Nazeh's instructions were surprisingly easy to follow. The truck driver waved to them and drove off.
The man who had signed off on the clipboard the truck driver gave him was a short man. A cap covered what Riff guessed was a receding hairline, and wire frame spectacles rested alarmingly far down his nose. He looked up when they approached, with the sudden mannerisms of a spooked bird.
"Hello, can I help you?"
Bernardo silently handed over the envelope. He opened it, scanned the pages, and gave a little gasp. He looked up between the two of them, seeming nervous, but beckoned them towards the stationmaster's house. It was a small but clean place.
"Here's the manifest," he said, pushing a chart towards them. Riff picked it up and looked it over. It was a list of all the trains going out, when, what track they would be on, and where they were bound.
The next train to leave for Quebec wouldn't come for 16 hours, and neither Riff nor Bernardo wanted to wait that long. If Nazeh changed his mind, more mafia members showed up and retook the farm, they were arrested as train hoppers… a number of things could happen, and they wanted to get out as soon as possible.
Bernardo pointed at a train leaving for Winnipeg in half an hour. It was currently in the station, getting loaded full of supplies.
"That ain't too far from New York, right?" Riff whispered as the clipboard man tottled off.
"Here's a map," Bernardo said, walking over to where a map of North America was secured to the wall with push pins.
"That's New York," Riff said, tapping the city.
"And Winnipeg is here," Bernardo said. It was in Canada, but looked like a bigger city than the tiny dot that was marked to be their current location by a dingy yellow star.
"Dat's…" Riff picked up a ruler from the desk. "Eight inches away."
"Not to scale," Bernardo said, looking at him like he was six.
"Of course it's smaller," Riff snapped, "I'm just sayin', it's closer than we are right now."
They both looked up to the little star, near the east coast of a region labeled Nunavut.
"Let's get out of here, los antes posible," Bernardo said, quietly but fervently.
"Whatever you said," Riff agreed, snapping the manifest book shut and moving to the window. "No one's around. Come on."
They opened the door and, still wearing their orchard-issue work coveralls, tried not to be seen as they scuttled across the train yard to the tracks the manifest had listed as having the train bound for Winnipeg. They reached the train there, flattening against the side as footsteps sounded in the gravel some yards away. When the sound receded, they ran along the train in a crouch until they found a car with an adjacent door. It looked to be mostly full of crates, but there was a little room to move around. As the cart they'd passed before it was half-full, Riff figured that this one had been packed up as much as it was ever going to be.
Bernardo grabbed the handle and tugged it open enough for them to slip through. He closed it behind them as Riff started shifting boxes to open up a space for them to hide in the center of the car, completely out of sight in case someone opened the door to check.
They sat on the floor, backs to crates, facing each other. It was more roomy after the boxes had all been crammed to the sides, and Riff was able to stretch out his legs in front of him. Bernardo was curiously curled up, panting slightly.
"You okay?" Riff asked, trying to sound minimally concerned and probably failing.
"Chest," Bernardo said, rubbing the still-healing wound. Riff figured that, having been going for over 24 hours without sleep, 14 without food, and fighting the fire had nearly done them both in. Riff's stab wound certainly protested his treatment of it.
"Wonder what's in these crates," he said, to distract them both.
"Hmm." Bernardo had closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wall of the train car.
Riff studied him. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair stuck up in all directions. Ashes and dirt covered his face, hands, and clothes. Riff probably looked much the same.
On the other side of the wall of crates Riff had pushed up, there was the sound of an opening door.
"Only a few left, ay?" A voice asked.
"This one looks fine," said another, and the door slammed shut.
Riff sighed with relief, but waited to investigate until the train had started moving. He stood, opened a nearby cart, and peered inside. "Bingo."
"What is it?" Bernardo asked.
"Food," Riff said, with relish. He reached down and pulled out some kind of packaged confection. He couldn't read what it was in the dark, but the picture of food on the front was clear enough. He tossed it to Bernardo and took one for himself.
The train ride lulled him to sleep for the few hours that it lasted, before he was jerked awake by Bernardo kicking his foot.
