“Beats the crap out of me,” Jack said. “Then again, maybe it’s the fear of those five guys from the intelligence and law-enforcement services coming down on his ass. That would scare the hell out of me.”
Snowden leaned across the table. “What the hell did he do?”
“Like we know! Something, obviously. We just don’t know exactly what it is.”
“And for some unknown reason, we are taking this guy out?”
“Yeah. Interesting, huh?” Ted said, speaking up for the first time. “Technically speaking, we aren’t taking him out, the girls are. We’re just backup.”
“What now, Snowden?” Jack asked.
“We’re quartered a half mile up the strip at the Seashell Motel. Our bikes arrived last night. We signed up to take part in the rally, although why is still a mystery to me. I guess it goes under the category of nitpicking details. We have creds that say we belong. Your bikes should be arriving in”—Snowden looked at his watch—“thirty minutes. We have just enough time to pay the check and hoof it back to the motel. I registered you guys last night, so all the details have been taken care of. You plan on riding in those silly getups?”
“Uh-huh,” Harry said.
Bert paid the bill and mumbled something about $192 being a rip-off.
“With or without the tip?” Espinosa asked.
“Without,” Bert snarled as he pocketed the receipt, wondering who he could turn it in to for reimbursement.
As they walked along ogling the nubile sunbathers, Ted decided it was time to vent his frustration. “This…this mission smacks of a few past missions where no plan was in place. Is anyone seeing this but me?”
“If that snide comment was directed at me, Teddie, eat shit! I’m not in charge of anything and, like you, I’m here because I was ordered to be here. Look at the bright side. We got some new duds out of the deal,” Jack said, referring to the beachwear they’d purchased at a thrift store for pennies on the dollar. “The even brighter side is when you and Maggie finally tie the knot, and you take her to Hawaii on your honeymoon, you won’t have to shop for island wear.”
“What are you guys babbling about?” Snowden demanded.
Jack didn’t think Ted’s voice or tone could get any surlier, but it did. “I was just mentioning it would be nice if there were a plan in place. Or is this crap NTK?”
“It is need to know, Robinson. First and foremost, never question orders; just obey them.”
“I don’t like your attitude, Snowden. Furthermore, I don’t work for you, so that means I don’t take orders from you. I’m with Harry. I don’t like you. In addition to all of the above, you are going to look pretty damn stupid in those biker duds sitting poolside with us while we wait for orders.”
“Wiseass! My men and I will not be sitting poolside with you clowns. We will be tinkering with our Harleys. That’s what bikers do; they tinker every minute they aren’t riding.”
Harry inched closer to Ted and hissed, “Would you like me to kill him now or later?”
“I heard that! I heard that! You and what army, Wong? Hope you aren’t counting on those four wusses behind you.”
Harry laughed. Jack thought it was a delightful sign of mirth. For certain it was a harbinger of evil things to come. Snowden must have thought the same thing, because he moved away to take a call that was coming in on his cell.
“Well, boys, I think we have arrived at the Seashell Motel,” Bert observed, pointing to an ugly square structure painted pale purple, yellow, and pink.
Espinosa reared backward. “This looks like one of those places that rents rooms by the hour. I am not staying here. And I am not going into that pool. Just look at that murky water. There’s no telling what is breeding in it.”
“Well, then, I guess we should start tinkering on our bikes. I do believe those five Harleys sitting on the side belong to us, at least temporarily. And they come equipped with helmets, thank you very much. These people drive like drunken cowboys here in this fine state. What do you think, Harry?”
“I do believe you’re right, Jack. However, if these bikes are compliments of one Charles Martin, my advice would be to pretend to tinker. ‘Pretend’ is the operative word. These machines are delicately honed to respond to their drivers. I read that; I don’t know it to be true, but it is always best to err on the side of caution, do you agree, Jack?”
“I do, Harry, I absolutely do. So it’s okay to sit on it and have Espinosa take my picture? For Nikki. I’m sure she’d like a glossy eight by ten.”
“You’re ahead right now, Jack, so quit.”
“Okay, Harry.”
Snowden took that moment to end his call. “Okay, listen up. I have some temporary orders, so pay attention. First, though, I have to go inside and see if I can upload some info and print it out for you cruds.”
