by Soren Petrek
“Of course, sir.”
Manny sat more than a little shaken. Now that was a bona fide spook. He waited until the waiter came to the table with the bottle and a small plate of pickled fish, before he slowly turned around. He really didn’t expect to see the man any longer, nor did he ever want to see him again.
As he sat, he decided that this whole thing was done. Regardless of what had happened it was over. He had lots of money and had provided for the families of his workers, with an employee owned co-op. “Good luck, my friends,” he said as he bit into a piece of the fish and washed it down with a healthy swallow of tequila.
Doc and Bucket stood on the sidewalk outside the Chicago Bus depot. Twice in less than ten minutes, they’d been propositioned to buy dope. Doc was ready to leave and having heard nothing out of Patience, he knew that things could not have gone well. There had been some scuttlebutt from some of his connections about more rocket propelled grenades and giant black guys. Technically, without further orders his job was done. The meth he made had just been unloaded at bargain basement prices to a guy he knew, in the men’s room. Since his employer wasn’t out any real money, as the cost to make the stuff was minimal, so there wouldn’t be any huge tears or people looking for him because they were out any big money. Now it was time to ship the kid.
“Well, it’s time to break camp buddy, here,” he tucked a couple of hundreds into the kid’s pocket along with a small amount of meth. He didn’t want any withdrawal issues with the kid until he was far away from this happy place.
“What’s up Doc?” the kid laughed, his big maw opening and closing.
“You get on that bus there and give them this ticket,” Doc said, sliding a ticket into the kid’s hand.
“Where you going?” Billy said.
“Have to go to Australia, been ordered. Well, have a nice trip.” Doc walked the kid over to the bus and pushed him up the stairs and waited for the door to close and the bus to pull out. Then he walked briskly to his own bus headed to Northern California, where he could grow dope in peace. Enough of this shit. No more nosy neighbors, no more bucket jawed dummies, and no more Mexican Mafia. He sat down on the bus next to some grungy-assed kid.
“Hey man, got any weed?” the kid just had to ask.
Doc rolled his eyes and said, “Now none of that kid, I’m a cop.”
“Oh shit, man, only kidding,” the kid blurted out.
“I’ll make you a deal. You don’t speak at all until you get off the bus and I won’t hassle you about it, okay?”
“Yah man, whatever you say.”
“You’re talking there, son.”
The kid nodded and made a zipping motion in front of his mouth. Is it me? Doc thought as he revised his plan to live way up in the mountains.
Sam and Nathan sat next to each other on the gravel sand bar on the edge of their swimming hole and relaxed in the sun. They had a line down into the creek to catch whatever or nothing at all. Christine lay on a yellow foam mat, soaking up the sun in a tiny bikini bottom and no top, golden and perfectly proportioned. Although sprawled in a careless way, it didn’t hurt her looks any.
“Most of the time she’s nearly naked, Sammy,” Nathan spoke under his breath.
“I know you’re not complaining,” Sam laughed.
“Just for my information, how do you get a woman who looks like that to do that?”
“Import them from Southern France.”
“Gotta love the French,” Nathan sighed.
“I do.”
Cecil and John stood next to the Thunderbolt, tucked carefully back and out of sight in a private hangar.
“Damn good flying, Cecil. You flat saved our ass,” John said, clapping him on the back.
“I gotta tell you John, I haven’t felt this good since before the wife passed away.”
“Apparently you just need some stimulating activity, Cecil, although a little less stimulating or we’ll spend our golden years breaking rocks somewhere.”
“Anything on the crashed plane?” Cecil asked.
“Damn commuter accident. Those things just can’t seem to stay in the air,” John said with a wry smile.
“They just don’t make them like they used to.”
“Only brave pilots, Cecil, only brave pilots.”
“You have to keep an eye on them, Moon, no more exploding commuter vehicles, rockets, or crashed commercial aircraft. It’s not good for tourism,” Tracy said, not entirely joking.
“Can we expect any other visits Tracy?” Moon spoke into the scrambled phone.
“After Trunce’s grey army defeated the bad guys, it’ll be a damn legend. Nobody’s coming down the pike. I’ve got a constant bead on the applicable traffic now. Besides that, there’s no crime in Patience to speak of.”
“Where? Who?” Moon mimicked, both men laughing as they hung up.
Madeleine walked through the dining area and watched her friends and neighbors eating their evening meal. She loved the hum and feel of the restaurant but now it was Christine’s turn. Christine and Yves could live upstairs until Sam made an honest woman out of her. Things would have to wait until that bastard of a husband of Christine’s signed the divorce paperwork. He would sign the papers soon, Madeleine thought. It’s just a matter of me explaining things to him. She smiled as she thought of her flight the next day to Marseilles. Better her than Sam to speak to the man. Men just don’t understand these things, she thought.
The author would like to thank his friends, parents and family for their assistance, contributions and steadfast support for The Patience County War. I would like to thank my primary editor, Annie Chase for her invaluable assistance. Special mention goes to LuAnne Borders and Ben Oney for their editorial assistance as well.
