The Road Home

by Patrick E. Craig

  With that Jenny put her face in her hands and burst into sobs.

  Just outside of DuBois, Pennsylvania, a young man sat in an old Chevy truck in a gas station parking lot. He was facing the interstate and watching the cars. Suddenly he perked up. A garishly painted blue Volkswagen bus had just passed, headed east. The man climbed out of his truck and walked over to the bank of phone booths next to the station. He picked up the receiver and dialed the operator. When she came on, he asked to make a collect call and then waited. In a moment someone came on the phone at the other end.

  “Mr. Moretti?” the young man asked. “Yeah, this is Frank Williams, over in DuBois. Yeah, that’s me. Say, I saw that blue Volkswagen you asked me to look out for. Yeah, going east on 80. Where are you now? Stroudsburg? Well if you head west you should pick him up in less than an hour. He’s just putting along, so he should be easy to spot. An extra fifty? Thanks, Mr. Moretti. Say, what do you want this guy for? Okay, okay, keep your shirt on, I was just asking. Yeah, I’ll be at Johnson’s gas station working tomorrow. You can drop it by anytime. If I’m not here just give it to Pete, he’s the owner. Yeah, you’re welcome, Mr. Moretti. Anytime.”

  The young man hung up the phone and headed for the restaurant next to the station, where he decided he would have the T-bone steak tonight.

  Johnny drove on down the interstate. He looked over at Jenny as she continued to sob, and he felt completely helpless.

  After a while, Jenny composed herself and lifted her face. They drove on without speaking for a long time. Finally Johnny broke the silence.

  “What do you want me to do, Jenny? I’m so sorry I got you into this. Maybe I should just take you home.”

  “Right now, home sounds very good to me,” Jenny said with a small smile. She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve and then pulled herself together and looked at Johnny. “But I made a decision back in Apple Creek when I told you I loved you. I’m going to stand by that.” Jenny paused and then went on. “We’re on our way, so let’s keep going and see what…”

  At that moment she was interrupted by the sound of a car horn honking. Johnny looked to his left. A brown sedan had pulled even with the van. The window on the passenger side was rolled down, and a man holding a gun was signaling for Johnny to pull over.

  An electric shock went down Johnny’s back. He knew he couldn’t outrun their car, so he looked ahead for a place to get off, pulled over, and came to a stop. The car pulled into a spot in front of them, and two men leaped out and ran back to the van. A tall man with a dark face came to Johnny’s side and motioned for him to roll down the window.

  “Hi ya, Candyman. Isn’t that what they called you back in Frisco?” the man said with a grim smile as he held the gun tightly. The other man was standing by Jenny’s door with his gun just below the window.

  “Now, I want you to keep quiet and do exactly what I say,” the man continued. “Luis is going to join you, and we’ll just follow along. There’s a rest area just up the road that’s a perfect place to have a little talk. Now move.”

  Johnny looked at Jenny. Her face was as white as a sheet. The man called Luis opened the slider door and climbed in the back. Johnny pulled out on the freeway, and they drove to the rest area with the brown sedan following. It was raining when they pulled in, and the parking lot was empty. The tall man got out of the sedan and walked up to the van. He opened Johnny’s door and motioned him out of the car. His gun was pointed right at Johnny’s stomach.

  “Where’s our money, Johnny?” The man’s voice was sibilant, like a snake.

  “I don’t have it.”

  “Sure you don’t. Shub tossed it in the van. Where is it?”

  Johnny glanced over at Jenny. She sat looking at him, her eyes begging him to do something.

  “I was afraid, and I stashed it back in Wooster, at an abandoned farm. If you don’t believe me, search our stuff. It’s not here.”

  There was a rustling sound from the backseat as Luis quickly went through their bags.

  “It ain’t here,” he said.

  “Well, we’ll just have to take a little ride back to Wooster then.”

  Suddenly Jenny blurted out. “My uncle is the sheriff of Wayne County! He will catch you. You have to let us go.”

  “The girl’s got a point, Sal,” Luis said. “We can’t take her back there if her uncle’s the sheriff. It’s a small town, and someone might recognize her.”

