Aaron Howard’s Oscar

The beginning: Call a man by his hat.

A boy smiles sandy-haired blueeyed mischief as he coolly makes his way from car to car the length of the moving train. Left to his own devices he elects exploration as his focus.

His Russian grandfather put him on the train in St. Louis to ride the rails back east to the torture of parental guidance and proper schooling. He is twelve and abundantly mystified by his first solo train trip. He has mastered the prescribed state of 'seen and not heard' for children. As well as the state of 'unseen and unheard' which is a sure sign of mischief and curiosity. But the kind that most often goes undetected.

At the outset of his forbidden exploration our young Oscar discovers a conductor, porter or another equally qualified white man in hat and uniform aslumber in a dark, quiet car.

Oscar knows certain parts of the train can be reached only with a key. This, of course, precludes the notion of crawling on the tops of cars.

So, curiously, Oscar pilfers the large ring of keys clipped to the railroadman’s side. First, Oscar must slide a bottle with only a spider in the bottom from the man's sleeping grasp. This action produces sleeping grumbles and protestations from the uniformed man.

Oscar transfers the grip of the bottle from one hand of the railroadman to the other. The railroader shifts in his sleep to the side that holds the bottle, the side opposite the keyring. Oscar easily, silently unclips the keys and steals through the nearest door between cars. When the door opens the sounds of the train rush in full volume and serve as a lullaby to the sleeping conductor. A sound as common to him as the lowing of cattle to a farmhand who sleeps in the loft.

Oscar dons his make-believe mask. He leaves the revolvers loose in their holsters. Walking into a room with a mask is one thing. But a mask AND a gun could get you killed.

Oscar walks through cars full of sleeping passengers. The exceptions being mothers or nursemaids caring for fussing infants and a few men and women keen on arriving at their destination and so keyed to the idea that they play the scene of arrival repeatedly through their minds with vast permutations (Those in whom it’s the getting there that counts.) from bunting and brass in one fantasy to tar and feathers and a wooden rail to replace these steel in the next.

None pay heed to Oscar.

After passing through several cars toward the front of the train he finds the first locked door. The first chance to put his new acquisition to use. His borrowed keyring. As he stands between cars he looks at the lock, a keyhole in the door, by the dim light through the window of the door of the last car. The door with the lock is made of rougher stuff than the door before, which bears the smoothness of sheet metal, the clarity of glass and a satiny coat of fresh paint.

Oscar looks at the lock, then down at the thirty-some keys on the brass ring in his hand. He considers locks he’s seen in his life: padlocks, doors, china cabinets, desks, mailboxes. Many things need a lock or latch or key and for every kind of lock there is a kind of key.

Methodically Oscar eliminates keys until he has a handful that look fit for the station of doorkey. These he examines closely for the signs of the wear of use. Clever beyond his years, curious to no end, Oscar employs the first chosen key. A dry run. The lock does not turn.

One down. A few to go.

The next key turns a little. He knows he is closer. Of the keys he has chosen, one stands out as most likely to be successful. He runs his slender boy’s fingers the length of the chosen key. A brass skeleton.

It slides gracefully into the lock and turns the action of a well-oiled machine. A train always bears a man with an oilcan and a man with an oilcan rarely misses an opportunity to lubricate an apparatus.

There is a click of success as the bolt turns and Oscar is able to push the door open into a dimly lit baggage car with a faint tight path to the door at the other end around extra large parcels and piles of luggage decorated with past destinations.

Oscar passes into the room, closes the heavy door and turns the bolt back to its locked position.

Oscar sees plenty to interest him as he slowly winds his way through the stacked and transitory maze of the baggage car. The area around it is clear of obstructions.

Here Oscar stops. He raises the shade of a lantern slightly to read labels on parcels and trunks more easily. He peruses names and locations, running scenarios and combinations through his mind, creating elaborate adventures and intrigue out of stickers bearing names of places.

His gut tells him to continue so he'll be able to return to his compartment unscathed. He eyes potential hiding places in this car in case they're needed. A pile of packing blankets in a dark corner, a crevice easily covered. He dims the shade of the lantern again and walks to this new door.

Already he has chosen the key for the next car, a great key, larger and simple. Rubbed to a shine by thinking hands.

In the center of the ovular flat handle of the key, just below the keyring hole, is a hand-stamped uppercase 'E'. The only darkness of this key's shine is the path of the letter made deep with a steel stamp and ball peen hammer.

The caboose has its allure, bringing up the end of the train, usually holding the resting place and staging area for the staff of the train. But it's not the most important car. It's no engine, but this car Oscar is about to enter, the opposite end of the train from the caboose, is the ultimately important car of any train in this day and age.

The Express Car. Home of safes and stashes and commands for the railroad. Oscar knows an attendant always inhabits the Express Car. Oscar counts on making up a story or an excuse. 'Gee mister I'm awful lost.' Is a good way to keep a kid out of trouble.

