by Joe Nobody
“Well, thanks for serving as my backup, partner. Just a few more minutes while we sing ‘Happy Birthday’ and open presents, and then… we… are… out of here,” she clapped, demonstrating obvious relief in a manner that bordered on giddiness.
“Take your time,” Zach replied. “I’m just fine. If my being here makes this any easier for you, then it’s all been worthwhile.”
A few minutes later, the call came from the front door – time to light the candles.
The festive sheet cake and frozen topping were offered cafeteria style, a line forming for slices and dips. Zach, paper plate in hand, worked his way through the queue.
After a generous helping of vanilla ice cream and chocolate fudge cake, the Texan decided to retire to the front porch and consume the sweets on the swing. It just seemed like the right place and the right time.
Much to Zach’s surprise, the Temple patriarch joined the ranger, offering nothing more than his presence.
The two men sat and ate in silence, both working plastic forks through the soft cake and melting ice cream.
“I thought you’d at least stand up like a man and defend your country, young man. In a way, I can understand my daughter’s need to avoid confrontation… but you. I expected more,” Mr. Temple finally stated coldly.
Zach sighed but didn’t look down or away. “Sir, I was raised to believe a man’s home is his castle. You’re the king here, and it’s not my place to debate or argue with you, regardless of my beliefs. I will offer one personal perspective, however. Your daughter has been selected to perform one of the most dangerous occupations on this planet. If I were you, I’d keep that in mind because one of these days I might have to drive over here and inform you that she’s dead or severely injured. Do you really want petty politics… or the actions of a distant people to determine how you spent your last moments with her? If she’s dead, how do you want to remember that last visit?” The ranger sat down his fork and paused to sip from the iced tea. “But again, sir, that’s up to you. I don’t have children, but if I did, I don’t think I’d let something like the secession come between me and my family.”
Zach didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he rose and entered the house, leaving a speechless father on the front porch to brood over his guest’s words.
It was almost dark by the time Samantha informed Zach it was time to leave for home.
After Zach’s conversation with the gruff, old gent on the verandah, he’d avoided Mr. Temple as much as possible, not wanting to contribute additional family drama.
While still waving good-bye to her extended family gathered on the porch and spilling out onto the steps into the yard, Sam wiggled into her seat, secured the strap and shifted the sedan into reverse. “I don’t know what you said to my dad,” she commented while adjusting her rear view mirror, “but he was an entirely different man after he came back inside. Now, the cake and ice cream were good, but I think the change in his demeanor was caused by something… or someone else. Tell the truth, Zach. Did you threaten to shoot him?”
Grunting, Zach shook his head, “Don’t be silly. This is Arkansas – my weapon was stored in the car’s console the whole time.” He smiled and winked at his female colleague before somewhat clarifying what had happened. “I merely explained the ranger handbook to him.”
“Oh.”
Knowing Zach would relay the full conversation when he was good and ready, Sam didn’t press. They continued back toward Texas in silence until she signaled to exit the interstate.
“If you can wait for gas until we get across the border, it’s a hell of a lot cheaper at home.”
“Oh, I don’t need gas. I saw a sign that reminded me of the salt-water taffy they sell at this truck stop. I can’t find any as good at home, and besides, I could use a cup of coffee for the long drive.”
Zach had to agree, at least about the coffee part. It also reminded him of the small stash of U.S. money he’d brought along for exchange.
They pulled into the facility, skirting around the protracted line of 18-wheelers cued to fill their diesel tanks. Sam knew the layout, and after a couple of quick maneuvers, she was negotiating a parking spot close to the restaurant’s entrance.
As he exited the tiny sedan, Zach had one of those moments when something seemed out of place. Like most experienced law enforcement officers, he had received extensive training in observation and retention. Such skills were often necessary for survival. And right now, some unknown catalyst had prompted the hairs on the back of his neck to stand at attention.
