The sun began to sink toward the horizon.
On the train to Providence, Remy LeBeau stretched out comfortably in a private sleeper compartment he'd upgraded for ten extra dollars.
Besides a narrow bed meant for one person, it had a tiny dining table and a small sofa. For a trip of just over two hours, it was quite comfortable.
America had once boasted the world's longest railway system, but ever since Howlett Industries had introduced the revolutionary internal combustion automobile in the late nineteenth century, rail transport had rapidly declined.
People here would rather drive across several states for an entire day than spend half a day rattling around in a metal train car.
On the one hand, America's advanced road system and unrestricted highway speed limits had greatly narrowed the difference in travel time between cars and trains. More often than not, driving was even more convenient and faster than taking the train.
On the other hand, the country's vast open spaces and distinctive scenery had given rise to all sorts of road-trip culture. People liked taking the wheel themselves and cruising down seemingly endless highways.
That was how Americans celebrated freedom.
And on the short route from New York to Providence, only a handful of "train buffs" were willing to waste time getting on and off at both stations.
Remy LeBeau lay on the narrow bed in his private compartment, twisting his waist from side to side and grimacing in pain.
He couldn't be bothered to take off his boots and coat. The train would arrive in a little over an hour, and the thought of taking a cab to meet his client made Remy miss his beloved Dodge muscle car terribly.
"Damn kid! We've met before, at least. Doesn't he know the rules of the game?"
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