I remember once I was heading from Watertown to Albany by train to try and get back to my work after a long holiday weekend. Being upstate New York in December there was a thick blanket of snow to halfway up my thigh. I had work in Albany, although my family lived in Watertown. My wife and children laid their heads here but I could never find a way to call it my home.
The place just seemed too small, too quiet to occupy me, and too simple to engage me. I lived for the rapid business in the capital. I rarely left the urban center in my time there, my work and pleasure keeping me from straying off the center but for the times I must attend the outskirts to return home for the weekend. I hope to one day move my family to that great city but that time was not then nor is it now.
I sat in my several layers on the bench of the train station, brushing off the powder that would accumulate on my shoulders periodically.
I sat in frozen silence for a while there, I had bought the ticket for the last train so it was late at night, not to mention it was Sunday night leading into Monday morning so most would not be at the station on this day.
It was quiet, nothing but the visible breath that projected from my lips to keep me proper company. This loneliness sat with me for a good bit of time until I saw the blackish figure of a man pop into view further down the station. His features could be picked apart as he came closer to me, becoming clearer and clearer as he walked.
He was wearing a dark grey grave-diggers flat cap atop a head of rough, shaggy, deep red hair. A black shawl topped a thick wool coat, lupine grey in color. His pants sagged with comfortable largeness on his frame and under his coat he wore a businessman’s top half. His fine, black leather shoes shined with an ethereal dryness unknown to my snow-soaked feet. His stride meant intent, purpose emblazoned into every step as they pushed him forward, in contrast to the frozen look of cross disappointment on his face that glared at every little object with a judging stare that seemed to pass straight them, ignoring their existence as his eyes seemed to look at whatever it may be behind them.
He stepped toward me, looking around for a moment before wiping the bench, pushing his coat backward, and sitting down with a loud thump. He sat to the left of me, shivering in the same lonely silence as I.
Our quiet existence was broken by a cough from the man and I decided to begin a conversation.
“Evening, cold out ain’t it,” I said, looking down at the ground.
“Yeah, tis’, specially’ cold tonight for some reason,” he said back. I could hear a slight city twang to his voice, the accent being slight but still enough to hit the ear.
“Where y-ya’ from?” I asked with a slight stutter caused by a quick shiver.
“Me? Oh, I’m from Newark,” the man answered, the twang in his voice making a little more sense, “Hows abouts you?”
“I’m from Syracuse, I got family here in Watertown, going to Albany for my work though,” I said to him.
“Yeah, I’m just here to meet an associate, normally I work outta Ithica, but my family’s in Kingston,” he said.
“No shot, I got a cousin in Kingston,” I replied quickly.
“Damn, must be ya’ druggy cousin ah,” he said with a joking giggle.
“Ya’, the damn kid won’t get straight if you put him on a ramp,” I replied laughing in return.
“Whadda ya’s doing for cash friend?” he said, turning so he was facing toward me.
“Oh me? I do stocks, help run a hedge up in Albany, it’s good work but I do it for the thrill really,” I said leaning back. “And you?”
“Hey man, real quick, do ya’ got some smokes, forgot mine at the inn and I’m tweaking without ‘em,” he said making a gesture in his hand like he was holding a cigarette.
“Yeah, sure man, no worries,” I pulled out two cigs from my breast pocket, putting one in his hand and keeping the other in mine. “Gotta’ light?”
In reply to my question he wordlessly pulled out an old looking lighter. It was easily an antique, on the front, there was a small soot-covered symbol but I could tell it was in bronze, it sort of looked like a coat of arms. He lifted the top and took out a lighting stick, dipping into some fuel he then pressed it into a lighting hole, after a click he pulled it out, and the stick was lit. He used the stick to light both our smokes then he put the stick out and put the lighter back into his coat pocket.
He took a long drag from his cig and began to speak with a mix of smoke and breath.
“I work in the… funeral business, marketing,” he said, staring at the lit end of his vice.
“Marketing?” I asked, focused on the same detail on my cig as he was on his.
“Yeah, I help drum up business better than anyone I ever known, me and my brother, but he handles more products and numbers, I’m main drummer of the family,” he took another long draw.
“So this funeral stuff a’ family thing?” I asked, taking a drag myself to warm up.
“You could say so, great uncle to pops to us, misses isn’t a fan but she can’t complain bout’ what I bring in,” he said sighing part-way through.
“Lots a’ money in death?” I said with a smirk.
“More than you could ever know,” his stare focused a thousand miles away with a sigh.
