Escape from Fire Lake

by Robert Vernon

  Josh snapped the box closed and slid the latch back into place. “Not here. We’ve got to get moving.”

  Josh placed the teak box into a red gym bag and then hid it under the rest of the loot in the back of the truck. “Tie down the back, then check the oil,” he ordered. “I’ll wipe down the Caddy for prints. We wouldn’t want anyone to know we’ve been here.”

  Mike Fowler did his best thinking when he was alone. As he and Jake made their way down a back alley of town, he reviewed the possible methods by which he might dig up a new case. Perhaps if he stopped by the sheriff’s office, Smitty might have a lead. It was a little bit out of his way, but he had the time, and it was worth a shot.

  Jake barked, breaking Mike’s concentration. Mike still had the ball they had been playing with, and the dog wanted to resume the game. Mike lobbed the ball in a slow arc over some telephone wires. It hit and then bounced off an aluminum trash can.

  Jake was gone in a flash and caught the ball in his mouth by the second bounce. Before Mike knew it, Jake was back by his side waiting for another round.

  This time Mike thought he would make the game a little more challenging. He threw the ball with all his might and gave it a little backspin, just to throw Jake off. The ball sailed almost fifty yards before it came back down to earth, catching the edge of an old Campbell’s alphabet soup can. That, together with the backspin, caused the ball to take a weird bounce. Banking off a stray piece of aluminum siding, the ball made a right turn and sailed just over the top of an old wooden fence. Jake arrived just moments later, but there was no way he could follow it over the tall fence.

  “Sorry, Jake!” Mike called. “Hold on! I’ll get it!”

  Jake stood up, placing his front paws as high as he could on the boards. As Mike ran up, Jake turned to look at him and whined.

  “Don’t worry, boy,” Mike soothed. “We’ll find it.”

  Mike grabbed the top of the fence and swung a leg up. Wedging his sneaker between two of the slats, he hoisted himself up and was about to pull himself over the top when he saw, only about twenty yards away, two men behind the back of an old army truck. Mike froze, not out of fear, but because he immediately sensed that something was not right. Since they had not spotted him yet, he slowly lowered himself back down the alley side of the fence.

  “That’s weird,” he whispered to Jake. “This place is supposed to be closed up.”

  He stood up on tiptoe, just high enough to see over the fence. A lanky redheaded man wearing a cowboy hat was busy tying down the canvas flaps on the back of the truck. The other man had the physique of a bodybuilder and glanced around suspiciously before walking out of Mike’s sight. Mike continued to watch until the redhead had finished the job and walked off in the same direction the other had gone.

  Mike knew that he probably shouldn’t go sticking his nose into other people’s business, but he had already come up with three good reasons to do just that. One: They were strangers. He had never seen them around town before. Two: What business could strangers possibly have in the middle of an old, condemned motor lodge? And three: He just had to see what was in the back of that truck!

  “They’re up to something,” he whispered to Jake. “Come on!”

  Mike quickly scaled the fence, being careful not to make too much noise when he landed on the other side. He turned and pulled on a loose board, which swiveled to make an entryway for Jake. Mike put a finger to his mouth, signaling the dog to keep quiet, then peeked around the adobe wall to make sure the coast was clear.

  Mike could easily make out the pants of the red-haired man, who had his head and shoulders buried under the hood of the car. And he could hear the bodybuilder making noises on the far end of the courtyard.

  Signaling Jake to follow, Mike lightly tiptoed across the open ground, being careful not to scuff his feet. Once he had made it to the back of the truck, he went to work untying the canvas flaps. It wasn’t easy. The red-haired man had tied it down pretty well, leaving a mean knot to untangle. Mike tried to make his fingers work quickly as he realized that he didn’t have much time before they returned.

  Just when he was about to give up, the knot gave, and the flaps swung free. Not wasting any time, Mike placed a foot on the truck’s back bumper, spread the canvas flaps back, and stuck his head in.

