A military Hummer cruised by heading south toward Birmingham with its siren wailing and lights flashing. It didn't slow down at the park's turnoff. If anyone in it had glanced this way they couldn't have missed the RV and Trevor had no doubt they were looking for them.
Most of the children had stopped to watch as the Hummer passed by, but as soon as it was out of sight they went back to whatever they'd been doing.
If we're going to try and go underground we've got to get rid of this thing, Trevor realized.
Tapping out the ashes of his pipe, Dr. Anniston looked at Alice as she watched the children at play. What have I gotten this poor girl into? He thought before speaking.
“Alice I'm extremely sorry to have gotten you involved in all this. We will take you to the airport or actually it would probably be more wise to find a taxi for you. I doubt Trevor would feel it prudent to drive Black Beauty to the airport.”
“Why would I go to the airport?” Alice asked with a wry smile.
“I believe you're in danger. I cannot stand the idea of anything happening to you and until this Colonel Wilcox is brought under control, or put down like the mad dog that he acts like, I believe you should go home,” Anniston said, and felt a lump in his throat as he spoke. He realized the madness of the situation and knew sending her away would be the best course of action, but at the same time knew he'd miss her terribly once she was gone.
“You believe I'm in danger? Why? Just because some nut throws me across a room and points a gun at me? That kind of thing happens all the time during faculty meetings at MIT.” She laughed softly, shaking her head. “So you want to send me to the airport where, for all we know, they've got orders to shoot me on sight? No, thank you. For now, until everything is clarified, I'm sticking with you guys.”
“Yes. You're quite right. I'm afraid all the excitement has left my noodle somewhat addled. And besides-” His voice fell as he mumbled the rest.
“Pardon me?” She asked, leaning closer.
Dr. Anniston's face went slightly red as he cleared his throat and said, “Besides, if you left I- I mean that is...we would miss you.”
She smiled at the old man and took his hand in hers. “I'd miss you too,” she said, squeezing his hand gently. “Besides, this is kind of exciting compared to my normal life.”
He cleared his throat and stood up abruptly. “Yes. Well then, we should probably get moving. And I'm sure Trevor will want to abandon Black Beauty. It will be hard to talk him out of it, of course.”
“Why do you call the RV Black Beauty?”
“I loved reading that book as a child and always dreamed that someday I'd have a beautiful black horse that would take me wherever I chose to go. This is not just an RV, Alice. It's my rolling retirement home.
Trevor and I have driven across America for the last year and a half, seeing the sights and meeting thousands of wonderfully interesting people along the way. But in spite of all the madness earlier today, I am loathe to run away from my home.”
“I think there might be a way to disguise it,” Alice said, as they walked to the RV holding hands.
“Really? How?”
“Do you like dragons?” Alice asked with a grin, as she climbed up the stairs.
*****
It was mid morning as Agent Hicks slowed from a brisk jog to a fast walk. He was half a block from the Sonny James dealership and stared at a giant inflatable monkey. It was sitting on top of the showroom roof with a large banner stretched between its hands. He read the words written on it; We mean business, not monkey business. A slight breeze carried the aroma of hot dogs boiling and grilling to him. He felt nauseated as he crossed the street.
Kids were running around the car lot, laughing and screaming as their parents fought off salesmen who were trying to sell some overpriced used cars. Loudspeakers were playing a disco song near a brightly yellow and green painted van equipped with strobe and rotating amber lights. On the side of the van was painted WRAG Classic Rock of Ragland.
Between the music and the kids yelling, Hicks didn't notice the sirens until the emergency vehicles were passing by.
Two police cars were leading a pair of ambulances and a fire truck through town.
He stared after the departing emergency units and felt his stomach clenching.
Dressed in a conservative business suit, Hicks stood out from the rest of the crowd and repeatedly salesmen closed in and accosted him as he headed for the showroom. It was akin to how sharks could detect blood in the water.
