January 13, 2025, on a railroad cutting through the city of Williams, Arizona, Trapper Country, the Real Wild West.

A big old freight train is rumbling down the BNSF line, heading out towards the Mojave Desert on a 2,000-mile journey towards Chicago.

And I mean big.

Most of these monsters are a minimum 100 cars long.

Some measure 2.5 miles.

Trains like this are a godsend for companies looking to get merch for May to B and for the

willing and able criminal, a colossal slow-moving duck.

There's barely any crew, and those who are staff in the train are told clearly.

Don't mess with trouble.

On this particular day, bone dry and colder in the cotton-tails toes, trouble is just around the bend.

A team of bandits from south of the border is parked beside the railroad, ready to pick their moment. They drive up slow beside the train, and one of them hops aboard the mechanical beast, inching up towards its engine.

When he reaches the right spot, he stops, pulls out at all and bends down.

Moments later, the train's air brake hose cut, its driver has no choice but to lurch into an emergency stop.

The slow-moving duck is now a sitting one.

Then the gang goes shocking.

They already know which car to hit.

They've got a guy on the inside.

One of the team busts open its locks,

and then they form a human chain,

unloading not gold nor diamonds or government bonds, but box after box after box of brand new Nike sneakers

into a couple of trucks or follow vehicles as the cops

call them. One is a U-Haul, the other is a full pickup with the name Eddie's written down the

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