I took a quick shower in the bathhouse, dressed for a very warm day as it was already in the seventies, and packed everything up. I grabbed a handful of brochures at the office that I planned on handing out at The Rally. One had to support a fine, outstanding campground such as this. I made a mental note to go to RV Park Review and praise the hell out of this place.
As I was driving toward Boise, I got a call from the Rally coordinator saying they had accepted my vendor application and were looking forward to seeing the cookbook I had written. She said she also arranged to move the rally fee that I had already paid for attendance and for accommodations at the Deschutes County Fairgrounds, to the vendor fee and to the reduced-rate sites in the vendor area. I would have a refund coming unless I still chose to attend Peter Noonan’s Concert and Vince Gill’s concert. I didn’t want to put her to any more trouble, so I said sure, I’d still attend. Yay! I was in.
I picked up the books, all five cases, and took a few minutes to marvel at my efforts. I had done a fantastic job and looking from an outsider’s perspective, I thought it was easily worth ten bucks. I ended up selling two of them before I made it to the parking lot—one to the printer’s assistant and one to the store manager—wow, only 98 to go.
At Wal-Mart I found a canopy called First-Up which promised an easy setup, and bought a package of poster board and some neon markers. Then I went to a bank and got cash to make change. I was in business! And pretty excited about my new endeavor if truth be known.
Leaving Boise, I decided to drive all the way to Redmond. It was only about 250 miles more. And as a vendor I could set up now, find my booth number, get a site for my RV and save myself the money I would spend on a campground tonight. Halfway there I went through the town of Burns and remembered exactly why I was here in the first place. Panic began to take over, I was afraid now that I was so close to the man Brick had sworn to kill. I had my hand on the phone to call Brick, ready to tell all, when the phone rang in my hand.
It was Gloria. Today was the first day we had agreed to do a daily check-in. I filled her in on my progress, told her about the book and had to agree to save one for her—97 to go. She told me about the tests they had to run on Daddy. He was having some problems with angina. I told her to give everyone my love and that I would try to find a way to see him as soon as I could. I was just about to disconnect when I heard Gloria gasp.
“What is it?” I almost ran into the other lane trying to navigate a turn while holding the phone. I punched the speaker button and dropped it into my lap.
“It’s Jared!”
“There?” I hollered.
“No. On TV!”
“What’s he done now?
“You aren’t going to believe this, but he’s escaped again. This time they were transporting him from the hospital back to Fairfax County Jail when he managed to get away. They found the officers handcuffed to the security cage on Route 7.”
“Oh my God!”
“It’s worse. Both officers were shot, one in the back, one in the hip.”
“Sweet Jesus . . . how could he do that?”
“The officers say he was handcuffed in the back seat when they were rear ended. They both got out to check the damage and to see if anyone in the other car was hurt when two guys in the car that hit them attacked. Shots were fired. People driving by said they saw some men dragging the officers to the police car. When they turned around and came back, the attacker’s car was missing.”
“Oh he’s really done it this time,” I moaned.
“Yeah, but he’s out now. And he’s probably coming for you.”
“He’ll never find me here—the rig’s been checked. I paid a man a hundred dollars at a Radio Shack in Kansas to go over the whole RV with that wand they have after the incident with Jared and the twins. It did not pick up any transmitters. And I rolled my number over to a new cell phone just this morning. I’ve shut down my email program, and only you, Randy, and Brick even know about this rally.”
“You just be careful. If I don’t hear from you by ten every single morning, I’m calling Brick.”
“That’s what you’re supposed to do, that’s what we agreed you’d do.”
“How long will it take that bastard to get all the way across the country if he’s coming after you again?”
“Well I doubt that he’d fly, he has no I.D., no access to money, or at least not yet, he’s a wanted man, and he’s still pretty banged up I imagine.”
“Yeah, the video they’re showing on TV from the hospital monitor shows him limping from the wheelchair into the cruiser.”
“So somehow he managed to arrange this accident and escape.”
“Yeah, and now, according to the news, he has their guns. So if he can’t fly how long will it take him to get to you once he figures out where you are?”
“Four, five days. Maybe three if he’s with someone else and they never sleep. I don’t really know.”
“Well you need to plan on being out of there in three days then. Find the girl, do what you need to and get the hell away.”
“That’s the plan, Gloria. You take care. Give Dad a kiss for me, Mom too. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
I picked the phone up, took it off speaker and closed the case. Dear God, Jared had shot two officers! He could never return to his old life now. He truly had gone around the bend this time. It seemed the only thing that mattered to him now was getting to me. A man so obsessed with revenge that’d he give up everything he’d worked so hard for had to have spirochetes eating at his brain. If he found me this time, I knew he’d kill me.
Chapter Twenty-seven
It was four o’clock when I finally got to the fairgrounds. There was a volunteer to meet me who took my name, then another volunteer in a golf cart drove me around a mostly vacant parking lot that was gigantic, all the way over to another one on the backside that was already well-populated. It was mostly dirt, packed hard from years of use. It blended with the desert all around us and went on for what seemed like forever, until it abutted with the mountains. The Three Sisters Mountains off in the distance were a spectacular backdrop to the rows of RVs.