“I have a better idea, Snowden.” Harry’s palm slapped at the side of Snowden’s face, and he dropped to the ground. His men rushed to his aid while Jack and the boys watched. Harry bent down and picked up the cell. “I’ll do the uploading and printing out.”
“Well, that certainly works for me, Harry!” Jack said cheerfully. “There is absolutely nothing like a man of action. Is there, boys?”
“Nope, nothing,” they all agreed.
Harry was back in fifteen minutes. “Hard to believe this dump has wireless. If you’ll notice, I collated everything and stapled it for your reading pleasure, and it cost me twenty bucks. So, here it is in a nutshell. In other words, THE PLAN!”
Kathryn settled herself behind the wheel of the eighteen-wheeler, Murphy on the passenger side. “You know what, Murphy, I feel like I died and went to heaven. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed this rig. I can’t wait to get on the horn to see if my old buddies remember me.”
Murphy tossed his head back and howled, Kathryn’s signal to blast the horn. The horn blast meant they were going on the road. “This is as good as it gets, Murph. Just you and me, baby, until we get to Georgia to pick up the girls. Settle in with that cheese bone while I check out who’s on the road in case we need some unexpected help along the way.”
Hours later, Kathryn was about to give up when she tried one more time to locate her old trucking buddy, Jesse Sturgen, also known as Big Bear. “Hey, Bear, you copy? This is Little Sis.” It finally dawned on Kathryn that most of her buddies had probably gone high-tech while she was gone and none of them used their CBs any longer. But, not Big Bear. With fingers like tree trunks, Bear would definitely forgo texting. Besides, he loved talking to people.
Disgruntled, Kathryn finally accepted the fact that if she was going to continue to be a trucker, she had to keep up with what was going on.
An hour outside of Georgia, her CB came to life. “Yo, Little Sis, this is Bear. Where you been, Sweet Cheeks? Got seven calls saying you were looking for me. Had to catch a little shut-eye, so I didn’t hear the squawk.”
“You telling me you don’t know about my nefarious past? God, it’s good to talk to you, Bear!” Kathryn said, happiness ringing in her voice.
“Nah, I was being polite. Where are you?”
“An hour outside of Jacksonville, where I’m meeting up with some…ah…friends. Where are you?”
“Forty minutes from Hobo’s. You want to meet up for some good old trucking food?”
Kathryn did some quick mental calculations. “Yeah, sure, I’m making good time. What are you hauling, Bear?”
“Kitchen sinks for Home Depot. Got one that’s about ready to fall off the truck in case you need one.”
“Got all the kitchen sinks I need, Bear. Thanks for the offer.” It was a joke, pure and simple.
“Whatcha hauling, Sis? You back to trucking full-time or are you…ah…working your own gig?”
“Jet Skis. Or I will be when I hit Jacksonville. Top-of-the-line, latest models, not in stores yet. Not sure about full-time, but I sure am enjoying the road again. Life’s a little uncertain these days.”
“Yeah, I kn
ow what you mean. Listen, Sis, we were all on your side, every damn trucker from California to Maine. And their families. We all waited for calls in case you needed us.”
Kathryn felt a lump form in her throat. “That’s nice to know, and, Bear, I did know that. I just didn’t want to involve any of you with what was going on. But tell me this, when do you have to deliver those sinks?”
Kathryn heard a booming laugh. “Whenever I get there is when. You need me, I’m yours.”
“Know anyone who will be in the Fort Lauderdale, Florida, area tomorrow with a little spare time?”
“Let me check. I’ll have the info for you when we get to Hobo’s. You get there first, order for me and tell them to keep it warm. If I get there, I’ll do the same for you. You got Murphy with you?”
“You bet. Two rib eyes should do it for him, and a lettuce and green bean salad. He needs his greens.”
Kathryn was rewarded with a booming laugh before she signed off.
“I think we just got an addendum to Plan A, Murph.” The shepherd raised his head, gave a short bark, then went back to his cheese bone.
“Oh, yeah.” Kathryn laughed. Just for fun she blasted her air horn. A couple in a red Toyota waved as she cruised by.
