by Phil Truman
“Oh yeah? Why not?” Bobby John said. He sniffed twice quickly, and started pushing buttons on the BlackBerry.
“Well, first of all they aren’t going to be able to ID us as ATF agents, because Smith and Wesson aren’t our real names.”
“Oh really,” Bobby John said in a mocking tone.
“Yes. And then when we’d have to reveal our real names and credentials to get all this straightened out, it will compromise our cover; and if you blow our cover, we’re going to have to tell the police about your little cocaine habit.”
“What cocaine habit?” Bobby John said. He pressed the Send key on his BlackBerry. “I don’t use cocaine.” He sniffed, and put the phone to his ear.
“Oh, but you do, Mr. Samuels. We’ve been watching you for a while, too. We’ve got all the evidence we need for that, including pictures.”
Bobby John looked at Agent Wesson intently as he lowered the BlackBerry. He pressed the End button with his thumb, sighed and put the Blackberry back in his pocket. He was undecided, doubtful, agitated.
“You say there’s a reward?” Bobby John asked.
“If it leads to an arrest and conviction, yes,” said Agent Wesson.
“How much of a reward?”
Agent Wesson and his colleague looked at each other again for a moment. Agent Wesson spoke. “One hundred thousand dollars,” he said. “That’s the least amount. If the information in that envelope is as big as we think it is, and leads to more arrests, the reward money could get up to around a million.”
“I’ll go get the envelope,” Bobby John said and turned on his heels to head back to his office.
* * *
After the two men left, Mary Ruth came out of the break room, and stood in the hall, hands on her hips. She looked at Bobby John’s back as he stood at the reception counter looking at the door.
“You’re doing cocaine?” she asked sharply.
Bobby John jumped, and turned to face her. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, and looked at the floor. “It’s not what you think, Mary Ruth. It’s... I-I’ve only done it a couple of times. It’s not like I have a habit or anything.”
“Oh!” she said in an exasperated tone. “That doesn’t matter, Bobby John. It’s cocaine!” She looked at him with open-mouthed incredulity for several seconds then marched past him to her desk. “You’re so stupid. I have half a mind to turn you in myself,” she said.
“No, no, you can’t do that,” Bobby John said, following her to her desk. “I’ll lose everything. You can’t... a-and your job. If this comes out the business would close and you’d lose your job. Besides, you heard what they said. There’s reward money. I’ll share it with you.” He sniffed again, and looked at her imploringly.
Mary Ruth had one hand on her Blue Tooth headpiece and one hand on the phone console. She turned to face Bobby John.
“I’ll give you forty percent,” he said, encouraged by her interest.
Mary Ruth narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said.
“Okay, fifty-fifty.”
Mary Ruth shook her head again and smiled her winning, pearly-white smile at Bobby John. “We’ll make it seventy-thirty, only I get the seventy.”
“But I’m the one who turned over the evidence!” Bobby John whined.
“Uh-huh,” Mary Ruth said coolly. “But I’m the one who knows about your cocaine habit. And, as you know, I’ve had several other job offers.
“Oh, and another thing. No more drugs. This deal is only good as long as you quit the cocaine. If I see anything to suggest you’re still using drugs, the deal’s off and I’m going straight to the police.”
Bobby John looked at Mary Ruth like a hound dog would look at a pork chop about to be eaten by his master. She had him on both counts. Every time she had come into his office announcing she was leaving for a better paying job, he’d given her another ten percent raise so she would stay. That had happened three times in the past year, so he knew all she had to do to get another job was to look her stunning best and smile. He also knew that sooner or later he would run out of ten percent raises, but now that she knew about his cocaine thing, well, she had him by those male body parts in such a way that it was in his best interest to go along with whatever she said.
Mary Ruth didn’t exactly know what was going on here, but she’d find out. She hadn’t won Third Runner-up in the 2000 Miss Oklahoma Pageant for nothing. It’d been her third try at the crown, so she had experience and moxie; and she was nobody’s fool.