  “She’s not going back,” Sal replied. “She’s going to stay with you while Maxie and I take the Candyman back to get the money. She’ll be our guarantee that Johnny boy won’t try anything stupid. He was a stranger in town, right? We’ll just look like tourists. Get her out of here and take her up to Moe’s. We’ll join you there when we have the money.”

  “Leave her out of this,” Johnny said. “She knows nothing about all this.”

  Sal laughed. “You’re a bit late on that score, Candyman. She’s in it now.” He jammed his gun into Johnny’s midsection and then nodded to Luis. Luis got out, opened the passenger door, and pulled Jenny out.

  She looked over at Jonathan. “Just get the money, Jonathan. I’ll be all right. Just get it and come back for me.”

  Luis led Jenny away.

  “Jenny! I’ll come back,” Johnny called after her. “Don’t fight them.”

  Sal smiled and waved the gun toward the van. A short, dangerous-looking man joined them and climbed in the back.

  “Let’s go, Johnny boy. You got some drivin’ to do.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Missing

  BOBBY HALVERSON HEARD THE BUZZ of the intercom on his desk. With a sigh he pushed aside the files for the case he had been working on. Paperwork wasn’t his cup of tea, especially when it involved Randy Culberson’s new shed being eighteen inches closer to the street than the setback allowed, which was a cause of great offense to Maxine Schuster, who lived directly across the road.

  “What is it, Jill?”

  “Dutch Peterson on line one.”

  “Thanks.”

  Bobby picked up the phone. It was always good to hear from the best mechanic in Wayne County. Dutch was getting a little slower now, but he could still make a tractor run like an Indy 500 racecar.

  “Dutch, old buddy, what’s up?”

  The voice on the other end of the line sounded troubled. “Hey, Bobby, I think I better tell you about something.”

  “What’s that, Dutch?”

  “Well, I been fixing the van of a hippie kid who came in here a few days ago with a damaged tie-rod. Seems he bent it when he ran up on a curb to keep from running over someone.”

  “And…”

  “The someone he almost ran over was Jenny Springer.”

  “So did Jenny get hurt? I don’t understand.”

  Bobby could hear Dutch sigh. “Let me finish, hoss,” Dutch said. “This kid picked up his van and left town today. I seen him driving out.”

  “Probably a good thing,” Bobby said. “We don’t have a lot of patience with hippie types.”

  “Yeah, but, Bobby, Jenny was with him when he left.”

  “What?”

  “Jenny Springer was with this kid. His name was, uh….Johnny…Johnny…wait a minute, I got the bill right here. Oh yeah, Johnny Hershberger.”

  “Hershberger! You say he was a hippie, not an Amish kid?”

  “Let me finish,” Dutch said. “When I saw Jenny this morning, she was dressed in regular clothes. She weren’t wearing her little hat either. And her hair was short! I almost didn’t recognize her. And I think the boy got in some kind of trouble while he was here because Bull Halkovich dropped by to make sure I expedited his departure from town. What do you think it means, hoss?”

  “I don’t know, Dutch. I’ll call Reuben and check it out. Thanks for letting me know.”

  Bobby hung up the phone. Every day since he and Reuben had lunch together, he had been thinking about Jenny. She was certainly an impulsive girl—and now this. Something bad must
have happened between her and Reuben. He clicked the intercom button.

  “Yes, Sheriff?”

  “Jill, can you call Hank Lowenstein for me and ask him if he can go next door and bring Reuben or Jerusha over to the phone?”

  “Right away.”

  Bobby put down the phone and waited. In about ten minutes the intercom buzzed.

  “Yeah, Jill.”

  “It’s Reuben Springer.”

  Bobby grabbed the phone. “Reuben, I didn’t expect to hear from you. Thought you’d be out working.”

  “Not today, Bobby.” There was a great weariness behind Reuben’s voice.

  “Reuben, what’s going on? Is Jenny in trouble?”

