Page 1 of Equalizer
Chapter 1
Calvin
Grave robberies? Doesn’t it seem strange to send two federal agents to look for missing bodies?” Owen Sharps reached for a slice of warm bread. The rocking of their Pullman car gently sloshed the tea in his cup.
“Seems they think there’s more going on than medical students getting cadavers to study.” Calvin Springfield added a liberal smear of peach jam to the butter on his toast and paused to take a gulp of some coffee.
“Plenty of creatures steal corpses, but they usually dig up the coffins after burial. They don’t snatch bodies out of morgues without a trace.” Calvin savored another sip of coffee, hoping it chased away the last vestiges of a poor night’s sleep. “Headquarters must have had an inkling that this was our sort of problem.”
Owen gave him a look. “Or they’re still annoyed with us for breaking the rules on the last case.”
Calvin sighed. “Or that. Although it was all for a good cause, and we did end up being right, after all.”
“I guess if they wanted to give us a slap on the wrist, they’d send us to some god-forsaken cattle town in the middle of Wyoming instead of Chicago,” Owen replied.
“Although Chicago is probably the biggest cattle town in the country,” Calvin observed.
Winston, their butler, assistant, and bodyguard, appeared right on time to refill their cups and remove the plates. “I’ve checked the wire several times—no new telegrams, although that might change once we’re in Chicago. I have to admit, I’m intrigued,” Winston said.
The Pullman’s gentle rocking contrasted with its speed as it hurtled down the tracks toward Chicago. The luxury private coach served as their cover as traveling businessmen and investors, hiding Calvin and Owen’s work as agents for the Supernatural Secret Service. Although he took on the role of butler, Winston Smith was a highly-trained operative with experience in research and a dead-eye shot.
The Nighthawk-series sleeper car cut a handsome profile, gleaming black with chrome accents. Its generous observation platform opened into a well-appointed parlor with dark wood walls, a hammered tin ceiling, and furnishings in emerald green velvet, as befitted two wealthy gentleman investors.
Inside, the car featured a parlor with velvet-tufted couches and armchairs, side tables, and a large poker table. Three sleeping cabins each had a full-sized bed with a chair, desk, and private bath. A library with a telegraph station and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves provided opportunities for research as well as relaxation, and a hidden corkboard helped them organize information. A well-equipped lab accommodated medical, scientific, and arcane needs.
Large windows provided plenty of light in the dining room, with a mahogany table, dark green velvet draperies, matchingupholstery, and glass-fronted cabinets filled with bottles of liquor and wine.
Winston presided over the kitchen and pantry, a well-qualified butler and bodyguard. Hidden shelves scattered throughout the car concealed racks of guns, knives, and other weapons.
Like its owners, the private car was more than it appeared, with steel walls and ceiling reinforced to stop most gunfire, and the window glass was an experimental prototype that would fracture but not shatter from bullets. A special air filtration system protected them from a gas attack, and the undercarriage could survive driving over a significant TNT explosion.
Given that their work dealt with the supernatural, every room except the laboratory had pipes of salted holy water with iron filings built into the window and door frames. Warding sigils against demons, dark magic, and an exhaustive list of supernatural nasties were worked into the steel behind the wood paneling.
The train lurched, nearly sending their cups into their laps. All three men grabbed for a handhold to keep from being thrown from their seats, and the train’s brakes screeched.
“What the hell is going on?” Calvin shouted above the din.
“Don’t know, but it looks like we’re making an unexpected stop,” Owen said.
Calvin went to the window. “I can’t see anything from here.”
“Must be serious—this is the express. It doesn’t do extra stops,” Owen said.
When the train finally stilled, Winston looked out the door. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he told them and hopped down to the siding. Through the window, Calvin saw Winston talking to three men in railroad uniforms who pointed in the direction of the engine.
Finally, Winston returned to where they waited. “We hit an automobile that was straddling the tracks. They’re clearing the wreck. Made a mess of things. They think the driver was thrown clear—there’s no body in the car.”
Owen’s eyes took on a distant glaze, and Calvin knew his partner was tuning in with his abilities as a medium to search for the spirit of the dead driver.
“He was gone before the accident,” Owen said in a far-away voice as he listened to the voices from the other side. “Dead when someone put his car on the tracks.”
“Does he know who killed him or why?” In the brief time he and Owen worked together, Calvin had gotten more comfortable with his partner’s ability. Now Calvin thought of the ghosts as just another type of witness, although their appearance still sometimes gave him a fright.
Owen stared into the distance at things only he could see. “He didn’t see his killer. He’s very confused about why anyone would want him dead.”
“That’s an elaborate setup for someone without a motive,” Calvin pointed out. “Can you get a name? Does he know where the killer left his body? We can follow up with the morgue once the police are through.”
“Arthur,” Owen said. “Arthur Simpson. He’s still quite unsettled. It takes the newly dead a while to collect themselves. Dying is traumatic.”