This was to be my village for the next few days. It was fairly bursting with excitement. People were setting up housekeeping, waving to each other as they passed, and loading all manner of things onto golf carts. It took ten minutes to get situated on the site, as the volunteer was very particular about everyone being on the lines spray-painted on the ground. This was clearly a structured event, everything would be precisely handled—it was more than apparent that the volunteers would see to that. I could see by their expressions how serious they were about their jobs. It was daunting. Begrudgingly, I made every maneuver he desired, indicated by his use of hand signals until he was satisfied I was where he wanted me. I put jack stands down and put the slide out and then I went outside to hook up to the multi-pronged utility pole that housed the electric connection. Setting up my own house was duck soup to me now.
Several people walked by and either nodded or waved, a few said “nice rig,” and that’s when I noticed that for once, mine was one of the newest and shiniest. I had forgotten this was the workingman’s side. I got things together and set my little campsite up a few feet from the front door. I had a wonderful mesh mat in the basement that I put down to keep the dirt to a minimum inside the RV and two nice lounging chairs with a table between.
As this was a fairground and used for many things other than parking RVs, there were no water connections, sewer or otherwise, and no picnic table, grill, or fire ring. We were pretty much boondocking except for electricity. Mid-July anywhere out west without air conditioning would be grueling in this heat. And I was one of the ones who loved it hot, so I was happy when everything was working properly.
Suspecting that the bathhouse would be virtually empty this late, which it was, I took a shower, washed my hair and shaved before going back to my unit to dress in jean shorts and a t-shirt. A light snack
of apple slices smeared with peanut butter and a tall glass of cranberry juice renewed me and I built up the courage to venture out into the world of the rally.
It was after the dinner hour for most, so those who didn’t have children or chores to tend to gathered in clusters under colorful awnings. This was a different crowd. It had a reunion feel to it. Laughter rang through the air as people reconnected after months or years apart and with each new entry onto the lot, the men craned their necks to check out the new rig and to watch the set up process. Every camper was different and every rig had its idiosyncrasies. It was fascinating to see the unique ways people devised to handle everyday things. I watched one husband and wife spend many minutes and meticulous care getting their two dogs situated on tie outs as far from the rig as they could. I sensed they’d about had enough of their “children” for the day when I noted their license tag proclaimed them native to Maryland. Wow, they had to have been on the road for at least a week, no wonder they needed some space from their pets.
A woman named Nancy, on a walk with her own two mutts, came over and introduced herself and invited me to have some wine with her and her friends at her RV. Normally, I might have declined and opted to just be alone, but that was not why I was here. I needed to mingle, I need to interact—I needed to find Jillian. And since Gloria’s phone call this morning, I realized I didn’t have time for the luxury of anonymity.
I was welcomed into the little group of eight, introduced to Mary, Pat, Carl, Sharon, Jeff, Donetta, and Jobey, Nancy’s husband. All very nice people who were pretty much on their way to being toasted, well except for Carl. He was spiking himself up on coffee, as he proclaimed when I was introduced, that he was one of the volunteer security guards, and tonight at midnight he would begin his first shift.
I figured that gave me an in, so I innocently asked, “What’s going on at night?”
“Well, nothin’ we hope. But a lot of people have their stuff set out already so the agreement is, we’ll make sure you get to sell it. Don’t rightly know that there’s a whole lot of thievin’ goin’ on at these here kinda things, but I’ll tell you one thing,” and he leaned closer to me with his foul coffee and cigarette breathe and announced in an overly gregarious manner, “it’s sure not gonna happen on my shift!”
I smiled and tried to inch my face away. “Good. Very good.”
“You selling or toutin’ sumpin’?”
I smiled, all bright and proud, not at all ashamed to peg myself as a novice for all the good it would do me. “Yes! I am. I have a cookbook that I wrote. It just came out and this rally will be its first try out.”
All the women stopped talking and eyes agog, turned as one to face me.
“A cookbook?” You’d think I’d said a twenty-carat diamond.
“You’re a writer?” The way Pat beamed made me feel like a celebrity.
“You don’t say?” Mild interest on the part of Donetta. “I don’t cook anymore, you just don’t have to with all the prepared foods out there.” Her tunic top fought to cover her rounded body and if she dared to stand upright, it revealed a rather stretched out floral tattoo on her torso. What was once a rose stem was now more like a vine up her side. I could see how refined foods had insinuated themselves into her diet, and possibly Carl’s too, as I thought she was paired with him. Why couldn’t people stay beside their mates at these things, at least until I could figure out who went with whom?
And Nancy, bless her heart, “I want one. Let me go git ma money.” She turned to leave then turned back with a grin, “I do git a discount now, being your neighbor and all?”
I smiled back, “Of course.”
