All in Good Time

by Mackey Chandler

  So many people together made more noise than they were used to now. Besides the talking, people were moving things around, cooking, and there was a trio playing instruments for tips with just occasional breaks. Suddenly it got quieter and then louder with voices. Vic stood up to see if it was a hazard and everybody seemed to be looking the same direction. The crowd got quieter again and he could hear something surprising, the sound of a motor vehicle. It was strange after so long. He’d forgotten how loud they were.

  The crowd that rushed to see it parted and allowed this marvel to come in and park. It was an ancient pickup truck with the metal box and bed on the back replaced by a flat wooden bed. Probably a collector vehicle somebody kept for special parades and shows. What it ran on and where they got the fuel was an interesting question. Vic wasn’t even sure of the vehicle’s year, sometime in the previous century for sure. The salt sellers had learned from last year’s ambush and had a heavy steel plate hanging on each side to protect the rear wheels. The front wheels, needing to turn, would have been difficult to protect that way, so they bolted a round armor plate like an over-sized hub cap on the front wheels. It would have been unworkable at highway speeds before The Day, but given the condition of the roads, and the need to conserve fuel, Vic doubted they ever got much above forty-five kilometers an hour. His estimate of their mechanical ingenuity went up several notches.

  However, his opinion of their business acumen went down when Mr. Mast hunted them down and motioned Vic and Eileen to the side where he could have a quiet word with them.

  “Your salt is delivered, but the Burks brothers asked me to request you not to sell salt at the festival in competition with them. They revealed you put the biggest advance order in and they’re concerned now you might repackage it in smaller lots and hurt their retail prices.”

  “Were they making delivery contingent on my agreeing?” Vic asked. Eileen had never seen that expression on his face before and didn’t want to see it again.

  “I didn’t want to know so I didn’t ask,” Mast said. “If they broke their contract I’d have no choice but to banish them from my property and the festival. That wouldn’t mean much. They could just set up down the road a piece and it would hurt me as much as them to start breaking up and spreading the festival out. But I’d make an enemy and do it. The real harm would be I’d tell folks why they were banished and that would kill any new advance orders. I’m afraid they are a little full of themselves and think they have a unique advantage. There have to be other salt licks out there people haven’t used for years. If they start playing games thinking they have a lock on the market folks will start asking and hunting for them.”

  “Tell them I never had any intention of selling it, but I might make small gifts of it to important friends,” Vic said.

  “You don’t want me to say anything about honoring contracts?” Mast asked.

  “No, if they only implied they wouldn’t deliver they could get all huffy and complain that I assumed they were oath breakers. I strongly suspect that’s what they intended, but I can’t prove it without stirring up more trouble for both of us than I care to. If that was their intent anything I said would just be a cheap jab to make me feel better. If their mama didn’t teach them to be honest, I doubt I’m going to change them at this late date,” Vic said.

  “You’ve got good sense,” Mast said, nodding. “I’ll go assure them.”

  Vic made a restraining gesture. “I also want to put in an identical order for the next festival,” Vic said. “I can’t get the salt I want by getting in a big argument with them, even if I’m irritated with them. But since they revealed I was their biggest customer they aren’t in any position to impose new terms or try to run the price up on me.”

  “So, the same quantity and same payment as before?” Mast asked.

  “Yes, unless they will accept a lower price for a bigger purchase,” Vic said. “If they try to run the unit cost up counter with that as an offer, but nothing better. I’ll have O’Neil fly me in enough for table salt before I let them think they have a monopoly and can rip us off.”

  Mast looked dubious but didn’t argue. It took long enough Vic thought the deal fell through, but when Mast came back he nodded yes, once, while too far away to speak. “Same deal as before,” he confirmed when he got up close.

  The Festival went well as far as Vic was concerned, but this year they left early instead of late. If they flew to Nevada he intended to buy some light items there rather than order them delivered. Walking home it seemed so odd to see occasional tire tracks on places where the sand and dirt had flushed across the pavement. Now they’d wait for their coded message.

