Rig Warrior

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  Jackson stood up. “Let’s check that load, Barry.”

  It was not a pretty sight.

  Linda had returned to her office at Justice; Kate chose to stay at the apartment. Walt returned to his IOLDG offices. Barry, Ralph, Jackson, John, and Nesson rode out to the base. There they met with Stemke. The Treasury man looked at the seal, said it was a piece of cake, and popped it.

  “This equipment is shit,” John said. “It’s just useless junk stored in containers for weight. Here’s your real cargo.”

  Barry’s usually strong stomach did a flip-flop. He fought back sickness, and, he was sure, the others were doing the same.

  His cargo was various parts of human bodies, all carefully stored in some sort of liquid. And dead dogs and cats … at least pieces of the animals. Stored in the same liquid. And boxes of medical records and reports.

  Barry disliked animal research; he disliked cruelty of any type to any animal. Even though he knew animal research was important, he didn’t like it. And he especially did not like to see painful research done on dogs and cats … pets.

  “Bastards!” Ralph said.

  Barry did not know if the lawyer was referring to the animals or to the humans. Probably both.

  “Crap like this makes me wonder what kind of country we’re living in,” Nesson said.

  “I’ve wondered about that for years,” John said, very much unlike the usually taciturn FBI agent he was.

  “Do I deliver the load?” Barry asked.

  “You’ll have to,” Jackson said.“Give us time to set things up. No pun intended,” he said, smiling grimly.

  “Do we search for dope?”

  Both Treasury and FBI shook their heads. “Wouldn’t do any good. This is an illegal search. If anyone came forward, we might even have to give the dope back to them,” John added.

  “Neither of you think I’ve been carrying any dope, do you?” Barry asked.

  “I don’t,” Jackson said. “I think you’re running a decoy. One of your other rigs is carrying the dope.”

  Barry looked at John. The FBI man nodded in agreement.

  When Barry spoke, his tone was testy. “Is this it, then? Is this the bottom line I’ve been looking for? How does dope and government research tie in? Are we missing something? If so, what is it?”

  “You sound like a cop now, Barry,” John told him as they stood outside the rig, watching Stemke replace the seal.

  “It bugs me,” Barry admitted. “Why were we ambushed? To draw attention away from the rig that was really carrying the contraband? I could accept that if I just knew it was so.”

  “We’ll know the answers to your questions when we break the case,” Jackson said.“If,” he added grimly, “we ever do.”

  Kate and Barry pulled out before dawn the next morning. They skirted Baltimore, picking up 695, slowly working their way toward what truckers call the Dirty Side—primarily New York and New Jersey. They rolled through the Pennsylvania countryside and into New York State, keeping well west of the Dirty Side.

  There was no really easy or interstate-connected way, directly, to get to northern Maine. It was just a matter of slowly edging northeastward. Barry had called the terminal to check on the other drivers and to warn them to be careful; no one knew for sure what was going to happen.

  The trip was uneventful, the weather beautiful, the highways dry and accident free. They rolled through New Hampshire and into Maine, connected with Interstate 95, and stayed with it until reaching northern Maine; then they cut off on Highway 11, but not before fueling the Kenworth and feeding themselves.

  “You ever pulled up in here?” Barry asked Kate.

  “Not this far,” she admitted, while consulting a map. “Damn sure isn’t much up this way, is there?”

  “Perfect spot for what our government is doing to our veterans.”

  “I heard that.”

  It was a replay of California and Minnesota: same desolate area, heavily barricaded and guarded compound, same low block buildings, same warnings from the gate guard about not stopping or picking up anybody.

  “Yeah,” Barry said. “We’ve heard it all before.”

  “It don’t hurt to refresh your memory,” the gate guard said. “We’ve got some real psychos in here, man.”

  The first crack in their secrecy, Barry thought. Someone finally admitted something.

  “Oh, yeah?” Barry said, without much enthusiasm. “Well, I hope you got the crazies locked down good.”

  “Oh, they get out every now and then,” the gate guard admitted.

