The man laughed, needing no translation for this word. “This section of track goes through the Sierra Madre, and it’s a rough ride. Many trees and tunnels.” He gestured to Ian’s tall head. “You will need to watch out.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Ian said. He studied the ground below. The sloping gravel along the tracks would make it very difficult for him to climb down and board again. Jumping from railcar to railcar at night was borderline suicidal. Before he could make up his mind, the train’s brakes engaged with an ear-splitting shriek, jostling the passengers. Smoke and the acrid smell of machinery filled the air. If anyone had been standing upright, they’d have been knocked down by the sudden halt.
Ian looked over the heads of the other passengers, squinting into the twilight. There was a shadowy shape blocking the tracks.
“It’s a couch,” he said, shocked. “Un sofá.”
His fellow passengers didn’t seem surprised.
“Will they clear the tracks?”
“Not until the bandits take our money.”
Ah. So this was a robbery, not an attempt to derail the train. “How much?”
“Whatever you’ve got.”
Ian had some small bills in his pocket. There was more money stashed in his gun holster. He didn’t care about the cash, but he couldn’t let anyone take his weapon. That was why he was carrying it incognito, hidden beneath his shirt. He tugged down the brim of his cap, his pulse racing. As a “rich American,” he had a target on his back.
Seconds later, four men with bandannas covering their faces emerged from the trees. Two boarded the fifth or sixth railcar, near the middle. The other two climbed onto Ian’s railcar. He stayed still and kept his gaze lowered, trying not to draw attention.
“Time to pay the conductor,” one of the bandits said.
Ian snuck a glance at the criminal. He looked like a young gang member, with tattoos on his neck and hands. He held a cheap-shit 9mm that wouldn’t be accurate from a distance, but was perfectly capable of blowing someone’s brains out at close range.
While the gunman stood guard at the end of the railcar, his cohort came around with a bag that looked like a potato sack. This bandit was even younger, no more than fourteen. He stopped in front of every passenger to collect the fee.
Ian watched as the passenger across from him tossed in a handful of coins. The man next to Ian choked up a few bills. Ian added fifty pesos to the bag.
“What’s this?” the boy said, pushing the hat off Ian’s head. “?Un norteamericano!”
Shit.
The gunman strode forward and pointed his jank 9mm at Ian. “What the fuck are you doing here, gringo?”
“I’m a photographer,” he said.
“?Un reportero?”
“No.”
“Fucking liar,” he said, kicking Ian in the side. “Get up.”
He inhaled a sharp breath, because the blow hurt like hell. But he rose to his feet, compliant. He wasn’t going to draw his weapon in this crowd. He was surrounded by innocent bystanders, including a mother and children. He wanted to help Maria, not trade shots with a couple of punk kids.
“Take everything he has,” the gunman said.
“Empty your pockets,” the boy said in a high-pitched whisper. He was robbing trains, and his balls probably hadn’t even dropped yet.
Ian gave him the crumpled bills from his pocket. It was about five hundred pesos total. He held his palms up, indicating that he was cleaned out.
“Your phone,” the boy said.
When Ian hesitated, the gunman swung his 9mm toward the mother and children. She cowered, covering their heads. Ian could disarm this little motherfucker and throw him off the train, but not without risking a wild shot. He fished his phone out of his pocket. His information was password-protected, so it didn’t matter. They’d just wipe it and sell it.
Whatever. He had more important things to worry about.
The boy added his phone to the loot and took Ian’s backpack. Before they moved on, the gunman punched Ian in the stomach. He fell to his knees on the metal grate, startled by the blow. Then the bandits took off, jumping to the next railcar.
Assholes.
He waited a few seconds to catch his breath. Then a female scream rang out in the distance, and his blood ran cold.
Maria.
“Don’t go,” the man next to him said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “They’ll kill you.”
“That’s my woman,” Ian said, shaking him off. He made his way toward the ladder and scrambled down to the ground. Two rail workers were pushing the couch off the tracks. The train was going to start moving again with the robbery in progress. He didn’t have much time. He ran toward the seventh railcar and climbed up, his heart in his throat.
One of the bandits stood guard at the top. He didn’t hear Ian over the noise of the engine. He probably wasn’t expecting anyone to come up, and he was too busy watching his partner terrorize Maria to notice anything else.
Ian tapped him on the shoulder. When he whirled around, Ian introduced himself with a simple uppercut. The bandit crumpled on the grate, unconscious. The gun fell from his limp hand and tumbled over the edge of the railcar, onto the tracks below.
One down.
An easy one, to be fair. Another teenager.
The man on top of Maria noticed Ian’s approach. He had a stocky build and a tattooed face. His bandanna was pulled down around his neck. He didn’t appear intimidated, despite Ian’s quick dispatch of his partner. He was holding a knife to her throat.
Maria stared up at Ian with wide eyes. She stayed very still, her chest rising and falling with panicked breaths. Her clothes were intact. The gang member pulled the knife away slowly and rose to his feet. Ian considered drawing his gun. He’d feel no remorse whatsoever about using lethal force on this asshole. But then the train jolted forward, and his window of opportunity closed. It wasn’t a good idea to stand on top of a moving train, let alone fire a weapon from one.
“?La quieres?” the man asked, letting his blade glint in the dark. Do you want this?