The first one was a fat middle aged balding man with his remaining hair grown out long and swooped forward over his pink head. The salesman came forward while eating a hotdog that smelled like old socks slathered in mustard. “You look like a man who knows a good deal when he see one. I got a like new KIA Sportage that was made just for a smart man like you. It's got a CD player and air conditioning too.”
Hicks ignored him and walked faster. It felt like the car lot was growing larger as he tried to reach the building in the middle of the throngs of people chowing down on free hot dogs. Damn you, Mendez, he thought, detouring around an enormous woman wearing a large pink sundress and fuzzy yellow slippers.
“Have a hotdog, good buddy,” a man wearing cowboy boots and a plaid shirt said, while handing him a foil wrapped cylindrical object.
“Fuck you,” Hicks responded, pushing past him before almost breaking into a run.
The crowds grew in size closer to the showroom and the smell of hot dogs was almost a tangibly foul thing assaulting his flaring nostrils. I won't throw up or start firing my gun, he thought briefly, working his way through the milling crowd. He was sorely tempted to fire his gun in the air to clear a path. A grim smile crossed his face as he reached and opened the door to the showroom.
A woman dressed as a clown was blowing up balloons and shaping them into various animals. He walked over and asked where the manager was.
After wandering down a small maze of hallways Hicks found his office.
After brief introductions, including the flashing of his federal credentials, Sonny James shook his head sadly before speaking. “Any other day I might be able to give you a loaner, but this is a big event; the biggest of the whole year. I could call a cab for you, but it'd probably have to come in from Birmingham and that's almost an hour away. For what they'd charge, it might be cheaper to just buy a car.”
“I don't think you understand that my partner may be in danger. She won't or can't answer her cell phone and just a few minutes ago I saw a line of emergency vehicles going through town. I don't want to be forced to confiscate a car, but if I don't get some cooperation right now I will.” Hicks said, standing and leaning across the owner's desk.
Sonny raised his hands in surrender, smiled and reached for the phone. He spoke quickly to someone, telling them to bring around the gray loaner from the repair shop and to wait for a man named Hicks to take possession of it.
“I didn't know it was an emergency, young man. I'm always happy to help out when it's something like that,” Sonny said, standing up and coming around his desk. “You can bring it back when you're done. Just be a pal and fill up the gas tank first, okay?”
“Why was it in the repair shop?” Hicks asked suspiciously.
“Regular maintenance. It's the loaner we let our customers use when they have a rare problem with their cars. Don't you worry, it's a bit older but very dependable. They should have it outside waiting for you, just down the hall to your right,” he said, leading Hicks out of his office.
“Thank you, Mr. James.”
“Call me Sonny, and I sure hope everything works out for you and your partner, young man.”
Hicks quickly walked down the hall and heard a classic rock song by the Eagles playing over the loudspeakers. He recognized it as one of his favorites, Life in the Fast Lane, as he pushed open the door. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the bright sunlight as the door swung shut behind him.
“You Hicks?” Asked a young man, w
earing a greasy white shirt with a baseball cap twisted to the side.
“Yes, where's my car?”
“Right here. Keys are in it,” he answered, patting the hood of a 1972 Ford Pinto painted a dull green color.
Fuck! Hicks thought. Turning around, he saw the door he had come through was a one way exit with no handle. It was an emergency exit.
He considered going around to the front and putting a hurt on Sonny, but the sound of a siren passing nearby quickly changed his mind.
Climbing in was difficult. Standing well over six feet tall, he felt like a whale trying to squeeze into a tuna fish can. The fact it was low to the ground only made matters worse as he wedged himself inside. He tried to reach the seat belt and couldn't quite do it. Finally, after giving up, he started the car.
Stomping on the gas pedal resulted in a loud fart of a backfire and a spasmodic jerking as he tried to work the clutch. Slowly rolling through the crowds of people, frantically honking the barely audible horn, he glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the kid standing next to Sonny James as they watched him driving away. They were both laughing.