I went back to my unit to get her a book and she counted out eight ones. I thought a twenty percent discount appropriate among fellow vendors—96 to go. I drank the wine that was handed to me and recognized it as Charles Shaw, commonly known in RVing circles as Two-buck Chuck, even after it went to three dollars a few years back. I sipped it slowly as it sometimes left me with a tannin headache, while the women passed my cookbook around and oohed and aahed over it. They all had to have their own copy. Yes, even Donetta of refined foods, which I now, despite telling myself not to, associated with “doughn-etta.” I traipsed back to the Dolphin and dug in the cardboard box for three more books. All of which now had to be equally discounted of course—93 to go.
After a few more minutes of idle conversation, I made my apologies, saying how tired I was from the drive, and made my way back to my RV. It was too soon to show my hand and ask any pertinent questions. I had a feeling a leisurely walk around the fairground tomorrow, after I had set up my wares and made myself one of the group, might net me more.
I drank a whole bottle of water, as everything seemed so dry here, and then I grabbed my book and a few Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups before locking up and heading back to the bedroom.
The sheets felt cool and soft against my skin and I don’t think I even finished one page before I was out, the heady taste of chocolate and sweet peanut butter melting against the roof of my mouth. I was tired and just the thought of what the following days would mean drained me of energy despite the sugar rush.
Chapter Twenty-eight
I woke to the sounds of people stirring in their campsites all around me. I opened my eyes and stared at the skylight for a few minutes trying to orient myself. Then before I could forget, I called my sister to check in, and as she belabored the fact that Jared was still “on the loose,” I munched on the two remaining peanut butter cups I had unwrapped and left on the nightstand last night. Couldn’t waste them could I, I asked myself as I popped one in my mouth and moaned.
“You sound like you’re having sex,” Gloria said with apparent disgust in her voice. Gloria had always been a grade A prude.
“Chocolate,” I managed to mumble around the softening morsel.
“Ah, same thing. Only not quite so messy.”
“You need a new partner. I never get the two confused.”
“Are you having sex with that cop?”
“Uh, not at the moment, as I believe he’s three or four states over. But if he was here . . .well, let’s just say, there’s not enough chocolate in the world.”
“Geez, Deb—she never could get the name change imbedded in her brain—can’t you get out of one relationship, one truly bad relationship, before starting another?”
“This is different.”
“How?”
“He’s not possessive.” I thought about that for a moment. Yeah, yeah he was. “Well not as possessive.” But he was, in his own way. “Well, in a good way.”
“Debbie . . .”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“You said that last time.”
“I was too young to know what was going on. Believe me, I am not naïve anymore.”
“What do you really know about this guy?”
“He treats me wonderfully. Hey! That’s it! That’s the difference.”
I sat up as if I’d just had a eureka moment. “He cares about me. Me. You know, he isn’t into sex at all unless it’s to please me.” The revelation had me kneeling on the bed smiling.
“I feel as if his pleasure is insignificant in the exchange. I really do feel as if I come first with him, and I didn’t intend for that to be a pun.”
“They’re all like that at first. Then it’s ‘hey how ‘bout a beer while I watch the game, and I wouldn’t mind a . . .’ as their hand circles their crotch.”
“Boy you’re a cynic. I’m the one who should be down on men, look what’s happened to me.”
“But it was only the one relationship.”
“Have you had a bad relationship, Gloria?” I suddenly realized that lately all our conversations had been about me. “I know your marriage kind of petered out after awhile as you were both too career-minded to spend much time together, but I thought you were fine with Larry.”
“Oh, he’s okay,” she said in a wistful voice. “You just seem to be having a lot more fun thes
e days.”
“Maybe it’s because I wake up eating chocolate.”
“I’ll have to give that a try. Gotta run. Don’t forget I want a cookbook.”
“Gotcha.” I popped the other chocolate into my mouth and smiled.
The phone rang and I saw it was Brick. Good news or bad, I debated as I flipped the cover up.
“Good morning Beautiful, how’s my girl?”
Nervous, edgy, scared, and probably only a football field’s length from your sister, I thought, but instead came up with “Great. Just great. How ‘bout you?”
“Couldn’t be better. Just wrapped up a case I was the expert witness on and in about an hour I’ll be on a plane heading back west.”
“Do you get paid for being an expert witness?”
“Yes and no. I have to charge a fee otherwise there’d be no end to it. Unless it’s one of our own cases, it’s on my own time, but I usually donate the fee to one of the reward programs for missing kids. Or to the injured family if there’s no conflict, if it’s that kind of case. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering, you always seem to have money. Not like most cops.”
“Well, I am single, with no mortgage or rent, my travel expenses are paid for by the jurisdiction I’m working for, and I don’t seem to have time for an expensive hobby. Hell, I can’t even find time for you—pleasuring you being my most favorite hobby by far.”
I felt the blush creep up the side of my face. “So where are you flying back to?”
“North Dakota. I left my rig close to the Canadian border. We extradited a child rapist they picked up forging checks. I had to accompany the agent making the arrest and had to leave it at a ranger station. After that I have to speak at a high school on the pros and cons of oral sex.”
“Hmmm . . . I was pretty sure you were for it.”
“For adults.”
“Were you for it when you were in high school?”
“Mmmm . . . plead the fifth. However, things have changed greatly since I was in high school.”
Running Into A Brick Wall Page 13