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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
John Graham sat enjoying the stir-fry at his favorite Chinese buffet. The large grill was operated by a guy guiding two sticks back and forth across the shrimp, vegetables and garlic sauces selected by the patron, and then was deftly slid sideways into a bowl, steaming hot and succulent. It was great to have all you could eat, and with so many different choices, they rarely went home less than stuffed. The only regret John had was that there would be no leftovers for later tonight.
Reba was looking at John with her head tilted sideways.
“What?” said John. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with you, that’s all,” she said mysteriously, wondering what the cause for the good mood was.
“Can’t a guy just be in a good mood, for Pete’s sake? You’d think I was an axe murderer or something,” said John, carefully poking the mushrooms with his fork and rolling them in the garlic sauce. “Don’t you think it’s strange that shrimp start out grey and when you cook them, they turn pink?”
“Don’t change the subject, Mr. Graham. I’m not one of your students who can be entertained by switching to a tangent.”
“I’m not trying to change the subject,” John objected. “Can’t a guy wonder why steak turns from pink to brown, and shrimp turn from grey to pink? I could be onto the greatest gastronomic discovery in the history of the culinary arts.”
Reba just snorted. “You are so full of it, your eyes are brown,” she said wagging her head. “I guess you’ll tell me as soon as you are ready. But we better not be pregnant again, because the kids are all grown.”
Now it was John’s turn to be surprised, and he almost choked, but then remembered Reba had recently had a hysterectomy, so she wasn’t announcing anything. She was just trying to get him to play his hand. He wondered if he should do a little exploratory digging.
“Well,” John said, “all I’m thinking is that we may come into a little bit of money in the near future, and I’m hoping you aren’t staying with me because I may become independently wealthy.”
It was an inside joke of theirs that revolved around the salaries of public employees. They were both dedicated to their jobs, and they made a comfortable living now, but it had been hell raising two kids on the salaries of two school teachers.
Reba looked up at John. “Did your father die and leave you a treasure map?”
John chuckled. “No, and don’t get any ideas about killing me off for the insurance money, either, because they won’t pay if it looks like murder.”
“Or suicide.” Reba did a little searching of John’s eyes to see where he was going with this line of thought.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to kill myself. I just have a good feeling about a little investment I made a few days ago. And don’t worry, there’s no financial risk involved. I didn’t raid our savings.”
Reba smiled again. John was always involved with one hair-brained scheme after another. He liked to think of himself as a financial wizard, but the only thing that was magic was that they hadn’t had more money problems than they had experienced already. John was long on optimism, but short on experience.
“Investing in another start-up company specializing in underwater telescopes?” she teased.
“Take it easy, woman,” he cautioned. “I know I’ve been down this road before, but let’s just say I’m feeling really good about the track that I’m following.” His inside joke made him smile even wider.
“Okay,” said Reba, pushing back the plate as she got ready to go get some desserts. “I won’t challenge your business expertise, Mr. Rockefeller. Just make sure you consult with J. Paul Getty before you sign on the dotted line.”
It was another old joke of theirs, and had to do with spending time on the couch if this went belly up. John was confident he wouldn’t be spending time on the couch.
Ray jumped into the pickup and headed back to the main road. These dead cops had probably called the other cops, so company was on the way. He was trying to think about the road ahead, and if there was anywhere he could turn off. Better to stay on the main road in this area, though, he thought, since he wasn’t sure where any of them lead. He had to make sure he was headed out on a road which had an escape route at the end.
So just before he got to the fork, he had to make a decision. The other cars were probably south, so he should go north, back towards Simon’s house. If they had left someone behind, there would only be one car, and who knows how many were waiting the other direction. North it was.
Skinner had by this time left Simon’s place to back up the other car by the lake. Ray was hoping the cop car from the farm would be on its way up to the lake. Ray had walked this road earlier in the day, and was observant enough to notice there was a sharp dip in the road bordered by a small river just at the bottom of the hill. He was slowing a bit to see if he could coordinate the two cars he expected to be encountering soon.
Up ahead he could see Skinner’s car coming. Ray doused the lights on the truck again and waited just above the hill’s beginning, planning his “squeeze” play by the river. If he could time this right, he would have a good lead back to Ridgeway and the money. Or he could just forget the money, vanish and never be seen again. With three cops dead now, Ray doubted anyone would let him stay vanished for long. He needed to get to another country, and that took money. Which would take Ray back to Ridgeway.
Right on time, Smitty’s car crested the hill behind Ray. Ray gunned the truck without pulling on the headlights, but pulling the knob out enough for parking lights. Ray was trying to time this so they would all meet in the middle. And to the car behind him, it would look like his headlights were on, not just the taillights.
