Curds and Whey Box Set

by G M Eppers

  He’d been hoping to make me wince, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction. “Go get ‘em, Tiger,” I said.

  The others were already waiting for him on the sidewalk. He joined them, and they walked toward the clinic. Billings assigned Roxy to guard the front door and sent Fergie to guard the back, anticipating the injured kidnapper might try to run. Then he, Butte, Roxy, Sylvia and Ban filed into the clinic through its single metal-framed door.

  I heard a sudden murmur as the people in the waiting room saw everyone come in. A child’s voice, probably a boy, said, “Look, Mom. There’s a lady pirate!”

  The mother shushed the child. Good thing Billings left Roxy outside, I thought. The kid would be looking for Santa Claus and would think Mrs. Claus was one hot mama. I wondered how Sylvia reacted to the pirate comment, though. She’d been so adamant about not looking like a pirate when we dressed on the plane. Of course, it didn’t take much to resemble a pirate when you already had the eye patch. I didn’t hear any response from Sylvia regarding the comment, however.

  “Oh, jeez,” said an unfamiliar voice, apparently the receptionist. “Look at ya! What can I do for you folks?” she asked.

  “I’m Billings Montana, representing CURDS and these are my colleagues. I’ve been told you’re holding someone with an unidentified animal bite who could be a person of interest in our investigation.”

  “Yah! Yah, we sure are. But I can’t send all of you back there. Mr. Montana, you’ll have to come alone. The exam rooms just aren’t that big and you know, there’s sick people. We got a woman with a paring knife stuck in her foot in room one, and there’s Mr. Linderson sleeping off a bender in room two. We just had an emergency appendectomy that we had to send to the city and three folks in a row needing stitches. You know what they say. When it rains, it pours. Well, it’s sure raining today, even though it’s snowing!” She laughed heartily at her own joke.

  “That’s fine. My friends can wait here.”

  “Okay then! I think the animal bite was in room four but that was hours ago. Max, cover me. I’ve got to show this gentlemen to room four. Is that animal bite still there?”

  A lower voice replied. “Jeez, no.” I tensed up. I didn’t like where this was going.

  “What do you mean, no? He wasn’t released. Animal bites have to be kept. You want rabies running around out there?”

  “He told me there weren’t no rabies involved. Jeez, it was just a Band-Aid. How long do they have to stay to get a Band-Aid?”

  I heard the sound of a medical curtain being pulled, and Billings cursed. “How long ago did he leave?”

  “Well, it’s not like I looked at my watch,” said Max. “Must be thirty or forty minutes. We were running around like headless chickens in here.”

  “What did he say about the bite? Did he explain it?”

  “No, sir. ‘How did you get your hand bit?’ I asked him. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ he says. And I says, ‘yes, yes, I would like to know. What bit ya?’ but he was all shady like. Then he tells me his girl bit him, but I could see it wasn’t a human bite.”

  “His girl?”

  “Yassum. Said her name was Clara, then clumped his hand over his mouth like he wasn’t supposed to say that. He slapped himself, too, and called himself stupid.”

  The receptionist nurse came back. “Max, what about any of that said to let the guy go?”

  “I told him to set there. Can’t stand here and watch him and funny thing I left my cuffs at home today.”

  “I’m really sorry, Mr. Montana.”

  “Did he say where he was going?” There was a pause as, presumably, Max thought about it. But Billings was running out of patience. “Where was he going?” This time the question was more forceful, though still civil. I hoped Max answered him before he decided to get uncivil.

  “Come to think of it, he said him and his buddy was going up north to fish Upper Red Lake. ‘Gonna catch me some walleye,’ he says. ‘Gonna go after some world record pike worth a bazillion dollars,’ he says. ‘Shoot,’ I says, ‘it’s too early for ice fishing. That’s when you catch the real big ones, you know.’ Then he says they was planning to stay there all winter.” So that meant Ross was the one who was bitten. It didn’t tell us whether or not they still had Clara, but why would they take her so far away? Or was Ross mistaken about the whole thing? A guy like him could easily invent a desired fishing trip, could have convinced himself that Gary’s distracted agreement to the suggestion was a promise.

