Spy (37 page)

A
nother ghost truck,” Franklin said to Daisy, shaking his head.

“That’s what I’m telling you, darlin’. Another ghost truck. Only this one, we got cornered.”

“Who calls them ghost trucks?”

“Me and June. We got it from Homer.”

Daisy was driving the pickup. She had just picked up her husband outside the American Airlines baggage claim at San Antonio Airport. All he had was a small duffel which he heaved in the back before he climbed in. She handed her ticket stub and five bucks to the hourly parking attendant and popped the clutch, not waiting for change.

“Daisy. Since I’ve been gone, you’ve gunned down an armed man in the street, you’ve—”

“Excuse me—that was June shot the Mexican looter. Not me.”

“You were just driving the getaway truck.”

“Correct. Trying to deliver your videotape like you asked us to do. And we did.”

“And you did. I thank you for that.”

“What are you so upset about?”

“Nothin. I’m tired, honey.”

Daisy reached over and took her husband’s hand. “Didn’t all those Washington people appreciate June’s tape? Wasn’t it what you needed down there at the conference?”

“It was. I think it’s already on its way to the White House. The president might use it in his speech to the Congress tonight.”

“Well, there you go.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just whupped. I’m glad you’re okay, that’s all. I’ve been worried about you ever since I left.”

“Well, I’m tired and worried, too, Franklin. Haven’t slept much in twenty hours. June and me grabbing alternating catnaps on the bench seat at a McDonald’s is not my idea of beauty sleep. That’s why I look so awful. Don’t say anything sweet, either. Let’s just drive and try to enjoy the scenery.”

“Nice Wal-Mart,” Franklin said, gazing out his window.

That quieted things down, all right.

They were driving into downtown San Antonio. Going back to the McDonald’s on Commerce Street. When Daisy first picked up Franklin at the airport, she had told him they were driving directly downtown before heading home to Prairie. There was a suspicious vehicle she and June had staked out. June was there now, watching from their stake-out position across the street from the truck.

“Take me through all this, Daisy,” Franklin said after ten or so minutes. “From after you handed off the envelope and sent Buddy Shirley to Southwest Medical to see about his gunshot wounds.”

“He’s okay. I called his momma this morning. Already back at work.”

“So then what happened? Where’d you manage to pick up all the bullet holes in your truck?”

“Well, like I told you
before,
we had just outrun the outlaw moving van when we saw a big fire burning over in Dolores. Those fires were started by a bunch of local Mexican druggies and teenage
banditos
calling themselves the
Reconquistas,
you see, and we chased ’em back south of the the border.”

“You and June?”

“Well, we helped. Mostly, it was a couple of bikers called Zorro and Hambone and their gang. Even the great
Re-Conqueros
didn’t want to mess with those bad boys. So, it was a whole lot of bikers, plus a lot of folks from the neighboring towns, plus me and June who helped chased them home.”

“I’m starting to see it.”

“You know what they were yelling the whole time we were fighting with them? The
Reconquistas?
”

“Nope.”

“We didn’t cross the border! The border crossed us! That’s the new Mexican anthem.”

“Where’s the burning and looting now?”

“Moving west on down the line for the moment. I hear it’s pretty bad when you get past Laredo.”

“Then you saw this truck.”

“Yes, on the way back to Dolores, we had passed Homer going the other way. He was following this huge convoy of tractor-trailer rigs headed north on 59.”

“I got that part.”

“You said from the beginning and—”

“Daisy.”

“Sorry. Well, later, when we were headed back to Prairie, we came up behind another truck headed north. We figured it was a straggler from the convoy got left behind. Blacked-out windows and all, with a big fat orange painted on the back. Some citrus company called Big Orange Groves in Lakeland, Florida. Florida tags.”

“Coals to Newcastle.”

“Exactly. That is exactly what June said when she saw that truck. What the hell is a Florida trucker doing delivering oranges in Texas? That’s what we wondered.”