  “Well, I hope you’re carryin’ live ammo.”

  “Believe it. I busted a cap on one two, three months ago,” the guard said proudly.

  “Kill him?”

  “Deader than hell.”

  “Good. I got enough to worry about without having to worry about some criminal jumpin’ out of the bushes at me.”

  “Oh, they’re not criminals. Not really. They’re just nuts, man. Vets from ’Nam that went off their nut, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know.” Barry looked at the guard, pegging him as being far too young to have served in ’Nam. “Stupid fuckin’ war,” he said.

  “Wasn’t it? I don’t have no sympathy for these suckers we got locked down in here. Shell-shocked, or something like that, they claim. Ask me, they was crazy ’fore they went over there. What’s the big deal about shootin’ some gooks and slopes? Huh?”

  “Yeah. No big deal.” The guy wanted to talk, so Barry let him.

  “It’ll be a few more minutes, driver.” He looked at Kate, sitting in the cab. “Your wife?”

  “Codriver.”

  The guard smiled. “That must get cozy at times, huh?”

  “Sure does,” Barry said, winking at the asshole. “Must get lonesome around this place for you?”

  “Huh?”

  “No women.”

  “Oh, we got women locked down inside. Some of them damn good-lookin’. They’ll put some of that pussy on you for cigarettes and stuff like that, you know?”

  “Yeah. I know. And they ain’t gonna raise any hell about being raped, right?”

  “Shit, no! They’re so popped up most of the time they don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Yeah, so I heard. We just pulled a load from the West Coast. Talked to some guys out there.”

  “They gettin’ some of that inmate stuff strapped on them, too, huh?”

  “Hell, yes!”

  The guard laughed. “Well, hell, it ain’t so bad for them. They got all the free dope they want. For as long as they last, that is.”

  “I know what you mean.” Free dope? “I guess it’s better to test on humans than animals?”

  “You got that right, buddy. Sometimes the doctors pop ’em too hard, though; too much shit. They just wander off and drop dead.”

  “That’s what we’re haulin’ this run,” Barry told him. “Bits and pieces, you know?”

  The guard shuddered. “Yeah, I know. That’s what you’ll probaby be haulin’ out of here, too. One of these days, the doctors will find out what they’re looking for, I suppose.”

  “Yeah. And then we’ll both be out of a job.”

  “Huh? Naw! I’ve worked all over the country in these places. California, Utah, Georgia, Texas—must be thirty, forty of these places. Well, maybe not that many. You’d know more about that than me.”

  “Not that many.”

  The guard laughed. “Just checkin’ you, buddy. Don’t take it the wrong way. Twelve of them. Who’d ever think the government would be in the dope business, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You ever hauled any live ones, yet?”

  “Once,” Barry lied, not really knowing what the guard was talking about, but having a sick feeling he just might know.

  The guard confirmed it. “Ain’t that a real pisser, man? Did you haul shell-shocked nuts or greasers?”

  “Aliens.”

  “Yeah. Right. Aliens.” He grinned. “Shit! The M
exicans don’t know how many people they got down there anyway. They ain’t gonna miss three, four hundred a year no way.”

  “You’re right. But I’ll tell you what pisses me off. It’s the guys who round up the greaseballs for us that are makin’ all the good bread.”

  “Man, you are so right. I tried to get in on that end of it. I got my hands slapped real quick and hard.”

  “You’re not alone, buddy,” Barry told him in a low voice. “I damn near lost my job.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Yeah. It just so happened the head knocker of the whole operation picked that time to come south. I damn near got seriously dead.”

  The guard chuckled. “Yeah? I bet Mr. Morris was kinda pissed.”

  Barry felt a sudden sickness in his stomach. “You’re sure right. Little Fatty Jack was some kind of pissed.”

  “Fatty Jack! That’s a good one. Bet you never called him that to his face, though?”

  “No. Hell, no. But Mr. Morris was some kind of hot about it. Fat-ass bastard chewed me out. I could have broke him in half. Then he sticks the money in his pocket and goes back home. Somewhere down south, I think.”

