by Nina Barrett
He gripped the empty gun in his pocket covering their retreat as she backed toward the corridor. The faces staring at them looked anything but calm. There wasn’t any excitement this time at personally witnessing the return of the Dixie Deb.
He turned and followed her as she ran down the corridor, hitting the door, and escaping back into the sunshine.
“Okay.” She plopped the case on the car hood and tugged at the door. “Mac!”
He reached into his empty pants pocket, then stared at her.
“Jan, you have the keys. Quick!”
“No!” She shook her head and bent over, looking into her window.
“I gave them to you…” He moved over beside her, staring into the car. At the car keys on the front seat. Inside the locked car.
God Almighty!
He spun around at the sound of the back door. The deliveryman in blue overalls was coming out followed by the young man at the counter and the woman who’d offered them her rings. They didn’t look happy.
Jan was gaping at them open-mouthed.
A Titusville Feed and Seed truck stood at the end of the lot, its motor idling.
“The truck, c’mon!”
He got the driver’s side door open, grabbed her arm, and pushed her in ahead of him, slamming the door. He felt the impact of a fist hitting the side of the truck.
He jammed the truck into gear, cast a quick look around, and peeled away in a protesting squeal of tires. Through the back window, he could see someone leaning down to pick up something. A rock? He pulled out of the alley onto the street, passers-by on the sidewalk turning to stare. As he slammed down on the brake to avoid a motorcycle, he could hear the deliveryman from the bank shouting to on-lookers.
“Robbers, robbers! They done held up the bank and stole my truck!”
“Mac, they’re gathering a crowd.”
“I know.” He bit his lip. Were they forming a posse? People were running alongside the truck now, heading for their cars. The side panel reverberated as something hit it.
Beside him, Jan popped the clasps on the attaché case.
“What…?”
“Just drive,” she ordered rolling down her window.
A shower of green blew against the window, a dollar bill catching in a windshield wiper. Others fluttered in the breeze, hesitated, then spiraled away. Behind them things seemed to have slowed as people halted, transfixed as they gazed upward. He gritted his teeth and concentrated on getting out of town in one piece before their shower of good fortune ended.
Chapter Eight
“How much do we have left?” Mac looked over at her.
She shook her head and opened the case.
“So it’s all gone.” He didn’t seem surprised.
“You saw that mob chasing us, Mac. They didn’t look thrilled we’d chosen their bank to rob.”
“Well at least it went in a good cause. Glad you thought of using it. Hopefully, the Bureau will see it our way.”
“There was quite a breeze blowing back there. Some of it may end up in Atlanta. I hope the girl in Titusville has recovered.”
He checked his watch. “Yeah. It’s been an hour. The F.B.I. should be on the scene by now.”
“Where are we anyhow?”
“Back in Alabama. Once we got out of town, I headed toward the state line. I’m sure they’ve put out an APB on the truck so the main roads are being watched. And this truck will stand out like a sore thumb. I need to find a place to call Jake. My cell and the rest of our stuff is all back in the parking lot.”
“I need to get out of these clothes.” She pulled at the neck of her tea-length dress. “I’m feeling gritty from whatever they’ve been hauling.”
“Maybe we can accomplish a couple things at once.” He slowed down and pointed. They’d been driving through the rural north Alabama countryside. Ahead an overgrown set of tractor tracks led back through a field to what looked like a weathered tobacco barn.
“I’m turning in here. It looks secluded enough.”
Mac pulled gently into the dirt lane. She braced herself as the truck jutted over the ruts. Pulling the truck in behind the barn, he killed the engine and looked at her.
“There’s a town up ahead three or four miles according to that last sign. I’m going to hike in, find a phone, and see what the story is. After the Titusville fiasco on top of not making contact with Jake, I’m feeling real out of touch. If there’s a store, I’ll see what I can find for you to change into.”
“And shoes please. Running in heels did nothing for my feet.”
She located an old catalog and a pencil stub in the glove compartment. Tearing out a page she jotted down her sizes for him.
“And some bottles of water or something.”
“I’ll see what I can find. You rest here. Give me an hour or two.” He opened the door, hesitated, and reached over to squeeze her hand. “Take it easy. This day has to improve, doesn’t it?”
She watched him disappear down the lane, moving easily with his long stride. There were a lot worse men she could have been paired with in this mess. She leafed through the rest of the farmer’s supply catalog. Putting it down she lay back on the seat watching the barn swallows swoop in and out of the open-ended building, her eyelids drooping.
She yawned, opened the door, got out, and stretched. At least her headache was gone. Strange that she couldn’t handle even one drink. She walked around the barn surveying their surroundings. In all directions, fields of cotton stretched to the horizon interrupted occasionally by dense green clusters of trees. Under the relentless sun, heat rose in shimmers to blur the horizon. The road they’d turned off of seemed deserted. If they’d been searching for an out-of-the-way hideout, they managed to have stumbled onto one. Only the intermittent cries of the barn swallows and dozy buzzing of honeybees in scattered patches of red clover broke the stillness.
She shivered in spite of the heat. She’d be glad when Mac got back. It helped to have a companion in this lunacy.