Oscar has chosen correctly and curiosity lets him through the door.

Oscar finds what he least expects. Even in his twelve year old's fantasy he had not imagined he would walk through the door of the Express car to find an actual train robbery in progress.

There it stands before him, frozen in response to opened door. He shuts the door and turns to face the carful of men.

Oscar: Howdy!
Tengallon: How'd you get in here kid?

Oscar raises the ring of keys in his right hand and shakes them.

The expressman is out cold, bound to a chair, gag and blindfold in place.

The robbers are three in number. Each with a bandana covering the better part of his face and hats pulled down low.

One man wears a fine brown derby. His are the clothes of a gentleman. Not so fine as what might be worn by a gambler set on flash, but clothes of fine cloth and sturdy seamsmanship. The sort of thing a practical gentleman-adventurer might wear.

This man in the derby is in charge.

Another man is diminutive but well-proportioned. He would make a fine jockey. His hat is black with a wide flat brim and a middle-sized crown. He dropped through the air vent on the ceiling and incapacitated the expressman with chloroform. The expressman never heard it coming. A jockey and a gymnast this short man would make. Then he opened the door and let his accomplices in.

The third member of the gang wears a white ten-gallon number, misshapen by weather and wear. His clothes are old and permanently dusty. His chaps are scratched but well-oiled. His boots do not shine save for his spurs. He is a cowboy at heart. Gunman by trade.

At Oscar’s entrance the men stare in consternation, their revolvers leveled at the youngster. Oscar nonchalantly raises his hands about halfway, his upper arms sagging just less than parallel to the line of his shoulders.

Oscar hides his excitement well. His plan is to interact with these men, not as the intruder he is, but as calm equals. If they were bandits without their wits about them Oscar would already be dead.

Oscar: I guess I'm lucky you gentlemen are good at your job or else I'd be dead.

The little man in the flatbrimmed hat laughs and glances at his pistol. The tengallon cowboy joins with a deep chuckle and looks at the doors at both ends of the Express Car. The man in the derby shakes his head and motions for Oscar to come closer.

Derby: C'mere kid and talk to me where I can see you. We got work to do here.

The other two men fall to work.

Tengallon goes through mail packages and picks out other goodies stashed in the car. He keeps things he was told to keep. The obvious: cash, jewelry, cheques of any kind, bonds, deeds, titles, grants. Any kind of fancy looking papers might be of use or could be burned if need be. he keeps the occasional trinket of small value. He knows it's not the best idea to keep other people’s personal items but he can hardly resist keeping a scented letter from a lady or a pen set sent across the country for a young lad’s school desk. He hides these things. When he returns to fondle them in the dark he imagines they are really his and perchance that he can read or write.

The expressman who is bound and unconscious is famous in certain circles for telling a fancy lady he always kept the combination to the second safe (the less important safe) in his watch pocket in case someone came and wanted to see something placed in the safe, he (the expressman) could check the time and get a glance at the combination. (They have stuffed dampened cloth into the expressman’s ears for the sake of the upcoming loudness of dynamite, plus it cuts down on evidence.)

So, Flatbrim, as per orders, retrieves the scrap of paper containing said combination from the expressman's watch pocket and sets to opening and emptying the safe. The knob sails its circles and clicks at the right numbers. Flatbrim tries the handle and whoops when it gives and the safe heavily releases the door to its quietly oiled hinges. Inside are the expected miniature treasures considered important enough to secure to such a great degree by passengers of the train not knowing their pockets were the safest places.

The main safe, on the other hand, requires an able hand at safecracking and Derby has had enough lessons.

Derby straddles a chair backwards. Oscar takes a station on a nearby crate next to the Doctor’s bag to talk to the man and hopefully be asked to hand him a tool. Derby opens the black Doctor’s bag that holds his toolkit and removes brace and bit to drill a hole in the safe’s iron hide.

Oscar peeks in the bag as the man starts drilling. He makes up names for the tools he’s never seen. Though, he’s never seen it before, it’s easy for Oscar to call dynamite by its proper name. Those red sticks stand out in any Doctor's valise waiting to unleash their thunder.

The safe’s iron gives to the drill bit's harder steel.

