Page 120 of Whistle

Harry made his way past Pam’s desk and rapped on the open door of Susie’s office. She looked up from the latest edition of theLucknow Leaderand smiled when she saw who it was.

“Am I under arrest, Harry?” she asked.

“Dunno. What’d you do?”

“Put someone else’s parking ticket under my windshield so I wouldn’t get one.” She smiled mischievously.

Harry considered that. “Left the cuffs in the car. Back in a sec.”

Susie grinned. “And why are you darkening my door today?”

“That guy who came in to see you? Nabler?”

“That train nut?”

Harry smiled. “That’d be the guy.”

“I could see wearing a getup like that in your store, but going out in public? It’s like having ani’ma nerdflashing sign on your head. You know, last year we rented the arena to an organization holding a huge model train flea market. That was an interesting group, let me tell you. Mostly old men with questionable fashion sense. Tables setup selling everything from old Lionel and American Flyer trains to electronics to books full of railway trivia. I thought they could have done with just one vendor offering deodorant.”

“You mind my asking what Nabler wanted?”

Susie nodded. “I guess I can’t make fun when he’s well-intentioned.”

“How so?”

“He was talking about making a contribution, being a sponsor, something like that. Buying new jerseys or skates or sticks, say, for the Bobcats.” The Lucknow Bobcats, the local kids’ hockey team. “And putting an ad on the jerseys, or maybe one on the boards.”

“Oh,” Harry said.

“Kind of goofy, but nice of him. He was saying he’s relatively new here and wanted to make a contribution, be more involved in the community.”

“What’d you decide on?”

“Nothing yet. I said I’d think about it, see where whatever funds he wanted to donate could be put to the best use. Truth be told, this whole place could use a coat of paint. I keep telling the mayor and his band of numbnuts we need more funds for upkeep, but they’ve got their heads so far up their asses it’s like trying to explain France to a chicken. Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why you asking me about the train geek?”

Harry smiled. “He’s been putting other people’s parking tickets under his wiper so he won’t get one.”

“Bastard,” she said.

Harry spent much of the afternoon going through the annual budget he would present to the town. The community center wasn’t the only municipal operation looking for more money. Harry wanted tohire another person to keep the station running smoothly, plus one more officer. They were stretched too thin to cover the town’s needs twenty-four hours a day.

When it got to be close to five, Harry left the station and returned to his Main Street bench. Choo-Choo’s Trains closed at five. What did Nabler do once his workday was over?

Harry sat there, glanced at this watch: 4:55 p.m.

Waited. Looked again: 4:58 p.m.

The sign in the window of Choo-Choo’s Trains went fromopentoclosed.

Harry looked at his watch. Exactly 5:00 p.m.

Game on.

Forty-One

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