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The Hobo Kingdom: A Chase of Blood on Steel
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The Hobo Kingdom
‘A Chase of Blood on Steel’
Book 1
By Dan Biermeier
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2015 by Dan Biermeier.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Table of Contents
1968
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
CHAPTER 72
CHAPTER 73
CHAPTER 74
1972
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
1968
CHAPTER 1
”You’re in my spot,”
“Am not.”
“Are too.” Glen stood across the rickety picnic table pointing his finger at the new kid, who sat hunched over a peanut butter sandwich using his brown paper lunch bag smashed flat for a plate, chewing, looking around and swallowing.
“Says who?” The new kid responded shrugging his shoulders, guarding his sandwich while scoping out his new school. St Mary’s of the Woods was an old school with an old playground, rusted swings and a big steel slide whose chute was shined bright by the tens of thousands of little catholic butts that had whisked down it over the last thirty one years, traces of chalked four square games fading to black on the asphalt.
“Me.” Glen sat down opposite the new kid. The table swayed a bit as he unwrapped his lunch, a peanut butter and Miracle Whip sandwich, potato chips and a carton of milk. He had to bring fifty cents to the office every week for the milk but it was always cold. The new kid only had the peanut butter sandwich with no chips and no milk.
“I’m Glen”, Glen mumbled through his peanut butter.
“Name’s Denny”, said the new kid.
“You’re in my spot.”
“You said that.”
“So?”
“Didn’t know.”
They worked through their sandwiches while watching robins hunt worms and black birds stalk the scraps that fell from the tables. Girls shrieking by the swings and the sound of a bouncing four square ball filled the air. Glen handed the last swig of milk to Denny.
“You want some?”
“Thanks you”, Denny muffled through peanut butter mouth. It was gone in a gulp.
Glen’s hand scrambled in his jean pocket pulling out a Payday bar, he couldn’t wait to tear into it. He got money once a week to buy one from the nuns. He ripped the wrapper off looking at the peanuts and caramel, his mouth watering. He looked at Denny who was looking away and not digging in his pockets.
“You want some?”
“No that’s alright”.
“Come on, you can have some.’
“You sure?”
“Here”. Glen broke the bar in half and handed one to Denny.
“Thanks,” Denny bit off a chunk. Glen already had a mouth full, it was more than peanuts and caramel, there was something else in there but he didn’t know what, Paydays were his favorite.
“That definitely is my spot.”
“Want to arm wrestle for it?” Denny grinned.
“You’re on.” They knelt on the bench seats, torsos and arms stretching across the table’s expanse.
“On three,” said Glen. “One, two…”
Denny smashed his hand to the boards.
“That’s cheatin!”
“No, that’s anticipating,” Denny grinned again.
“Get back here, try it again, no cheatin’. I’ll count this time.”
“One…” Arm muscles strained leaning back and forth like a seesaw; no feet touching the ground. Bodies leaned forward, eye to eye, arms shaking. First Glen’s advantage, then Denny, now Glen, his body twisting to put his weight behind his arm, slowly grinding Denny’s arm to the table top.
“Done.” Glen snapped upright, waving his arm and shaking his hand back and forth.
“Alright, lefty on one.”
Denny leaned forward, Glen did too.
“One!”
Denny’s arm powered Glen’s right down to the table.
“Done, we’ll take turns on the spot. I’ll take Monday, Wednesday and Friday.”
“The first week, then we’ll rotate.”
“Ok.”
”Where do you live?” Glen asked Denny.
“Just up the street about three blocks”.
The town of Altonville was mostly one main street snug up against the train tracks of the Great Northern Railway. The St. Mary’s school was located on that street, its playground tucked between the school building and the tracks, all three floors of the structure shook when the trains rolled past, some at a run and some at a crawl. They seemed to alternate all day long. With the hi-ballers it was first the rumble, followed by the horn and finally the shake, blowing past like a thunderstorm. The Sisters just stopped teaching; allowing the gale to pass; then started again when the tremor returned to a rumble.
“I live on Hill Road it’s that way.” He pointed south away from the trac
ks, “I walk to school, it’s more than half a mile.”
“You wanna come over after school, I got a slingshot?” said Denny.
