The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Seven

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CHAPTER SEVEN



“If I find out someone else has my money,” said Ray to himself, pacing in the rut that was once the carpet, “I’m gonna massage him with the butt of my gun and then shoot him.”

Ray had decided to stay in town and search the tracks for one more day. There really wasn’t a chance of finding the train now, and there was no practical way to search all those miles of track. He had also decided to go back to the town where Tommy was being held tomorrow and watch for evidence to be leaked to the press, like it always was in cases like this. Then he might have an idea if the cops had the money, and he could figure out what to do next.

Ray hated feeling helpless. It reminded him of the days he spent being beat on by his older brothers, who hated being beat by their dad. The pecking order in the Johnson household had ended with him, with the beatings usually getting worse as they were passed down the line.

Even when social services had split up the family and sent Ray to foster homes in the hopes of a better environment, most of the families he ended up with were in it for the money. They didn’t really care about Ray, and they usually had their own kids to prefer to the freeloaders the state had sent. Why else would someone want the kids no one else wanted?

Being cheated out his money just when it was in his grasp, ready to be spent, the golden dreams had been dashed again. Ray was determined that this time, he was going to get what was his, and he didn’t care who had to get hurt in the meantime.



Smitty had some good advice for Jones. There were a couple of ways to handle the investigation, and one was subtle, the other pretty obvious. Jones had decided to do both.

He was on the phone with the local television station. “Paula Rogers, please. This is Greg Jones.”

Paula was one of the local reporters who owed Captain Greg Jones a few favors for the quick and reliable information he had often shared with her. The scoops had made her a local celebrity, and the bigger stations were looking at her for anchor jobs. She knew Greg liked her, and Greg was more than happy to have her attention, if only for his sources. She picked up almost immediately.

“Greg!” He could almost hear the smile over the phone. “What have you got for me now?”

“How do you know I’m not calling you up for a date?” said Jones playfully.

“First”, she said, “you have never called me up for a date yet, and second, last week when I asked you out, you found some kind of paperwork you had to do.”

Now Greg was smiling. She was right. He wasn’t ready to take that step, but she really wanted him to. He knew she wanted him to. But he just couldn’t do it. Even though she had made it a point of “dropping in” every week or so, he still couldn’t work up the nerve. They had been on dozens of dates, all of which she had arranged.

“You’re right, I’m a big chicken,” he chuckled. “So are you ready for the hot tip of the day?”

“If you really did call me every day,” Paula said, “then that really would be something to get excited about.”

Now Jones was blushing. To stop this train of thought in its tracks, he began another conversation about another train. “Did you hear about the bank robber they arrested on the train here in town…?”



It was after lunch. John had been able to spend an entire lunch period talking with the guys he regularly ate lunch with without even raising the topic of money, which usually was a favorite topic around the table. Now John Graham was wondering what he would be able to tell his history classes today that would keep them from sleeping on their desks, and would keep him from thinking about that money.

Today they were scheduled to talk about Watergate and other topics from the ‘70’s, but the distraction of his newfound wealth was beginning to cloud every 30 seconds of thought. He decided to just strike out into the subject and see where his subconscious and the kids in class would lead him.

“So who here knows why we all know Richard Nixon’s name?”



“This is Paula Jones with another WGHH exclusive.” She was looking especially lovely today, thought Greg as he watched her from the sidelines. Her blonde hair flipped up at the ends and made her look much younger than she was, which he was sure was the desired goal.

Greg Jones was a little too shy for his own good, which is probably why he was still single at the ripe old age of twenty-eight. He had been involved with several women, only to be too slow to keep them interested. He had decided it was a personality fault, and that it wasn’t going to change anytime soon. He was not prepared, however, for the unique patience of Paula Rogers.

She had been burned twice by flashy rich guys. Paula had been engaged twice, and had come as close as M-Day minus one month until the last jerk had pulled the plug. She had her sights set on Greg Jones, and while he may not have known it, she was ready to be as patient as was necessary to catch this one. Though she was younger than Greg by a few years, she had much more wisdom than him when it came to catching a mate.

She smiled and looked over at Greg.

“Local Ridgeway police captain Greg Jones has been credited with recovering some of the $100,000 stolen two days ago from the First National Bank in Delan,” she intoned, without a pause, hitch, or hiccup. “Though all of the money has not been recovered, Captain Jones has been recognized by the state authorities for his quick response. Investigations will continue while officers inspect the money that was found for fingerprints.”

Greg was always amazed at the calmness with which Paula delivered the news, even when it involved grizzly details. She was a pro. She was looking into the camera to wrap it up. “We’ll keep you up to date with any new developments here at WGHH, and this has been another Paula Jones exclusive.” She always wrapped with that same tag-line, even when it wasn’t a story exclusive to her. She had explained it to Greg, “Only Paula Jones can have a Paula Jones exclusive.” It made the viewers think they were getting information they couldn’t get at another station, and it was one of the reasons her network had been rated number one since shortly after her arrival. It was the main reason so many other stations wanted Paula Jones to work for them.

Paula handed the microphone off, and took Greg by the elbow and ushered him off to their own little private corner of the office while the camera crew packed up. “So, how was that, boss?”

Greg could feel himself beginning to redden. “Thanks, Paula, that was exactly what I needed. We want whoever robbed the bank to come and try to get the rest of his money.”

Paula looked concerned. “Doesn’t that put you in danger? I mean,” she said, taking both his hands and pulling him to face her, “won’t that robber come armed and dangerous?”

“Well, probably, but I don’t think he’ll come in demanding the money,” Greg explained, pulling her hands down to his side. “We think he’ll just want to find out where it is, and then we can catch him trying to take it. We’ll put some surveillance on the office. I shouldn’t be in danger, but I think I can handle myself. I am a big, strong man, after all, you know.” He puffed up his chest.

She took the invitation to lean over and tousle his hair, with the other hand pressed on his chest. “I know you can handle yourself. I’m just wondering if you can handle a dinner with a friendly reporter.”

Greg blushed now. She was always able to throw him off his guard, just when he thought he was in control. He liked it.

“Sure, let’s go to the T-Bone,” he said, and took her hand, leading her out the door.