His eyes scanned the large glass windows that dominated the truck stop’s primary structure… then switched to sweep the parking lot. What was it? Something oddly familiar.
“You okay?” Sam asked, giving him a questioning look.
“I don’t know… something caught my eye, but I can’t….”
Zach never got a chance to finish the sentence. Three spaces over, a large suitcase was sliding off the roof of a nearby minivan, its securing tether of rope having come loose on the road.
A rather harried-looking young father leapt from behind the steering wheel, rushing to retrieve his luggage – but he forgot to put the vehicle in park.
The sound of a crying child filled the still-open door as dad hustled to return the belongings to the rack. Zach watched in horror as the van began to roll toward a row of parked cars.
Moving quickly, the Texan sprinted 20 steps and slid behind the wheel, tapping the brake and engaging the gearshift. The shocked woman riding in the passenger seat must have thought the ranger was a car-jacker. Almost instantly, her screams rivalled those of the unhappy child in the back.
Dad, hearing the warning and spotting movement out of the corner of his eye, was quick to respond, gripping Zach’s arm and shouting, “Who the fuck are you!” at the same moment.
“Your van was still rolling,” Zach explained, exiting the seat with his hands in the ‘Don’t shoot’ position. “I was just putting it in gear.”
“Yeah, right,” the guy started, giving Zach the “I’m going to kick your ass,” eye.
“Seriously, it was going to hit those cars over there,” the Texan continued. “I was trying to do you a favor.”
Sam appeared just then, smiling large at the bewildered van owner. “It’s okay. We’re cops,” she said. “Zach was only trying to help.”
The winning smile of the stunning law officer settled the beleaguered travelers, and after a few minutes, everyone was fast friends. “We’re relocating to Texas,” explained the van owner, wiping his brow and sighing with relief. “It’s been one hell of a trip.”
After exchanging a few pleasantries, the two rangers wished the couple well and turned for the restaurant. Within moments, the caffeine-deprived ranger was ordering two cups of coffee as Sam headed off in search of taffy.
While the waitress scurried away to retrieve the java, Zach wandered the aisles in search of the currency exchange booth. Again, he ran into the errant van’s driver.
Zach was third in line, the entire process new, and thus somewhat intriguing. But there seemed to be a problem up ahead.
“What do you mean you’re no longer accepting Texas currency?” snapped the man at the head of the line.
“There’s been a wave of counterfeiting reported in this area,” the muffled response sounded through the thick glass. “We stopped taking greenbacks about an hour ago. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until the situation is all cleared up.”
The frustrated customer worked his mouth pretty well, but it was clear the clerk wasn’t going to budge. Mumbling a creative string of curses, he finally stomped off.
Zach watched the van driver exchange his U.S. dollars without any issue. With a friendly nod, the guy hurried to his family still seated in the diner.
“How are you, sir?” the lady greeted as Zach stepped up to the booth.
“Hanging in there. You?”
“I’m good. I have some U.S. money I’d like to exchange for T
exas green,” Zach stated. “I heard there was some sort of problem with the Republic’s new money?”
Nodding, the lady reiterated her earlier statement, “Yes, that’s what I hear. I’ve never seen anything like it. My boss called about an hour ago and told us to stop trading in the Texas Greenbacks. I guess some guy has been going all around, dumping thousands in fake bills.” She then lowered her voice and glanced left and right to make sure no one was in earshot. “And I think the counterfeiter was just here,” she confided in a whisper.
Zach didn’t buy it but thought it would be fun to play along. “Really?” he replied, appearing to peek nervously over his shoulder while leaning closer to the glass. “What makes you say that?”
“There was just a man here… maybe ten minutes ago… he had about $4,000 in brand new Texas bills. He had the coldest, meanest eyes I’ve ever seen, and I watch a lot of those cop shows on TV. Anyway, when I told him he couldn’t exchange his bills, I expected him to pull a knife or shoot up the place, but he didn’t. He just smiled and walked away, like it was no big deal.”
