by Bill Hopkins
monumental proportions. This bit of gossip would no doubt live for a century or two in the annals of weird local things.
Rosswell wondered if the motorcyclists knew Purvis’s secret identity. Rosswell wasn’t going to tell them. He suspected that the arrest of Purvis, and then Frizz freeing him shortly thereafter, only raised Purvis’s standing among the Harley bunch.
Through the mass of red hair covering the face of Purvis, Rosswell recognized the big man throwing him an evil eye, clearly signaling danger.
Purvis headed straight for Rosswell.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Saturday morning, continued
“We’re going to see Frizz,” Purvis ordered. “All of us.” His tone of voice offered no compromise.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to do for the last fifteen minutes,” Rosswell said. A gentle reminder was in order. “She’s armed,” he said to Purvis. “Or at least she was the last time I saw her.”
Candy laughed. “Do I look like I’m armed?” She planted both feet on the shoulder of the highway and shimmied magnificently. “Where am I going to hide a gun?” Shooting both hands into the air, she shook some more, prancing and dancing fancy steps. The Harley riders whooped and clapped. After she sank into the driver’s seat of the cart, Candy blew them kisses. The crowd from Merc’s, which had formed again, laughed and hooted.
Purvis said, “Weapons come in all flavors. If you don’t have a gun, you could have a knife or a Taser or who knows what.”
Ollie, his eyes locked on Candy’s face, said, “Purvis, I don’t feel like giving her a second shot at me today.”
Candy said to Ollie, “I’d never shoot you.” Ollie turned his head, no doubt feeling like Judas.
Purvis pointed to Nadine. “Search Candy so we can get this show moving on down the road.”
Rosswell took up a position on Candy’s left, Purvis on her right. Nadine said to Candy, “Exit the vehicle, madam.” Nadine had obviously watched too many episodes of Cops. Candy stepped to the ground. Nadine felt her up in a manner that would make a TSA agent proud, reminding Rosswell of Frizz’s search of Purvis. “Clear,” Nadine said and stepped back.
“Clear?” Rosswell said.
Nadine said, “That’s what they say on television.”
“They say that in CPR scenes, not in TSA training videos,” Ollie said. “Let’s get her to Frizz.”
“I agree,” Rosswell said. The sooner Candy was placed in custody, the better. “Purvis, you lead. Candy, you follow this nice man. I’ll follow you.”
“Don’t I get a phone call?” Candy asked Ollie.
Ollie said, “I’m not the cops.”
“Then why are you helping them arrest me?”
“Candy, you stood in the middle of that road and pointed a gun at me.” Candy stared into the cloudless sky. “Everybody’s gone crazy.”
Purvis said, “Let’s go, people.”
The caravan lurched forward. From Vicky’s back seat, Ollie said, “Don’t let her escape.”
Rosswell said, “If she gets above seven miles per hour, I’ll ram her.” Nadine said, “She doesn’t seem dangerous.”
“Right,” Rosswell said. “I also heard Stalin was charming.”
The trip took 15 minutes. Thanks to practically everyone in the county owning a cellphone, they had a flash mob—six people would constitute a flash mob in Marble Hill—lining the route from the southern city limits sign to the jailhouse. The town’s impromptu parade headed downtown. The caravan had it all: a mountainous furry man, his head topped by a British bobby’s cap; a Yorkie sticking out of the big man’s tee shirt; a good-looking woman in a garish muumuu, pilot- ing a chartreuse golf cart and waving to the crowd; and three dirty people in an orange VW. A couple of jokers along the route waved Confederate flags for reasons unknown to Rosswell. This arrest had nothing to do with the war. Did it? He made a mental note of three or four teenagers waving a green flag with a red marijuana leaf in the middle. Ollie would be assigned to give him the straight dope on the kids. And, in addition, The Friends of Purvis rode as guards, zipping up and down the outside of the cavalcade, making certain the taxpayers didn’t stone them. The only thing missing were vendors selling refreshments and souvenirs. This day would never be noted on Rosswell’s résumé.
Sweat pouring down Rosswell’s face, mixing with the grime of the fire, burned his neck and, after running into his eyes, ruined his vision. He had to stop several times to wipe his face with a McDonald’s napkin he found in a side pocket of Vicky’s door. It smelled of old cheeseburgers. If the heat wave didn’t kill him, he’d never be cool again the rest of his life. And that could be a long life. The research he’d done told him that the kind of leukemia he had was not necessarily fatal. What was he thinking? Life itself is fatal and always ends the same way. His death could still be a long way off. Rosswell thought that Paul Newman said it best in the movie Hud: “No one gets out of life alive.”
