by Mark Gessner
She was looking for any opportunity to get close to Kurt again. She couldn't put him out of her mind.
www.cache-finders.com Geocache Listing
Swept Downstream - Normal Sized Cache
by DerbyDude [email this user]
Texas, USA
[click to download geographic coordinates and hints]
You’ll find a very ancient automotive relic at the coordinates. I don't know how old it is or how it got here, it looks like maybe it washed down the creek a very long time ago. Someone told me maybe it fell off the cliff, but if that's the case how the heck did it get up there? The top of the hill is nothing but weeds and fancy apartments. Your challenge when you get here, apart from pondering how this relic came to this place, is just to figure out how to get to the coordinates. Do you swim across the creek, or do you climb down the cliff face? Be careful. Cache container is a 30 cal ammo can, carefully camouflaged.
"Wow, that must be from the 1940's," said Judi.
"Yeah, late thirties or early forties. Ford," said Kurt.
"You're making that up," said Judi. "How do you know that?"
"I'm a big Ford fan," he said. "Besides, I can see the Ford logo on the trunk lid."
"You jerk," she said, slapping him on the shoulder. "Man it's really wedged in there, between the trees and rocks. How do you think it got there?" asked Judi.
"Well there are two theories I heard. Maybe it washed down the creek. This creek could get pretty high when it rains. Then again, maybe it fell from up there," he said, pointing up the sheer rock face.
"But how did it get wedged between the tree and rocks?" she asked.
"I'm pretty sure the rocks were here when it landed, but those trees can't be more than about thirty, forty years old. I'm sure that the trees grew up around it after it got here," said Kurt.
"We may never know," said Judi.
"You're probably right," he said.
"Where do you think the cache would be?" she asked.
"Well, if it was me hiding it, I'd put it underneath or inside the vehicle somewhere. Look inside the dash, there where the radio used to be," he said. "I'll look in the engine compartment. Watch for critters."
They each rooted around the vehicle for a few minutes. The car was completely rusted and full of leaves. A family of bark scorpions had made a home under the engine block. They scuttled for cover when the intruders poked near their house with a stick. Nipper was no help at all. After wading across the creek he marked every tree, plant, and rock until long after he'd run dry.
"There it is," she said.
"Where?" he asked.
"Right there in the dash, where the radio would go, just like you said," she said. "It's covered in leaves. Looks like someone made some serious camouflage for it."
"Okay, that's awesome. The little bastards haven't gotten this one then. Pull it out and let's move it," said Kurt.
"Oh shit," she said, suddenly serious. "Kurt, we gotta leave--now."
"Huh? Why?" said Kurt, craning his neck to see over the hood.
"There's a bottle of urine under here."
Chapter 42
JUDI CALLED UP A local pizza delivery joint while Kurt flipped through the TV channels. It was amazing; you really could have fifty-seven channels on the cable, and not find anything interesting to watch. Just like that old Bruce Springsteen song.
"Do you think that jar is related to the stuff that we've been tracking on the net?" Kurt asked, sitting on the couch petting Nipper's head. Besides licking the backs of knees, Nipper was fond of placing his head on your leg whenever you were seated, whether you wanted a dog's head in your lap or not.
"Either way, it's creepy. I think we should call the cops," she said.
"Yeah but last I checked," he said, "it's not illegal to piss in a jar."
They had approached the cache site carefully and slowly by shimmying over the creek on a fallen tree. On the way out, they had waded straight across the creek as fast as possible. They were soaked to their hips in frigid creek water. They'd sloshed out of the park as fast as they could slosh.
Now Judi was wearing fresh dry clothes, with her holstered PM9 tucked inside her waistband where it could be seen outside her T-shirt. Kurt wrapped himself in Judi's too-small pink terry cloth bathrobe while his clothes tumbled in her washing machine.
Judi continued to nag him, so Kurt called the cops on 311. The fastest way to stop a woman from nagging was just to do what she wanted. Especially if she was armed and you were wearing nothing but her pink bathrobe.
After about ten minutes of bouncing back between "It's not our jurisdiction," and "Please hold," he got someone at Austin PD. The officer took his name, address, phone number, and listened to the story. The cop seemed more concerned about the geocaching, which was new to him. "People are leaving metal Ammunition boxes out in the woods?" he asked. "That's either littering or misdemeanor property abandonment. Anyway it's probably against park rules." Finally the officer told him there was nothing the police could do because it's not a crime to be homeless and urinate in a bottle in an old abandoned car. Nonetheless, the officer asked for a description of the killer. That's when Kurt had to admit to the officer that he couldn't describe the killer because they'd never actually seen him. That was the end of the call.
"So when did you start carrying a gun?" Kurt asked, after the pizza arrived. They ate in front of the TV, from paper plates and pizza cardboard on Judi's coffee table. Nipper showed no interest in the pizza. He'd been taught not to beg.
