Chasing Harpo

by Alan Black

  Beacon recognized Dutch’s speech pattern and inflection. He was speaking in his teaching voice. His Training Officer was asking questions in the Socratic Method to try to get him to think. Beacon had not only memorized the trooper manual, but the T.O. training manual as well. There had been a whole chapter on teaching young troopers using the Socratic Method.

  Beacon answered, “Well, the BOLO is only an hour old, but we don’t know how long Marks was on the road before the BOLO went out, right? So, we get up close. Call in the license number and see what we can see before we pull them over, right?”

  “Right,” Dutch said. “And our coffee break has to wait.”

  “There is the truck; just topping the rise ahead.”

  Dutch said, “For someone trying to avoid the police, they are sure doing a poor job of hiding from us. They see us when we passed them earlier?”

  Beacon said, “Eyeball to eyeball with the driver. He even smiled and gave me a farmers wave.”

  Most rural drivers were used to giving a wave without taking their hands off the steering wheel. A man or woman would raise and waggle a couple of fingers from the wheel and give a brief nod of the head.

  “Hunh,” Dutch said. “I do believe they are slowing down and letting us catch up.”

  Beacon thought a minute. “Maybe he is tired of running and wants to give himself up.”

  When they were close enough, Dutch typed in the truck’s license number. In seconds, a response flashed on the screen.

  “Home First Hardware and Lumber in Ashville,” Dutch sead. “Well, that doesn’t sound like a killer monkey vehicle, but you are right; the passenger is definitely a red head. I know Finch Fitcher from the hardware store in Ashville. He does not have red hair, nor does his wife or kids. Let’s light ‘em up and give them a quick look see.”

  The pickup slowed even more as Beacon turned the cruiser lights on, but it did not pull over right away. That was not unusual or worrisome to either trooper, since there was not much shoulder on this section on road. It was pavement, ditch and fencerow with little else.

  Soon enough the truck pulled into a short lane leading to a field gate. The driver shut off the truck and kept both hands on the wheel. He did not move and did not turn around.

  Dutch said, “OK, Trainee Beacon, let’s do this by the numbers. What is first?”

  The veteran trooper hung back and let Beacon talk him through the steps as they moved up to check the truck’s occupants. He stood by the right rear tire when Beacon peeked through the back window at the passenger.

  Beacon shook his head at Dutch in obvious disappointment.

  Dutch was anything but disappointed. He had come to think that if he was not shot and killed during some stupid traffic stop with less going than this one, then he would die from the stress of it. Or, he thought, maybe it’ll be the french fries and shakes that’ll do it.

  Dutch stepped up to the passenger window. There, with a grin like an idiot, was Fritch’s youngest boy wearing a god-awful looking red wig. Fritch’s oldest son was in the driver’s seat with an identical stupid looking grin.

  Dutch looked at Beacon and said, “Coffee. Now. Let’s roll, Pilgrim.”

  Beacon thought, “Hunh! Got the Duke down pat.”

  *

  JACK KEEGAN turned to Natalia, “What the hell is going on? Sightings have tripled in the last hour. I didn’t think there were that many blue pick ups in all of Alabama.”

  They were still in the Marks’ driveway. Natalia had convinced him that here was as good as anywhere was until they had a confirmed sighting. Plus, Steve was trying to make friends with Natalia’s new yellow dog.

  The flurry of blue pickups reported surprised both Jack and Natalia. Many of the sightings were with redheaded passengers in the front seat. All of them were turning out to be false alarms. It did not seem to surprise Rooster a bit.

  **

  BILL shouted through the open door of the house, “Hey Sugar Britches, I am taking Bucky for a ride. We’ll be back in a bit.”

  “OK, Honey Buns,” Velma shouted back. “Pick up a couple of pounds of butter at the store on the way back. I need to make cookies for Sunday School.”

  “Butter. You got it,” Bill shouted.

  He walked across the drive and opened the door to his blue pickup.

  “Bucky! Come here, boy. Let’s go for a drive,” Bill called. He stood holding the door open until Bucky sprinted up to the car and leapt into the front seat. Bill patted his Irish Setter on it’s red head and slid into the truck next to his dog.

  ***

  TAMMIE shrugged her shoulders, trying to get comfortable. Larry’s pickup was not nearly as comfortable as her old Toyota. “I must be getting old,” she thought. “Forty is too young to be so stiff and sore. Maybe I should quit going to that gym and just walk for exercise. What do you think?”

  She looked over at her passenger, “O.M.G.! Did you just fart? Oh, gag. I have to roll a window down. You know, it isn’t like you smell all that great anyway.”

  Her passenger just looked at her and winked.

  “Yeah, you think!” Tammie said. “I don’t get this. Where are all of the cops when you need them! We have been driving around for forty-five minutes and we haven’t seen one bubble-top yet.”

  When she did not get a response from her passenger, she continued talking, “Well then, let’s turn south here. Oh crap. Speed zone. I can’t afford another ticket. Larry would kill me.”

