George Wier - The Last Call

“What kind of supplies?” I asked. We were still set for drinks and other amenities, but I suspected Hank had a different idea of supplies than either Julie or I had.

“Oh… You know. A few sticks of TNT. Some nitrates. Prima cord. Some caps. That sort of thing.”

“Nitrates!” I was a bit stunned. “Geez louise, Hank. And prima cord? A little of that stuff goes a long way. Are you planning to start World War III?”

“Those fellows did that when they blew up Julie’s duplex and killed Dock,” Hank said. “If you haven’t noticed, we’re still driving his truck.”

“Yeah,” I said.

I thought about it and watched another mile tick by in the bright North Texas sun. The sun was coming directly in Julie’s window. She’d end up with her right arm slightly more tanned than her left.

“Okay,” I said. “We’ll get your supplies.”

I felt something wet on the side of my face. Dingo was licking my ear.

“Darling,” I said to Julie, “you didn’t know we were traveling with Demolition Man and Scooby Doo-ette, did you?”

She laughed. “No. I didn’t. I figured they came along for our comic relief.”

Lunch, finally, in Quanah, a small Texas town much like the fictional Lake Woebegone: somewhere along the line, time simply forgot all about the place. If memory served, the town was named after Quanah Parker, a Texas half-breed Indian of some historical note. There were spots of my education that had been neglected, and that whole scenario was one of them. I’d have to do some reading up on the fellow when-and if-I made it back home. Texas was just too big and the years since its inception were becoming, for some of us, innumerable. Somewhere along the line, but within my own lifetime, Texas History had become an accepted specialization in academic circles.

Over hamburgers at a roadside diner well off the beaten path, we commiserated.

“We’re only about fifteen miles from the Red River,” Hank said. “Just to the north of us.”

“Really,” I said. “We should have brought a map.”

“Yeah,” he said.

I looked out the window of the diner. Dingo barked. We were making a little game of it. Whenever I looked her way, she barked at me. Hank and Julie looked at each other and shook their heads.

I took a big bite of my burger and turned back to look at Dingo with her big head poking out of my window.

A man was there, patting her on the head. He was a big man.

Suddenly I knew who he was: Mr. Fat-Business-Suit with the discernible gun bulge under his left arm that we’d seen in the cafeteria in Fort Worth. The Fed.

“Hank,” I said. “Look.”

I pointed.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said.

“Who is it?” Julie asked.

“Excuse me,” a voice said before I could think of what to tell her.

We all turned together. The other federal agent, the black fellow, was standing there at our table.

“Would you folks mind if I talked with you for a few minutes?”

“You guys are like blood hounds,” Hank said. “We haven’t seen you since Fort Worth.”

“Oh,” the man said. “Mind if I sit down?”

“Go ahead, I told him. Hank slid over and he took a seat.

“Okay,” he said. “First, we put one of these on your car.” He held up a small button-battery.

“You put a calculator battery on our car?” Julie asked.

“Looks like one, doesn’t it. It’s a tiny GPS transmitter.”

“GPS?” Julie said.

“Global Positioning System,” Hank told her. “Satellite surveillance. It tells these guys where we are within about fifteen feet anywhere on the planet. Standard issue for all cops cars, although I’ve never seen one that small.”

“Yeah,” the federal agent said. “But you will in about ten years. That’s about how long it takes for our gizmos to reach the open market.”

“Oh,” Julie said. “Why didn’t you guys tell me we were being followed?” She looked at me seriously. Her lips were tight.

“Uh. Yeah,” Hank began. “You see, just like you we weren’t sure.”

“But we suspected,” I said. “We didn’t want to alarm you.”

She was looking at me with hurt eyes, but I turned to focus my attention on our company.

“Look,” I said. “Who are you and why is the federal government following our every move?”

“You don’t know, do you?” he said. He looked at us, pausing as he looked from face to face to face and then passing over us again.

“Okay,” he said. He raised a hand up and motioned to his partner outside.

“We’re going to need a bigger table,” I said.

When the bigger fellow came in we were already moved to another table in the center of the restaurant. He walked over, took a seat and introduced himself.

“Ben Cranford,” he said. “You’ve met my partner, Felix Bruce.”

“You’ve got two first names,” I said to his partner.

“Thanks,” Agent Bruce said. “Two coffees,” he said to the waitress at his elbow.

Agent Cranford took a seat.

“I told you guys,” Julie said, “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

I looked at her. She was avoiding my gaze.

“Wait a minute-” Hank started to say, but I cut him off, turning to Agent Cranford.

“How long have you been following her?” I asked him.

“Miss Simmons and the two rednecks who have been chasing her? About a month.”

“You were watching me when-” Julie began, obviously upset. Agent Cranford cut her off.

“When you dropped the kid off at the Greyhound station? Yes.”

“How did Archie get Jessica then, if you were watching?” she demanded.

“We were watching… But we were following you . Like you, we left the girl on board the bus. By all reports, she was taken off at the next stop by her quote, father, unquote.”

“Julie,” I said. “Shut up a minute. It’s me and Hank who ought to be upset. You never said a word about Batman and Robin here,” I turned to Cranford. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Agent Bruce said.

“What about the explosion?” Hank asked. “What were they using? Sounded-felt like TNT.”

“It was,” Cranford said.

“Why?” I asked. “Why would they want to kill her when-” I stopped short. I’d almost let it slip.

“When what?” Agent Bruce asked, and took a sip of his coffee.

“Well,” I said, face deadpan and covering quickly. “It’s that it’s not consistent with the action of someone who wants her back.”

Cranford put his elbows down on the table, laced his fingers together in space.

“Right now,” he said “Carpin is at his horse ranch. The last I checked, Mr. Jacob Jorgenson and Mr. Frederick Sanderberry were en-route to the ranch.”

“Replaced the plug wires and on their way again, huh?” Hank asked.

Cranford laughed. “Apparently. We were wondering what was wrong with their truck when we passed by them. Also, one of ‘em looked to be bleeding.”

“I wonder how they got around the cops,” I said.

“We heard about it over the radio. They were released when they said that two men and a woman fitting your description tried to rob them. They kicked your asses and ran you out of there. When asked, neither of the men wanted to press charges.”

Hank and I were chuckling.

“Also the ranch is pretty well deserted from what intelligence I’ve gathered.”

“Racing,” Julie said. “We’re in mid-Spring. Carl and Lefty and half the still crew are probably in Louisiana right now.”

“Right,” Cranford said.

“Where’s the ranch from here?” Hank asked. “I was about to start asking locals.”

“Fifteen miles this side of Childress,” Agent Bruce said. “It’s off the beaten path but you can’t miss the signs. You don’t have far to go.”