“Well, I don’t know, I gotta call my mom”
“We don’t have a phone, you have a phone?”
“Yeah and I have to call”.
“How bout only for an hour, you ever shot a slingshot?”
“No...”
“Only for an hour, I got coffee cans by the track and we can shoot ‘em.”
“Well…”
“OK, we’ll just go for an hour; my mom will be home then”.
“Alright”, Glen was figuring that he didn’t usually go straight home anyway, an hour couldn’t hurt.
CHAPTER 2
“This way”, Denny jogged left out the front door of St. Mary’s; the three o’clock bell ringing in his wake. Glen was right behind, they led the charge of escaping children freed after their last class of the day finally ended; their daily sentence or was it penance complete.
They continued into town, the track on their left bordering the north edge of town. Glen hadn’t spent much time in town except at the dentist. The grocer they shopped was in Clairton three miles west. They passed a block of old houses, not very big but sporting tall roof lines to shed the snow, then a block of shops and stores; small with flat roofs and fake front facades to make them look bigger than they really were. He saw his dentist’s office across the street and quickened his pace a little. At the east edge of town they came to more houses, these were small and worn. Their paint was patchy, snow scoured and rain washed wood siding and roof lines slightly pitched with shingles more furry moss than asphalt. Denny’s house was here.
“This one”, Denny jumped up two steps and pushed open the wooden door.
“Oh”, Glen looked around the tiny living room leading to the kitchen in back and a bathroom and bedroom to the left.
“Where’s your room?”
“I sleep in with my mom”
“How bout your dad?”
“He left.”
“Oh”.
Glen didn’t know that dad’s just left; or even that they could just leave. Thinking of all that his parents did, he figured it must be hard with just one.
“Why?”
“Well I was too young to remember but mom says she threw him out, he was no account”.
No account? Glen wondered what that meant. Was his dad no account? He was still around so mom must not think so.
“Let’s shoot my slingshot!”
They went out the kitchen door and Denny pulled his slingshot from his back pocket. It was a Y shaped branch cut down to hand size with rubber straps made from an old inner tube and a leather patch tied in for a pocket. Denny hefted it pulling toughly on the straps to show the handling of this fine killing machine.
“Here I’ll show you”. He took some pea gravel from his front pocket and filled the sling, drew back strongly on the rubber straps, the pebble filled pouch pinched firmly between fingers and thumb, his elbow rigidly straight, his eye sighted accurately through the Y of the slingshot; released at a Folgers can ten feet away. The can went tumbling off its rock with a clatter.
“Here, you try one”.
Glen pulled back the straps, aimed and let one go. The pebble flew across the tracks vanishing into the weeds. The Folgers can stood tall on its perch as Denny laughed.
“You missed it by a mile.”
“Did not.”
“No, I guess it moved so fast it went right through the can, didn’t even leave a dent,” Denny egging him on.
Glen drew back again and let fly.
“Dang it”. The pebble ricocheted off the rock holding the can.
“I guess that’s a new way to do it, you trying to knock the rock from under the can, it’s the hard way but give it enough time…”
“Let me try another.” Glen reloaded quickly and let the pebble fly, this time the can clattered off the stone.
“Good one!” said Denny
They kept shooting, battering the can and bantering at each other until Denny’s mother called.
“Denny, suppers ready.”
“Can Glen eat with us?”
“Who’s Glen?”
“My friend ma, he’s right here.”
“Oh, yes, do you like goulash Glen.”
“Yeah”, he shrugged, “do you know what time it is?”
“It’s five.”
“Oh, I gotta go.” His hour was long gone and he was going to be in for it.
“Are you sure Glen?” she said.
“Yeah, I gotta go.” He danced a worried step.
“OK, it was nice meeting you.”
He was off at a run blazing past houses, stores and offices. Across from the school he turned left and started up the gravel road. After about a block he slowed, Farmer Jaskie’s place was coming up and Glen was scared of Jaskie’s dog. He was a big black thing, that dog and barked like a monster, deep and low. He was always chained but you just couldn’t sneak by without him knowing. Glen stayed as far right as possible on the gravel, Jaskie’s place on the left. As Glen crossed the drive entrance he saw a blur of black flying at him and then heard the growl. Glen stood still as a fence post, eyes wide as the black monster came on, barking and jumping. Tears filled the eye reservoirs of Glen’s frozen face, anticipation of death locking him in place. The dog raced right up and raised his front paws, landing on Glen’s shoulders his mouth open and tongue flapping. Glen’s rigid body took the hit, expecting those teeth to rip his head off at the neck.