  Billings didn’t waste any more time. I heard the sound of running feet and saw Trooper Ferguson and Roxy come running back to the bus, with the rest of them bursting out of the door shortly after. As Fergie boarded, Knobby asked him, “How far away is this Red Lake?”

  “Four or five hours, once we get around the city.”

  “You can’t be serious.” I stood up and crept toward the front of the bus. “We don’t even know for sure that’s where they went.” I refrained from saying we were back to square one, but it certainly felt like it. “Why would they take Clara there?”

  Fergie looked at me, his expression serious, his mouth open a little. “I’ll tell you why. Girard and Jennings Wildlife Preserve. They’re going to set her free.”

  Ban slid back into the seat she had vacated earlier. “They can’t do that! She won’t survive in the wild anymore. A predator could take her easily, especially if she’s still in Uber withdrawal. Helena, you must know how it works. After the crazy comes depression, a dull numbness leaving her vulnerable to attack.”

  “Not all the time. It’s hard to predict.” I told her.

  It was like she hadn’t heard me. “Besides, if this is a captivity thing, why did they only take Clara? And why bother with a ransom call? And aside from all that, this state is swarming with wildlife preserves. Why Red Lake? This doesn’t make any sense.”

  It was then that Fergie’s Trooper radio buzzed. He picked it up. “Ferguson,” he said.

  “We have a sighting on the yellow pickup, Fergie. They just merged on 169 northbound.”

  “Copy that, Mabel. Fergie out.” Fergie turned back toward Knobby. “Slight change of plans, Knobby. We’re going to a ranger station, first. We might be able to get a chopper, although it won’t hold everyone, but we’ll definitely be able to get these folks some proper outerwear. It’s going to get cold.” He said the last sentence as if each word stood alone.

  It took about 30 minutes to get to the ranger station, which was west of the twin cities. The atmosphere on the bus was considerably more tense after the loss of our objective at the walk-in clinic. We thought we’d be on our way back to the Mayo Clinic by now with two morose brothers and a happily reunited raccoon. Of course, it was especially hard on Ban. She didn’t have to tell us how devastating it would be if they succeeded in setting Clara free. Soon, Clara’s withdrawal symptoms would make her seem rabid, and despite our televised warning, it would be perfectly conceivable that she would be shot if she was sighted. And, as Ban had mentioned, if Clara’s symptoms had progressed, she would be listless and defenseless. As long as the CP was working, Clara wouldn’t die from obstruction, however. Eventually, in theory, withdrawal would run its course, and she could resume a normal diet, assuming she could escape the natural predators in the preserve. But the long term effects of the device were not known, its durability, likewise, was unknown, and there was no way to tell if peristalsis would restart on its own if it failed. All these things would have been part of the research under controlled conditions. But in these circumstances, any results we were able to salvage were meaningless. We just wanted her back alive.

  When all this started, all I wanted was to meet the great Banana Harris. Now that I’d met her, I admired her even more, but in a different way. My admiration had matured from groupie to deep-seated respect. At times, it had seemed like she was on the verge of overt emotionalism, but she never quite crossed the line. It had to be an immense internal struggle. Not only was she worried about Clara, but s
he was probably spending quite a bit of time coming to terms with the idea that someone on her staff had helped the kidnappers. She must be going over her roster in her mind, trying to figure out who could have been motivated and by what.

  The stop at the ranger station was brief. It took less than a minute to determine that no chopper was available. The sun was setting and this simply didn’t qualify as the life or death emergency that would justify the risk of a night flight. If anything happened, the state would be liable. The pilot was sympathetic, but wouldn’t do it. The station did, however, have several heavy jackets on hand, in ranger tan with grey faux fur. Not everyone got the size they needed, but they were considerably warmer than anything we’d brought along. Mine, naturally, was at least a full size too big, so I wasn’t able to cinch up the waist enough to completely keep out the cold, but it was nevertheless welcome. With everyone bundled up, Knobby was able to turn down the heat and reduce the stress on the bus’s engine.

  By the time we caught up to the raccoon-nappers, it would almost certainly be midnight or later. Billings was taking a much needed, but restless, catnap, so I pulled out my cell phone and selected Badger from my call list. He answered on the third ring. “Hey, Helena.”

