The light streaming through her window had turned orange. The sun was setting over the mountains. The aging magrail cabin was growing dim. Her beer was empty. And if there was one sure thing that meant it was time to get a bit of sleep, it was an empty beer.
The pistolera saluted the couple with the empty bottle before setting it in the cup holder. She couldn't see them in the low light, but she felt confident that they were still talking about her. Nice folks. Possibly inbred.
She tucked the medal box well down into her worn rucksack and then tied the drawstrings of the sack to the wooden legs of her seat. She hesitated then briefly tested to see if the leg would wiggle loose. Confident that no one would be able to make off with all her possessions without making some noise, she let herself doze off to sleep.
It was a combination of beer bladder and the fussy baby a few rows in front of her that roused her a few hours later. She had been dreaming of a lovely little bar in Cadiz that she'd never visited. Everyone important was still alive and dancing there. Even her. As the pistolera made her way back to her car's lavatory, she reflected on how much she hated her bladder for waking her up from that dream.
Shuffling back to her seat she wondered if it was possible for her to will herself back into that bar tonight. Then she saw her spare shirt laying half in the aisle.
Her bag! No... wait... it was still there. Tied to the leg of the seat where she left it. She kneeled down and rolled it back a bit. There was a cut in the bag; perfectly straight, maybe three or four inches long, and in the exact spot where she had stowed her medal box.
Idiot.
Two days back in civilian life and her only valuables get lifted right out from under her.
She pushed back her jacket to loose her revolver and started looking around at the sleeping passengers. A few seats which were occupied earlier in the evening were empty now. Thinking back, she couldn't remember if any of them had been suspicious or not. More likely than not, most of the missing folk were probably in the bar car.
Briefly she considered moving forward into the bar car, restaurant car, and the lower class cabins.
No, she thought. More likely the culprit was still working the train. And that meant that he'd be back in the higher class (and higher payday) cars. She was going to find that thief, get her box back, and do her level best to put at least one bullet in him.
It wouldn't occur to her until later that stealth or subterfuge might have suited her better than a frontal assault.
To be concluded...
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