  “Maryland. He’s some kind of a weapons expert for the government.” The guard looked toward the compound. “They’re motioning for you to come on, buddy. Nice talkin’ to you. Maybe I’ll see you next trip.”

  “Yeah. Maybe. Good talkin’ to you, too, buddy.” Real good, buddy. Just great.

  19

  “We’re haulin’ the same kind of stuff, Barry?” Kate asked. “You sure?”

  “That’s what the guard told me.” He swung the rig out of the compound and onto the state road. Among other things, he thought.

  “Where to?”

  “Our orders say to Georgia, but we’re stopping in Washington. I’ve had enough of this shit, Kate. I’m packing it in and turning it over to the federal boys.”

  He was silent until reaching Highway 11. He leveled with her, telling her everything the guard had said.

  Then it was Kate’s turn to be silent. With silent tears running down her face.

  “All right, Kate. I get the feeling those tears aren’t for the poor vets and the Mexicans. You want to level with me?”

  She wiped her face and said, “I’ve heard talk about this, Barry. Not on the CB. But just gossip. Sittin’ around the truck stops late at night.”

  “And you and the others did … what about it?”

  “Barry, there was no proof it was really happening. By the time you get to the next truck stop, or you drop your load, you’ve forgotten all about it.”

  “You’re lying to me, Kate.”

  “Yeah? Maybe I am. Look, Barry, you know as well as I do that ninety-nine percent of the drivers out here wouldn’t put up with no haulin’ human cargo.”

  “Make it about eighty-five percent, Kate, and maybe I’ll go along with that figure. The rest are redneck, asshole, dipshit types and you know that.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She stared out the window. “Well, maybe you’re right.”

  Drop it, Barry, he thought. You’ve forgotten the silent Code of the Road.

  “95 will take us straight into D.C.,” Kate said. “It’s a pretty easy run.” She glanced at him. “Mad at me?”

  “Not really. I guess I’m sort of down about the whole slimy matter.”

  “Maybe you’re glad it’s just about over?”

  “Could be.”

  Neither of them could know it was just beginning for one of them.

  And very near the end for the other.

  “What happens now, Barry? To us?”

  “If you’re agreeable, I hang up my truck-driving boots and we head back to Maryland.”

  “We?”

  “We.”

  “How about your partner? This Jack Morris?”

  “I don’t know if the law can do anything to Jack. But I can, if they fail. Whatever, the partnership is dissolved.”

  “No doubt in your mind it’s him?”

  “No. There is only one Jack Morris that is an arms expert. Believe me, I know them all.”

  “You think I can fit in your world, Barry?” There was a sadness in her voice.

  “Yes. Don’t you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have much experience with fancy people.”

  He smiled. “You’ll do just fine, Kate. Trust me.”

  “Can you move on this information?” Barry asked Weston and Jackson.

  Treasury and FBI looked at one another. John said, “No. But we can get the ball rolling.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “I mean it’s a beginning, Barry,” Jackson told him.

  “Crap! What it means is you’ve got to take it before grand juries and all that horseshit. By the time you get around to raiding those … hellholes, you’ll find nothing.”

  “We’ve got to do it the legal way, Barry.”

  “I don’t,” Barry said tightly. ’‘By God, I don’t have to.”

  “Take it easy, Barry,” Ralph cautioned him.

  “Take it easy? By the time the wheels of so-called justice get spinning, a lot of innocent men and women will be doped up, cut up, and disposed of. And you’re telling me to take it easy?”

  “Barry, it’s the way the system works; has to work,” Jackson said patiently. “Now that we know who the head man is, we’ll stake him out, bug his phones, and start gathering information.”

  Kate snorted, very unladylike. All turned to look at her, sitting on the couch of Barry’s apartment. “Why don’t you guys just go in, jerk him up, kick his ass a time or two, and he’ll start talkin’ so fast you’ll have to slow him down to keep up.”

