– Chapter 1 –

Harris F. Salisbury sat at the umbrellaed cafe table outside the Starbucks in West Palm Beach contemplating his next move over a cup of black coffee.

He just dropped off his backup girlfriend at the gym, with no plans for the rest of the Saturday morning.

Jackie is a beautiful woman, almost 30 and wiser than her years. She has smooth ebony skin and at 5′-10″ her legs stretch all the way to her breasts.

She is a ballet dancer at heart and dreams of opening her own studio. For now, she manages a book of retirement accounts, as a financial consultant at the Charles Schwab Miami office.

Harris thought about the conversation he and Jackie had the night before. She always knows what to say to bring me up. Harris also thought for a moment about this morning’s passionate wake up call. Jackie normally kept her kinky brown hair wrapped up tight, but when she let it down, look out!

He took a sip of coffee and sighed.

Because it is Allison C. Jackson, the belle from Charleston, South Carolina – not Jackie – that makes Harris’ head woozy and his heart beat fast.

Allie, in contrast to Jackie, is petite with permed blonde curls and doll like features. She wouldn’t be caught dead in a gym.

She has a quick wit and a sharp tongue.

Harris wondered if he loved her for both, or one despite the other.

In any case, he had not heard from her for more than a week. Not since the last heated argument about his choice of career.

Harris is a conductor on the Florida East Coast Railway and holds a regular assignment on No. 202, one of the hottest intermodal trains on the railroad, leaving Miami early evening and barring unforeseen events, getting into Jacksonville sometime in the middle of the night. With eight hours rest, he usually catches No. 101, another hot van train with connections from Atlanta, back to Miami the next afternoon, earning him two days pay in about 30 hours.

And so is the tempo of Harris’ existence, a day-and-a-half on and a day-and-a-half off.

The job is fairly routine and not that demanding. After meeting his engineer at the Miami yard office, they collect their orders, have a job briefing, and inspect their power. Since the 202 is a premier train, they always get the newest fastest locomotives, and once they are coupled to their train, the dispatcher is anxious to get them to Jacksonville.

His regular engineer is a quiet man named Martin who is counting less than 100 days to retirement. They will typically make it all the way to Jacksonville without conversation, other than to acknowledge signals, which are normally set clear long before Harris or Martin get to them.

These trips give Harris plenty of time to contemplate his love life and conjure scenes for the screenplay he has been writing and re-writing since his first year in college. His undergraduate degree is in American Literature, but this had little impact on his job application at the Florida East Coast.

Harris does not need to work for the railroad, and more or less inherited his job. His great, great, grandfather was Henry Flagler, the oil and railroad tycoon that built the Florida East Coast Railway at the turn of the 20th century, developing half of Florida in the process.

Unlike other branches of the Flagler family that diluted or frittered away what was left of the Standard Oil and Florida East Coast inheritances, Harris’ family has not spent any of it, and in some generations actually added to the wealth. Harris’ mother, and her father, both held inconspicuous positions at the railroad, as much to keep an eye on their investment as to earn their “grocery” money. Other aunts and uncles maintained similar positions in Exxon and Mobil, principal successors to Standard Oil.

Taking a mostly laissez faire approach to their investments, on a handful of occasions the trust fund attorneys are instructed to send letters to the Board of Directors. A sternly worded missive initiated by Harris’ great grandfather put an end to any thoughts of rebuilding the railway’s Key West Extension, after it was destroyed by hurricane in 1935.

For the most part Harris keeps his past connection to the railroad a secret, as his family has done for generations. This always makes it easier to work with colleagues and live quietly in a society that every year becomes more and more resentful of old money.

Allison C. Jackson also comes from old money, a combination of banking, transportation, and trade. So, Harris thought it would be safe to share his secret with her.

And that was a mistake.

On learning of his trusts, she could not understand why he would work all kinds of crazy hours “on that damn railroad” when he could be jet setting around the world and catering to her every need.

Harris was contemplating these options when his cell phone rang, jarring him back to reality.

The caller ID flashed “Allie.”

Harris’ pulse immediately quickened and he let it ring three times in an effort to collect himself.

“Hi Allie.”

“Yes. I thought maybe you lost my number…”

“That would be nice, but I can’t tonight. I’m scheduled out on the 202 with a 4 pm call.”

“You know its too late for me to mark off for tonight.”

“OK.”

As always, Allie got the last stinging word, and hung up.

“I love you too,” Harris added, for his own benefit only.

Harris hardly had time to set his phone down on the cafe table and take a sip of coffee, when there she was, Allie Jackson in the flesh, a block and a half a way and jogging straight toward him. His mind was still a little rattled by the abbreviated phone conversation. He looked at the phone on the table in front of him and then at the jogger closing in fast.

But wait, Allie Jackson wouldn’t run, or jog, or break a gaited walk, even if there was a lunatic with a chainsaw chasing her. No, Allie Jackson would stand her ground and use her wit and her tongue to disarm and slash the slasher. And Harris could think of no circumstance whatsoever in which Allie Jackson would put on turquoise spandex running pants.

So who was this imposter closing in on him?

Without any subtly he watched her pass and looked over his shoulder as she slowed, and when she stopped to go in the Starbucks, she made eye contact and smiled.

There were times when Harris concluded that the entire female species conspired to mess with him, and this was one of those moments.

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2015 Kirt Van Buren