number. She picked up right away.
“Oh, Bud, it’s been so long since you called. You said you’d call last night.”
Now this always irritated Bud and in his present mood it struck a bad note. Sometimes just the managing of It got to be so damned troublesome that he needed a night off. There was always so much to remember: why he was late, what had happened, what route he’d taken home, all the thingsthat go into running a deception. And sometimes it just wore him down.
“I couldn’t get any time away from Ted. They got us running all over the damn place. I’ve only got a second.”
“Well, how are you?” Holly wanted to know.
“Well, it’s a hell of a lot more boring than just patrolling, I’ll tell you that. But I think they’re going to pull back after a while. This road stuff ain’t panning out.”
“Bud, you sound so irritated.”
“I’m just tired, Holly.”
“I miss you.”
“Sweetie, I miss you too.”
“The day they break it off—will I see you?”
“Well, I’ll sure try,” he said, feeling vaguely trapped. “I don’t know if it’s possible. I already missed one of my son’s games and I want to get to the next one, in case he gets to play.”
“Okay,” she said in a tone that suggested it wasn’t.
“I do miss you.”
“I know you do.”
“Talk to you soon.”
He hung up, feeling sour as hell. Hadn’t he just promised her that on the first day off, he’d see her? Great. He’d be exhausted, and what would the situation be with Ted, wouldn’t he be off the same day? It was a mess. Sometimes Bud didn’t know what the hell he’d do.
So after indulging the sourness for a few seconds, he headed back into the diner and slid in next to Ted.
“How is she?” Ted asked.
“Fine. Just fine. You call Holly?”
“Oh, Holly’s okay, I suppose,” Ted said. “Well, I reckon we should shove, huh?”
Bud shot a look at his watch. Ten-fifteen, yeah, they were due back on the road, just in case. He didn’t like to be outof radio contact that long. Didn’t realize he’d been on the phone for close to ten minutes. He took a last sip of coffee—lukewarm—and stood to peel some money off for the food. Not strictly necessary, but Bud knew that if you started eating for free—it was so easy—people soon stopped respecting you. He left a single for the girl, also irked that Ted never bothered to pitch in, at least with a tip.
“Oh, Bud,” said Ted. “One thing. This girl here, she wanted to ask you something.”
Bud turned to the woman, a middle-aged waitress, with the name Ruth on the nameplate of her uniform; she was vaguely familiar from previous stops, but he’d never struck up a relationship with her as he had with a few of the girls in other towns.
“Yes, Ruth?”
“Well, Sergeant, it’s old Bill Stepford. He’s stopped off for coffee each morning for the past ten years, every morning, nine o’clock sharp. He didn’t show this morning. It sort of bothered me.”
“I told her it was something for the Murray County sheriff’s office,” Ted said.
“Well, they’re all out playing hero,” Ruth said. “Sam Nicks hasn’t set foot in this place since the jailbreak up at McAlester.”
“Did you think about calling this farmer?” Bud asked.
“Yes sir, I did. The line was busy. Called four times and the line was busy.”
“Maybe he’s talking to somebody.”
“Well, maybe he is. But I know Mr. Stepford and he is not the talking type.”
“What about his wife?” Ted asked.
“Well, she’s a mighty nice woman but she’s not the sort to spend half an hour on the line either.”
“Sounds like the phone is off the hook,” said Bud.
“Bill Stepford hasn’t missed coffee here in ten years. He came the last time we had heavy snow; drove his Wagoneer through the drifts. He likes our coffee.”
Bud considered.
“Where is it?”
“Seven miles down the road. Then left, on County Road Six Seventy-nine. A mile, you’ll see the mailbox.
“Oh, Bud, it’s been so long since you called. You said you’d call last night.”
Now this always irritated Bud and in his present mood it struck a bad note. Sometimes just the managing of It got to be so damned troublesome that he needed a night off. There was always so much to remember: why he was late, what had happened, what route he’d taken home, all the thingsthat go into running a deception. And sometimes it just wore him down.
“I couldn’t get any time away from Ted. They got us running all over the damn place. I’ve only got a second.”
“Well, how are you?” Holly wanted to know.
“Well, it’s a hell of a lot more boring than just patrolling, I’ll tell you that. But I think they’re going to pull back after a while. This road stuff ain’t panning out.”
“Bud, you sound so irritated.”
“I’m just tired, Holly.”
“I miss you.”
“Sweetie, I miss you too.”
“The day they break it off—will I see you?”
“Well, I’ll sure try,” he said, feeling vaguely trapped. “I don’t know if it’s possible. I already missed one of my son’s games and I want to get to the next one, in case he gets to play.”
“Okay,” she said in a tone that suggested it wasn’t.
“I do miss you.”
“I know you do.”
“Talk to you soon.”
He hung up, feeling sour as hell. Hadn’t he just promised her that on the first day off, he’d see her? Great. He’d be exhausted, and what would the situation be with Ted, wouldn’t he be off the same day? It was a mess. Sometimes Bud didn’t know what the hell he’d do.
So after indulging the sourness for a few seconds, he headed back into the diner and slid in next to Ted.
“How is she?” Ted asked.
“Fine. Just fine. You call Holly?”
“Oh, Holly’s okay, I suppose,” Ted said. “Well, I reckon we should shove, huh?”
Bud shot a look at his watch. Ten-fifteen, yeah, they were due back on the road, just in case. He didn’t like to be outof radio contact that long. Didn’t realize he’d been on the phone for close to ten minutes. He took a last sip of coffee—lukewarm—and stood to peel some money off for the food. Not strictly necessary, but Bud knew that if you started eating for free—it was so easy—people soon stopped respecting you. He left a single for the girl, also irked that Ted never bothered to pitch in, at least with a tip.
“Oh, Bud,” said Ted. “One thing. This girl here, she wanted to ask you something.”
Bud turned to the woman, a middle-aged waitress, with the name Ruth on the nameplate of her uniform; she was vaguely familiar from previous stops, but he’d never struck up a relationship with her as he had with a few of the girls in other towns.
“Yes, Ruth?”
“Well, Sergeant, it’s old Bill Stepford. He’s stopped off for coffee each morning for the past ten years, every morning, nine o’clock sharp. He didn’t show this morning. It sort of bothered me.”
“I told her it was something for the Murray County sheriff’s office,” Ted said.
“Well, they’re all out playing hero,” Ruth said. “Sam Nicks hasn’t set foot in this place since the jailbreak up at McAlester.”
“Did you think about calling this farmer?” Bud asked.
“Yes sir, I did. The line was busy. Called four times and the line was busy.”
“Maybe he’s talking to somebody.”
“Well, maybe he is. But I know Mr. Stepford and he is not the talking type.”
“What about his wife?” Ted asked.
“Well, she’s a mighty nice woman but she’s not the sort to spend half an hour on the line either.”
“Sounds like the phone is off the hook,” said Bud.
“Bill Stepford hasn’t missed coffee here in ten years. He came the last time we had heavy snow; drove his Wagoneer through the drifts. He likes our coffee.”
Bud considered.
“Where is it?”
“Seven miles down the road. Then left, on County Road Six Seventy-nine. A mile, you’ll see the mailbox.
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