"Well, I didn't know what to do after Dee-Dee's attack. Our house was a mess. You know I had to clean it up myself? I about puked my guts dry, and at the same time all I could do was cry for my poor roomie. I was scared. Angry. Really angry," she said. On the muted TV, an angry muscle dude with rebel sideburns was yelling at his son who was frantically trying to weld together a custom chopper motorcycle. The choppers they built were cool, but neither Kurt nor Judi could stand all the yelling and insults that were apparently required to put one together.
"Wow I can't believe you had to clean it up," said Kurt.
"This is something they don't ever show in the movies. What happens after the crime. Someone has to clean up the mess," she said.
"Gross," said Kurt, setting his pizza slice back on his paper plate.
"Yeah, anyway, after the cleanup I got to thinking, what could Dee-Dee have done to prevent the attack?" she said.
"So that's when you decided to get a gun?" he asked.
"Not right away. I was scared of guns; remember? First I thought, well, she shouldn't have opened the door. But I asked myself, would I have done the same thing?" she said.
"Shit, I would've," said Kurt.
"Yeah, me too, I think anyone would," she said.
"So what are you supposed to do?" he asked.
"Well, first I bought some pepper spray, but the stuff doesn't work like you see in the movies," she said. On TV, the muscle-boss was throwing tools and parts around, yelling and pointing an accusing finger at one of his employees, who averted his eyes and kept his head low while he twisted and hammered a piece of metal in some kind of heavy vise.
"So I went to this martial arts place in a strip mall down on Lamar, right, I figure I could learn to do karate moves or judo or something," she said.
"Yeah?" Kurt said, picking up his slice of pizza again.
"I learned some defensive moves that have been really helpful, but it takes years to learn martial arts well enough to fight off an attacker bigger than you, and then what if you're faced with a gang of attackers, or someone with a knife?" she said.
"Yeah, kinda like in Indiana Jones where he shoots that fancy sword fighter," he said, taking a bite of pepperoni and cheese.
"Yeah that was pretty funny," she said, wiping the corner of her mouth with a paper towel. She was fresh out of napkins. "So I figured I don't have years to learn a martial art that won't be as effective as what the police use," she said.
Kurt thought about
responding, but didn't say anything. He covered his crust-filled mouth with his hand instead. What was it about pizza that made you want to keep eating it until you exploded? "You gonna eat that crust?" he asked.
"You can have it," she said.
"So you went out and bought a gun then?" he asked, grabbing her uneaten crust off her plate.
"Hell no, I didn't know the first thing about guns, Kurt. So I went to a shooting range," she said, lifting another greasy slice off the cardboard and dropping it onto her plate.
"Wow, I wouldn't have thought of that," he said. The robe slipped off one of his knees, and he reached for another paper towel to wipe his hands before he could adjust the robe.
"Uh, you need to tuck that robe back around your knees, mister," she said, pulling the robe back up for him. "Yeah, I pass by there all the time on the way to my Round Rock store, so I knew they were there, just never gave 'em a second thought. Figured all gun people were redneck 'Rambo' assholes and militia, who needs that shit, you know?"
"Yeah," he said. The chopper guys on TV were all standing around a demon-themed bike, trying to get it started. Their shop was full of smoke, and the muscle-boss dude was looking pissed. He went into his office and slammed the door as they cut to a commercial. The TV was still on mute.
"Turns out there were just normal everyday people in there. When I walked in I was literally shaking. I mean every wall was thick with rows and stacks of machine guns, military-style black rifles and shotguns and boxes and crates of ammo and what other stuff I don't know. The place smelled of solvent and burned gunpowder and leather. It was like an arsenal. The gun shop I mean. The range was in the back. I almost turned and bolted, but I thought, if this is what I need to learn, I've got to do it," said Judi.
"Wow, I'm not sure even I would go into one of those places," said Kurt, taking a swig of lemon-lime soda from a Styrofoam cup.
"Well, I wasn't either. But I went in anyway. I kept thinking of that psycho rapist, and all the blood, and that steeled me for whatever I needed to do," she said, "No one's assaulting me."
Chapter 43
THE RED LIGHT ON his desk phone flashed. On, On, Off. On, On, Off. Jason picked up the receiver and punched the MESSAGE button. At the same time, he flipped open his computer screen and gasped as he read the overnight email message count. One hundred twenty-one new messages since yesterday afternoon. The crap must be hitting the fan somewhere. Phone messages had priority though. Anyone who was peeved enough to call got his immediate attention.
The message was just from Martello. He punched the number seven to play the message:
"Jason, Kurt, this is Martello, in Alamogordo? Look I called those friends of mine in California. You guys were right. They had a dead ranger up there. Guy's name was (get this) Ricky Nelson. I shit you not. Heh-heh. Poor schmuck. I hate it when parents do that to their kids. You know I used to work with a database programmer named Ronald Reagan? Shit you fucking not, same spelling and everything. Anyway, that's all they knew, just the name, and that he was found murdered last December, maybe a couple days before I found the dead dog. That's what all the tape was about. Anyway, that's all I got for now. Call me if you need anything else. Cache on, dudes."
