This is the last one, for this story. I delayed it for a long while, mostly due to laziness. It is a bit of a jump from the previous bit. This was an attempt, on my part, to start putting together an explanation for the train wreck. also I wanted there to be a zeppelin. So I like dirigibles, so what?
The wind whipped by the small Dirigible as the electric motors silently pushed it through the air. Mack smiled as the pilot guided the airship away from the train wreck. no matter how long he lived he knew he would never forget this day, this flight. He was just some hood from Queens, and now he flew through the sky with the biggest score of his life.
Mack had set the charges that knocked out the train. he was a powder man, just like his father. learned all he knew of blastin’ as a sand hog before moving on to safes and the like. Last week he was offered a job, at a price he couldn’t refuse. the crew was good, and the money was out-a-sight.
There was the engineer, Hank. He had known where the train would be and where to place the charges. Clarence was the muscle, he had removed the trunk and carried it like it was nothing. big fella, didn’t say much. and then there was the pilot, Ibson. no first name given, he was the bosses eyes and ears, they all knew it. He scowled all the time, except when he talked. then he sneered. not a man Mack wanted to tangle with.
Clarence and hank were playing cards. they had asked Mack to join, but he wanted to enjoy every minute of the flight. Airships were more common now, than they had been, mostly because of all the war surplus, but that didn’t make them exactly common.
As the dawn was breaking he spotted the gleam of what he expected was the great salt lake. silhouetted against the rising sun the airship tether and radio tower loomed over the waking city. He had heard of a similar tower in France, but he thought it couldn’t compare to this. the tower rose into the sky a grid work knife cutting through the morning light.
Guide lines were attached and the ramp connected. Mack breathed a bit easier. the job was done, easy money. all they had to do was take the trunk to the Boss and he would be sitting pretty. they hired a wagon and made their way toward the higher ground. the houses were all at least three stories and in pristine order.
upon arrival at a particularly fine residence they off loaded the trunk and walked to the door. A man in a very fine suite opened the door, nodded to Ibson and motioned for the rest to follow. In the library an old man sat in front of a fire in a red leather chair. he had slicked back white hair and large mustache that would have been comical on anyone even slightly less severe.
“I hope there were no problems in gaining the items?” his voice was deep and baritone, and though the words were light, his tone was harsh and unforgiving.
Ibson nodded, holding his hat in his hands.”yeah Mr. Sinclaire, we got the trunk for you.”
“let me see the contents.” Clarence set the trunk in front of the high backed chair and opened it. Mr. Sinclaire looked over the contents slowly, a look of smug pride filling his stern features. he stopped moving suddenly, his face gone blank. “where is the rest of it?”
they all shuffled uneasily, Ibson said, “rest of it, sir? I am afraid I don’t know what you mean. this is all there was.”
Mr. Sinclaire’s fingers dug into the arms of the chair, his knuckles white with tension. “ Where is the owner of the trunk?”