Train Heist - Chapter One - Part Three

Tom, Leo, and Zeta stood hidden behind a cluster of bushes near the railroad tracks. The train, a lengthy, snaking beast of iron and steel, had come to a halt at a small, deserted station to take on water.

The sound of the steam engine hissing and the clanking of metal filled the air, a rhythmic lullaby to anyone nearby. But for the three fugitives, it was the sound of opportunity.

"This is our chance," Leo whispered, peering over the bushes, his heart pounding with anticipation. The train was a lifeline, a way to put some distance between them and the Men in black. "The boxcar at the rear is our number one destination. They only secure the car if there is something valuable."

*Find out how this trio came to be here in the blog posts for Roswell Run - A Side Story - Roswell Run: The Odyssey of Private Tom Sullivan and Carnivals and Camouflage.

They slipped out from behind the bushes, keeping low as they approached the boxcar. The train workers were occupied at the front, paying no attention to the shadows moving about them.

The boxcar loomed before the trio, its metal exterior gleaming slightly in the moon light. Their hearts sank at the padlock and chains clearly meant to keep out any would-be thieves.

"This has not been our night," he said, pointing. "It's locked up tight."

Zeta was undeterred. They stepped forward, their hands hovering over the lock. Tom and Leo watched in amazement as the lock snapped open. Leo soon removed the chain and dropped it on the ground.

Inside, the boxcar was filled with wooden crates, neatly stacked and secured. The air was thick with the scent of oak and alcohol. Tom pried it open one of the crates with a crowbar found lying nearby. Inside were bottles of whiskey, their amber liquid glinting in the dim light.

"High-end stuff," Leo muttered, examining a bottle. "This is no ordinary cargo. We’ve hit the mother lode," he said, his voice tinged with both excitement and worry. "This is the kind of stuff that could make a fortune."

"Prohibition ended years ago," Tom remarked, though there was a note of uncertainty in his voice.

"Yeah, but the market for this stuff never went away. People still want it, and they’re willing to pay top dollar."

Zeta tilted his head, his alien instincts picking up on the tension, "Is this important!"

"Only to crooks and alcoholics!" Tom replied. "This kind of cargo attracts all sorts—gangsters, smugglers."

Tom, Leo, and Zeta settled into the boxcar, hiding among the crates. As the train lurched forward, its whistle echoing through the desert, they knew their journey was far from over.

Leo took his cards from a pocket and began to shuffle them hoping some insights may save them a lot of pain and suffering.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting eerie shadows over the dense thicket that bordered the narrow stretch of railway. Hidden amidst the trees, a group of men gathered in silence, the rustle of leaves and the distant whistle of the approaching train the only sounds breaking the stillness. The location was perfect—far from any prying eyes, nestled between stations where the tracks cut through a wilderness of trees and underbrush.

In the dim light of a single, flickering lantern, Vincent 'Vince' Moretti surveyed the scene. His cold, calculating eyes scanned the men around him, making sure every detail was in place.

Vince was a tall, imposing figure, dressed in a dark suit and fedora that added to his menacing aura. He was a veteran of these kinds of jobs, known for his ruthless efficiency and for never leaving a job undone. Tonight, his target was the valuable cargo rumored to be locked away in one of the boxcars of the train hurtling towards them.

Positioned under the cover of the thick woods, the gangsters had concealed their trucks, loaded with heavy logs and debris, ready to block the tracks. The plan was simple but bold: stop the train by any means necessary, get in, grab the loot, and get out before anyone knew what hit them. Vince’s reputation rode on the success of this job, and he was not a man who tolerated failure.

Knuckles, Vince's right-hand man, was busy checking the chains that would secure the makeshift roadblock. His bulky frame and scarred knuckles were a testament to the countless fights and heists he’d been through.

Beside him, Tony “The Kid” Rosetti, jittery with nervous energy, loaded his Thompson submachine gun, eyes darting between the tracks and the trees, his breath visible in the cool night air.

"Kid!" Vince muttered, casting a sideways glance at the youngest member of the crew. "Keep it together. We’ve got one shot at this."