  “I wanted to check in. There’s been a change of plans on this end. Any news there?”

  “All quiet on the western front,” he said. “Miss Chiff went for a walk around the concourse. Trying to stay awake, I suspect. Sir Haughty and I have been watching the men’s room, but no one has come out with the suitcase. I was just in there to check, and it’s still sitting where we put it. Security has told me it’s been reported twice. What’s your news? I take it the walk-in didn’t go well.”

  “Bingo. It was Ross who was bitten. That’s all we could determine. They fled from the clinic before we got there. They are heading north and we’re going after them, so we’ll be later than we thought. Considerably. Follow Billings’ instructions and bail at 12:30. We almost definitely will not be there before you.”

  “Got it. One more thing, Helena.”

  I sighed. I already knew what the one more thing would be. “How many sips?”

  There was a pause, an unsaid acknowledgement of my conclusion and an apology for the circumstances. “Two. So far.”

  “Don’t confront her about it. We’ll do that together. Later.” I disconnected without waiting for his reply, then put through a call to our other contingent at the Mayo Clinic via Nitro. “Any progress on rooting out our mole?” I asked. Please don’t let it be Darwin, I thought. For Ban’s sake, don’t let it be Darwin. It was a stereotype, but anyone with albinism always seems to be evil in literature or movies. In real life, however, people with albinism were more often the victims of ridicule than the perpetrators. Some achieved notoriety, such as William Spooner, the priest for whom the term “Spoonerisms” was coined, and England’s popular King Edward the Confessor in the 11th century. I personally never like it when someone perpetuates a negative stereotype. In my business, however, I run into a lot of the same type of people. You just don’t see many criminals that make you go, “really?”

  “Negative,” Nitro said. “Everyone here seems really devoted to the cause.”

  I considered that a moment. “How devoted? Trooper Ferguson believes the Nonegan brothers are planning to set Clara free in a wildlife preserve up north. Look into how people feel about the animals in captivity there. You know, with subtlety. You’re good at that.”

  “Roger that, Helena.” I quickly filled him in on our situation, warning him that we probably wouldn’t be getting back to the Mayo anytime soon, and that the airport group should be expected about 1 am. I suggested they find a place to bed everyone down for the night. I figured Ban’s bunkroom would hold some people, but, even not having seen it, I assumed it wouldn’t hold everyone. They should at least have access to extra blankets and pillows. I knew my people could sleep on the floor if need be, but I wasn’t sure how rugged the lab techs were. As for me and my group, it looked like we’d be sleeping on the bus, which was never particularly refreshing, but sometimes it had to do. So, we win the rugged war on this trip, I thought. I’d slept in worse places. Once, as a CURDS trainee in Buenos Aires, I spent the night in a garbage dumpster undercover as a corpse to find out if the Argentinian authorities were on the take. They turned out to be clean, which was more than I could say for myself even after four showers in a row.

  We joined Highway 169 less than ninety minutes after the yellow pickup.

  And less than ninety minutes after that, Knobby called out, “Can someone wake up the Trooper? I have a problem here.”

  Roxy was dozing with her crochet hook in her lap, the glarf trailing over her leg onto the rear bench seat in a heap. Her head came up and she made a stitch, then her chin fell before a bump would snap her awake again for another stitch. Headlights zoomed around outside as I rose and walked carefully up the aisle. I saw Billings open one eye, then close it. Sylvia shifted in her seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. Ban and Butte both seemed to be nodding off against their will, trying unsuccessfully to pay attention. Only Fergie was really out like a light, a skill no doubt picked up after years of Trooper life. I was a bit beyond tired myself, and my ribs were aching, but I maneuvered up to the front of the bus, using seat backs to steady myself. Speaking softly, I asked, “What is it, Knobby. Tired of driving?”

  “No, I’m good, Helena. But the bus is running awfully low on gas. And we need diesel.” The bus headlights glowed a path in front of us. I looked at the oncoming road signs. It was possible the Nonegan brothers had stopped for the night somewhere. Fergie needed to check in for more sightings of the pickup or an update on the search from the Trooper end of things, so I shook him awake and told him the situation.