After pulling onto the main road, he swore as the transmission made a sick grinding noise when he switched gears.
The engine backfired again and the old car slowly picked up speed.
In the distance, he saw an ambulance turning off and made a mental note as he struggled to not hit his head on the low ceiling or his knees against the dashboard. A smell of hotdogs filled the small car and he saw two foil wrapped packages on the passenger seat. It will be a long time before I'm hungry enough for those, he thought, while stopping for a traffic light. His phone started ringing as he waited.
“Simon here.”
“It's Amalia, we've had a busy morning here and it's not over yet. I only have a minute to talk, so don't interrupt. Shannon is assisting at a crime scene near the high school. Do you need directions?”
“No. I'm already heading that way, chasing an ambulance. I should be there soon. Anything else?”
“What are you doing for transportation?”
The light changed to green as he struggled with the stick shift and the pedals.
The Pinto bucked and people behind him started honking.
Holding the phone crimped against his shoulder he shouted, “I got a shitty excuse for a car that's got to be at least twenty years older than I am! I gotta go!” He let the phone fall to the floor as he finally got it in gear and swore bloody revenge against Sonny James.
*****
Allison wheeled her shopping cart to the entrance of the football field and stopped to watch all the excitement. Her cat yawned, closed its eyes and luxuriated in the mid-morning sunshine. Within a few seconds it was purring loudly.
My goodness. Never seen so many cops in one place before. I hope whoever it was screaming is okay, she thought, before noticing some aluminum cans a few feet away in the weeds. Bending over to pick them up, she saw a girl standing behind a tree watching the police and ambulances in the parking lot.
“Exciting, ain't it?” Allison asked, while pouring dirty smelly liquids from the cans.
The girl kept staring and didn't answer.
Tossing the cans in her cart, Allison shrugged and pushed it a little closer to the emergency vehicles. A patrol car blocked the road and a grumpy looking deputy was leaning against the hood. He gave Allison a contemptuous look as she stared beyond him at the fire truck and other police cars.
“Was there a fire?!” She asked loudly.
“None of your business. Now move along,” he answered crossing his arms across his chest.
Allison grunted in disgust and went back to where the girl had been hiding in the trees.
“Do you know what's going on? Hey you, little girl, I be talking to you,” Allison said, walking toward her.
“They tried to steal some computers and one of them stabbed Jake Carver with a knife. He almost died,” the girl said, turning toward the lady. “He won't die, but he could have. Do you fear death?”
“I think I liked you better when you didn't say nuthin. Yer kinda creepy, you know that?”
“I'm trying to blend in, but it's difficult. How do you do it?”
Laughing hard, Allison shook her head and sat down with her back against a pine tree. “Girl, I've never blended in anywhere. What's your name? I'm Allison.”
“I'm Betty White. I am living with my Grandparents, Thomas and Sally McGee,” she said, before walking closer and sitting cross legged near her.
“Well Betty, how do you know so much 'bout what's going on over yonder?”
A honking horn at the road made Allison turn to look.
A large van with a telescoping pole and a small satellite dish on the top was coming to a stop a few yards away. The driver was shouting at the deputy to move his car.
The deputy yawned and made a shooing away gesture with one of his hands.
The van pulled to the side of the road and two men jumped out. In less than half a minute they had set up a tripod with a television camera mounted on top. One of the men yelled into the van and a young blonde lady climbed out carrying a hand microphone.
Allison turned to say something else, but the creepy little girl was gone.
“Test, test, can you hear me alright? This is Candace Rogers of WBIR reporting...test? You got it? Good, now find someone who'll talk to me,” the reporter said, looking into the van's side mounted rear view mirror checking her hair and makeup.
The field producer was having no luck in persuading the deputy to come on camera and was waving toward the emergency personnel hoping someone would come over to be interviewed.
Allison went back to her grocery cart and started to push it when the squeaking wheel got his attention. He ran after her and begged her to stop. “Excuse me; do you know what's going on down there?”