Nearby, Sal was crouched by the tracks, carefully laying out a stick of dynamite as a contingency plan. Sal’s wiry frame was almost lost in the shadows, but his manic grin shone through the darkness. He loved the thrill of the job, and the prospect of a train heist had him practically buzzing with excitement.

The Ghost, the gang's strategist, stood back, surveying the scene with cool detachment. He was the mastermind behind the operation, the one who’d studied the train schedules, mapped out the terrain, and devised the plan to block the tracks just in time. He was known for his quiet demeanor and razor-sharp mind, able to slip in and out of situations unnoticed—a ghost, just as his nickname suggested.

Vince checked his watch, his grin widening as the sound of the train grew louder, the distant rumble now a steady roar.

Some time back, Leo rummaged through the boxcar, the dim light filtering through the cracks between the wooden slats. The crates of whiskey stacked neatly against the walls were a goldmine for the gangsters outside, but for now, Leo had only one thing on his mind: food. His stomach growled, and he cursed under his breath.

"There's gotta be something edible in here," he muttered to himself, prying open another crate.

Tom and Zeta were resting in the corner of the boxcar, leaning against the cool metal walls. Tom’s eyes were half-closed, but his curiosity got the better of him as he watched Leo’s search. Zeta, ever observant, was quiet, his alien eyes taking in the scene with a mixture of fascination and perplexity.

Finally, Leo's persistence paid off. Behind a crate of whiskey, he found a small stash of rations—canned beans, bread, and some dried meat.

"Got it!" he exclaimed triumphantly, holding up the cans. But the lack of anything to drink made him frown. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed one of the whiskey bottles and twisted off the cap, the sharp scent of the alcohol hitting his nose.

Tom raised an eyebrow as Leo brought the bottle over. "Really? Whiskey?"

Leo shrugged, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Hey, it’s liquid, right?"

Tom hesitated, but the allure of trying something new—something rebellious—was too strong. He had never touched a drop of alcohol before.

Leo handed him the bottle, and Tom took a cautious sip, the burning liquid making him cough at first. Leo laughed and took a swig himself, much more accustomed to the taste.

As the alcohol started to work its magic, the tension that had been hanging over them since they boarded the train began to melt away. The fear, the uncertainty, and the stress of their situation seemed to blur into the background.

"Not bad," Tom admitted, taking another sip. He could feel the alcohol loosening his inhibitions, and for a moment, everything felt less dire.

Leo plopped down next to him, their shoulders brushing as they shared the bottle. There was a charged energy between them, an unspoken connection that had been growing ever since they fled the carnival. The whiskey only amplified it, making Tom bolder, more aware of the closeness between them.

Zeta, watching them with keen interest, tilted his head. "You two seem... different. Your connection is stronger. Is that why your faces are getting red?" His tone was innocent, completely oblivious to the social norms of 1947.

Tom froze, his face turning a deeper shade of red. He was suddenly very aware of how close they were sitting. He moved apart from him.

"Zeta!" Tom started, trying to find the right words. "It's... not something people talk about. Not like this. Not in... this way." His voice was quiet, the weight of societal expectations pressing down on him even as the whiskey dulled the edges.

Leo frowned, looking at Tom’s sudden revelation, "Who are you talking to?"

"Leo," Tom began, his voice low and cautious, "There's something I haven’t told you." Leo glanced at him, intrigued by the sudden shift in tone. Tom hesitated, taking another sip of whiskey, "I can hear Zeta," Tom finally admitted, his eyes locking with Leo’s. "In my head."

Leo nodded his head, "I thought there was something odd going on since the little guy hasn't said boo." He frowned, "So what made you confess?"

"Well, I'd look pretty stupid reprimanded Zeta for nothing," Tom said.

"What did he say?"

"Zeta has noticed…us. How we are with each other after a little encouragement from the whiskey."

It was Leo's turn to freeze. He quickly looked away, taking another gulp of whiskey to mask his embarrassment.

Zeta blinked, clearly not understanding why they seemed uncomfortable, "I am sensing confusion…No! You are uncomfortable being intimate."

"It's complicated…for men like us."

