Rick Mofina - Whirlwind

Mason glanced around at the tractor trailers and rubbed his lips.

“I don’t know how much longer we can keep this up,” he said. “Sooner or later they’ll get on to us, and if your agency in Chicago finds out, there’s no way they’ll take the kid. We’ve got to get off the grid to keep the heat off.”

“I don’t think those drawings look like us.” Remy was working on her laptop. “Besides, I thought of something I can do to help. It’s a bit risky but if you keep your cool, you can pull it off.”

She turned her screen to him and he approved of what he saw.

“All right, that’s near here. Let’s go,” he said.

Less than two miles from the truck stop, Mason and Remy turned into the parking lot of a strip mall. Sandwiched between Aunt Marva’s Donuts and On-the-Spot Payday Loans was Flo’s Fabulous Hair Emporium. Remy stayed in the truck with the baby while Mason entered the hair shop.

Bells chimed on the transom.

Scores of blank faces of mannequin heads crowned with every style and color of hair you could think of stared at Mason from displays and shelves.

It was creepy.

The store wasn’t busy. A woman was behind the counter replacing paper in a small credit card terminal. She had long straight black hair, a dark tan and revealed bright white teeth when she smiled.

“How can I help you today, sir?”

“Well, I’d like to get a couple of wigs for my wife.”

“You’ve come to the right place. Is she going to be joining you?”

“No. She told me what to get.”

“Well, what color and style is she looking for? Short, long, curly, straight?”

“She said she wanted a blond, sorta long and wavy and an auburn one about the same and curly, sorta.”

“Hmm.” The woman left the counter and led Mason to a side display. Mason detected a hint of citrus-scented perfume. “Do you know if she prefers synthetic or human hair?”

“What’s the difference?”

“They’re both nice, but with top-of-the-line synthetic the curls keep, even in the rain, while human hair is more natural.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter then.”

The woman reached for a head with a blond wig.

“How about this one? It’s got layered spiral curls, about fourteen inches, that’s shoulder length, and it’s got a stretch skin cap. It’s synthetic fiber.”

“Looks good. I’ll take it.”

“That was easy.” She then moved down the row and picked up a head wearing a dark-colored wig, which was shorter but fuller.

“This one is auburn, synthetic, styled in a layered bob with sweeping bangs and-” she turned the head “-soft curls in the back.”

“I like it. I’ll take that one, too.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to see some others?”

“No, these two are good.”

“All right, let me package this all up for you.”

The woman took the two heads bearing the wigs, set them on the front counter then glanced through her storefront to the parking lot at the pickup truck parked out front.

“Is that your wife in the truck with the baby?”

Mason turned to follow her attention then saw Remy and the baby. “Oh, yes.”

She hesitated as if stopping to address a sudden concern.

“Is there a problem?” Mason asked.

“Um, no.” The woman smiled, shifting her concentration back to the counter. “Most women want to be custom fitted. Are you sure your wife doesn’t want to come in for a custom fit and style? It comes with the wigs at no charge.”

“No, I think we’re good that way.”

Mason watched her closely as she shifted her focus back to the sale.

“Okay. I’ll just get some foam heads and box these up for you. They’re one-fifty each, plus tax. But if you’re military or hit by the tornado, we’ll give you twenty percent off.”

“I’m not military-my dad was. But we did get caught in the storm.”

“Is everybody okay?”

“We’re still a bit shaky, but I need to get going.”

“Of course. And how would you like to pay, sir?”

“Is cash all right?

“It certainly is.”

Mason left with the woman watching him through the window. For an instant, as he reached for the truck’s door, they exchanged a glance.

As the customer got into the cab of his truck, the clerk bit her lip.

That was very weird, she thought.

Then she reached for her phone and searched for the news story about the baby kidnapped in the storm.

She found the number for the police tip line.

Maybe she should call.

No. She put her phone down. But that was definitely odd.

Mason returned to the truck, gave the boxes to Remy, who was fussing over the baby in his car seat. Before turning the ignition, Mason checked his phone and cursed it. No messages from Lamont. Mason took a moment to think where they could go then started the truck and pulled away from the strip mall.

Remy opened the boxes with the wigs.

“Oh, these are nice. They’re gonna work fine, babe.”

But Mason wasn’t listening.

He was a little worried about the strange look from the saleswoman at the wig store but shook it off. He had bigger problems, chiefly the fact that Lamont still hadn’t contacted him. Mason speculated on the reason. Did Lamont rip him off? Did he turn him in? Mason ran the back of his hand across his mouth. They had gone about six blocks and turned from a quiet street onto a busy thoroughfare.

That’s when they heard the wail of a siren behind them.

Garland, Texas

Red-and-blue police lights blazed in Mason’s rearview mirror.

“Oh God, what’re we going to do?” Remy looked over her shoulder.

Mason tightened his grip on the wheel and he kept an eye on the mirror, on the grill of a marked police unit coming up behind him fast.

“Quit gawking at him,” Mason told Remy. “This can’t be for us. He’ll go around.”

But the patrol car didn’t go around them. It stayed right behind their pickup truck until the cop got close enough to read a plate.

If that’s what he’s doing .

The siren was blaring, shredding Mason’s nerves. His reflex was to take the next turn while his gut was screaming at him to flee. Punch the gas and run because there was no way he was going back inside.

Damn it, why isn’t that guy going around us?

Options blurred through Mason’s mind. He eyed the mirror for any telltale signs the cop had read his plate and called it in. The cop hadn’t reached for his microphone. He was not on a cell phone. His mouth wasn’t moving like he was talking to a dispatcher on a hands-free unit.

Nothing like that.

So why’s he coming up hard on my ass?

“MASON, LOOK OUT!!!”

Standing on the road directly in front of them was another police officer, his arm extended and finger pointed at Mason. His free hand hovered over his holstered sidearm. Eyes fixed on Mason as he braked hard, the cop pointed for him to pull over to the right, up close behind another parked vehicle, a white Toyota, and shut the truck off.

The siren behind him made a last loud yelp before it went silent as the patrol car parked tight behind the pickup truck so that Mason could not drive out. The emergency lights lit up the cab with pulsating intensity.

“Goddamn it,” Mason growled under his breath. “GOD-DAMN-IT!”

It had all gone down so fast.

“This isn’t good.” Remy pulled the baby from his car seat and held him as she craned her neck in both directions. “What the hell’s going on?”

Watching the cop on the road and the cop in the car behind him, Mason dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, assessing what had befallen them. Suddenly he reached under his seat for his gun and tucked it under his left leg.