Derby: Hand me that oilcan next to the bag kid.
Oscar: Yessir.
Derby: How'd you come by them keys kid?
Oscar: Found em.
Derby: And where does a body FIND a key to the Express car?
Oscar: On a drunkard’s belt.
Derby: Just any ole drunk?
Oscar: Preferably one in a uniform. Is this gonna be a good score?
Derby: Up on all the terminology huh kid?
Oscar: I read the papers and the magazines?
Derby: Tengallon there can't even read his own name.
Oscar: I bet he’s good with a gun.
Derby: You know what I'm doing?
Oscar: Not exactly, but you're about to bust this safe.
Derby: I’m gonna blow the safe. This particular make of safe has its own special weakness just like any other so I gotta follow the course that makes use of this weakness. We’re in a moving train and we’d like it to keep moving just as long as it can and get it far off into the countryside where we ain’t. This is supposed to be a good haul. A mine payroll on top of the usual cash. Maybe thirty grand.
Oscar: That's a lot. What will you do with it?
Derby: Split it with these hooligans.
Oscar: And once it’s split?
Derby: I'll grab my other stash and disappear.
Oscar: Where will you go?
Derby: Now how’m I sposeto disappear if I tell you where I'm goin? Somewhere warm though, and far off.
Oscar: Like South America?
Derby: That’s a good idea. What’s your name?
Oscar: Oscar.
Derby: A good name. Hope you wont mind if I don’t tell you my name.
Oscar: No. I understand.

The man finishes with the drill and hands it to Oscar.

Derby: Very carefully, Oscar, I want you to hand me that dynamite you see in the bag. Careful now.

Oscar gingerly delivers the explosives to Derby's outstretched hand. He is relieved to be rid of the dynamite and have it in the hands of a professional.

Derby: This here’s precision work.
Oscar: So you don’t blow up the whole train?
Derby: Yep.
Oscar: How do you know how much to use?
Derby: You gotta study. I went to a school of sorts. An old buddy of mine learnt me and another kid I never seen before or since. You get to know how much dynamite it'd take to roast a turkey.

The man in the derby places the dynamite on the safe and finishes the preparations to blow the safe.

Derby: I will tell you it only takes a quarter stick of dynamite to catch all the fish in the pond out back of your uncle’s farmhouse.
Oscar: My uncle lives in a townhouse Back East.
Derby: You're a funny kid.

Oscar smiles at the compliment.

Oscar: Thanks mister.
Derby: Quiet with that. I got some more meticulous work to be done here.

Derby grins wide, rolls a cigarette and packs his toolkit. He places the smoke on his lip and searches his pockets for a match.

Derby: You got a match kid?
Oscar: Yep.

Oscar produces a box of matches from his jacket pocket. Oscar keeps the matches in his pocket always in case he should need to start a fire. Derby lights his cigarette and looks at Oscar. He hands the matches back to Oscar.

The other two robbers have moved the expressman to a place of cover all the way across the car. Also they have gathered all their spoils and belongings and placed them in this area of cover, like a child’s fort or a duckblind. The sort of place you keep things hid and away from people.

Derby lights the fuse.

Derby: C’mon kid, let's step outside and see what this sounds like.

The three robbers and young Oscar step out the door Oscar entered so recently, to wait another forty-five seconds for the charge to blow. They crowd into the area between the Express car and the car following.

The explosion has been timed to take place during a particularly clanky downhill run so as to obscure the sound as much as possible.

They wait. Hold on tight.

Blam!

A single explosion will not usually wake sleepers or grab the attention of a loud train’s engineer. Especially when there are no further loud noises or indications of trouble.

After the explosion they re-enter the Express car. It is smoky. Derby approaches the safe with a heavy hammer from his Doctor’s bag and knocks the door of the safe loose of its malformed hinges.

Oscar walks toward the safe. As Derby turns to watch him approach, Oscar sees the pleasureful gleam of success shining in Derby’s eyes. Derby steps aside to let Oscar see the object of his delight.

Derby: Those bags are full of gold coin boy. Whole shitpot of em. The best kinda money. Gold.
Oscar: Wow. You should be able to go anywhere you want, mister.
Derby: Yessiree. Go head and pick one of them bags up, Oscar.

Oscar cannot.

The bandits pack their booty. The loud downhill is about over. There is an even stretch of tracks before an uphill. On that uphill the train will slow appreciably and the robbers will disembark with their gold.

Derby: What’re we gonna do about you kid?
Oscar: Let me get back to my seat before this whole thing gets found out.
Derby: And us trust you to keep your mouth shut?
Oscar: I don’t think you’ll shoot me, I helped you out. And taking me along would be too risky.
Derby: True, true.
Oscar: I'll be seein ya then, good luck in your further endeavors.
Tengallon: We should rub him out boss.
Oscar: Pick on someone your own size buster.
Derby: Alright kid. I’ll buy it and I don’t think I need to warn you.
Oscar: No sir. Thank you very much. I won’t forget this. And no one will ever catch you because of something I said.
Derby: Goodbye kid and be careful.
Oscar: Bye. Happy trails.

Oscar makes his way back through each car. He lingers a few minutes in the baggage car to look at the stickers some more. He stealthily navigates the passenger sections and hides the keys in the upholstery of an empty seat he passes and goes to his compartment.

Oscar settles into his compartment, the bed already made, he shimmies into his pyjamas and keeps watch through the glass. As the train slows on the incline Oscar looks out the window at the slow moonlit landscape and there in the dark he sees three figures scurry toward the treeline with their burdens where someone waits with horses.

This robbery has never been solved.