Something in her story resonated with Zach. His memory revisited the odd sensation he’d felt in the parking lot. “What did this potential criminal look like?”
“Tall and trim. Not as tall as you, but over six feet. Now, you are a tall drink of water, mister,” she rattled on. “Anyway, this fella had a dark complexion, but he wasn’t Mexican. My husband is Latino, and I know the difference,” she assured Zach, leaning closer to give her credentials. “I like to guess where people are from. It helps pass the time. At first, I thought he was Greek… or from somewhere around the southern Mediterranean. He would have been a very handsome man if it wasn’t for those eyes. I am telling you, those were the eyes of a killer.”
Waiting while she counted his funds, Zach kept rolling the clerk’s description around in his head. Sam appeared at his side, a small plastic container in her hand.
“Did you hear?” she spouted. “The television in the café is set to stream one of the news networks, and they are airing report after report about Texas… something about millions of counterfeit greenbacks being dumped all over the southern United States.”
Gesturing toward the clerk with his head, Zach said, “Yeah, we were just talking about that.”
“Sorry it took me so long, but this guy almost knocked me over, and I dropped my bag. If I hadn’t known better, I’d say he’d just robbed the place…. Some people are just jerks.”
“What did he look like?”
Sam gave practically an identical description as the exchange clerk – with one exception. She added a slightly different observation, “I swear the dickwad had the eyes of a predator.”
No sooner did the words spill from Ranger Temple’s mouth, than a torrent of images rushed back to Zach. He combed his memory banks from the time they’d first arrived, his mind reviewing the mental snapshots as if he were replaying a slide show presentation on fast-forward.
And there he was. There, in the corner of his mind’s eye… a man.
Without waiting for the currency, Zach barked, “Come on!” to his partner, rushing toward the exit in a bolt.
“Sir! Wait, sir! Your money,” the clerk shouted. But Ranger Bass didn’t hear.
Sam struggled to keep up, finally discovering Zach standing on the bumper of her car, his head pivoting as it scanned the extensive lot.
“There!” he pointed, seeing the headlights of an SUV brighten on the other side of the facility. “Come on, come on!”
Tossing her taffy into the back, Sam did as her partner indicated. They cut off an 18-wheeler and threw gravel, but somehow managed to catch up with the distant taillights.
“Not too close,” Zach warned. “If that is who I think it is, he’s a pro.”
“What is all this about? Who are we chasing?”
Zach told Sam the story of the restaurant in Jerusalem, about the man sitting next to the Butcher, and how he had disappeared into thin air.
“And what the hell does that have to do with counterfeit money?”
“It all fits together… a string of weird coincidences,” Zach mumbled. “The attempt on the ambassador’s kid, the oilfield parts, and now the fake bills. This guy’s running some sort of operation against Texas. He’s probably responsible for the deaths of Bubba and the auctioneer.”
Sam shook her head but didn’t let off the gas. “Seriously, Zach, I’m a little worried about you. That’s about the biggest stretch I’ve ever seen anybody make, Texas Ranger or not.”
“All along I’ve been convinced that somebody was running a coordinated show against us – or at least against Texas. The shot that finished Bubba had to be made by a professional. Someone who knew how to drop a moving target with one bullet.”
He recapped the execution, paused to inhale, organized his thoughts, and continued connecting the dots. “We didn’t find a single trace of evidence at the Linderhursts’ house. Again, a real professional job. Then, there is the way the junkyard dogs fit in all of this. Picking the Benders as the intermediary for that parts shipment was perfect. There were just too many well-timed, well-executed moves in all of this.”
Zach reached to pick up and briefly examine Sam’s purchase, wrinkling his nose before continuing. “The Republic of Texas might just be saved because of that gawd-awful, gourmet taffy of yours.”
Knowing her partner as she did, Sam decided to keep her doubts to herself and focused all of her attention on following the distant taillights.