Jason punched the FORWARD button and followed that with Kurt's cell number, sending the message to Kurt's voicemail. Kurt had been out of work for a couple months and could use the seventy-five thousand dollar reward for the Harrison Valley murder. Jason hoped this lead would help. He really didn't have time to track it down himself.
He clicked open the first email. It was a spam message for a breast enlargement pump. Great. That's all he needed, even bigger man-tits than he had now. Delete. One down, one hundred twenty to go.
Chapter 44
KURT FUMBLED THE PHONE out of his pants pocket while he tried to steer with his knee. The tiny phone clattered over the console and onto the floor on the passenger side of the Expedition. Why the hell did the phone always ring when he was driving or in the shower or on the shitter? He could be available all day, surfing the web or out geocaching in a park on a trail, yet the minute he was doing something else that required two hands, that's when the phone rang.
The light turned red. He slowed to a stop, slipped the transmission into park, popped the seatbelt, bent over, and reached down for the phone. He snagged it in his right hand and then sat back upright. He flipped the phone open and checked the screen. It was a voicemail message, not a call. He pressed the TALK button and listened to the message from Martello, as the traffic light changed to green.
Before the next intersection he swung the Expedition into a wide U-turn across four lanes of traffic. He needed to get back to the house to follow up on this newest lead.
As he rounded the top of the hill on ranch road 2222, he caught a glimpse of red and blue flashing lights in his rearview. Shit. What now?
"License and registration please," said the cop, a roly-poly Travis County Sheriff's deputy. The guy could have been a teddy bear, except that he was bristling with guns and clubs and mace and handcuffs and radios and other serious cop shit. The deputy had to weigh at least three hundred pounds, all stuffed into a crisply starched brown sheriff's uniform. He wore mirrored sunglasses perched above a bulbous nose and a thick blonde caterpillar of a mustache. His head was cropped into a neat military flattop that just didn't go with the mustache.
"What's the problem sheriff?" asked Kurt.
"Sir, I'm citing you for an illegal U-turn, and for failure to use seat restraints," said sheriff teddy-bear, "please wait here in your vehicle."
"Do you have any other questions?" asked the deputy, handing Kurt his license and his copy of the ticket.
"Yeah, actually I do, said Kurt. "As long as I've got you here, I'm tracking a possible interstate serial killer on the internet, and I want to know the best way to get the authorities involved in helping catch the guy, once I figure out who he actually is."
The sheriff reached up and lowered his glasses with one hand. He reached around his bulk and stuffed his citation booklet in his back pocket with the other. Without moving his head, he looked Kurt up and down to see if he was serious. He pushed his Hollywood shades back up onto his face with his thumb. "Sir, the best advice I can give you is to drive carefully, keep your seatbelt fastened and if you see anything suspicious, call 911. Let law enforcement handle the matter. That's our job. Have a nice day." Before he turned to walk back to his cruiser, he handed Kurt his business card.
"Thanks," said Kurt, then immediately regretted having said it.
Chapter 45
JUDI SCRAMBLED UP THE face of the cliff and perched on the top. Nipper beat her to the top, then ran off to explore the new place. Dogs could be such mountain goats sometimes, even creaky old dogs with arthritis.
The land at the top of the cliff was flat and overgrown with weeds. A few hundred feet from the edge of the cliff ran a chain link fence surrounding a ritzy apartment complex. Under the weeds Judi's hiking boots crunched on limestone gravel. Rusted beer cans, the ancient kind made from steel and opened using one of those openers that made a triangular puncture hole, were scattered about the area, their labels long obliterated by decades of weather and rust.
She placed her radio alongside her cheek and pressed the push-to-talk button. "Blue unit in position," she said, "over."
"Roger that, blue unit. Yellow unit in position," said Kurt, into his yellow walkie-talkie, from his hiding spot in the weeds a hundred feet from the rusted car. Many cachers carried walkie-talkies to stay in touch on their cache hunts. Perfect for staking out the suspected hideout of an interstate serial murderer too.
"Kurt, can we just cut all that 'blue unit,' 'yellow unit' shit?" asked Judi, "Over--Sorry, can I say ‘shit’ on here? Over."
"Yeah, you can just talk normally," said Kurt, disappointed. He actually liked all the radio talk. "Let me know if you see anything, but try to stay out of sight."
They planned to observe the car in the late afternoon, just after sunset
. They figured that the killer might actually be sleeping in the car, and evening would be a logical time to catch him there. Judi also had the whole evening off, and was dying to spend it with Kurt. Judi perched high above with binoculars, and Kurt squatted in the weeds down below. They'd snap the suspect's picture with Kurt's digital camera in infared night mode. Then they'd have something to go to the police with. Some hard evidence. Maybe if they turned in the killer, the cops would throw out Kurt's traffic tickets. Well, at least he'd be able to claim the seventy-five thousand and pay the tickets out of that.
Chapter 46