Leo swung back to face him. There was a sense of regret. Being at the carnival had shielded him from such indoctrination. Now he would have to watch his behaviour as it did have consequences out in the big wide world.

As the boxcar rattled along the tracks, the three of them sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Suddenly, Leo felt a cold chill envelop his body. He began to breath icy fog, “Something’s wrong!”

The train's brakes suddenly screeched, metal grinding against metal in a spine-chilling wail. The boxcar lurched forward, sending Tom and Leo sprawling into the crates around them. Zeta’s eyes widened, his alien senses tingling with impending danger as the train jolted violently before skidding to an abrupt halt.

"That feels like the something" Leo gasped, pushing himself up.

Tom's heart raced as he pulled himself upright, his mind racing.

Outside, the sound of voices barking orders and the dull thud of footsteps crunching on gravel reached their ears. They heard the train’s whistle blow frantically, a signal of distress, followed by the unmistakable sound of gunfire cracking through the night. The realization hit them all at once—this train was under attack.

"They're coming for the booze," Leo cut in. "We need to hide."

Before they could react, the boxcar door was wrenched open, revealing the imposing figure of Vic Santini, flanked by his men. The harsh beam of a lantern cut through the darkness, landing on Tom and Leo, who were frozen in place, the remnants of their earlier bravado evaporating. Tom pushed Zeta further under some shelving.

"Looks like we've found ourselves some unwanted passengers," Vic sneered, stepping into the boxcar as the train groaned to a full stop in the middle of the woods. "You two better start talking. What's a couple of kids doing in here?"

Tom and Leo barely had time to process what was happening before they were hauled out of the boxcar, landing hard on the gravel below. The reality of their situation set in as the gangsters, their faces hard and menacing, closed in around them.

"Who are you?" Vic demanded, his voice low and menacing. "You law enforcement? Feds?"

Tom shook his head vehemently, fear tightening his throat. "No, we’re not—"

Vic cut him off with a hard slap across the face, sending Tom sprawling to the ground. "Don’t lie to me, kid. What the hell are you doing on this train?"

Leo tried to intervene, but he was silenced by Knuckles with a punch to the gut that knocked the wind out of him. The gangsters were growing impatient, their paranoia fueled by the high stakes of their operation.

"Answer the man!" Knuckles barked, raising a fist to strike Leo again.

Before the blow could land, a bottle of whiskey came hurtling through the air, shattering against the side of the boxcar and igniting in a burst of flames. The gangsters recoiled in shock as another Molotov cocktail followed, exploding near their feet and forcing them to back off.

"What the hell?" Vic shouted, looking around for the source of the attack.

Zeta hurled another makeshift Molotov cocktail, this one landing in the midst of the gangsters, who scattered to avoid the spreading flames. Using the distraction, Tom and Leo scrambled to their feet, adrenaline coursing through their veins.

"Go, go, go!" Tom yelled, grabbing Leo’s arm and pulling him towards the open boxcar door. Zeta appeared. Tom grabbed the alien, and the two boys ran for the forward sections of the train.

There were faces staring out at the commotion. The train crew had dismounted to take on the gangsters with rifles.

Vic Santini cursed under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he saw the boys making a break for it. "Get after them!" he barked at, Knuckles, who quickly took off in pursuit, gun drawn.

Vic himself wasn’t far behind, his frustration mounting with every step. The night was quickly descending into chaos, and he wasn’t about to let some punk kids get the better of him.

As Tom, holding on to Zeta, and Leo raced through the train, they could hear the sporadic gunfire outside, the sharp crack of the shots echoing in the night air. The sounds of the battle raged on, a mix of shouted orders and the clang of metal, adding to the boys’ desperation.

"Keep moving!" Tom shouted, glancing back to see Vic and his man gaining on them.

They barreled through the narrow corridors, pushing past startled passengers who ducked for cover as bullets whizzed past. The boys’ hearts pounded as they reached the baggage car, knowing it was their last chance to find a way out.

Once inside, they slammed the door shut behind them and frantically looked around for anything they could use to defend themselves.