“Nothing like the open road, Murph.”
Chapter 26
Kathryn gave the air horn a long blast as she swung into Tom Turtle’s Truck Stop, which professed to have the best goulash in the entire country. Someone had crossed out the word country on the sign and wrote in the word world. She’d eaten the goulash many times, and so had Murphy. It was that good. Too bad she was full from her early dinner with Bear.
The Sisters stepped out of a van parked next to a rig with a Wisconsin license plate. The van said it belonged to someone named Handyman Mike, whose logo was, IF YOU WANT IT DONE RIGHT, CALL HANDYMAN MIKE. It wasn’t that the Sisters were traveling incognito; they weren’t. Charles said it would look better with a labeled truck so no one would give them a second glance. They were, after all, famous or infamous depending on who was doing the talking. He’d gone on to say they were definitely recognizable, even more so in a group.
Truckers, Kathryn said, as a rule, minded their own business, which meant no one in the lot or inside the restaurant would pay attention to them. “I have some news—good news, girls. I personally recommend the goulash if you haven’t already eaten. I’ll have some coffee with you.”
“Is it better than Charles’s goulash?” Myra asked.
Kathryn laughed. “Way better, but don’t tell him I said that. Do you have any news? Are we on target? What’s the latest? Stay, Murph. Watch the truck,” she called over her shoulder as she walked with the Sisters into Tom Turtle’s.
Kathryn beamed with a pleasure that didn’t go unnoticed by the others when four truckers eating at the counter welcomed her with open arms, hugs, then peppered her with questions, all of which she expertly dodged. The final parting shot was, “Glad to have you back on the road, Sis. You need us; you know what to do.” Kathryn waved, her eyes damp. Yoko reached up to wipe a lone tear ready to trickle down her cheek.
“They mean it, too,” Kathryn said as she took a seat at a large round table in the corner of the room.
“Of course they do, dear, they’re your colleagues,” Myra said, remembering the one road trip she’d taken with Kathryn and the camaraderie she’d personally experienced among her friends.
“Don’t even look at the menu, just order the goulash, and they serve fresh homemade bread with the yellowest butter you’ve ever seen in your life.”
The women gave their orders to a perky, pony-tailed youngster, Tom Turtle’s daughter. The moment the girl was out of earshot, Kathryn said, “Talk to me. What’s the plan? We have a plan, right? Because I have something to add to the plan. Let’s just call it an addendum for now. But later on, if we want to call it Plan B, that’s okay, too.”
“Jack and the boys are at the Seashell Motel in Fort Lauderdale. Counting Snowden’s men, they number seventeen. Their cover is the bike rally, which starts tomorrow morning at ten. The plan is to go cruising early in the morning and hit the neighborhood where Jellicoe is holed up. You know, just a fun ride, up and down the different streets. We have to synchronize our times because we’re coming in by water on the Jet Skis. We hit the beach, so to speak, at precisely 7:00 A.M. We’ve been online the whole trip down here, and this rally is big stuff. It’s on all the news stations, headlines in all the papers. It’s legitimate, so good old Hank won’t think too much about a bunch of motorcycles cruising a street that no one but him lives on. At least we hope not,” Nikki said. And, there’s a private Jet Ski cove not far from John U. Lloyd Park, where we’re going to launch the Jet Skis. I’m sure Jellicoe has scoped it all out on a regular basis. It is just what it seems. He can’t control the waterway, so it’s fair game. He can’t control the county roads in the development where he lives, either, so that’s fair game, too.
“And as sure as I am of that, I’m also just as sure that the man has the street booby-trapped. By that, I mean a warning system. The worst-case scenario is he holes up, and we can’t get inside to get him. He will then call the police, and we’re dead in the water. Charles said they might be able to jam all the frequencies to and from the house, but he wasn’t sure. Therefore, we assume it can’t be done and work from there,” Nikki said.
“This is where I come in,” Kathryn said quietly. “Lean closer, girls, and tell me what you think of what I’m about to tell you. Now, bear in mind, Charles said Snowden reported in that Hank has fortified 123 Dolphin Drive with steel doors and God knows what else. I’m assuming he thinks no one can gain entry to his fortress. With whatever warning system he has in place, he can have local law enforcement out there in the blink of an eye. Home invasion, that kind of thing. You get hung up in that, and you never see the light of day again.”