For one thing, she didn’t know what those rough looking characters were up to, but she seriously doubted they were federal agents. And those two sweet eighty-something old men being terrorists? Come on, it didn’t take a genius—a category in which she felt Bobby John fell well short—to figure out that was bogus.
She didn’t think she’d rat on Bobby John about his drug use, just yet. She’d known about it for some time, but he’d been a pretty good source for income. Still, she thought she should consult with Hayward and Soc. All this started with them bringing in that envelope to Bobby John. Something smelled fishy about all this, and she didn’t think it was terrorism. She knew that reward business was a bunch of malarkey, too, but she had to protect that goose named Bobby John, so he could continue to lay more golden eggs.
* * *
As they sat astraddle their bikes, Threebuck said to Randy (a.k.a. Agents Smith and Wesson), “How’d you know that dude was doing cocaine?”
“Didn’t. Just an educated guess,” Randy said.
“Well, what was your plan gonna be if you guessed wrong?”
“I was going to beat the crap out of him until he gave me the envelope.”
Threebuck stroked his chin and nodded. “Yeah, that would’ve worked, too. But what about the babe in there? I reckon she heard the whole conversation.”
“I ain’t worried about her. I expect she’ll keep her mouth shut and just dig for a little more gold. I know the type.”
Red Randy pulled out the stiletto knife clipped to the inside top of his right boot, and popped open the blade, using it to open the envelope. He unfolded the piece of paper and began reading it.
“Whazzit say?” Threebuck asked.
After a bit, Randy said, “Looks like we’re going to have to locate Goat’s daughter. I reckon that redneck we ran into back in that café will lead us to where she lives.”
* * *
“Nothing unusual happened,” Officer DuFranc told Hayward.
“What do you mean?” Hayward asked with surprise. He stood leaning, his hands against the top of the cop car, talking to DuFranc through the open window. Hayward had pulled into a parking spot in front of Arlene’s a few minutes earlier, and sat waiting for Charlie to show up.
“Pete and I staked out Bobby John’s place all night from nine to six, and nothing happened. No break-ins. We even checked the back door and the roof before we left. Nothing.”
Hayward had let Charlie in on the whole charade they were playing with the two bikers. Charlie knew better than anyone the menace those two represented to Jo Lynn, and didn’t mind being in on a sting to get them arrested.
“I thought for sure them two would try to go after that envelope,” Hayward said. “Soc and I saw them watching us when we came out of Bobby John’s place.”
“Well, maybe they decided to wait a day or two,” Charlie said.
“Could be,” said Hayward. He straightened up and drummed his fingers on the roof of the patrol car, his face scrunched in thought. “I think I’ll run down to Bobby John’s to make sure he’s still got the thing. Something just don’t smell right.”
* * *
“Mornin’ Mary Ruth,” Hayward said as he entered.
“Oh, Hayward, I’m so glad to see you,” Mary Ruth said.
Hayward was a little surprised by the look on her face. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Well, I don’t exactly know where to start,” she said, using the polished nail on her r
ight index finger to scratch a spot on the top of her head, buried deep within her luxuriously lustrous ash blonde hair.
“Where’s Bobby John?” He leaned to his left, and looked down the hall toward the darkened office. “Is he alright?”
“Oh, yeah, I guess so,” Mary Ruth said. She waved her hand, and issued a disgusted puffing sound with her lips before adding, “The idiot. He’s out with a client right now, but I wanted to talk to you about some things.”
“What things, Mary Ruth?”
“Well, after you left yesterday, these two scary looking guys came in, one looking like The Terminator and the other like Willy Nelson, and they told Bobby John they were federal agents, and demanded that he give them that envelope you gave him.”
Hayward rubbed his stubbledy chin and squinted. “Federal agents, huh?”
“That’s what they said, although I kind of wondered about that. They didn’t much look like federal agents to me, only...” Mary Ruth started lightly tapping the perfect nail of her right index fingernail on her computer keyboard.
“Only what, Mary Ruth?” Hayward asked.
“Well, they said they were undercover and that they were investigating someone. And they wouldn’t show any ID’s.”
