Free Super by Jim Lehrer

.
    PRYOR .
    Conductor Hammond fidgeted behind Jack Pryor at the telegraph desk.
    “We’ve got to go, Pryor. This is the Super Chief.”
    Jack Pryor was proud of his reputation for calmness, for coolness under fire or agitation. This conductor, who saw himself as a kind of ship captain and the Santa Fe’s real royalty, was testing it.
    Pryor knew the rules and he knew Hammond knew them, too. Everyone who worked on the Santa Fe knew The Rules.
    He said to Hammond, in a harsh, official tone as if reading from the Declaration of Independence:
    “I hereby declare this train as being involved in a legal emergency. Under the powers vested in me as a law enforcement officer commissioned by the Santa Fe to uphold the laws of our country, the states through which we pass and the rules of our railroad, I order you to hold this train whenever and for however long as I say to hold it. Do you understand me, conductor? If you have a problem with this, I hereby invite you to get on this teletype or a phone and tell somebody in Chicago, Heaven, the moon or wherever else you conductors believe your orders come from.”
    Hammond held his ticket punch in one hand, a lantern in the other.
    Pryor watched Hammond deal with the temptation to use either one or both on this detective before making a rough military style about-face toward the train.
    The detective followed a few seconds later, walking at a much slower pace than the conductor. A point needed to be made and he was making it.

 
    “Did you see anybody go in or out of the compartment next to Wheeler’s?” Pryor immediately asked Ralph, who was in the vestibule of the observation car when Pryor got back on board.
    “No,” said Ralph.
    Pryor asked if Wheeler left his.
    “No, sir. I brought him his dinner and then came back an hour later, took his tray out and made sure he was set for bed.”
    Pryor followed Ralph to the observation car passageway.
    “This one is occupied, correct?” Pryor asked Ralph, as they stopped in front of the door next to Wheeler’s.
    Ralph said, “Yes, sir. A man who has been with us from Chicago. His ticket had the name Rockford.”
    Pryor knocked on the door.
    There was no answer.
    Pryor knocked again and then put an ear to the door.
    “I don’t hear anything moving in there. Where was he going?”
    “All the way to Los Angeles,” said Ralph.
    “He really did have a ticket?”
    Pryor thought he saw a tinge of red come into Ralph’s light brown face but he probably imagined it. “Certainly, he had a ticket. Yes, sir, he had a ticket. Nobody rides the Super in my car without a ticket!”
    “You got your master key? Open it up.”
    “He may be up in the dining car, you know, sir.”
    “Did you see him go up there?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Open the door, Ralph.”
    Ralph didn’t have to use his key. The door was not locked.
    The bunk, pulled down from the wall, was made up with sheets, blanket and a pillow all at the ready. But they were all undisturbed.
    There was also no luggage in the rack and no toiletries. “When was the last time you saw this guy?”
    “Last night when I made up the room.”
    “What did he look like?”
    “White as you.”
    “Thanks. Age?”
    “Hard to tell …”
    “Closer to ten or one hundred? Come on, Ralph!”
    “About thirty … or so.”
    “Hair color?”
    “Brown. Yes, kind of brown.”
    “How was it cut? Anything else about his hair?”
    “Curly. Yes, sir, now that I remember it was really curly.”
    “How was he dressed?”
    “Neat and tidy clothes—”
    “Red, white and blue? What colors were his clothes?”
    “Dark blue. Shirt, tie, suit even. Shoes, well …”
    “What about his shoes?”
    “They were black and shined to a fare-thee-well.”
    Pryor resisted an urge to grab Ralph and maybe shake him. He moved on to the business at hand: “You sure you didn’t see him get off the train?”
    “I’m sure but, as you know, detective, I can get awfully busy from time to time …”
    Pryor moved