I had been in the Tavern for less than ten minutes, but those five guys might as well have grown up here. They were rough, rowdy boys, the kind who thrived on chaos. The guy with the wrench prowled closer… too close for comfort. I slid out of the booth, slow and deliberate, my heart thumping louder than the jukebox. I crossed the floor, slapping five twenties onto the table—no change, just a statement.

Bruno, the leader, loomed tall and imposing, his blond hair catching the dim light. The shadows twisted around him like faithful followers. Years of survival had taught me one crucial lesson: confidence was my only shield. I knew I had to say something, anything, or I could end up six feet under. But I held my ground, meeting his icy gaze without flinching. Silence clung to the air, thick and heavy, as I waited. No words escaped my lips.

Bruno’s jacket bore his name in bold letters. He radiated calm, a predator sizing up its prey. Behind me, the other four closed in; I caught their movements in the bar’s mirror—the shuffle of boots, the clink of metal. One gripped a pipe, another a muffler, and my skin crawled at what that meant. I stood there, heart racing, a lone wolf surrounded by a pack. The room dropped into a suffocating silence. I could taste the whiskey on Bruno’s breath, the stench of danger thickening between us . . .

Iron Rebel Audio Book: Chapter One

Iron Rebel PDF Version: Chapter One

Like a letter from the IRS, I tend to hold these at arm’s length until I can muster up the nerve to break the seal. My name is Cory London, I’m a guy, 35 years old, and been through a lot, but the fear is still there, especially in the last case that had a gun pointed at my chest.

Thankfully, as I entered the train that morning, my two train mates were already on-board car number three, sitting at our usual table number one.

Smiling, I said, “Good to see both of you this fine Monday morning.”

Both nodded. Shelly said, “It’s too early for that big of a smile, Cory. What’s up?”

I held up the envelope. “Look what I have. Another sealed envelope. Care to open it with me?”

My petite French friend Amie sat forward, with an inquisitive look in her eye. “Oooh, an envelope. What kind of mystery will this bring?

Shelly laughed, “You sound like Nancy Drew, Amie. Maybe it’s ‘The Mystery of the Crooked Stick.’ Possibly the ‘Mystery of the Haunted Bridge.’ Could it be the ‘Secret of the Hidden Lair?’”

I piped in, “Maybe it’s ‘Footsteps Under the Window,’ like the Hardy Boys.”

Amie shook her head. “I don’t get it, who are Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys?”

“Those are American children’s detective series heroes. Nancy Drew for girls and Hardy boys for the guys.” I said.

“Oh, I’ve seen French copies in one of the larger bookstores in Paris. So now this adventure will have to have a certain air of mystery. You’re a writer, Cory. You need to chronicle our adventures and come up with compelling titles. Now I definitely want to see what’s inside the report.”

I put the official-looking government envelope on the table in front of us. As I ran my finger along the tab to open it, I could see both girl’s eyes firmly staring at the contents. As I pulled out the usual three sheets of paper, I did a quick perusal and then handed the materials to Shelly. “Since you have a new position as County Office Manager, Shelly, why don’t you give us an overview of the case?”

She took a minute and looked over the three pages and then went back to the summary. She said, reading aloud, “This is a case of robbery at a Tina Tahiti clothing and accessories store in the beach town of Encinitas. It appears that expensive one-off fashions and jewelry are missing from thefts overnight. According to the report, complete outfits are disappearing off the main mannequin in the window, while other mannequins are in different positions in the morning that they were the night before. The alarm never sounds, and there is no apparent break-in.”

I laughed. “So, we have a case of mannequins coming alive at midnight. Sounds too funny to be true.”

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“What’s up, Amie? You look so down today. Hey, it’s Friday. The weekend is upon us.”

Amie shook her head. “My Aunt Edith is missing. Dad’s older sister. Her mail has been piling up, and the postman wondered if something was wrong. They tried knocking on the door, but there was no answer. Her car was still in the garage, but there was no sign of her. One of her neighbors called late last night and left me a message. I dialed her back first thing this morning.”

“That sounds serious. Did they break in and check?”

“They looked in the windows and went around back. The house looks empty. No lights on at night. The doors were all locked. That’s when the neighbor dug up my number and called me. After I talked with her, I tried my aunt’s phone. No answer, and the message cache was full.”