Now Hayward was intrigued. “Did they say who they were investigating?”
“Yes, they did... it was... you.”
“Me?!”
“And Soc.”
Hayward rubbed his mouth with his hand, trying to mask his amusement. “Did they say what this investigation is about?”
“Uh-huh,” Mary Ruth said as she looked up at Hayward. Tears rimmed her eyes. Hayward waited.
“They think you’re terrorists,” she said.
Hayward could no longer contain himself and burst out laughing. Mary Ruth looked a little more re-assured and grinned. She wiped the corners of her eyes with both hands.
“You’re not, are you?” she asked.
“No, honey, I ain’t a terrorist,” he said. “Although, there was a time when Velma might have disagreed, but I don’t think she would now. And I don’t think Soc is either. I can’t speak for him, but at my age I just ain’t got the energy to be a terrorist, even if I wanted to.” He grinned and winked at her.
“Well, I didn’t think so, either.” She laughed and sniffed, pulled a tissue from a box on her desk and dabbed her eyes and nose. “Who do you think those creeps are, anyway?”
“Don’t know,” Hayward said. He drummed the fingers of his left hand on the reception counter and looked out the front door. “Maybe they actually are feds of some kind.” He drummed some more and looked thoughtful. He had to come up with a story.
“I wonder if this is about all that ammonium nitrate I bought?” he said to the ceiling.
“What’s ammonium nitrate?” Mary Ruth asked. Her eyes narrowed.
“Oh, it’s mainly used for fertilizer, but it can also be used as an ingredient for explosives.” He turned to look at Mary Ruth. “You know Hap Donovan?” Mary Ruth shook her head, no.
“He’s the head greens keeper at the country club. He uses a lot of fertilizer, especially ammonium nitrate. He was complaining to me one day about the size of his fertilizer bill, and I told him about my connections down at the Co-op from my farming days, and that maybe I could get him a better deal. Well, that’s what I did, only I had to buy it in my name.”
Hayward looked at Mary Ruth and nodded. “I bet that’s what this’s all about. Ever since Oklahoma City, the feds get nervous about quantity purchases of that stuff.”
“Well, why would they want that envelope you gave Bobby John?”
“Did Bobby John give it to ’em ?” Hayward asked. Mary Ruth nodded.
Hayward shrugged and chuckled. “I don’t have the slightest idea what them guys thought they were getting, ’cause it’s just some Founders’ Day bidness. Was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about, darlin’?”
Mary Ruth looked up at Hayward and opened her mouth to speak, but she hesitated. Finally, she said, “No... no. That’s all.”
Hayward leaned close to Mary Ruth, his elbows on the reception counter. “Hey, I’d like to keep this conversation just between you and me. I’m thinking about playing a little joke on Bobby John.” He winked at her again and grinned mischievously. “I’d like for Bobby John to go on thinking me and Soc are terrorists.”
Mary Ruth smiled back at Hayward, and said, “Not a problem.”
With that Hayward slapped the counter top and said, “Okay then, see ya later.” As he walked out the door, he thought to himself, This isn’t working out like I thought.
Mary Ruth turned back to her computer, smiling. “This is going to be much better than I thought,” she murmured.
Chapter 22
Galynn Chews Some Tail
In the dim red-shaded light of the booth in the Pizza Hut, Galynn bit the tip off a drooping slice of pepperoni pizza.
“It’s been a few years since you brought me on a date to the Pizza Hut,” she said as she chewed the bite of pizza.
“So, this’s a date?” Artie asked. He sucked on the straw in his glass of iced tea.
Galynn shrugged and took another bite, “Ah owe no,” she answered. “Ew teh me.”
“Guess it depends on if I have to pay or not. And don’t talk with your mouth full,” Artie instructed.
Galynn swallowed and drank some Dr. Pepper. “Yes, mother,” she said.
“How is your mom, by the way?” he asked.
“Oh, pretty much the same. Still questions how I dress, wants to know where I’m going and when I’ll be back, and generally treats me like I’m still a sixteen-year-old. I think it made her happy when I told her you and I were going out.”
