Freight Trains and Hobos
Wilmington, Delaware
As a kid, I was scared of Jack McDermott. Maybe not scared, but he’d given all of us our fair share of beatings, especially his brother, “The Mick.” That was all behind me, though, and had been for some time. Jack and I had shared prison time, and he knew me and my reputation. There was no way Jack McDermott would f**k with me now. But there was no way he’d roll over either. I knew before I confronted Jack, I’d need a lot more evidence than a guy with a limp, especially if that guy had just jumped from a moving train onto a hill covered with a bed of rocks.
It reminded me of when we used to hop trains, waiting at the bend of the tracks where they had to slow down. As soon as the engine was around the turn—so the conductor couldn’t see us—we’
