Free The Night Train: A Novelette (The Strange Files of Modesty Brown Book 1) by Evelyn Archer

her nails. “And that, as they say, is that.”
    “So
that was…Franco?”
    Mrs.
Fong shrugs. “The important parts of him, yes. Back where he belongs now. Don’t
worry. He won’t be bothering either one of us anymore.”
    Mrs.
Fong gestures to the lime green Bakelight cigarette case at her elbow. “Would
you mind, Miss Brown? I’m still tacky.”
    Modesty
takes a slim black cheroot from the case and passes it to her.
    “A
light?” She says, the cheroot in her mouth.
    Modesty
pulls the matches from her coat pocket, and lights it with a shaking hand.
    “You
poor thing,” she says, amused through a cloud of blue smoke. “Your first time
out of the sticks, and look at you. That’s what I call a trial by fire, eh?”
    “You
could say that.”
    “Here.
Let me see that typewriter of yours.”
    Modesty
heaves her own case on to the table and opens it. Mrs. Fong clucks her tongue.
    “Franco,
you are a bad, bad boy. You should learn to be more respectful of other
people’s things. Hand me those keys.”
    Modesty
drops them into her hand with a clink. D. N. O. P. Mrs. Fong gives out a
sinister chuckle.
    “PARDON.
That’s what he was trying to spell. PARDON. It might have worked, too. But then
again, probably not.”
    She
balances the loose keys on their empty heads, and takes the cheroot from her
mouth. She runs the burning ember over them like a soldering iron, muttering
something that Modesty cannot hear.
    “There,”
she says. “You should really take it to repair shop to make sure, but this
should take care of the worst of it. But this?” She taps the bullet hole in the
center of the case. “I think we leave that as it is. A reminder, of your first
trip on the Night Train. Besides, it gives you a certain … credibility, don’t
you think?”
    “Thank
you,” Modesty says, the only words she can think of.
    “See
Honey? Some people still have manners.” Mrs. Fong picks up one of the dominoes
on her table and hands it to Modesty, not without ceremony.
    “A
good luck charm. For your trouble. And here,” she pulls out a business card.
    “I’m
really racking these up today,” Modesty says, more to herself than out loud.
PATTY FONG’S AUTHENTIC CHINESE APOTHECARY AND HERBAL MEDICINE.
    “Apothecary?”
    “You
bet. I’m bona fide authentic. The real deal. Gweilo love everything authentic and Chinese , you know. You come and see me sometime, Modesty Brown.”
    “You
bet.”
    “And
give my best to Jack Wonderly. When you see him, that is.” Something in her
gaze told her that she meant something totally different from what she was
saying, like it was some kind of code, or a private joke. Only Modesty didn’t
get it. She only understood enough to know there was a lot she was missing.
    “Welcome
to the City, Miss Brown.”
     

 
     
     
    She
slips out the door, and slides back into the booth in the Club Car. Bill is
cleaning his eternal glasses behind the bar. She waves away the offer of a Sidecar,
and he brings her a milkshake instead. When it arrives Modesty is sitting in
front of the closed typewriter case. The one with the bullet hole.
    "Busted?"
Bill asks.
    "Completely,”
she answers. “Injured in the line of duty.”
    Bill
sits down across from her. The place is empty but for the two of them.
    "Look,
Sidecar, it's no problem. You're going into the City, right?"
    She
nods.
    "I've
got just the guy who can fix this. Here." He takes her hand, and a pen
from his pocket and scribbles:
    L.
EDGAR DEMAIN. 3 ¼ DERLETH STREET
    "Thanks,"
she says. “I seem to be getting a lot of names and addresses tonight.”
    "Well,"
he taps the table between them. "Drink up that milkshake, doll.”
    "Thanks,
Bill. Really."
    "Don't
mention it, doll." He reaches his hand out to shake hers, and as she takes
his hand in hers the cuff of his coat slides up, just a hair, and once again
she sees the tattoo of a keyhole.
    “Just
one more thing, Bill, then I’m out of your hair forever.”
    “Oh,
don’t break my heart,