Smitty couldn’t be sure this was the right truck with the dust flying behind it, so he was content to go slow until there was a place to overtake and pull the truck over. Nevertheless, with the lights on the top of the sedan flashing, the truck should have pulled over even if it was the wrong one. Maybe the driver was just looking for a place, too, thought Smitty.
Then the truck ahead of him sped up. Smitty could see Skinner’s car ahead, and it seemed to be coming toward the hill fast. Perhaps Skinner hadn’t seen the truck yet. As the three vehicles reached the bottom of the hill, Ray pulled on the headlights and swerved sideways, crushing on his brakes. Skinner turned toward the river, as did Smitty, and the two cars met head on in the midst of the stream. The horn on one began to whine, and steam from both engines rose from the river.
Ray stopped to look for just long enough to make sure both cars were out of commission. “That was almost too easy,” he muttered to himself. “I guess there are advantages to walking every once in a while.” Ray didn’t think he would be stopping to thank Simon for the guided tour earlier in the day.
Smitty hopped out the squad car and tried to hurry to the bank of the river, but got caught in the mud, and by the time he was on the dirt road, the truck was vanishing into the darkness. “Skinner, get car three on the box. Looks like we’ll all need a ride back. And get Greg Jones in Ridgeway on the phone. Tell him to expect company.”
Simon was sitting on his porch, rocking back and forth enjoying the crisp night air. Smoking a pipe, he thought about what to do about his truck. Call the insurance company, probably, even though he didn’t have insurance to replace the truck, just to cover collision. “When a truck gets stolen,” Simon mused to himself,” that’s not collision, that’s a loss, and that’s what insurance is for. To cover your losses.”
He turned the words over in his head. He would say it just that way to the insurance guy tomorrow. There was a noise from an engine just up the road, and it only took a few moments for Simon to recognize his own truck. Not enough time to go get the gun, but just enough to get out of the rocker and step out off the porch.
Ray drove by like a bat out of hell, and made an inappropriate gesture at Simon as he passed the old man standing in front of his house. Simon gestured back, and then muttered under his breath, “Thanks for the money, idiot.” He went in the house and called up Joe.
State policeman Darrell Skinner made the call as requested by his superior officer, Harold Smith. Then he hit the steering wheel of his squad car again as the water began to rise inside the car. He had been so focused on getting this guy he had been stupid. He had seen lights up ahead, but because the truck headlights weren’t on, he sped up, thinking the truck was farther away than it was. Now both cars were in the river, and probably totaled.
Those weren’t the real reasons Darrell was angry. He had let his hate for the man they were chasing cloud his judgment. He wasn’t thinking clearly, and that was fatal to policemen like Darrell.
Or like his brother, Larry Skinner, who had been stabbed and killed by this lunatic just the night before. Smitty had hesitated before letting Darrell come along, but Darrell had been so insistent that there was no way to stop him. He would have shadowed them, risking dismissal, to get back at his brother’s executioner.
Now he sat in a muddy river, watching the water rise up to the door handles. Luckily, this was more of a stream than a raging river, or he would have had more to worry about. As it was, sloshing out of the wrecked car was humiliation enough. He wouldn’t let this guy get away again.
John and Reba were heading back home, which was just a few blocks from the restaurant, one of only three in town. Most of the local restaurant business was tourists passing through; since there was no way the local population could keep three establishments open. It was only a minute or two and they were home.
Greg and Paula were distracted at the moment. John and Reba pulled into their garage, and the two lookouts were none the wiser. They were writhing on the floor together, in the happy ecstasy of two people who were in love. Greg didn’t even hear the radio from the car calling for him to respond, and since Smitty had taken off, Greg had turned down the volume on his walkie-talkie. Some moments were not meant to be interrupted.
Ray felt in his pocket for the money. Then he remembered trading Joe’s gun for the wad of cash, and realized he had neglected to take any money back. Ray had been so glad just to have a gun, that in the heat of the moment he forgot the cash.
If that had been the only bad news, Ray would probably have not lost his temper. But Simon’s truck was nearly out of gas after touring the countryside, and in the next town he would have to stop and gas up. With no money.
Greg and Paula were now sitting up looking at John Graham’s house again. When they saw lights on in the house, Greg said, “They must be home. I can’t believe I didn’t see them come back.”
Paula looked towards Greg. “It’s was nice for a moment to be such a great distraction. Now you’re saying you’re not glad to be distracted?”
Greg smiled. “Sorry, don’t take it personally. I wouldn’t choose anyone else to distract me, but this is my professional duty. I’m supposed to be watching this house, where a friend of mine just happens to live, so he doesn’t end up dead.”
Paula looked back toward the house. “Looks to me like everyone is alive and well,” she said. “But I’ll try to be less of a distraction.”
“Impossible,” said Greg, correctly reading the moment, and pulling her toward him, kissed her long and hard. “I may never be able to concentrate again.”
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