“Got anythin’ to pass the time with, my train’s not due for twenty minutes,” I stuck my hand out in an exaggerated motion.
Quickly, the man pulled a small deck of red-backed cards from the breast pocket of his suit under the coat.
“Know how to play draw five?” he said while passing me the deck.
Instinctively I took the box and began to shuffle the cards. The man laid an extra jacket on the bench to act as a card table. I passed five to him and gave five to myself, placing the deck in the middle between us.
My starting hand was okay, king of spades, nine of hearts, queen of diamonds, five of hearts, and three of spades. I decided I’d try my luck and got rid of the five and three, luckily my gamble paid off, a ten of hearts and jack of clubs met my hand and I was feeling cocky.
The man to the other side of me too had only one card, but his face remained the same from round beginning to when we were about to reveal.
Breath was being held still in both of us as the hands were revealed. I was proud of my straight, but that pride was dashed as a full house filled my eyes.
Twin jacks, not worth much on their own led the pack, they fought through with their following of cheap product, the three eights to their backs increasing them as people and increasing the hand as a whole.
On the other hand, my poor king sat atop an empty throne as he reigned the sad kingdoms of but four lower suits that were not enough to carry him to his victory.
We both laughed for a moment before moving onto another hand.
In my new hand, the lonely king had returned, and my king of spades sat in the very front of my view. Behind him followed his own procession of lessers, stomping his feet on top of a five, nine, and jack of spades, with but a two of clubs to hold my king from greatness, that one more step, and so I took but one. Success, queen of spades.
I acted calm as I looked at the man, he took three with a similar stoic smolder to his expression before. A sense of tension filled the air and we revealed like a quick draw between great slingers. Before me lie my flush and his pair of brother jacks, their cheaper products not outdoing the worth of themselves, but more importantly not outdoing the worth of me.
The man smiled not at his loss and we simply sat in silence for a second. He shifted to take his cards and on his hip, I saw a pistol and I froze. Guns are hard to get around here, you’ll only ever have one for a reason if you have it legally, and I suppose if you have it illegally you have a purpose as well, the purpose of the latter being what frightened me.
“Where’d y-you say y-you live?” I stammered.
“I run a business in Ithica but I more live in Kingstone, why?” he answered back nonchalantly.
In Kingston, there was not much legal use for a pistol, especially not the kind he had, from my brief glimpse it seemed to be a revolver of some kind, a small one. The streets are good and the game is bad, this made me fear his illegal need for one as he seemed to have melted his comfort with frustration.
He seemed to compose himself for a moment and take a breath.
“Do you smoke stogies?” he asked trying to regain that fun air we had had a few minutes prior.
“Do I smoke stogies?” I asked back sarcastically pulling a cigar cutter from my suit pocket, “I work at a hedge fund.”
We smoked those for a bit and we got to talking again, the air had been repaired. A few minutes after that I started to hear and feel the earth shake below me, the train was coming. Luckily for my partner, he would not be alone as I saw another man, this time in mostly tan and brown, come up near the platform a ways away.
“Welp, there’s my train,” I said, slapping my knees and standing.
“Yup,” he said doing the same ”well would you look at that, there’s my contact, just an hour late.”
I was able to quickly get into a cart once the train stopped. The train was warm and comfortable, a hoped-for contrast from the outside.
I stuck my head outside the window to wave goodbye to my new friend as the train left the station.
We had both waved for a minute or so, and we had both stopped but I still kept my head out the window. I was quite a nosey person and was curious about the contact. The two seemed to talk for a moment before the man I knew pointed in my direction and the new man started to look at me, I waved and for but a moment he waved back.
This was just a jovial greeting until I heard the sound of a fast object running quickly in front of me and I saw the man’s body hit the ground. It was when a grim realization hit me that I noticed how my friend had taken out his gun. I quickly ducked in my head in sudden surprise and fear but kept it peeked out enough to where I could still see the happenings.
The new man was bleeding on the ground and my acquaintance stood above him with a smoking gun. Fear ran through me as I ran through the conversation again and again instantly in a moment when the thought hit me like a freight train.
This was his money in death, I had seen him drum up his business, I was not supposed to see this but the blank expression on the man’s face, the same one he used to play cards, the face he just used to take the life of another man so coldly, told me he did not care much that I saw.
I sat in the cabin for a while, in silence, not being willing to pull myself out of my seat for a while. Rooted in fear until we reached the first station in between the one I was headed to and the one I was leaving.
I had calmed down enough to stand for a moment.
In my head, I made myself a promise, to keep myself and my family safe forever.
I promised that was my last train to Albany.