  There was a pause. Reuben was a very private man, and Bobby knew he didn’t like to air his dirty laundry. “Come on, Reuben, this is Bobby. What’s going on?”

  “Jenny’s gone,” Reuben said. “We had a fight, and we said some terrible things to each other. I got really angry with her, and she laid into me.”

  “Was it what you talked to me about? About her birth mother?”

  “Well, yes, but there was something else. She told us that she had fallen in love with a boy, an Englischer. We had to do something, so I had the bishop come…”

  “What did you do to Jenny, Reuben?”

  There was another long pause. Bobby thought Reuben was stonewalling him, but when Reuben answered, Bobby could hear the pain in his voice.

  “Jenny was placed under a temporary bann, Bobby.”

  “You mean she went under the meidung, the shunning?”

  “Yes, that’s what I mean.”

  Bobby breathed out a long breath. “Well, Reuben, I hate to say this, but I think you overreacted, and now it’s backfired on you.”

  “What do you mean?” Reuben asked.

  “Dutch Peterson saw Jenny leaving town with the young man she told you about. They were headed east.”

  “What!”

  “Apparently they left town this morning. But here’s the strange part. Dutch said she wasn’t wearing her Amish clothes. And her hair was cut off.”

  The silence from Reuben’s end was deafening. Then Reuben spoke. “Bobby, can you help me with this?”

  “I’m not sure what I can do, Reuben. Jenny’s nineteen. She can basically do whatever she wants. Unless the kid she’s with has a record or some warrants, I have to stay out of it.”

  “Can you at least check on that?”

  “Sure, Reuben, I’ll make some calls, and I’ll talk to Bull. I guess he had some kind of a run-in with the boy. By the way, his name is Hershberger.”

  “Hershberger?” There was genuine surprise in Reuben’s voice.

  “Yeah, Johnny Hershberger,” Bobby replied. “I found that a bit odd too. All the Hershbergers I know are Amish. Look, Reuben, I’ll find out what I can, and then I’ll either come over or have Hank come bring you to the phone.”

  “Thanks, Bobby.”

  The line went dead. Bobby flicked the intercom switch again.

  “Yes, sir,” Jill said.

  “Is Bull around?”

  “Sure, he’s in the break room grabbing a cup of coffee.”

  “Have him come in here, would you please? And have him bring his report on Johnny Hershberger.”

  In a few minutes there was a knock, and then Bull Halkovich came in carrying his ticket book.

  “What’s up, Bobby?”

  “Did you run into a kid named Johnny Hershberger in the past few days?”

  “Yeah, the hippie kid with the freak-o bus.”

  “Freak-o?”

  “Yeah, well, it was all painted and had pictures of weird guys pasted on it. A regular sideshow at the circus.”

  “What do you have on him?”

  Bull leafed through the ticket book.

  “Here we go. The van had New York plates, 6S-5844. I ran them but didn’t get any hits, so I let him go. He said he was a musician. He’d been in San Francisco, but he was on his way to join a band in Nashville. I…uh, I encouraged him to be on his way.”

  “You mean you ran him out of town?” Bobby said with a chuckle.

  “Well, sort of. He bent something in his suspension running up on a curb. That’s the funny part. He did it to keep from hitting Jenny Springer, and I guess she gave him an earful. I sent him over to Dutch to get it fixed. Dutch had the van for two or three days. What’s it all about, Bobby?”

  “Dutch called me to say he had seen the Hershberger kid headed out of Apple Creek. Jenny Springer was with him.”

  “Jenny? That’s strange. What would she be doing with that weirdo?”

  “I’m not sure. I know you didn’t get a hit on the plates, but our resources are a little limited here. You said he was coming from San Francisco? Would you mind calling out there and seeing what you can come up with? And maybe check the registration on those plates again.”

  “Sure thing, Boss.” Bull picked up his pad and left.

  Bobby sat tapping a pencil on the top of his desk.

  The three-hour drive back to Wooster had been uneventful. Johnny was driving, and Sal sat in the passenger seat. Sal hadn’t spoken two words the whole time. Maxie was sitting in the back. He had also been silent, but the bulge under his coat spoke volumes. Johnny’s thoughts were in turmoil. Jenny was clearly in danger, and he could do nothing. Suddenly a thought occurred to him. Silently he began to pray.