“So you two decided to follow him.”

“We sure did. All the way north from Dolores up to San Antonio. Never went over fifty-five. Didn’t take the Interstate, took the parallel state road. An hour later, he pulled over at a little rest stop just south of town. Remote, you know. So we just pulled in behind him. Only two vehicles in the parking lot since it was about two in the morning. Got out of the truck, both of us, and went around to the cab. June on the passenger side, me on the driver’s side.”

“Carrying the shotgun?”

“Damn straight. June says that Homer’s got a weird feeling about these trucks. And I’ve seen enough and heard enough to share that feeling. I banged on the window with the muzzle of the gun. Nothing.”

“Nothing.”

“No one in the truck, far as we could tell. And then we climbed up on the running boards and tried to look in. The windows weren’t just smoked, Franklin, they’re really dark, like blacked out completely.”

“Blacked-out windows are not a felony.”

“Anyway, the damn ghost truck takes off with us still on the running board! I mean, come on! So I yelled at June and we both jumped off before he got rolling too good. She hurt her ankle anyway but she can still walk. I’ve got ice on it at McDonald’s.”

“So you jumped back in the pickup and followed him to San Antone.”

“We did. And now, we’ve got him cornered. You know, Homer thinks these trucks are—”

“Speaking of Homer, where is he? I’ve been trying to reach him all day.”

“Looking for you, too. He took the day off. Says he’s got the flu. But we know different because we saw him. He finally called Wyatt. He’s following that convoy headed north, is what he’s doing.”

“Wyatt’s got an APB out on that van we caught looting and Wyatt’s got the Medical Examiner’s office trying to identify the men June shot. He’s also covering Homer’s butt on the J.T. Rawls shooting, not that it needs covering in my humble estimation.”

“Wyatt’s a fine peace officer.”

“He’s not you, but never mind that, here we are.”

Daisy pulled into the parking lot on the backside of the old McDonald’s on Commerce Street. There was one spot left in the shade of an oak and she took it. Even though it was January, it was a warm day.

“I don’t see any truck,” Franklin said, climbing out.

“Right around the front, parked in an alley off Commerce. Here, we can just use this back entrance.”

They hurried inside and found June sitting on a banquette near the front. She seemed very upset and shook her head at the sight of the sheriff coming quickly toward her.

“Hey, June,” Franklin said, smiling at her as he approached the table where she sat. “That videotape of yours is being looked at by the president of the United States this afternoon.”

“It is?” she said. “That’s great.”

“How ’bout that, June? Isn’t that fantastic? What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, Daisy. Sorry, Sheriff. I lost the truck.”

“Lost the truck? What?” Daisy said, running over to the window.

She looked back at June and her husband and said, “She’s right. Shoot! The truck’s gone!”

H
ow in heck’s name could you lose a truck, June?”

“I swear I was only gone three or four minutes,” June said,

“Damn it to hell!”

“Tell us what happened, June,” Daisy said, calming down a little.

“Oh, the Secretariat Syndrome. You know.”

“What’s that?” Franklin asked.

“She had to pee,” Daisy told her puzzled husband.

June said, “Yeah. Couldn’t hold it another second. Went back to the ladies’ room and, wham, he was gone when I came back.”

Daisy already had one foot out the door. “We’ll find him. Let’s go, honey. He can’t have gotten far.”

“Sheriff?” June said, climbing to her feet, “Homer called my cell-phone here maybe ten, fifteen minutes ago. Asked that you call him back. Sounded kinda urgent.”

“Where’s the phone?”

“Right here.”

“Where is he?”

“Somewhere in Virginia. Some pretty little farm, he said. He’s got it staked out but he needs to know what to do next.”

She handed Franklin the phone.

“Now what?” he said, looking at it.

“Just hit star 69. It’ll ring him automatically.”

“Homer?” Franklin said, a few seconds later.