When they arrived at the sheriff’s station, Frizz reappeared, zooming up to Purvis.
“Sheriff,” Purvis said, “she’s all yours.” He pointed to Candy.
Frizz jumped from his patrol car and stalked over to Purvis.
“That’s right,” Candy said. “I’m back. I missed you, Frizz. I want to work on my confession some more.”
Frizz’s face, red as three beets, poured sweat.
Rosswell said, “Where have you been?”
Frizz said, “False alarm.”
Ollie said, “That was convenient.”
Frizz stormed over to Ollie, still sitting in Vicky’s back seat, and towered over him. “I’m tired of your mouth.”
“Frizz,” Ollie said, “I was simply pointing out that you got a false alarm about the same time Rosswell arrested this murderer. Don’t you find that strange?”
Frizz pivoted and marched into the sheriff’s station.
Purvis asked Rosswell, “Who stuck a burr under his saddle?”
Rosswell said, “He’s exhausted. He’s got too much to do and not enough people to help him.”
They all followed Frizz into the sheriff’s station.
The sheriff had sailed through many episodes in the past without breaking a sweat. Granted, this was the worst of the lot, yet Rosswell couldn’t convince himself that Frizz’s actions were totally the result of simple exhaustion. Rosswell had just lied to cover for the sheriff’s personal problems.
Frizz booked Candy, then said, “Let’s go back to your cell.”
“I need to know your full name,” she said. “My lawyer will need to know your name for the lawsuit I’m going to file against you, Rosswell, Purvis, Ollie, and Nadine.” She withdrew a large red handkerchief from a pocket and blew her nose. After silently crying for a few moments, she said, “And a whole bunch more people. I may sue the whole damn county.”
Frizz said, “Don’t make me drag you back there.”
Candy said, “Just you try.”
Purvis, Nadine, and Ollie must’ve been thirsty because they all wandered back to the kitchen for a drink of water. Rosswell didn’t appreciate their desertion. Frizz may need witnesses if he got sued.
“Candy,” Frizz said, “let’s do this the easy way. You go back there, I lock you in, you work on your confession, and when I get back, I’ll let you call your lawyer.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“Let’s do it.”
After locking Candy in the cell, Frizz ordered Rosswell to stay in the sheriff’s station. The three who’d gone to the kitchen must’ve slaked their thirst. All of them wandered back into the dispatcher’s area.
Frizz said to Rosswell, “I’m going to the deadfall. The river should be down far enough for me to check if there’s a body stuck out there.”
Ollie put a hand over his heart. “‘That only needs a finger touch from God, to spring it like a deadfall and the fault, in nature would wipe out all human fault’.”
Rosswell gave Ollie a finger slice a
cross the throat. “Shut up.”
Ollie said, “Robert Frost.”
Frizz said, “I’m going to give you Jack Frost up your butt if you don’t keep your mouth shut.”
“I’ll assist you, Sheriff,” said Purvis. “I mean, search.”
“Stay out of my way,” Frizz said. “I’ll take your help, but remember, you don’t have any authority in Missouri.”
Purvis said, “Yes, sir.”
Frizz said to Rosswell, “You three stay here and write your statements. I’ll need them for the prosecutor.”
Rosswell saluted and said, “Yes, sir.”
Frizz and Purvis left.
Rosswell said to Nadine and Ollie, “What the hell was that combination business?” Nadine said,
“I needed something simple to remember the combination.”
“Simple?” Rosswell said. “‘Initials children Israel sealed’ is simple? Ollie, you punched only five letters. All the letters of the alphabet make for thousands of combinations.”
“Not even close,” Ollie said. “Eleven million, eight hundred eighty-one thousand, three hundred seventy-six.”
“That’s why,” Nadine said, “I wanted something simple. I remembered something out of the Bible.”
Ollie said, “As in, ‘And I heard the number of them which were sealed: and there were sealed a hundred and forty and four thousand of all the tribes of the children of Israel.’ Revelation 7:4.”
Rosswell said, “You didn’t type all that onto the combination pad.”
Nadine said, “No, of course not. I picked the initials of the number: OHFFT. One hundred forty-four thousand.”
Silently thankful that Ollie figured out the bizarre clue from a half-conscious Nadine,