  Mike had suspected the two men were up to some kind of no good, but never did he expect to find all this. Unopened boxes of TVs, VCRs, and car stereos were stacked against the back wall. In the middle of the truck bed, safety-deposit boxes were haphazardly stacked, some of them spilling their contents of assorted jewelry and stacks of savings bonds. A long suitcase lay half open, clearly exposing a twelve-gauge shotgun. And closest to Mike was a pile of money bags, each bearing the official symbol of the Bank of Ambrosia.

  Mike shook his head in disbelief. This was bad. Perhaps if he could get to the sheriff’s office fast enough, he might be able to return with Smitty before the robbers left town.

  He decided not to waste any time tying down the canvas flaps and lightly stepped back off the truck. “C’mon, Jake,” he whispered. “We’ve got to go get Sheriff Smitty.”

  Thunk! The truck rocked to the sound of the hood being slammed. Mike didn’t have much time. He’d have to move quickly if he didn’t want to be seen.

  Mike peeked around the right side of the truck, and his worst fears were realized. The muscular man had finished whatever he had been up to and was now walking up the right-hand side of the truck. It was too late to go back the way he had come.

  Mike pivoted on the ball of his foot and peered around the left side of the truck. The cowboy was coming up that side! With nowhere left to run, Mike knew that within a matter of moments he would be discovered.

  As Josh Pendleton walked along the side of the truck, he tried to remember if there was some small detail he might be forgetting, something the police could find and use as a clue. Although he was anxious to clear out of Ambrosia, he knew far too many men back in prison who had panicked, made a sloppy mistake, and been caught because of it. No, he would keep a level head and mind the details.

  He came to the back of the truck, turned the corner, and stopped short in his tracks. “Hey!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

  Seth rounded the opposite side of the truck at about the same time. “What?” he asked, wondering what he could have done this time.

  The canvas flaps blew loosely in the wind. “I distinctly told you to tie this down!” Josh bellowed, pointing at the flaps.

  Seth looked at the untied flaps in disbelief. “I thought I did,” he stammered.

  “You thought you did. Tell you what, I’ll do the thinking. You just do what you’re told. Okay? Now, tie it down!”

  Josh turned and walked back to the front of the truck shaking his head. This was exactly the kind of slipup he was afraid of. He’d have to keep a close eye on his not-so-brilliant partner.

  Seth stood for a moment at the back of the truck scratching his head. He was sure he had tied those flaps down, but there was no denying the evidence. The tie-downs just hung there, flapping in the wind. He couldn’t let Josh down again. This time he’d use his own extraspecial industrial-strength knot.

  It had only been because of some quick thinking and a lot of luck that Mike had not been discovered. With both exits cut off by the robbers, it had occurred to him that he had one last option. He had scooped Jake up in his arms and scrambled through the flaps into the truck.

  He was sure he had been seen, especially when one of the robbers had yelled. But he had overheard their conversation and knew that he was safe for the time being. He now hunkered down with Jake behind a large TV box and waited for a chance to slip back out.

  From his hiding place he could see the fingers of the cowboy securely retying the canvas flaps. He heard a door open and felt the truck’s weight shift as the other robber climbed into the front. Next came the sound of the tinkling of keys, and then the engine roared to life.

  “Are yo
u almost done back there?” the driver yelled back impatiently.

  “You asked me to tie it down. So that’s what I’m doing!” the other responded defensively.

  “Well, hurry up. We haven’t got all day!”

  Mike could hear the cowboy’s footsteps walking up to the front of the truck. This was his chance.

  “C’mon, Jake,” he whispered to the dog. “We’ve gotta move quick.”

  Mike stumbled across the scattered loot, grasped the canvas flaps, and tried to pull them apart. They barely budged. The cowboy had apparently tied them down twice as well this time. Mike tried to reach his fingers through to the knot, but it was no use. There wasn’t enough room.

  Mike heard the driver grind the manual transmission into first gear and felt the truck start to roll forward. It’s now or never! Mike thought. Seeing a bit of light seeping through at the top of the flaps, Mike reached up and made a hole. Although it wasn’t very big, he hoped it would be large enough to squeeze through. He pushed his right shoulder through the hole and was working on the other one when the truck made a left turn, setting him off balance. His foot landed on Jake’s paw, and the dog let out a small yelp of pain.