  Chapter4

  Irwin Hall expected trouble. There was the faint possibility the North American authorities would just put them on a subsonic back to Cuba and make the whole thing a non-event. He just couldn’t remember the last time they’d ever done anything that smart.

  He had time to consider what he would say, and decided the less he said the better. He’d keep the conversation focused on the same narrow theme. It would be interesting to see just how valuable Jeff Singh regarded him. Was he primarily a business associate or a friend? Jeff didn’t always follow social conventions yet he didn’t seem the defective sort without empathy, who couldn’t relate to other people’s feelings. If he was on the autistic spectrum it was a very subtle case.

  Irwin didn’t have any hope that the Assembly would meet in a special session and make any decision of benefit to him. If it did meet and consider what to do it might very well declare war on North America again over their on-again, off-again attitude toward their treaty obligations. He doubted that would be any help to him personally at all. He would effectively be a prisoner of war even though not a combatant in any sense. If there was any help coming for him he expected it to be from Jeff and his ladies. He’d appeal to his status as a citizen of Home and refuse to acknowledge there was any legal case possible. It was a diplomatic level problem and he’d refuse legal representation and disavow it if it was appointed for him.

  Irwin was guaranteed freedom of movement through North America by treaty, and to have his own law applied to him transiting North American territory, even if there was very little firm Home law to apply. Mostly they ran on custom. He had no right of silence under Home law and a stubborn silence might be interpreted as guilt, so he would talk to them, but they might not like what he had to say. Irwin took a deep breath and sighed, content he was as well prepared mentally as it was possible to be.

  The landing itself was anticlimactic. They touched down as smoothly as normal and turned off on a taxiway. Irwin could not see why they stopped out on the tarmac instead of going to a terminal. Then it occurred to him that it would be easier to arrest him privately rather than in front of crowds of travelers and possibly news people at the terminal.

  A lift bus came out and docked against their exit door. The crew got on the speaker system and warned them to stay seated. Irwin could hear some commotion in the back where apparently some passengers weren’t obeying their commands. Four uniformed officers got on and surprised Irwin by walking right past him. They had on soft armor but they weren’t all kitted up with long weapons, hard plates, and visors.

  It was several minutes before the noise level went down in the back and they came back past Irwin with a man in cuffs. He had on the sort of mouth and nose cover they put on prisoners to prevent spitting, and one of the officers was carrying the man’s suit coat and tie. Another had a small carry-on that must be his. The fellow’s shirttails were hanging out in the back like they’d searched him pretty thoroughly.

  Irwin thought maybe he was clear, but after the police exited with their prisoner the bus still didn’t pull away. Irwin took video with his spex of the police entering and then passing with their prisoner, but when he tried to send it to Jeff there was no network access. That meant the area was in active denial. Unless the window ports were made of some special material he should be able to get
a satellite link. Even if it wasn’t good enough to stream video he should be able to use a slower connection for text. It couldn’t even do that.

  The bus still hadn’t pulled away and another pulled up keeping a distance until the first one had room to back away. Irwin was glad he had a port side seat and could see what was going on. After some minutes went by a new group came out of the still connected transport. They were in suits, with ID clipped to the breast pocket or hanging on a neck cord. Only two of them passed him and stopped. They didn’t bother to display weapons but they did bracket him. Where was he going to run, to the back of the plane?

  “Irwin Hall? The older man in front inquired. He had a packet of hard print in his hand.

  “Yes, ‘tis I,” Irwin replied.

  The man blinked slowly, apparently taking a moment to process the unfamiliar reply.

  “We have warrants for your arrest Sir, are you armed?”

  “I have an antique penknife about as long as your little finger in my wallet,” Erwin said.

  “All your personal items will be bagged and sealed in processing,” the man said, looking amused. Apparently, he didn’t expect Irwin to dig the tiny knife out and attack him.

