of the sandwich shop next door, it should cause fewer questions than it might have otherwise.
By nightfall, the equipment in the van was up and running, online to the most sophisticated computer programs available anywhere. The screening of Ike’s list of potential suspects could begin.
Chapter Sixteen
Robert Twelvetrees, (Colonel, USA Ret.) met Ike outside the Crossroads Diner. Colonel Bob, near to his ninetieth year—people were not sure on which side—found himself relegated to a motorized scooter if he wished to do anything more than be driven to and from places by TJ and his companion, chauffer, likable, but intellectually challenged semi-caregiver. Colonel Bob, who’d served with his hero, General George Patton, during World War II, had required his scooter be painted olive drab, with the insignia of the old Second Cavalry, where he’d first served on horse, decaled on the battery box.
“Colonel Bob, it’s good to see you. Are you here for breakfast?”
Ike held the door open for him as Colonel Bob maneuvered his scooter around various objects that normal, ambulatory persons would have hardly noticed, the undertaking made doubly difficult for him due to his advancing macular degeneration.
“Every Wednesday if I can. Flora takes care of me. I keep telling her the EEOC or whatever G-D government agency it is that wants to tell you how to live your life, will be all over her if she doesn’t make this place more handicap friendly.”
“What did she say about that?”
“She said she still had her old scatter gun and if some hotshot federal Johnny wanted trouble, well bring it on. I don’t know where she gets all that aggression, do you?”
“It’s the company she keeps, Colonel Bob. A lot of riffraff hangs out here, present company excepted, of course.”
“Of course.” Colonel Bob eased his scooter to a table with minimum damage to intervening chairs and stools and yelled for Flora to get his breakfast. Flora Blevins shouted something in return that might, in another age, have been deemed obscene. Colonel Bob smiled and waved in acknowledgment.
“Sorry to hear about your lady, Sheriff. Currently, I am a complete wreck only waiting for the hearse to come and collect me, but if there is anything a half-blind, completely gorked out old Army man can do, you let me know. If I can’t get it done, I’ll send TJ out to do it for me.”
“Many thanks. I will let you know, but right now, I am just trying to figure out where to start. I don’t know if the scuttlebutt has reached you yet, but Ruth’s wreck was not an accident and I have a lot of questions to put to people. The immediate problem is who to ask.”
“Can’t help you there. Flora, where’s my breakfast? I still have some contacts with the DOD, though most of the people I grew up with in the service are dead. Hell, they’re all dead, but still you never can tell.”
“Thanks.” Ike moved down the length of the diner and found a seat in what he thought of as his booth. Flora plunked down his coffee and stood arms akimbo, waiting. “Just you, this morning. Where’s your smart-mouthed friend?”
“If you mean Mr. Garland, he will be joining me shortly. Also, I think Deputy Sutherlin plans to join us as well.”
“Is that the smart Sutherlin or the dopey one that married Essie Falco?”
“The smart one.”
“Too bad, I like the dopey one better. He has a sense of proportion.”
“He has a what? Billy has a sense of proportion? Billy is moment to moment most days. What do you mean he has a sense of proportion?”
“It means I like him `cause he don’t take life too seriously, unlike some people I know. So how’s Miss Ruth doing?”
Ike gritted his teeth. “She’s holding on.”
What a stupid answer. Ike had become weary of hearing that question. How to answer? Were the folks who asked it really concerned about Ruth, about him, both, or merely being polite? How did he relate to them the turmoil he felt, the emotional
By nightfall, the equipment in the van was up and running, online to the most sophisticated computer programs available anywhere. The screening of Ike’s list of potential suspects could begin.
Chapter Sixteen
Robert Twelvetrees, (Colonel, USA Ret.) met Ike outside the Crossroads Diner. Colonel Bob, near to his ninetieth year—people were not sure on which side—found himself relegated to a motorized scooter if he wished to do anything more than be driven to and from places by TJ and his companion, chauffer, likable, but intellectually challenged semi-caregiver. Colonel Bob, who’d served with his hero, General George Patton, during World War II, had required his scooter be painted olive drab, with the insignia of the old Second Cavalry, where he’d first served on horse, decaled on the battery box.
“Colonel Bob, it’s good to see you. Are you here for breakfast?”
Ike held the door open for him as Colonel Bob maneuvered his scooter around various objects that normal, ambulatory persons would have hardly noticed, the undertaking made doubly difficult for him due to his advancing macular degeneration.
“Every Wednesday if I can. Flora takes care of me. I keep telling her the EEOC or whatever G-D government agency it is that wants to tell you how to live your life, will be all over her if she doesn’t make this place more handicap friendly.”
“What did she say about that?”
“She said she still had her old scatter gun and if some hotshot federal Johnny wanted trouble, well bring it on. I don’t know where she gets all that aggression, do you?”
“It’s the company she keeps, Colonel Bob. A lot of riffraff hangs out here, present company excepted, of course.”
“Of course.” Colonel Bob eased his scooter to a table with minimum damage to intervening chairs and stools and yelled for Flora to get his breakfast. Flora Blevins shouted something in return that might, in another age, have been deemed obscene. Colonel Bob smiled and waved in acknowledgment.
“Sorry to hear about your lady, Sheriff. Currently, I am a complete wreck only waiting for the hearse to come and collect me, but if there is anything a half-blind, completely gorked out old Army man can do, you let me know. If I can’t get it done, I’ll send TJ out to do it for me.”
“Many thanks. I will let you know, but right now, I am just trying to figure out where to start. I don’t know if the scuttlebutt has reached you yet, but Ruth’s wreck was not an accident and I have a lot of questions to put to people. The immediate problem is who to ask.”
“Can’t help you there. Flora, where’s my breakfast? I still have some contacts with the DOD, though most of the people I grew up with in the service are dead. Hell, they’re all dead, but still you never can tell.”
“Thanks.” Ike moved down the length of the diner and found a seat in what he thought of as his booth. Flora plunked down his coffee and stood arms akimbo, waiting. “Just you, this morning. Where’s your smart-mouthed friend?”
“If you mean Mr. Garland, he will be joining me shortly. Also, I think Deputy Sutherlin plans to join us as well.”
“Is that the smart Sutherlin or the dopey one that married Essie Falco?”
“The smart one.”
“Too bad, I like the dopey one better. He has a sense of proportion.”
“He has a what? Billy has a sense of proportion? Billy is moment to moment most days. What do you mean he has a sense of proportion?”
“It means I like him `cause he don’t take life too seriously, unlike some people I know. So how’s Miss Ruth doing?”
Ike gritted his teeth. “She’s holding on.”
What a stupid answer. Ike had become weary of hearing that question. How to answer? Were the folks who asked it really concerned about Ruth, about him, both, or merely being polite? How did he relate to them the turmoil he felt, the emotional
Similar Books
