Tag: hard-boiled

The Bullet Train

By R. David Fulcher

The long flight from New York to Frankfurt had left me tired and feeling disheveled.  As a private investigator, I instinctively felt for the reassuring bulge of my snub nosed .38 revolver under my left shoulder, only to remind myself I had left my piece back in the Big Apple before taking my vacation.

I hadn’t gotten a break in over five years, not since Delores had convinced me to take her to the Bahamas.  I should’ve known she would split right after the trip.  This time was different—just me, myself, and I.  If I wanted to drink beer at a biergarten all day I could, or rent a car and speed down the Autobahn, I could do that as well.  It was almost too good to be true.

I was glad to finally board The Bullet Train when I found the right platform and even more glad to find an abandoned cabin.  The Germans didn’t call it The Bullet Train of course—they called it an IC or Inter-City Express.  It was called that because it didn’t stop at any of the smaller stations between the starting point and the destination.  I called it The Bullet Train because I was impressed by the pictures of the high-speed Japanese trains many years ago, and the term just stuck with me.

This particular train was travelling between Frankfurt and Darmstadt.  I wanted to start my vacation in Germany in Darmstadt as it was picturesque, and small by big city standards, and believe me I’ve had enough of big cities.

I had just lowered my hat over my eyes and propped up my feet when I heard the cabin door slide open.

Just my luck, I thought, until I opened my eyes.

In front of me was a knockout redhead.  She was easily over six feet tall, with a figure that was somehow curvy and trim at the same time.  She had full pouty lips, a slightly upturned nose, and eyes that seemed to change between different hues of green when the light caught them.

“Do you mind if I share the cabin with you?” she asked.  She didn’t sound German, but she also didn’t sound American.  The only word that came to mind was that she sounded cultured.

“Of course not.  I’m Nick Jansky.  Pleasure to meet you,” I said, sitting up and extending my hand.    I felt a spark when she lightly clasped my hand in return.

“The pleasure is all mine,” she replied, taking the opposite seat.  I didn’t escape my attention that she hadn’t offered her name in reply.  I didn’t overthink it, however.  In my line of work I had learned that people may prefer to remain anonymous for any number of reasons.  In her case, I was pretty sure a man was involved.

“Are you from Frankfurt?” I asked as the train got rolling. 

“I’m a bit from all over, I guess you could say,” she said, laughing slightly at her own joke.

She was taking her anonymity seriously.  Despite her allure, it has been a long flight, and I wasn’t in the mood for games.

“Well enjoy the trip, Miss,” I said, lowering my hat back down over my eyes.  She seemed disappointed that I was no longer playing along.

The gentle vibrations of the tracks helped to quickly lull me into sleep, and I wasn’t sure how long I had been out before I felt a slight tap on my knee.

“Nick?” She asked.

I sat up, still groggy and unsure of my surroundings.  The urban feel of Frankfurt had given way to rolling hills and quaint towns.

“Yes?” I replied, lifting my hat.

She seemed anxious and vulnerable now, no longer exuding the confident demeanor she previously exhibited, and she was squeezing her handbag for apparent comfort.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” she began.

“Well, how bad could it be?  We’ve just met!”  I exclaimed.

This made her show a forced smile, and she clasped my hands.  Again, I felt the spark, a shiver that coursed through my being when she touched me.

“You’re kind.  I didn’t expect that,” she said, looking out the window at the landscape rolling past.  Again the sunlight caught her eyes and they seemed to shift like currents in the ocean.

“What do you mean you didn’t expect that?” I inquired.

“Ok, here’s the honest truth.  I saw you on the platform and followed you to this car.  You seemed like a man who…well, who could handle himself.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” I asked, looking directly into her shape-shifting eyes.

“Yes.  There is a man following me.  I think he’s from the government.  I think he wants to kill me,” she blurted out.

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