The baggage car was a cluttered mess, filled with suitcases, trunks, and various pieces of freight. Leo quickly spotted a large trunk and shoved it against the door to block it. "That'll hold them for a bit," he panted, his eyes darting around for anything else useful.

Tom grabbed a heavy metal rod, feeling its weight in his hands. "We have to be ready when they get through," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Zeta, however, was distracted. His eyes had fallen on a portable radio tucked away in the corner of the car. Its wooden frame and shiny knobs gleamed under the dim light, drawing Zeta in like a moth to a flame.

"Zeta, what are you doing? We need to—" Leo started, but Zeta wasn’t listening. The alien was already fiddling with the radio.

"Is this really the time for your curiosity?" Tom hissed, but Zeta remained focused, his brow furrowed in concentration.

The radio crackled. Zeta's obsession was clear—this wasn’t just a radio; it was his link to something far beyond this world.

As the door to the baggage car shuddered and creaked under the relentless assault from Vic and Knuckles, Tom and Leo braced themselves. They had little time and fewer options. Tom tensed up and gripped the metal rod even firmer.

Leo rummaged through the scattered bags and crates, his fingers closing around a hefty wrench. They exchanged a tense glance, ready for the fight that was about to come crashing through the door. Zeta, however, was fixated on the old portable radio he'd found in the corner.

As Vic and Knuckles prepared for their final assault on the door, Zeta, oblivious to the looming danger, continued to toy with the dials.

The radio buzzed to life, emitting a low, eerie hum that filled the confined space of the baggage car. The sound grew louder and sharper.

Vic and his sidekick finally forced the door open with a loud crash, bursting into the car with guns raised, their eyes locked on Tom and Leo.

"This is the end of the line, boys," Vic sneered, stepping forward. "You shouldn't have messed with us. Our plans would have been perfect if not for you."

But before either of them could fire, the radio's hum suddenly shifted to a high-pitched, piercing frequency.

The sound hit Vic and Knuckles like a physical blow, assaulting their senses. Their faces twisted in agony, hands flying to their ears as they staggered back, their guns dropping uselessly to the floor. The sound seemed to tunnel directly into their minds, overwhelming them with an unbearable noise that left them disoriented and defenseless.

Tom seized the opportunity. With the precision of his military training, he lunged forward, swinging the metal rod with all his strength. It connected with Vic’s temple in a sickening thud, sending the gangster sprawling to the ground, unconscious.

Leo wasn't far behind, using the heavy wrench he’d found to strike Knuckles in the ribs. The man doubled over in pain, and Leo quickly followed up with a blow to the head, knocking him out cold. He deserved it.

The room fell silent, save for the fading hum of the radio. Tom and Leo stood over the two incapacitated gangsters, breathing heavily. Zeta finally turned off the radio, ending the noise.

Tom let out a slow breath, lowering the metal rod as he looked at the fallen men. "That was for the thumping."

They didn’t have time to linger, though. The sounds of the gunfight outside were still echoing through the train, and they knew they had to keep moving. Tom and Leo quickly secured Vic and his sidekick, tying them up with whatever they could find in the baggage car.

"Grab those guns. We'll need them," Tom said, as he dashed out of the baggage car to assess the situation outside.

As Tom took in the scene, he quickly assessed the situation. The crew, though brave, were severely outnumbered and outgunned. The gangsters, led by the notorious figures of The Kid, The Ghost, and Sal, fought with the reckless abandon of men who had nothing to lose.

Leo stepped down from the train, his face set in grim determination. He handed a gun to Tom. The ex-service man took the weapon without hesitation, his armed services training kicking in as he surveyed the battlefield.

The Kid, a wiry gangster with a wild look in his eyes, was attempting to overpower the conductor. Tom wasted no time, his aim steady as he squeezed the trigger. The crack of gunfire rang out, and The Kid crumpled to the ground, his threat neutralized. Tom felt a grim satisfaction as he watched the scrawny gangster fall, knowing he had just saved the conductor’s life.

Leo, who hadn't used a gun before, rattled off a few rounds at the gangsters who were forced to duck for cover. Most of his shots went wide of the targets but did the job in stopping their assault on the trains' crew members.