“And your point is…?” Isabelle said.
“My friends have offered to help me with no questions asked. The only thing I had to promise was to pay for any damage done to their trucks. I promised,” Kathryn said, looking at Annie for support.
“Whatever it takes, dear.” Kathryn sighed with relief.
“So, what’s the plan?” Yoko asked.
“This will have to be your decision. Either I go with you on the Jet Skis, or I drive the truck, the truck that will go right through that steel door of Mr. Jellicoe’s. The four rigs behind me will successfully block off the street cutting off any plans he might have for using a vehicle to hoof it somewhere. That leaves the water as his only means of escape. I don’t remember who said it, Maggie maybe or Ted, but there’s a cigarette boat tied to the dock. Those babies are built for speed, so when you girls pull into the dock, you’re going to have to find a way to disable it somehow. Or, how about this—the guys ditch the Harleys and go in the water by Minnow Lane? It’s two streets down from Dolphin Drive. Hank can’t control that. There are four extra Jet Skis in the rig. I won’t be needing mine if I drive the truck. That means five guys can come up behind you girls and guard the waterway and disable the boat. I’m sure one of them knows something about boats.”
“Is this where we get to say, ‘Gotcha, you son of a bitch’?” Annie asked, just as the waitress appeared with steaming bowls of goulash that smelled heavenly. Annie held up her hand, and announced, “We need to vote if Kathryn drives the rig or a Jet Ski?”
All were in favor of Kathryn driving her rig through Hank Jellicoe’s front door.
“Yep, ladies, that’s the moment,” Kathryn said, holding up her coffee cup for a refill.
“Damn, we’re good!” Myra said, surprising everyone with the glee in her tone.
“You girls go ahead and eat while I text the boys and Maggie. Guess I better bring Charles up to date, too,” Kathryn said.
Forty minutes later, the waitress cleared the table and offered red velvet cake for dessert, which they all declined.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat Char
les’s goulash again without thinking about this place,” Myra said happily. “Whoever changed the sign out front was right on the money.” The girls all agreed.
“Now what?” Alexis asked.
“Now we head down to Fort Lauderdale and John U. Lloyd Park to meet up with the guys. We are free until the early hours of tomorrow morning. I have to unload these Jet Skis and their trailers. I sure can’t do it alone, so we need the guys for that. Charles said he used every sort of pressure he could exert to get us rooms at the Whale Harbor Inn, which is less than a mile from the launching site. He said, and I don’t know how he knows this, but he said there are biker parties, tail-gate parties, everywhere. This bike rally is really a big thing. They hope to raise a million dollars. Did you know most of the entries in the rally are doctors, nurses, lawyers, and dentists? Anyone can enter, but they are the majority, and if you can believe this, for the weekend, the state of Florida is turning over the two-fifty toll on Alligator Alley to the JDF.
“Here’s something else I didn’t know. They’re having a rally on the boardwalk in Atlantic City, one on the strip in Vegas that you sponsored, Annie, and didn’t even know about. Your buddy Fish okayed it back in March. They’re having them all over the country, with the ultimate goal of raising a total of ten million dollars. There’s even talk about doing another rally in the spring for Breast Cancer Awareness. I plan to ride in that one,” Kathryn said.
The others agreed that they, too, would ride with Kathryn in the spring if they weren’t in jail.
“Don’t even go there, girls,” Annie said, her eyes sparking dangerously. “We will ride in that rally.”
Out in the parking lot, the girls said good-bye—Kathryn to head to the warehouse where she was to pick up the Jet Skis, the girls to John U. Lloyd State Park.
An hour later the girls had registered at the Whale Harbor Inn, where no one paid the least bit of attention to them. Satisfied that they were as anonymous as they were going to get, the group headed poolside, ordered fruity drinks, and started to text. Myra and Annie glared at one another. “Too bad we don’t have anyone to text,” Annie grumbled. “I suppose I could text Fish, but I’ve never done that before, and he might get suspicious.”
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