“Yep,” Allison said and kept pushing the cart away as he chased after her.
Michael yawned and meowed loudly.
“You gotta go tinkles?” Allison asked the cat.
He didn't answer, but she unstrapped him out of the baby safety seat and set the fat feline gently on the ground nonetheless. Michael trotted into the weeds and the producer tried again. “Listen, we're going on the air in just a few minutes. How would you like to be on TV and tell what you know? You'll be famous.” (He said this like it was something wonderful)
“How much you gonna pay me?” Allison asked smiling.
He looked at her old somewhat dirty clothes and cart before saying, “How about five bucks?”
She laughed and started pushing her cart away from the news van.
“Okay, okay, how about twenty dollars? Please?”
“Show me the green,” she said grinning.
Hurrying, he pulled out his wallet and held up a crisp new twenty dollar bill. She grabbed for it and he pulled it away. “It's yours after the interview. If you really know anything, that is.”
“I know a lot of things,” Allison said, as she pushed her cart back toward the van.
Her cat sauntered after them.
*****
Trevor slowed the RV down to a crawl as they drove over rows of old railroad tracks and tried to avoid the biggest and most treacherous looking potholes.
Alice sat in the front passenger seat and looked for any sign of police or military vehicles.
Glancing at the navigation computer screen, he swore softly as the miles to destination readout slowly counted down. He had very much wanted to abandon Black Beauty, but eventually gave in to Dr. Anniston's stubborn refusal to abandon his home.
The houses along the old road varied very slightly. They were either boarded up and covered in gang graffiti or surrounded by young men who looked somewhat dangerous and also covered in gang graffiti tattoos.
He'd decided if they were going to be foolish enough to keep the RV they would have to take the least used, most indirect route to reach their destination. Traffic along the road was mostly made up of large dirt
y industrial trucks that preferred to straddle the two lane roadway rather than share.
Alice closed her eyes every time one of the big trucks drove by blasting its air horn.
Dr. Anniston had retired to his room at the rear of the RV after apologizing for his need to lie down. Alice thought he'd seemed exhausted and a little shaky as he went. Trevor was worried about his friend and employer. If he's able to get any rest back there with the blaring of truck horns and loud rap noises coming from the cars that pass by he's a better man than I am. This is madness. I'm probably leading us all to a death far more certain than the mad colonel had threatened earlier, he thought, as they drove through a rough neighborhood somewhere north of Birmingham.
A few minutes later, he slowed down and pulled to the curb by a public housing community. He wanted to double check the computer screen map again. The street signs had apparently been stolen and he wanted to be sure of his directions before continuing.
A few seconds later, Alice gasped and grabbed his arm as he looked at the screen.
He looked up and saw several young men approaching the RV.
A big low riding red Cadillac convertible pulled alongside his driver window and in the passenger seat a teenage boy waved a small cheap looking pistol at him. The stereo in the car was thumping a heavy bass noise (some might consider music) which made the RV's windows rattle.
“Get down on the floor,” Trevor whispered, as he pulled his machine gun from where it rested on the center console.
Alice unsnapped her seat belt and dove down to the rich light brown carpeting, wishing she'd taken Anniston's advice about going to the airport earlier.
“Hey man, that's one big bad ride. You and your lady step out and I won't have to shoot it full of holes. You guys will be cool here, just give us the ride.”
In a pig's eye, Trevor thought, as he slid open the driver side window while feigning being hard of hearing. There might have been as many as twenty young men working up their courage and slowly closing in. A few of the boldest started stroking the front and right side of the RV.
Trevor cupped his left hand around his ear, in the classic old man not being able to hear posture, and pointed the machine gun at the car full of youngsters who thought they knew what being bad was all about. He opened fire and bullets shredded the dashboard and hood of the Cadillac to a Swiss Cheese consistency while shouting, “Sorry young man! I couldn't hear you over that booming noise coming from your stereo!”