There was no rest for the wicked; it was time to solve a murder.

 The thin man half-jumped, half-fell backwards from the chopper as it cleared the engine cab and caught beneath the front of the train, sending up great showers of sparks as it dragged along the tracks. He wobbled on the edge of the roof as the train ground to a halt, clutching on with his gloved hands. A man wearing a blue cloth cap stuck his head out of the engine cab window beneath him. A frantic, hurried discussion took place inside.      “What the heck was that?”      “Shut up and keep going. Who told you to stop?”      “I can see a tyre down there, some metal...”      “Hey! Who told you to stop? Dan, did you tell this motherfucker to stop the train?”      “Nah boss, I didn’t say a thing.”      “I can’t run the train with that thing stuck down there! It’s a breach of health and safety regulations!”      The guy leaning out of the window must be the driver, a friendly. The barrel of a silenced pistol crept out of the window behind him and pressed lightly against the back of his head, beneath his cap.      “Just keep going Mother Theresa and I won’t blow that dumb cap off your dumb head. That’s right, back in the cab, there’s a good boy.”      The driver’s head disappeared back into the cab and the engine rumbled back into life. The thin man removed his red helmet, swung it downwards as hard as he could and launched it in through the open window at a vicious pace. He heard a satisfying fleshy ‘thunk’ accompanied by a scream as he clambered down past the door on the opposite side of the train and peered in through the dirty window.

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