That task became far more difficult when they realized the suspect was heading into the countryside. “Shit,” Zach protested, “He’ll see us for sure now. Back off a little.”
Sam did more than that, turning off onto a two-lane, county road that wasn’t even paved. She floored the accelerator.
“Oh, my gawd!” Zach protested, his fillings rattling against his tooth enamel. “What are you doing?”
“I know these roads, Zach. I used to date a boy who lived not far from here. If we hurry, we can get out in front of the suspect. This old pig trail merges back into the lane he’s driving on.”
Smiling, Zach couldn’t help himself. “And what were you doing out in these rural parts with a boy, young lady?”
Sam didn’t respond, her expression making it obvious that the usual banter wasn’t worth it.
“Drinking beer?” Zach teased. “Heavy petting? Parking?”
But Sam didn’t answer, instead focusing all of her attentions on keeping her car between the ditches. The road was bumpy, dusty, and narrow, and the gravel transformed the slightest of curves into a major challenge.
“Well?” Zach pressed, clutching the door handle as the back end slid dangerously around a turn.
Rolling her eyes, Sam sighed deeply. “If you must know, officer, there is a great swimming hole out here. We used to come out and go skinny dipping in the summer heat.”
“Ah-hah!” Zach snapped, his face breaking into a grin. “I knew there were nefarious activities afoot!”
Sam nailed the brakes, her tiny car skidding to a halt. For a second, Zach thought he’d taken the teasing too far.
“That’s the road, right up there,” Sam pointed. She then switched off the headlights and waited.
It wasn’t long before they spotted two circles of an approaching vehicle’s lights. It was the SUV.
She paused, counting to ten before turning on her own lights and mashing the accelerator. They had rejoined the hunt – or what Sam was sure was a wild goose chase.
The SUV traveled another three miles before a turn signal indicated it had reached a destination. Sam kept her speed constant, passing a driveway that led to a modest ranch-style home. “Doesn’t look like a terrorist training camp to me,” she observed, finally slowing to a crawl.
“Well, it does to me,” Zach countered. “Did you notice the windows?”
“No, I was driving, if you’ll recall.”
“They were completely blacked out. In fact, I could on
ly detect the coverings when they reflected in his headlights.”
“Maybe he likes his privacy,” she contested.
“Pull over up here. I want to go have a look on foot.”
“Should we call the local sheriff?”
“And tell them what? We’re in pursuit of a possible skinny dipper?”
“Funny, asshole. Seriously, we’re not in Texas anymore. If some spooked farmer runs a 12-gauge slug through your carcass, it’s not going to be good.”
“I’ll be okay. Give me 30 minutes.”
And then he was out of the car, crossing to a fence and vaulting over. Sam watched him disappear into the darkness. “Be safe out there. It is Arkansas,” she whispered.
Chapter 9
Ghost stood silently on the rear stoop, his ears searching the darkness beyond. The traffic behind him had seemed a little out of character, but not impossible. He’d relaxed when the first vehicle had turned off. The second pair of headlights had again perked his awareness, but there was no way the authorities could be on his tail already.
And yet there was that man at the truck stop.
Ghost had watched him move for the rolling car, impressed with the lanky fellow’s speed and grace. There was something familiar…. He’d seen that man somewhere before.
Ghost stood listening to the insects, their constant chirping an effective early warning system. If anyone was about, the creatures of the night would fall silent. Letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, he remained unmoving, probing every shadow, letting his mind expand outward, sensing his surroundings.
He stuck the key in the back door, entering the tiny kitchen and again hesitating to identify any sign of an intruder. The home was just as he’d left it, a few threadbare furnishings and the hum of an old refrigerator its only occupants.
Flipping the light switch, he glanced at his watch, admiring the timing of it all.
He’d driven by the farmhouse two days ago, a wrong turn on the way to Texarkana leading him down the remote roadway. The sign in the front yard had read, “For Rent. Furnished. Immediate move-in.”