Zeta, meanwhile, moved with a different kind of urgency. Their focus was on the injured crew member slumped against a tree. There was blood soaking the front of his shirt. His face pale almost death like.

The Ghost rose to his feet once more and trying to ambush the driver to use as a shield, his knife glinting menacingly in the dim light. Tom spotted him just in time, raising his gun but couldn't fire. The driver was in his way.

The injured crew member looked at them with a mix of amazement and relief, as the alien placed their hands upon the wound. The pain began to ease, and the blood seemed to stop flowing. The wound would still need professional help, but the man now had a chance to live.

Sal charged at Leo welding a rather savage knife. His face intent on doing the most damage to Leo if he got to him. Finally, Leo's aim managed to find a worthwhile target. The bullet slammed into Sal and dropped him to the ground.

The Ghost was tired of this stand-off. He slit the man's throat, tossing him to the ground while taking cover at a nearby tree. Tom didn't know where to direct his attention. He ran towards the man hoping to save his life.

The Ghost took that moment to leap out at Tom. He grabbed him from behind, the bloody knife now inches from his throat, when a shot rang out. The man gasped, seemed to groan with pain before falling backwards. Leo dropped the smoking gun. His hand shaking.

Zeta moved in, placing their hands about the driver's throat, using their unique abilities to stop the bleeding and seal up the wound. The alien turned to Tom, "You must get the radio. It is important."

Tom dashed back toward the baggage car while Leo spotted a truck among the gangsters' vehicles. Its engine still running. "Ahh! Transportation of delight."

Leo quickly took to the wheel of the truck and slammed it into gear, navigating the vehicle through the wreckage and debris strewn across the rail line. He pulled up beside the baggage car where he collected Tom and the portable radio, and then Zeta.

The truck sped through the night, leaving the chaos of the hijacked train behind. With Vic and his gang neutralized and the crew safe, Tom, Leo, and Zeta now faced the next challenge: escaping any further danger and finding a way to continue their journey.

Tom, Leo, and Zeta rolled into the small town of Santa Teresa, the truck rumbling down the quiet streets as the sun began to rise. The town had a sleepy, almost nostalgic charm, with neon signs still flickering to life and the silence of the main street.

"We need to rest and regroup," Tom said.

"We need money for that."

Zeta had spotted a pay phone. He urgently made Leo pull over. The alien went over to the phone and placed his hands on it. Soon coins were being ejected from it. The two boys smiled with wonder at the alien as they got down to help pick up the coins.

Leo pulled the truck into the parking lot of a modest motel, its neon sign casting a warm glow over the shabby façade. Tom and Leo climbed out, stretching their tired limbs. Zeta, still holding the portable radio tightly, glanced around with a mix of curiosity and determination.

"Let's get a room," Tom said, his voice weary but resolute. He took the coins and paid for their room. The receptionist could have killed him, but it was still money after all. Kids were funny these days.

Tom returned with the key to a modest room, and they unloaded their few belongings from the truck. The room had two double beds. There was a tiny bathroom. Tom took the opportunity to clean up while Leo found some food outside the room.

Zeta, meanwhile, was already at work on the portable radio. He placed it carefully on the small table by the window, its wood grain reflecting the dim light of the motel room. His fingers moved deftly over the dials and knobs, examining the components with a focused intensity.

Tom ducked his head out of the bathroom, bare chested, towel over one shoulder, "What's the plan with the radio?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light despite his exhaustion.

"This radio is more than just a relic of your low technology. With some modifications, it can be used to send a signal over a long distance. I could make contact for a rescue."

"So, this is your chance to permanently escape the Men in Black. You'll be able to finally go home."

"I’ll need a few components to enhance the transmitter and receiver capabilities. Specifically, I’ll need a few spare tubes and capacitors to amplify the signal. If I can get those, I should be able to modify this radio to send a signal. They will come for me."

Leo returned with some food while Tom finished cleaning up. Zeta continued to work on the radio, his mind focused on the task ahead. The alien only hoped tinkering with the radio would lead him home. They just needed to find the right parts.

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