pinned to her piled chestnut brown hair. Her mid-length white skirt fit tightly to her long shapely legs. She held an unlit cigarette and her handbag in one hand as she rummaged with the other looking for a light.
Jack flicked his zippo and offered the flame to the damsel. She looked from the flame to his face and smiled before lighting her cigarette. She took a deep drag and blew out a white stream of smoke. "Thank you very much," she said.
Jack clicked the zippo closed and tipped his hat to her. "It was my pleasure," he responded. Without another word her walked down the long corridor to the trains, swinging his small case in his hand and whistling a little ditty.
On the train, the porter directed Jack to the sleeping car. Jack dropped a few bits into the porters outstretched hand. He sized up the empty compartment. Two bunks currently lifted and locked against the compartment wall, a moderately comfortable bench and a window, overlooking the milling crowd on the station platform. Jack hung up his hat and coat. Reaching into his jacket he removed his heat and slid it into his case and pulling out the Tribune. He stowed the case, sat back on the bench and flipped to check out the box scores.
The door of the compartment crashed open to reveal a nebbish little man clutching a satchel to his chest. His suit was rumpled as if it had been slept in, several nights in a row. The man looked stunned as his eyes fixed on Jack. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice revealing just how high-strung he really was.
Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out his deck of Lucky's. Freeing a cigarette he offered one to the man. "Gasper?" The man merely shook his head standing in the door. Jack could sense this was a man on the run from something or someone. "You might want to close the door, that's if you aren't interested in attracting attention to yourself. I'm Jack Cassidy, your bunkmate."
The man stepped into the compartment, wary of Jack, but not wanting to have his back out in the open. He closed the door. "That can't be, I paid extra to be alone."
"They overbooked, had no choice but to put me up with you. I'd get a refund if I were you." Jack lit his cigarette. "I take it you are Mr. Gutman?"
"Sherman."
"Come in, have a seat. Looks like you could use a rest."
Sherman plopped himself down on the cushioned bench next to Jack and slouched. "How far are you going?"
"All the way to Dodger Stadium. You?"
"To the end of the line," Sherman said his voice flat.
The train whistle blew three times and the train began to slowly move. Jack stood. "Looks as if you need some time to get yourself together. I'm heading to the lounge car. If you come out, I'll buy you a drink."
Jack Cassidy walked through the narrow corridor once more until he reached the lounge car near the rear. The lounge car was already filled with travelers weary of the journey that had just started. Behind the bar a portly man with a handlebar mustache poured fingers of whiskey and told a few ribald jokes. Jack noticed a woman sitting at the bar. She wore the dress of a working girl, a railway can-can. Her golden tresses hung loose and her face was painted like a canvas of a Dutch Master. She rested her chin on her hand and her elbow on the bar. Her other hand absently stirred a cosmopolitan. Jack couldn't resist a pretty face, and even if she was wearing a price tag, it never hurt to window shop.
"Is this seat taken?" Jack asked, setting his hand on the stool next to her.
"Hello, handsome, seat yourself right down. What brings you to leave Chicago?"
Jack sat on the stool and ordered a bourbon from the bartender, "and whatever the lady wants." He looked into her alert, bright blue eyes and saw the fresh faced youth from some country town, beaten by the city, but not broken, yet. "I have business in New York."
Her eyes sized Jack up quickly. "Family business or dick business?"
The bartender brought him his drink. He lifted it in a silent toast to her and sipped. "There ain't nothing wrong with your peepers. I've got the gumshoes on; I'm a private dick. I didn't think I would ever be considered for a mafia type."
"I wouldn't have thought so either, but I know Raymond the Tooth is on the train."
Jack set his drink down and thought a moment. Raymond the Tooth wasn't exactly near the top of the family, but he had a street reputation. Not only was he gifted with the ladies but also he had a cast iron heart. The man could watch his own mother dance on a rope and not feel any sorrow.
When Jack didn't say anything she continued. "You aren't wrapped up in that, are you? I've spent enough time in Chicago to know to stay clear of 'the Tooth' and his Bruno. Say, bo, what's your handle?"
"Jack, Jack Cassidy. And what does a dame like yourself go by?"
"Carmen Mars."
"You work this line a lot, Carmen?"
"For a year, now. Chicago to New York can be a lonely 42 hours for many men. Will it be a lonely trip for you, Jack?"
Jack smiled and finished his bourbon. He noticed Carmen hadn't had but a sip of her drink since he had sat down. "You aren't much of a drinker, are you?"
"It pays to keep your wits about you, or else you may find yourself planted in the railroad bed. Its good advice for anyone on this rattler."
Jack looked up just as the woman in white stepped into the lounge. He heard Carmen softly declare the presence of trouble, but he wasn't paying that much attention. The woman in white had him enthralled. "Pardon me, Carmen," Jack said as he stood from the stool to approach the woman.
"I'll be here," Carmen said with a high degree of confidence.