Getting back in the truck, she rooted through the glove compartment. Under a stack of brochures, she discovered an old transistor radio. She turned it on and found a station. Maybe the Deb’s latest bank job had made the news. She propped her head on an arm and settled down to listen.
****
She stepped out of the truck at the sound of something approaching. Down the lane a car was jolting over the ruts as it made its way back toward the barn. Was someone stopping by to check on their property? Heart thudding, she shaded her eyes to watch. As the car neared, she could tell Mac was behind the wheel. He circled around the barn and got out carrying a plastic bag.
“Got some duds for you. I couldn’t get hold of Jake. His cell isn’t picking up.” He paused, staring quizzically at her face. “What’s wrong, Jan?”
She took the sack from him and braced herself. Thinking of a way to tell him about the situation when he returned hadn’t helped.
“Have you been listening to the radio?”
“No, why? Is there coverage on the robbery already?”
She nodded. “I was listening while you were away. I found a transistor radio in the glove box and they’ve had on a series of bulletins. Mac, our car blew up.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Our car in the parking lot back at the bank exploded. On the radio, they said a police officer was trying to open the door when it blew up.”
“It blew up? Good God, was anyone hurt? What happened?”
“I don’t know. One man was taken to the hospital. They said the F.B.I. was investigating.”
Mac bent over to take a deep breath, hands on knees, straightening up to sit against the barn. He moved slowly as if suddenly stiff.
She dropped down on the ground beside him.
“Our car was wired with explosives?” He looked at her.
“I guess. It couldn’t have been an accident, right? But how could someone do it? When? The car doors were locked and we were only in the bank for how
long? Ten minutes, maybe fifteen?”
“It can be done.” He stopped and bit his lip. “Drug gangs in urban areas are doing it more now. Since most new cars can be started remotely, the old trick of wiring a bomb into the ignition wasn’t as effective. They’ve started placing explosives under the rear axle near the gas tank and running a clear wire to the door handle. When the door is opened, the tension releases a detonator and the explosion blows the gas tank with lethal results. Did they say how the man is? Was it only one victim?”
“I only heard about one, but they didn’t give a name or condition. It might have been one of those poor customers. Do you think someone has been watching us?”
“Had to be. Had to know where we were going in order to be able to get to the car and rig the explosives during that interval we were inside the bank.”
“But who? I mean if it were the old Dixie Deb gang mad at us, how’d they get onto us? Be there at the bank we were going to hit?”
“I don’t know.” He clasped his hands and lowered his head.
She fidgeted. “Someone wanted us dead. They did, didn’t they?”
“Oh, yeah. We need to get away, now more than ever. Every cop across the south is going to be hunting this truck if a police officer has been hurt. We are marked targets. I don’t want to get caught in a shoot-out situation before we get a chance to explain things.”
“So what do we do? With everyone in law enforcement after us.”
“Well, I found this car. It was parked in back of a pizza place.” He nodded toward the white sedan parked alongside the delivery truck. An older model, there was a dent in the side door panel. “The keys were under the mat. It’s not much. I stuck the dome sign in the trunk. With any luck, they won’t discover it missing until they open up tonight. We’ll drive somewhere and find a place to lie low until we can figure this thing out. We need some breathing room.”
“Okay.” She stood, dusted herself off, and picked up the plastic bag he’d brought back.
“There’s some water and candy bars in there, too.”
“Thanks. I’ll just change. I won’t be long.”
In the slotted shade of the empty tobacco barn, she numbly pulled off her dress, along with the jewelry and hose, and put on the T-shirt, jeans, and canvas slip-ons Mac had bought. She stared at her outfit lying on the dusty floor and nudged it with her foot. Picking her things up, she shuddered and shoved everything back in the bag. She ran her hands through her hair and went to get the hat and gloves she’d left in the truck.
“Can’t leave any evidence,” she muttered. Lying low, finding a place to hide. They already were thinking like people on the run from the law. Law enforcement had been after them before, but that had been more pretend than anything. This was different.
Mac had the car doors open when she came out. She tossed her sack in the backseat and got in beside him.
“So where are we going?”
“Darned if I know. I’m going to head west. Put a little distance between the truck and us in case someone stumbles across it. I want to drive for a while then pull over and try to find a newspaper.”
He started the car and took his time carefully maneuvering back down the lane to the road.
“Some of these ruts could break an axle. They left almost a full tank of gas in the car which is a blessing. Money may get to be a problem soon. I don’t want to use plastic and tip authorities off as to where we are.”
“But Mac, shouldn’t we get in contact with the F.B.I. or call the police and explain? I mean it was us who were supposed to be the targets, right? If I hadn’t locked the keys in the car we would have been.”
“There’s more to it than that.” Mac reached over to turn on the radio. “Whoever wanted us dead knew how to find us and had the know-how to rig that explosion. That kind of narrows it down. If it was the old Dixie Deb gang, they still had to have inside information on us.”
“You mean from the F.B.I.?”
“Someone’s leaking information to them or trying to take us out on their own. Re-opening this case has stirred up a hornet’s nest. We aren’t going to be safe until…” He caught his breath and turned up the volume on the radio.
