The six-car electric Amtrak coach ground down the tracks with a mesmerizing hum. The steel wheels made a tooting toy horn noise in the curves. The train motored past the windowless backsides of warehouses, under bridges scored by graffiti, past the stacks of used tires piled behind auto body shops that tried to make a good impression from the front. Martin opened his newspaper. The sun rising over his left shoulder made a natural reading lamp. People staggered like drunkards down the aisle toward the café car. Commuters on their way to Manhattan read spreadsheets and magazines, or walled themselves behind their BlackBerries or their iPods. This was an eclectic group in this car, Martin thought, judging by the tones on their cellular telephones, which cried for attention with rock music, circus themes, and the opening bars to the theme from Hogan’s Heroes. Martin had been too nervous for breakfast. Now his empty stomach churned. He found himself at the obituary page. He scanned quickly to be sure there was nobody he knew, and then he settled into the obit of a retired family doctor.