“Jake! Get back here! God damn it dog! Here!” Farmer Jaskie was at the fence line near the drive. The monster turned back to the man, tail wagging.
“He won’t hurt you boy. He likes kids. You OK?”
Glen petrified in place, looked toward the man and swallowed. His body loosened and he nodded.
“You sure boy, he just licked yah.”
Glen nodded again and turned up the road, willing himself to take a step and then another, trying to look normal.
“His name’s Jake and he won’t hurt you boy. You just call him by name if you see him again.”
Three more blocks of gravel ended at the field behind Glen’s house. The field was wide as a football field was long and canted slightly up hill. At the top started Glen’s yard and standing there was his dad. Glen trudged across the field getting closer and studying his dad.
CHAPTER 3
“Where in the heck have you been?” he grabbed Glen by the arm and smacked his butt. “You scared your mother to death!”
“I.”
“Do you know what time it is? School was out hours ago.”
“Dad.”
“Where were you?”
“Denny’s.”
“Denny who? You can’t call your mother?”
‘No, they had no phone”.
That stopped his dad. “No phone, where do they live?”
“By the tracks past town,” he watching his dad’s face grow from mad to worried.
“What’s Denny’s dad do?”
“He left ‘em, it’s just Denny and his mom.”
“I don’t want you to see this Denny again. That’s it. You don’t even talk to him at school.’
“Why?”
“Those people are no good. I mean it Glen. You will not see him again. Now get inside, your suppers cold.”
Glen was sent to bed after supper, it was goulash too. He tossed and twisted wondering why Denny and his mom were no good. They seemed fine. His dad was just mad. He finally slept dreaming of slingshots and Folgers cans shaped like big black dogs.
The next day at school Glen tried to dodge Denny, it lasted till lunch, Glen’s turn in the spot.
“You want to go see the hobo camp after school?
“What?” Glen was trying to ignore Denny.
“The hobo camp, it’s just across the tracks.”
“I can’t cross the tracks”.
“Oh, why not?”
“C
ause, my parents said so, I could be kilt.”
“How”?
“By a train, stupid!”
“Oh, but you could see a train coming couldn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, we’ll time it between the trains, you won’t be kilt then?”
“No…”
“OK, we’ll go after school.”
The three o’clock bell rang with its normal intensity, Glen started out the door reluctantly, he didn’t know. Don’t cross the tracks you could be killed. You can see a train can’t you? Course he could. He wasn’t a baby. He could see a train!
Denny was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
“Let’s go.”
Denny turned right, away from town and toward the old filling station at the intersection of the highway that became Main Street as it ran through town and County 6 that ran down from Hill Road. A large grassy woodland field scattered with gopher holes, scrub brush, oaks and an occasional white pine were to the left. A deep ditch along the tracks to their right bursting with tall, dry brown grasses and weeds provided a small buffer separating road and track. A meadow lark flew with them, staying ahead, landing on a solitary thistle or bush and taking off again as they drew near, flying and singing. The heat caused waves above the tracks swirling their vision like the storm windows at grandma’s house. Denny took out his slingshot and tried a shot at the lark. The bird flew off untouched.
“You missed it by a mile”, Glen smiled.
“Did not.”
“Did to, I guess it was so fast that it went right through him, didn’t even stir a feather.”
“I hit his beak, turned him right around. He flew right behind us!”
“His beak? It looked straight to me.”
“You watch him. I bet he flies in circles the rest of his life, following his nose.”
“Ha, that’s a good one.”
“I’ll shoot a gopher on our way back, then you’ll see.”
“Anyone can shoot a gopher, all’s you have to do is whistle and they stand up straight looking around. That’s too easy and gophers don’t fly.”
“There’s flying gophers.”
“There is not. Flying squirrels, not gophers!”
“OK, I’ll kill a flying squirrel.”
“No flying squirrels around here, they’re in the woods, how about a meadow lark?”