“We are breaking into our regular program for this bulletin. Further information is now available on the robbery and explosion that took place this afternoon at the Merchants’ National Bank in Titusville, Georgia. A man and woman thought to be the so-called New Dixie Deb and her male accomplice, implicated in a recent series of robberies across northern Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia, entered the bank shortly before one today. Fleeing with a large amount of cash, the two were apparently stymied to find their getaway vehicle locked. They stole a local delivery truck whose driver had been one of the bank’s customers and made their escape. Law enforcement officers on the scene identified a suspicious locked car in the bank’s parking lot assumed to be associated with the pair. In the course of forcing the door open, an explosion was triggered destroying the vehicle and sending Special Agent Jacob Derossiers of the F.B.I. to the Treybine Country Hospital where he was medevac’d to a burn unit in Atlanta.”
Mac groaned and leaned forward as if in pain.
“At this time no word has been released on his condition. Authorities speculate the pair may have been transporting explosives in the car intending to later destroy it, make their escape, and disappear as the original Dixie Deb did more than a quarter century ago. They are considered armed and dangerous. Be on the lookout for…”
Mac slowed the car and pulled over to the side of the road, letting it roll to a stop. He rested his head on the steering wheel.
She sat in silence, rubbing her arms to warm herself. His face was drawn as he lifted his head to look at her.
“This is…this is crazy.” She shook her head.
“Yeah, and it isn’t getting any better.”
“But they, the F.B.I. knows who we are. Whittaker, those people know we really wouldn’t do something like that. I mean, we’re not real criminals, Mac. They know we’ve been play-acting. We wouldn’t plan to set off explosives and run off with the money. That’s nuts. The Bureau needs to tell the police about this whole undercover operation.”
“Think about us, Jan.” He raised an eyebrow. “Let’s get real. You’re in trouble over fraudulent tax returns and my record with the Bureau isn’t spotless. I’ve been something of a loose cannon the last year or so.”
“But still, this kind of thing…” Her voice trailed away as she looked at his face.
“Is it such a stretch? It’s not like we intended to hurt anyone. We still had the take from the last job since Jake missed the meet in Cherry Grove. It was something like a hundred grand. That along what we planned on getting in Titusville could provide quite a motive. Maybe we’d even have more if we’d been skimming from the other hold-ups. If the car’s destroyed, they aren’t going to find anything left. Law enforcement can speculate we planned to stage an explosion, make it look like we died in it, then grab the money and head for a new life.”
“Is that what the police are going to think?”
“Do you blame them? It fits, doesn’t it?” He shifted back into gear and checked his rearview mirror. “We need to find cover for a while and try to figure this thing out. See who wants us out of the way and this investigation shut down.”
Chapter Nine
“I’m going to try this place up ahead.” Mac pointed to a whitewashed, cinder-block building off the side of the road. Two aging gas pumps stood in front. A flickering neon sign proclaimed the business to be the Alabama-Rama Cafe. “Maybe we can get a bite to eat and find a newspaper.”
She nodded wearily. It seemed a million years since she pushed herself out of bed at the Major’s and shuffled around Mac on the floor to search for painkillers in the bathroom. After that, the day had gotten really bad. The candy bars he’d brought back from his hike into town still lay in the plastic bag. Neither of them had had an appetite.
He pulled in beside the c
afé and let the engine die. “You go on in. I’m going to use the restroom.” He nodded toward the back.
She pushed through the door into a small lunchroom pausing briefly to inhale a fragrance of sugar, salt, and grease. At the counter, an older woman in a tight-fitting pink uniform and hairnet looked up from filling salt and pepper shakers.
“Come on in, hon.” She stopped her work and scrutinized her. “I’m Etta Wertz. Looks like you’ve had a long day. What can I do for you?”
“Hi, I’m Jan. Yeah, it’s been pretty long. Just ice water right now, if you please.” She took one of the aging cracked vinyl stools at the counter. It was nice to see a friendly face. It’d been a while.
“Sure.” Etta turned to scoop a tall plastic tumbler in an ice bin and fill it with water. She placed it on the counter along with a straw.
“You just passing through?” she asked. “We’re kind of on the road between Nowhere and Nevermore out here.”
“Yeah, we’re um, from the Atlanta area.”
“Well, welcome to the Alabama-Rama. My husband Louis and I bought the diner some twenty years ago. Business is pretty slow this time of day. Most of our crowd comes at lunch. We do catfish dinners. Supper is mainly sandwiches and take-out for folks heading home.”
She took a slow sip of her water. Her neck and shoulders ached with tension. Outside, she could see Mac frowning as he walked around the car. He knelt beside one of the tires to examine it. Was there a problem? Just what they needed. The car looked like the odometer had turned over more than once.
She pulled a plastic-covered menu from the holder and opened it. The prices didn’t look too bad, but how long would their money last? Maybe she should have held on to a few bills from their disastrous heist.
“You and your husband having car trouble?”
“Oh, we’re not married!” She responded automatically, flushing. “He’s just a friend. We’re traveling together.”
Did that sound suspicious? Not in this day and age. She was letting her guilty conscience get the best of her.