Artie nodded. “Of course, when you were sixteen she didn’t have to worry too much about who you were with.”
Galynn looked at Artie and gave him a chewing smile. “Yeah,” she said.
“I think she kind of wants me to move out,” Galynn added. “She keeps reading classified ads to me about rentals, and telling me about ‘just the cutest little place’ she’d seen with a For Sale sign out front.”
“So, are you?” Artie asked.
“Mm, I don’t know. All depends on the place... and the price. I’m on a school teacher’s budget, you know.”
“What’s your price?” Artie took another drink of his iced tea. He lifted another slice of pizza and looked at her.
Galynn raised both her eyebrows, her eyes fixed squarely on Artie’s. She swallowed her bite of food, sucked down some her drink, and said, “Not sure that’s any of your business.”
“No, probably not,” Artie agreed. “It’s just... I know about a house I thought you might be interested in. It’s just the cutest little place, it’s in a quiet rural setting, has some rose bushes, and you’d have a housemate to share expenses. I could show it to you if you’d like.”
Galynn studied Artie for several seconds. She picked up another wedge of pizza and looked at it, turning it this way and that. Finally, she said, “We’ll see.”
* * *
A week after Galynn had brought Artie home from the hospital—six and a half days of cooking for him, washing his clothes, and cleaning his house—she read him the riot act. While she’d done all those things for him, he hadn’t done anything for himself, plus he hadn’t bathed or shaved. In addition, he’d pretty much made a diet out of beer and Vicodin. Galynn had all she wanted, and verbally chewed him up one side and down the other, then stomped out of the house, slammed the door behind her, and didn’t come back.
The whole episode started innocuously enough, but soon escalated into one of those foot-stomping, tear-gushing, guilt-stabbing, man-damning rants which only the female of the species deliver so artfully.
Artie sat in a recliner in front of the TV with his cast-bearing leg propped up watching a re-run of Walker, Texas Ranger, when he asked Galynn to bring him another beer. She yanked the empty off the wooden top of the lamp table, and smacked the
full can onto a marble coaster. She wiped a wet ring off the tabletop with her fingers and said, “I wish you’d use the coaster.”
Artie glanced up at her curiously, and said, “Didn’t see it.”
“How could you not see it? It’s right here next to you! Right where I put the last one I brought you.” She had exasperation in her voice. “Look you’ve made a ring on the table.”
Artie looked. “What’s the big deal?,” he said.
“This table was your mom’s, and I’m thinking it’s probably an antique. Don’t you have any pride or respect?”
In answer, Artie belched.
“Oh, that’s nice,” Galynn said. “Let me add to my question, ‘or couth?’”
Artie grabbed the remote off his lap, and increased the TV’s volume. He reached for his bottle of Vicodin sitting on the lamp table, but knocked it off onto the floor.
“Could you hand me that?” he shouted over the amplified gunshots coming from the TV.
Artie sat, his eyes glued to the TV, his hand extended to receive the medicine bottle from Galynn. She bent down and picked up the medicine bottle, but didn’t hand it to him. He looked at her and snapped his fingers on his extended hand, twice.
“Don’t snap your fingers at me,” she demanded. “I’m not your dog.” She looked at the label on the bottle, and said, “You’re not supposed to take these with alcohol. It could kill you.”
He looked at her briefly, then back at the TV. “Is that a problem?” he asked.
A commercial came on with a bearded man giving a pitch in a very loud voice for some kind of garden tool. You could get two of them for $19.95 if you called right then, the guy yelled. Galynn walked around to Artie’s front, grabbed the remote away from him, and turned the TV off. The room became suddenly silent. She sat the remote on top of the TV, along with the amber prescription bottle, and turned to him.
“You know what, maybe it isn’t,” she said in a calm voice—one of those prickly charged calms right before the storm.
Artie looked up at Galynn with confusion and asked, “What?” He’d already forgotten his question to her.
“You asked me if I had a problem with your self-destruction, and I said, ‘maybe I don’t.’”