“So, what are you doing on the train this morning?”

“I have a critical architect meeting this morning at 9 am on a huge new hi-rise in the Seaport Village area. French contractor. I am part translator and part project liaison. It won’t go on without me.”

“Could your roommate Shelly check on her?”

“This is her Friday off. She left early this morning on a camping trip with friends to the mountains. Won’t be back until Sunday.”

“Where does your Aunt live? Maybe I can have my dad send a sheriffs’ car by?”

“She lives in the old original part of Escondido. Wood frame, two-story, built in the late 1880s. She used to run a fortune teller business out of the original parlor. Always had a strained relationship with the Escondido police.”

“Darn, Escondido wouldn’t be my dad’s jurisdiction. The County Sheriff doesn’t cover that area. I’d be glad to help, but as usual, I don’t have a car or a driver’s license. Is there a train that goes there?”

“You can take the Sprinter Train out of the Oceanside Transit Center.”

“So, you mean I’d have to take the Coaster back all the way north to Oceanside and then take the Sprinter. That would take forever.”

“That’s it. The San Diego Trolley doesn’t go that far. Probably some kind of bus, but good luck with that.”

“So how long is your meeting this morning?”

“Probably a couple of hours. Out at eleven, most likely. But one of the contractors always wants to do lunch. I doubt I’d be able to catch the late morning train north.”

“So, you’re saying you won’t get home until late afternoon and have your car to be able to run to Escondido. If that’s the case, I’ll get off at the next stop or two and catch the first northbound train to Oceanside. I’ve got a quiet day at work so that I can work remotely. Give me her address, and I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

“You’d do that for me? I don’t need you to go out of your way for someone you don’t know.”

“After all we’ve been through, you’re like family to me, Ms. DuBois. This situation sounds serious. I looked at the schedules on my phone. I can get back to Oceanside by 8:30 and then take the Sprinter to Escondido and arrive about 9:30. Got the backpack with me with some lock pick tools. Take me a few minutes to get in and check things out. What’s the neighbor’s name that called? I need to touch base with her before I go breaking in and having the cops show up and get dragged to jail.”

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It was the first Monday in August, and my petite French friend, Amie Dubois, seemed restless. Usually, Mondays brought a happy face, but something was amiss. Her smartly bobbed dark hair framed a look of sadness instead of her trademark pleasant smile.

As the Coaster train left the Carlsbad station, I asked, “You seem down this morning, Amie. Anything wrong?”

She thought for a second. “Do I look depressed? I’m not sure what’s wrong other than I’m bored. My mind craves a challenge. TV is in reruns; the newspaper has old news, my friends are on vacation, even my cat is bored. She didn’t even greet me at breakfast.”

I smiled. “Here is a test for my favorite sleuth. What did I do this weekend?”

Amie chuckled. “A challenge from my friend Monsieur Cory London. Well, let me see.” Her face brightened. She stared at me for a moment and then said, “I see you were early to the train station and excited about something, so much so, you missed breakfast. Whatever you are excited about revolves around an item you could only get at the station. Noticing the white paper on your seat, I would say it involves the Coastal Times, the local community newspaper. Seeing your half-empty coffee from the train station mini-mart, you have already read the article in the paper and are hoping for my help with the contents of the white legal envelope containing a cold case from your father.”

“You amaze me. You are right as usual, but I have no idea how you knew I read the article in full and that I missed breakfast.”

“You’re an open book, Cory. The crumbs on the side of your mouth from a granola bar indicate you were eating on the run, without a napkin. Your photo-gray glasses are clear, which means you were sitting under the roof of the train station outside the mini-mart for a considerable period. Since you walk from home to the train, they would be dark gray if you had just trekked up as you usually do.”

“And the cold case. How did you know about that?”

“The off-white color and thin monogrammed edges are a dead giveaway of a government-issue envelope. Since your dad is a sheriff’s detective, it seems most likely that it would involve a case–one that involves a train–since you take one every day and help him with cases from time to time. The envelope indicates it is cold and filed away. I remember you saying that he mails inactive cases involving Amtrak or Coaster trains. If it was active, you would have it in an email. Whatever the case is about, it probably relates to an article in the local paper.” “There,” I said with a laugh, “I made you think. Did that little exercise liven you up?”

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Detectives On a Train.