  Mike knew he only had a few moments left. Once the truck pulled out of the driveway onto the main highway, it would pick up too much speed for him to jump away safely.

  Mike regained his balance and pushed his other shoulder through. Now, if he could just lift his leg over onto the bumper.

  Something at his waist was snagged. It was the compass he kept in a pouch on his waist. He pushed open the canvas as far as it would go, and the compass came free. The truck swerved, and Mike lost his footing again. As he grasped at the flaps to regain his balance, the pouch at his waist snapped open and spilled the compass onto the bumper.

  The compass had been a gift from his father. Along with a pocket Bible, it was, in fact, the last thing Mike had ever received from his dad. I can’t lose it! his brain screamed.

  Mike forgot all else and reached as hard as he could for the compass, but it was just out of his reach. The vibration of the truck was slowly moving the compass precariously close to the edge of the bumper. Mike made one last lunge, stretching his arm and fingers as far as they would go.

  The truck hit a pothole, and the compass bounced away. With his arm still extended, Mike watched it bounce several times on the blacktop before disappearing into a patch of weeds on the side of the drive.

  As the truck pulled out onto the highway and accelerated away from town, Mike realized that it was too late to get away. He and Jake had missed their opportunity and were now trapped.

  Chapter 3

  BEN, WINNIE, AND SPENCE were growing impatient as they waited inside the B-17. Mike was over an hour late, and it was beginning to grow dark outside.

  “I bet he forgot,” said Spence, checking his watch.

  Winnie paced the floor, a scowl on her face. “You mean Mike—our Mike—forgot a detective meeting? I don’t think so.”

  “Last time I forgot a meeting you guys made me eat a jar of prunes,” Ben complained.

  “That’s because you were home watching Saber Force,” Winnie sharply reminded him.

  Ben shrugged and looked to Spence for some sympathy. “It’s my favorite show.”

  Spence didn’t want to take sides. He knew that they needed to concentrate on the problem at hand. “Okay, guys. Mike would treat this like a case. Fact: Mike doesn’t miss meetings. Fact: Mike missed this one. Where else could he be?”

  “You guys worry too much,” Ben said with a yawn. “He’s probably goofing off somewhere with Jake.”

  As Mike slowly rubbed Jake’s head, the dog looked up at him with sad eyes. Somehow even he knew they were in a lot of trouble.

  They had been on the road for a few hours, and as far as Mike could tell, they were headed deep into the wastelands of the desert. He had hoped that the robbers might stop for gas, giving him another chance to escape. But no such luck.

  “Well, I guess it’s time to play Hansel and Gretel again,” he whispered to Jake. Mike reached into a money bag lying between his legs and pulled out a one-hundred-dollar bill. He lifted the side of the canvas and let the wind carry it away.

  The idea had occurred to him just a few miles outside of town. Since then he had been dropping a few twenties and hundreds every mile or so. Once in a while he would even write a quick note on one with a gold pen he had found in a safety-deposit box. But he knew the chances of someone finding one of them were slim. The desert winds would probably just blow them off the road and cover them with sand.

  He had already emptied almost an entire money bag and decided to get another. When he pulled one away from the rest of the pile, he noticed that he had uncovered a red gym bag. Unzipping the bag, he reached his hand in and came up with a small wooden box. Curious, he released the latch and opened it up.

  At first Mike didn’t quite know what to make of the statuette. But after giving it a closer look, he noticed the finely detailed carving and the inlaid jewels in the head. This is probably worth a lot, he guessed.

  “Ever see a green cat with wings?” he asked as he showed it to Jake.

  Jake’s ears went flat and he let out a low growl. He hated cats.

  Mike placed the empty box back in the gym bag and slid the statuette into his coat pocket. “We’re going to keep this baby as evidence!”