  “Who is ‘we’?” Irwin inquired. “What agency and authority is arresting me?”

  “I am agent Wyre of the Secret Service acting on behalf of the Treasury Department. The two gentlemen behind you are with the IRS enforcement division. The warrant for your arrest is copied on the top document, and the charges are on the attached sheets,” Wyre said, thrusting them at Irwin.

  “Well that will give me something to read in custody,” Irwin said, taking them. “If you cuff my hands behind me it will be rather hard to read them.”

  “You are not considered a flight risk or expected to offer us violence,” Wyre said, “We have discretion about how to make an arrest the local police don’t have.”

  “Shall we be off then?” Irwin asked. “All these other people are waiting on us to clear out so they can resume their journey. No need to be rude to them.”

  Wyre nodded, expecting an objection at some point, but Irwin wasn’t interested in expending the emotional energy or giving them an excuse to be harsher. This was simply a hired thug who had no say or personal interest in why he was arresting Irwin.

  When they got on the bus the other person arrested was sitting towards the rear with his hands cuffed behind the seat and a strap across the chest holding him from leaning forward. They’d even taken the precaution of shackling his feet. Whoever he was, they did expect him to be a danger. The mask he had on didn’t cover his eyes and he tracked Irwin, probably wondering who he was. Irwin thought about asking for what the fellow was wanted, but decided anything he said would be over analyzed and a needless complication.

  * * *

  “In paid announcements, Josh Werner is looking for a person experienced in the care and breeding of horses. He offers room, board, and shares on sales of excess stock. In coded communications: Grandma is baking twenty-four pies, if she bakes eight she may have to take roomers, she’ll have biscuits too. Well, that’s more interesting than most of these messages, isn’t it folks? Goodbye until tomorrow night, and don’t forget to charge up!”

  “I think our message had him salivating,” Vic said.

  “Can we be ready to go on the twenty-fourth?” Eileen worried. “He obviously feels the eighth of next month might be pushing the season.”

  “I don’t see why not. Tommy Ward is back from his summer job and is going to house sit for us. He’ll have our radio to talk to Arnold. He’s supposed to call every day at sundown. He’s interested in Pearl and it wouldn’t surprise me if she comes up here and stays with him,” Vic said.

  “Arnold would allow that?” Eileen said surprised.

  “He’s as practical about it as he was with us getting married,” Vic said. “He said the kid knows how to work and has his head screwed on straighter than he did at that age.”

  “Well yeah, before The Day people had a little more leeway to act young and stupid without consequences. They could put off growing up,” Eileen said.

  “True, and Pearl knows how to shoot. I think he’d feel better with her being here than Tommy being alone. I said that was fine with me because he wouldn’t be tempted to slip off to see her and leave the place empty for ‘just a little bit’,” Vic said.

  “Are we going to camp out, like we did at the festival?” Eileen wondered.

  “Mast’s place is close enough to halfway I’m hoping he will let us stay in his barn. If not we can do the woods like before. But I’ll have to leave most of my gear and rifle at O’Neil’s to retrieve when we come back from Nevada.

  “Sounds like a plan,” Eileen agreed.

  * * *

  The lift bus backed up and dropped to a normal level for safe movement. It didn’t go to any building but rather to an open area of pavement where other vehicles were waiting for them. They followed a last on first off order with his escorts taking him to a limo with a driver. A regular sedan would have been crowded with five adults. The glass partition also separated him from the driver who was using voice commands with the traffic system. The car took off on automatic control, but Irwin was surprised to see the driver sat attentive ready to take over. His spex were still blocked from any contact, and they trusted that denial system so much they hadn’t bothered to take them away. Irwin couldn’t see any advantage to waiting so he initiated the wipe of his pads and spex with eye commands. He marked their reliance on net suppression as something he’d tell Jeff and his ladies about as a particular vulnerability. He was pretty sure it would be a dangerous assumption to make with them. He seemed to remember they’d tried that with April and it hadn’t worked.

