The man on the train was Lucas Shelton, but people called him St Louis. The rumor was it was because of a fight he once had there. Others said it was the style of music he played. He knew it was because of the trademark on his luggage. An old college roommate had given him the monicker, he liked and kept it.
St Louis had never been to his namesake, until today. “Mr Shelton, I have the package.” The tall African American man got up and looked at the case, and his reflection in it. He wasn’t looking at his shaved head or blue eyes, but at the face of the man behind him.
Searching for a telling smirk, a nervous twitch, or some clue as to his emotions. The broker didn’t reveal them, which meant St Louis had to carry on. He opened the case, and counted the money. “Fifty thousand, perfect. When do you want it to happen?”
“It may be tomorrow, it may be ten years from now. Just be in place, and you’ll get one of these cases every six months until your job is over.” “That’s a lot of money, are you that rich?” “No, but our backers are. Is it a deal?” St Louis nodded, and soon he was back on a train.
Next he would reach California, buy everything he needed, and board a boat to Alaska. St Louis was setting up shop, and he was going to make sure it was a huge one. He cleaned his gun, and then played a tune on his clarinet to pass the time.
It was his own creation, a melancholy piece called, “Life and Death Of A Hero.” St Louis kept tweaking the melody. The beginning and middle were finally okay, but he didn’t like the ending.
Tune in next week for another Alaskan Silver!