  The Last Chance Diner was winding down for the day, and Gail Fowler was glad. She and Grandma had been waiting tables all day, and her feet could use a much-earned break. Besides, she looked forward to seeing Pop and Mike. They normally arrived about this time to eat a late supper together as a family.

  She was making change at the checkout counter when she heard the bell above the door ring, signaling that yet another customer had arrived. But she was too busy to look up.

  “Eight thirty-five’s your change,” she said to a trucker as she handed him his cash. “Thanks for stopping in.”

  Winnie, Ben, and Spence approached the counter, glancing around as if looking for something, or someone.

  “Hi, kids,” Gail called as she closed the drawer on the cash register. She looked up, noticing that there were only three of them. “Where’s Mike?”

  “He’s not here?” Winnie asked in reply.

  “No, I haven’t seen him since he left to meet up with you guys. Weren’t you playing baseball all day?”

  “Well, yeah,” Ben said awkwardly. “But we finished up hours ago.”

  “Mike said that he was coming here and that we should meet up with him at five thirty,” Spence added.

  Gail glanced at her watch. It was almost a quarter after seven. After exchanging a worried glance with the kids, she crossed to the center island, where Grandma Fowler was clearing plates.

  “Mom, have you seen Mike today?” Gail asked.

  “No, sure haven’t,” Grandma said, shaking her head.

  “Do you know if he’s with Pop?”

  “Well, no . . .” Grandma noticed the worried expression on Gail’s face. “Is there a problem?”

  “We don’t know where Mike is,” Gail said as she gestured at the kids.

  “Well, Pop is due back soon—he had to make a run into town.” Grandma reached over and grabbed Gail’s hand reassuringly. “Oh, they’ll probably come walking in the door together in a few minutes.”

  “I hope you’re right,” was all Gail could say.

  Josh Pendleton jammed his foot onto the brakes as hard as he could. The tires caught the pavement immediately, and the truck fishtailed to a screeching halt. His partner, Seth, who had just been on the verge of falling asleep, planted his face into the windshield.

  “Hey! What’s wrong, now?!” Seth asked, rubbing the area where a bump would soon appear on his forehead.

  Josh gestured to the side mirror. “I saw something back there.”

  “Like wha—”

  Josh jammed the stick shift into reverse and hit the gas. Seth left another greasy face
imprint right next to the other one on the windshield.

  Josh backed the truck up almost fifty yards, then jumped out, grabbing a flashlight from under the bench seat on his way. When a bewildered Seth met him around the back of the truck, Josh was busy searching the ground with the flashlight beam.

  “What’s gotten into you, Josh? There’s nothin’ back here but road.”

  “Aha!” Josh exclaimed triumphantly. He bent over something at the side of the road and picked it up.

  “What? What is it, Josh?” Seth asked, trying to peer over his shoulder.

  Josh paused for a moment as he studied his find in the flashlight beam. Standing up slowly, he turned and held it out for Seth to see.

  It was a crisp, new one-hundred-dollar bill. As Seth leaned in for a closer look, he noticed that something had been written on it: “Call Ambrosia Sheriff!—Mike.”

  Seth didn’t quite know what to make of it and looked to Josh for an explanation. “But I don’t get it,” Seth sputtered.

  Josh paused, looking pitifully at Seth for a moment, then turned and walked purposefully to the back of the truck. He grabbed the canvas flaps with both hands and violently threw them open. Seth’s eyes slowly followed Josh’s flashlight beam to the inside of the truck. There, a young boy and his dog sat blinking in the harsh blue light.

  An evil smile grew across Josh’s face. “So . . . you must be Mike!”

  It was a little after seven thirty when Pop finally pulled his blue Suburban to the front of the diner. He had been out at the airstrip all day rebuilding an old Cessna engine and had worked up quite an appetite.

  It was Saturday night, and that meant that the blue-plate special was Grandma’s fried chicken and biscuits, smothered in a layer of steaming gravy. Pop’s mouth watered at the thought.

  As he turned off the ignition and pulled the emergency brake into place, he noticed the front door of the diner open. Gail, Grandma, and the kids rushed out to meet him.