  The Federal detention center was right downtown and closer than Irwin expected. He was used to airports being further removed from the city center. He was issued plain prison clothes and his belongings put in several envelopes of the special strong paper that couldn’t be torn by hand. It wasn’t any surprise to him when the papers with which the Secret Service agent had served him were demanded and sealed in his property envelope. The jailor asked him if he followed any religious dietary restrictions. He was tempted to claim he followed Kosher because it might get him better food but resisted the temptation.

  In defiance of all logic, now that he was in the belly of the beast, deep inside a Federal prison, they cuffed him to walk him to his cell. It was at least warm. If anything, a little too warm, and clean. The air even had a slight antiseptic scent, and the fixtures were all the normal modern jail built-ins impossible to damage or misuse by hand. A stainless toilet and similar stainless hand sink with hidden supply and drain pipes projected out of the wall. A remote sensor faucet and drinking fountain were like something from a crime video. The bed was a cantilever shelf in the corner with a tough textured plastic pad that had little give. There was a screen of some sort, off the unsupported end of the bed, but no keyboard or visible camera looking at him. Of course, it could be a touch screen, and a camera could easily be hidden in the beveled edge of the screen. It was a blank unlit gray for now.

  There was nowhere else to sit in the room except the toilet so Irwin made himself comfortable on the bed, sitting to the back so he could lean on the wall. He took the pause in activity to review everything that had happened and think about it. They hadn’t asked him about any special health problems or if he was taking medications. Perhaps they assumed having Life Extension Therapy negated the need for that. It didn’t, but there was a lot of ignorance about what it could and couldn’t do.

  He sat until he got stiff and got up, walked around the cell, stretched, and emptied his bladder. The whole thing was tiring and when he leaned against the wall again he was able to drift off and get a little nap. An electronic bell-tone woke him. It repeated twice, louder each time, until he not only opened his eyes but turned and looked at the screen now lit up and showing a face.

  “Your dinner tray has been deli
vered,” the guard said. “It should be returned by when the slot opens again in a half-hour. New detainees are advised that no new meal will be provided until the old tray is returned. If a tray is returned uneaten three times it is regarded as an undeclared hunger strike.” The screen went back to gray with no questions invited.

  Well, that was interesting, they did monitor him. The tray was stainless steel with rolled round edges and corners that couldn’t chip the screen or cut into the bed mat easily. It stuck out of the slot and if he didn’t take it he assumed it would be withdrawn at the half-hour. There was no drink provided so they must expect you to use the fountain built in the hand sink. Dinner was three tacos made with corn tortillas, filled with an orange mix of what might be textured vegetable protein. If it had some actual meat, that was hard to say. There were twin scoops of soggy rice tinted a different hue of orange than the taco filling, and what North Americans called refried beans. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean fried as in having actual fat, it meant cooked until it broke down into a uniform gray paste, then over-cooked until it was thick and dry to the taste. It wasn’t very appealing.

  Irwin knew he had to maintain his health and strength, so he needed to eat. The taco turned out to have a half slice of tomato hidden beneath the filling. There was no heat or spiciness to it at all. A dab of sour cream or guacamole would have added some flavor to make it a lot more palatable. He managed one taco and moved on to the beans and rice. The spoon he was given was so soft it was hard to pick up rice on it without it dropping and spilling the food back on the tray. Irwin contented himself with scraping the filler out and using the tortilla to pick up the beans and rice. Mindful of the warning about returning too much food he dumped the discarded taco filling in the toilet, which dutifully flushed itself. If that was prohibited or even noticed nobody came back on the wall screen to tell him.

  Irwin dutifully pushed the tray back in the slot to be removed. About half-way in a power feed grabbed the tray and pulled it the rest of the way through. He returned to the bed and assumed the same position as before, burping occasionally from the odd food and managed to sleep eventually.