"Are we there yet?" He mumbled jokingly, stumbling to his feet.
"Help me move these crates and make a path out," Bernardo said.
The two of them hauled some crates aside near the end of the car. When the train's motion halted, Riff muttered, "Quick!"
They opened the sliding door, peered around to see no one close by, and hopped down. Almost bent double, they made for the nearest cover. Eventually, moving in this manner, they reached the station master's house. The manifest listed that the closest destination to New York, set to leave within the next several hours, was Quebec.
It was going to be a long couple of days.
Two trains and several close calls later, they reached Oak Point Yard in New York City. Emerging to find themselves in the Bronx, Riff sighed. There was some walking to do.
It was late in the afternoon, the sun already hidden behind the buildings around them, by the time they reached familiar grounds. They passed by a police officer, nodding politely as though they weren't on a mission to expose an organized crime ring. He started to nod back, then peered closer at Riff. Suddenly, recognition flaring, he pulled out a whistle and blew on it. Hard.
"What the-" Riff spluttered, baffled, as the officer started running towards them.
"Stop!" he shouted.
"Run!" Bernardo hissed, grabbing at his arm and beginning to sprint away.
"What's he chasin' me for?" Riff asked, annoyed and wishing he could just sit down after walking so far.
"No lo sé, but unless you want to get caught, shut up and run!" Bernardo panted.
"Murderer!" the officer shouted as they all turned a corner, barrelling through the crowds.
"Oh, that," Riff rolled his eyes. They must still be trying to catch him for that business with Francisco.
Bernardo muttered something in Spanish. It didn't sound complimentary.
Knowing the area, they were able to duck out of sight. They led the officer, who was now puffing with exertion, through a maze of alleys and back ways. They finally lost him by scaling a fire escape and laying flat on an upper platform.
They watched several other police officers walk past, not daring to move, listening to the conversation below.
"You sure it was the guy on the APB?" one asked. Riff stiffened. He knew that voice. It was Krupke. "Traveling with who?"
"Some Puerto Rican lookin' guy, I don't know."
"That doesn't sound like Riff," Krupke said doubtfully.
Riff and Bernardo both choked back laughter.
"If you find 'em, bring 'em both in," the other officer said. "Then you can ask 'im yourself."
Krupke muttered below as he walked away. Riff caught the word "Don" and froze.
Riff looked at Bernardo, who looked back. His eyes widened, and he started to shake his head. "Oh, no, amigo, I'm not follow that-"
Riff was already on his feet, running at a crouch. "We'll follow him from the rooftops," he said.
Bernardo cursed from behind, then started following as he scaled the last ladder and emerged onto the roof.
Krupke had only walked for half a block before slipping into a building. Barely hesitating, Riff hopped over to its roof and tried the door leading down into the building. It was locked.
"Hold on," Bernardo said. He picked up a wire-framed hanger from the clothesline spanning the roof, stretched it into a lock pick, and knelt at the door. A few minutes later, they were moving as quietly downstairs as they could manage.
As they started going down levels, Riff realized that this building was very familiar.
"This is the crazy kid's place!" he exclaimed.
"Shh!" Bernardo snapped.
Not having any other clues, they started for Crazy Kid's apartment, the mafia storehouse. The door was closed, but Krupke's voice was coming from inside.
"Krupke's workin' with the Mafia?" Bernardo whispered.
"Surprise, he was such a nice guy!" Riff snarked. They waited behind a corner for him to come out. This time, when he started off down the hall, they didn't follow him.
"Should we see if the kid's there?" Riff asked.
"What, you want to talk to him?" Bernardo asked.
"Not particularly," Riff sighed, and they looked at each other. Sure, they were back home, but what would they do now? Nazeh had assumed they were operating under someone's authority, but there was no one for them to report to. Riff doubted the cops would believe them if they showed up saying they'd been kidnapped by the mafia and taken to Canada to work on a maple sugar farm. He hardly believed it himself. Besides, there was an APB out on him now. A police station was the last place he needed to be.
"We should find something to eat," Bernardo said, and Riff nodded. That, at least, was one thing he had no doubts about.