He’d walked with the phone and sat down at a table over by the window where nobody could hear his conversation. He’d sent Daisy and June out to look for the Big Orange rig. Seemed like a wild goose chase, but then, he’d been wrong before.

“Yessir. I’m glad you called,” Homer said on the line.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“You know I followed the trucks. You know I shot and killed J.T. Rawls.”

“I do.”

“You ain’t mad?”

“Homer, I heard what happened in Gunbarrel from Wyatt. He says it was a clear case of self-defense. We don’t have time for this now. Tell me where you are and what your situation is.”

“Sheriff, I’m in a little farm town in Virginia. Somewhere south of Washington, DC.”

“All right. You know the name of the place?”

“Lee’s Ferry. It’s right on a river.”

“What have you got?”

“Okay, the truck I followed all the way? We came up Route #1 north of Richmond. All the way to Fredericksburg. Then he cut east till he came to the river.”

“Where’s the truck now?”

“It’s an old farm. Couple of hundred acres. Pretty place. The Yankee Slugger is tucked away under some trees by the river. Just setting there in the snow. Doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere. They came out and looked at it a few hours ago. Just walked around it a few times. Bent down and looked underneath. Then they all went back inside the house and pulled all the curtains shut.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

“Folks living here.”

“Where are you calling from right now?”

“The kitchen.”

“Their kitchen?”

“Yessir. There is a couple living here, like I said. And, Sheriff, these folks don’t look like native Virginians to me. Arab, I think, if you’ll excuse the racial profiling. A man and woman and a younger guy, I guess their son maybe. They got in a car and left here, oh, about half an hour ago. Driving a late-model Cadillac, maroon in color. Thought I’d have a look around inside the house while they were gone. Nice and warm in here. Fire going and all. That’s when I called June to check in.”

“Homer. They left the fire burning. That means they won’t be gone long. Can you see or hear the owners approach? When they come back from wherever they went?”

“I can, yessir. House is on a hilltop. Long driveway down the hill. I can see the main road from this window I’m at right now. Called Old River Road and there’s a white picket fence all along the property. Plenty of time to slip out of the kitchen door and back into the woods where I’m staked out.”

“Any idea yet what’s in these trucks you followed?”

“Whatever it is, it ain’t good, Sheriff. That’s all I can tell you. I was thinking about taking a crowbar to the rear doors while nobody’s here. But, I’ll need some help, they come back and catch me breaking in their truck. Little nervous about calling in local lawmen in case it’s all a bunch of nothing, though.”

There was a long pause before the Sheriff spoke.

“Listen, I’m going to get a taxi back to the airport. Is Lee’s Ferry closer to Washington or Richmond?”

“Based on the mileage markers I saw, I’d have to say a lot closer to Washington. It’s north of Fredericksburg. You can take Route 1 South and get off at state road 635 to Cherry Hill.”

“Homer, sit tight, I’m taking the next flight out. I’ll rent a car and find you. Is there a street address on River Road?”

“No, sir. But there’s a sign at the end of the driveway. ‘Morning Glory Farm.’ ”

“I’ll find it. Do not approach these people when they return. Do not go near the truck. Until I get there, you see something happening you don’t like, you call it in to the locals. Let them handle it.”

“It’s starting to snow pretty hard now. Really coming down. Hope your flight gets in.”

“I hope so, too. You get anything to eat?”

“Stole an apple from the bowl here. All right if I steal a little food from the pantry? I’ve been living on Twinkies and R.C. Colas for three whole states.”

“Take something they won’t miss from a high shelf and get out of that house, Homer. Now, git!”

“Sheriff?”

“Yep?”

“I might be wrong about all this. What these trucks mean, all of them headed north like they are. All along I’ve been thinking it was drugs. Now I’m not so sure.”

“I hope you are wrong, Homer, but I’m not so sure anymore, either. I’ll be there soon as I can.”