  God, if You exist, I’m asking for Your help—not for me, but for Jenny. She’s in real trouble, and I can’t help her. I need to get away from these men. Please help me. I don’t know who else to ask.

  After he prayed, Johnny felt his heartbeat slow down. The beads of sweat on his forehead dried, and he felt a strange calm. And then he knew what to do.

  Bobby was thinking about Jenny and what kind of a disagreement would make her leave Reuben and Jerusha. It must have been a dilly, he thought just as the intercom buzzed, startling him.

  “Yeah, Jill.”

  “It’s me, Boss,” Bull said. “I called the boys out in Frisco and got some information you need to hear.”

  “Come on in, Bull.”

  In a minute, Bull came in holding a notepad with some handwritten notes on it.

  “What’s up?”

  “I checked with the San Francisco sheriff’s department, and it seems Johnny boy is a wanted man.”

  “Really?” Bobby asked.

  “Yep. He was involved in a shootout at a motel just outside of San Francisco about a week ago. I guess one of the residents at the motel was awakened by gunfire and peeked out his window. He saw a hippie van just like Hershberger’s tearing out of the parking lot, and shortly after that another car went after it. They left a dead guy in the parking lot.”

  “How do they know it was Hershberger’s van?” Bobby asked.

  “The witness just happened to be an ex-cop. He was able to describe the van in detail. He also remembered both license plates, out of habit I guess. Sure enough, the plates on the van were from New York—6S-5844. The other plates were newer but also from New York—AX-3636. The van is registered to Ronald Hershberger of Levittown, New York. The other car—a Lincoln—is registered to Moretti Trading Company, Brooklyn, New York. Looks like our boy is involved with some bad people.”

  “Bull, put out an APB on the van and the Lincoln in case they’re still in the county. I’ll call Emmett over in Stark County and have him do the same there.”

  “Right, Bobby. I’m on it.”

  Johnny drove into Wooster in the early afternoon. Sal finally spoke.

  “Okay, Mr. Candyman, where’s the dough?”

  “At a farm outside of town. I only remember the street I came in on, and I don’t know this town so I have to backtrack my way out of town. I have to go down Walnut and then out Liberty.”

  Johnny turned on North and headed west. In a few blocks he saw what he was looking for on the right—the big brown building that housed the sheriff’s office. He drove slowly by, hoping. Bull, if you’re ever go
ing to be observant, now’s the time!

  Johnny turned south on Walnut and then turned left around the block, hoping to make one more pass before Sal and Maxie caught on.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” Sal asked suspiciously.

  “I turned the wrong way back there. I have to go north out of town on Walnut. Just bear with me.”

  Johnny felt Maxie’s gun barrel against his neck.

  “Just don’t try anything funny,” Maxie said.

  Johnny turned onto North and went by the sheriff’s office once more. As they did, a sheriff’s patrol car passed them going the other way. Johnny’s hopes rose, but the officer kept driving.

  Then they turned north on Walnut and headed out of town. Johnny’s heart sank.

  Once again the intercom buzzed.

  “Yeah, what?”

  “Boss, you won’t believe it, but our boy just drove through town. Tony Garrison was on Walnut Street, and the van passed him going the other way. It looked to Tony like they were headed north, so he went up to the intersection, turned around to follow them and called me pronto. He said Jenny’s not with the kid, but there are two men in the van with Hershberger. What do we do?”

  “Tell Tony to stay with them but far enough back so they don’t catch on. Grab your cruiser and your shotgun and meet me out front. We’re going hunting.”

  Johnny drove slowly out toward the farm. He knew without a doubt that as soon as he handed over the money, Sal would kill him and probably bury him right there. No one would ever know. And Jenny would surely be killed too. Desperation grew in Johnny’s heart.

  What do I do now, God?

  He was turning onto 585 when he looked in his rearview mirror and saw flashing lights.