  “Then any information we obtained under those methods would be thrown out of court,” John told her.

  Kate made a totally unfeminine gesture with the middle finger of her left hand.

  Barry smiled at her and winked. “Well, boys, like Ted Fabrello told me, the opera ain’t over until the fat lady sings.”

  “Damn right,” Kate said.

  John and Jackson and Ralph moved toward the front door at Barry’s wave. Barry told them, “We’ve got a load to deliver. You boys play it your way, I’ll play it mine. See you.”

  He closed the door.

  Barry looked at Kate. “We’ll stay on 95 down to South Carolina and then cut west into Georgia. That OK with you?”

  She shrugged. “Suits me.”

  “We’ll lay over in South Carolina for twenty-four hours.”

  Again she shrugged. “We’ve got the time. But it’ll be crowding it. Why the layover?”

  “Cause there is a twenty-four-hour wait in South Carolina.”

  “A twenty-four-hour wait for what, Barry?”

  “After we file for a marriage license.”

  It was an easy run down to Columbia. There, Kate and Barry filed for a license, saw the sights while they waited, then got married.

  Rolling out before dawn, on Interstate 20, Kate said, “First time, I had me a big church wedding. You?”

  “Absolutely. My family was all smiles. Her folks sat there looking like they’d just swallowed a peck of pickles.”

  “What do you reckon your kids will think of me?”

  “They’ll love you, I hope. If they don’t? … One mistake parents make, I think, is trying to live their lives for their kids. I think parents should give their kids love, direction, values, and discipline. I haven’t had much of a hand in raising my kids. But they’re pretty good kids. I think they’ll like you.”

  I hope, he silently added.

  About fifty miles inside Georgia, Barry and Kate cut southwest on a state road. They changed highways twice, finally reaching their destination off a country road.

  Instant replay.

  The closed compound, the armed guards, the low block buildings, the secrecy … and the silent horror of it all.

  “Memorize the inside of the compound, Kate,” Barry said. “When we get back in the truck, write down as muc
h of it as you can remember.”

  “Just like you did up in Maine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re going to come back. Legally, or illegally.”

  “I kinda hoped you’d say that. But the way this country’s laws are now, I bet it’s gonna be illegally.”

  “That’s just dandy with me,” Barry replied, a hard grimness to this voice.

  They pulled out just after lunch, deadheading back to New Orleans. At the cafe in Georgia, Barry had called the terminal; all the drivers were there, sitting around, drinking coffee, playing cards, killing time. Drawing government money for doing nothing. And none of them liked it.

  Jim Carson told Barry that Fabrello had sent one of his men around with a message: Fabrello was going on an extended vacation abroad.

  “He give a reason?” Barry asked.

  “You read a paper or watched any news the last couple of days?” Carson asked.

  No.

  Jim had told him that the press had gotten wind of a big Mafia meet in New York City. Fabrello had been ordered to clean up his house—any way he saw fit. Fabrello had not been mentioned in the newspaper story, but all concerned knew who the paper was talking about.

  Fabrello had cleaned house, all right—starting with Bobby Bulgari and his operation. Bulgari had been found dead in his Biloxi apartment, an apparent suicide. Sure it was. Four of Bulgari’s lieutenants had been killed in a shootout with some unknown parties on a lonely Mississippi back road. Another shootout had taken place in an after-hours nightspot in south Mississippi. No survivors.

  Bulgari’s little empire had crumbled.

  Barry told Kate about it as they drove.

  “What does this mean to us? Now?” she asked.

  “I think it just might throw everything into mild panic. Now my partner is going to have to look for someone else to lay the blame on.”

  He was conscious of Kate’s eyes searching his face. “And who do you think he might pick?” she asked.

  “Yeah, Kate. That thought just entered my mind.”

  “He’d have access to all your company books, wouldn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” Barry replied glumly.

  “I kind of like being Mrs. Rivers,” Kate said. “I’d rather not be a widow this quick.”

  “I’ll do my best to try to stay alive, ma’am.”