  He scanned the road for a moment to get his bearings, blinking sleep from his eyes quicker than anyone I’ve seen. “We’re in luck. Gundergard’s is the next exit.”

  “They got diesel?”

  “They’ve got every kind of gas you can think of,” he said with a secretive grin. He turned his arm to look at his watch, which he wore with the face on the inside of his wrist. “And I imagine a few of us could use a bathroom break, too.”

  Now that he mentioned it…

  Knobby pulled us off the highway at the next exit and kept a hard right turn through a cloverleaf that came out on a frontage road parallel to our original path. About half a mile after that I saw a well-lit service station approach on the right. The glowing neon sign said “Gundergard’s Gas and Beanery” and under that was a smaller handmade sign. “When You Think Gas, Think Gundergard,” it said. Under the yellow mist of the overhead lights, below the large flat roof of the pumping islands, a dusty blue sedan sat to one side. The driver’s side window was down and a station attendant was leaning over saying something and pointing back at the Interstate.

  The squeal of the air brakes woke up the rest of the bus with a small shot of “something’s different what could it be” adrenaline. Knobby pulled up next to a diesel pump. “You pump, I’ll pay,” Ban told Knobby, stretching.

  “Ma’am, I can’t do that. It’s one of them gratuities. CURDS don’t allow it.” He extracted his wallet from his back pocket, and winked at her as he showed her his C-Card, his CURDS issued credit card. “I got this. You folks take care of your necessaries.”

  I think Ban wanted to give one more gallant objection, but the nearness of a restroom intensified her need and she jumped off the bus and hurried in. I was dancing myself, but tried to wait patiently. There were two restrooms, which fortunately were not locked, but each was a single seater, located to one side of the station’s tiny convenience store, but still protected by the flat roof which attached to the main part of the station. Outside of the protected area, snowflakes still floated down like God’s afterthought. It was cold, but not at all windy. As I stood there, the attendant finished speaking to the driver of the sedan, which slowly drove out of the lot. He was dressed in oily gray
coveralls. A spotty rag dangled from a rear pocket. On his head was a gray cap with a tiny visor. Across the front of the cap it said, “Gundergard’s.” A sewed-on patch at his breast told us his name was Jimmy. “Can I help you folks?”

  Billings, standing at the end of the line for the men’s room, said, “Filling up and emptying out, sir. Thank you.”

  The man eyed the bus, with Knobby standing at the pump. The nozzle, locked in place, quietly slugged fuel into the bus’s tank. “Where you headed?”

  Billings didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t about to give the man the whole story. Finally, he just said, “North.”

  “You looking for Fargo?”

  Billings blinked. “Why would I be looking for Fargo? This is Minnesota, not North Dakota.”

  Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief, and touched the brim of his cap. “Thank goodness. Three in one day would be too many. It’s getting worse and worse. Tourists,” he said, making it sound like an epithet. “Used to be one or two a week, now I had two in one day.”

  “Two?” I asked, amused.

  “Folks looking for Fargo. That blue sedan just now,” he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “I says ‘you got to go back to the Interstate and go to North Dakota,’ you see, and she says, ‘I know it’s around here somewhere.’ So I says, ‘No, Ma’am, this here is Minnesota. You got to go to North Dakota.’ And she says, ‘Mister,’ she called me Mister like she couldn’t even read my shirt, ‘Mister,’ she says, ‘I saw the movie. I saw the TV show. It’s in Minnesota. Do I have to go north or west?’” He scratched the back of his neck and shook his head. “Tourists.”

  I asked, “What did you tell her?”

  It was hard to tell in the fluorescent lighting, but I think he blushed. “I sent her east. Let her look for Fargo in Wisconsin for a few days. Maybe she’ll wise up and buy a map.” He touched the brim of his cap again. “You folks have a nice trip.” He started to walk away, then came back. “Hey, can I offer you some grub? Dad made a mess of green bean casserole today. We still got plenty left. It’s late, I’ll let you have it for half price. Only take a few minutes to heat up nice and toasty. By the time you all are finished out here, it’ll be ready. I can make it to go if you’re in a hurry.” As he spoke, he kept rubbing his hands on the sides of his coveralls as if he was trying to clean them.