The Man In The Orange Vest

My phone buzzed against my ribs on the cold sidewalk, and the text on it stopped me.

Mr. Frost, it's Hector Villareal from the switch shop. Your assistant gave me this number. Please call. It's about Platform 6. Hurry.

I called. He answered before the first ring finished.

"Sir, I heard you were at Ashcroft. I heard the manager call a man Frost. I saw them walk him out, and I..." He stopped. "It was you."

"Tell me about Platform 6."

Hector had the voice of a man who has repeated a warning until it wore thin. He was fifty-eight, he said, thirty years on the tracks. Last Monday night he had tested the crossover switch machine, and the lock rod slipped twice.

"Twice, sir. That machine is telling me it's tired. The last inspection tag on it is three weeks old. I wrote it up the next morning and asked for a replacement."

"And?"

"Last Wednesday the deferral came back. Form 14. Approved." He took a breath. "Signed by you."

The plaza was loud with buses, and I heard none of it.

"I never signed it."

"It says Gideon Frost. Clear as day."

"I never saw it."

Silence on the line. Then, very quietly: "Then who did?"

I thought of the yellow flag. I thought of W.S. and the hold placed at 6:10, before my name had a reason to be anywhere near that window.

"What did Mr. Sedgwick tell your crew?"

"That I'm angling for overtime. That the crossover is a labor grudge." Hector's voice cracked. "He said no one on the platform has any business questioning a signed deferral. So I stopped saying it out loud."

"Has the Limited run over that crossover since Wednesday?"

"Every day. Twice a day."

"Has it run today?"

"Not yet. The 10:40 takes it. 412 tickets, sir. I checked the manifest."

I looked at the tower clock. 9:52.

Forty-eight minutes.

The obvious move was to call Rail Control and order the train held. I had my phone, and I knew the number. But I also knew Rail Control took hold orders from only two people, and the second was not on this concourse. The card Rail Control trusted sat in a drawer in my office an hour from here. I had left it there on purpose.

I had wanted to go in as nobody. The morning was teaching me what nobody costs.

"Is there a way into the building that doesn't go through the concourse?" I asked.

"Loading dock, north side. I've got a key."

"Meet me there in five minutes. And Hector."

"Sir?"

"Don't tell anyone I'm coming."