  Tammie had only been given two tickets recently, but according to her husband of twenty-three years, one ticket was one too many.

  “There we go! Smile for the nice policeman,” Tammie told her passenger. “Oh, Hey! I know that one.”

  Tammie slowed to a stop and pulled over to the edge of the road. She turned the truck off and sat quietly waiting for the officer to walk up to her car. She rolled her window down just as the officer approached.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Wright.”

  “Josh, you know I told you to call me Tammie.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I know you did, but my boss would skin me alive if I did that while I was in uniform. Um, do you think your daughter would be free Saturday night to go to a movie or something?”

  “Josh, that is a question you are going to have to ask her…oh, which daughter? Danielle or Brianna?”

  “Danielle, of course. I thought Brianna was engaged already,” Josh said.

  Tammie said, “Just checking, Josh. With you young people you never know.”

  Josh said, “You know, Mrs. Wright, I would be asking you out if you weren’t already married. I might anyway if you don’t think Mr. Wright would mind.”

  Tammie laughed again. “Mind? Oh, I do imagine he would put up a fuss. Of course, he is going to put up a fuss when you call to take Danielle out. At least, if you ask Danielle out instead of me, he won’t have to go to trial for shooting a cop. You call her, you hear?”

  “Yes ma’am. I will. By the way, nice goat. The red wig is a bit much don’t you think?”

  “It is not the wig so much as the smell. Larry is going to kill me when he gets a whiff of this truck. Anyway, thanks for stopping and checking on me. Do I get a ticket this time?”

  Josh said, “I could give you one for not having a seatbelt on your goat, but no ticket this time, Mrs. Wright. Not if Danielle agrees to go out with me.”

  Tammie watched the officer walk back to his car. She turned to the goat and said, “Well, that ought to make Cloyd Smithson happy. We did our bit and was a…what did he call it?”

  The goat bleated.

  “Oh, that’s right, we are a ‘diversion’. Wanna try trolling for another policeman? Or do you think they are catching on by now?”

  ****

  LOUISE eased the old blue pickup off the side of the road and onto the shoulder. She rolled to a stop. She shut off the truck and then put it into park. She knew that she should put it into park first, but the old thing sputtered and refused to die unless it was in gear when turned off.r />
  She hated this old pickup, but her father’s old Ford had been the only blue pickup she had access to. She would much rather be driving her old Pontiac sedan. She faithfully kept the beautiful old car repaired. It was the same year, make, model and color of another, often fondly remembered Pontiac Sedan. It was a match right down to the same color of vinyl back seat.

  She sat quietly with her hands on the steering wheel and waited for the officer to come to the window. Her husband Phil had told her that she should have her license, registration and proof of insurance handy if a police officer stopped her. She had seen enough cop shows on TV to know that it might not be prudent to rummage around in the glove box where the police cannot watch your hands. This was her first traffic stop and she was nervous.

  Louise glanced at the storefront mannequin in the seat next to her. She had grabbed the life-sized doll from her dress and craft shop in Hanceville and stuffed it into the front seat of Daddy’s truck. She knew the mannequin did not look the least bit like an orangutan, but Cloyd had been specific about having a redheaded passenger.

  She had been equally specific, as she made a dozen other calls to friends and family. Many of those friends and family would call other friends and family. The word had spread around the state quicker than a rumor about a gay preacher at a church picnic. The word was “get as many blue pick ups and redheaded passengers on the road as possible.”

  She hoped the police officer would not be angry about the mannequin. She was not sure she if was breaking any laws or not. She was not sure what she would tell Phil if she was ticketed or, heaven forbid, arrested. The number one passion in her life was her church, where Phil was pastor. Her family was a close second. She knew this small bit of protest would not ruin her standing with God or her children, whether natural born, adopted or fostered. She knew that Phil would love her come what may, but he would not be happy to have to bail her out of jail.

  Whatever the result, she was sure it would be worth it.

  Louise had been following the news story about the shooting at the zoo from the first day. The story involved her third greatest passion in life, helping distressed animals. She had volunteered at Cloyd’s animal sanctuary since she was a teenager. Animal stories of all kinds attracted her attention. Phil and the kids often went along to help on her trips to the Smithson Sanctuary. The oldest still at home was going to veterinary school in the fall.

  Louise was vocal to all who would listen about the top three passions in her life. She brought many converts to her church, took in more stray children than they could afford and brought in a lot of extra labor and money to Smithson’s to help keep it working. That was how she came to be at the top of Cloyd Smithson’s emergency telephone tree.

  Louise was not vocal at all about the fourth great passion in her life. Phil knew about her love for the old Pontiac sedan, but he was unaware of the reason for her feelings for the car. Phil had known she was not a virgin when they married, but he was the type of man who knew that what was past, was past. He never asked questions.

  Her heart had skipped a beat that morning a few days ago when the first reports coming out of the zoo had mentioned Dr. Carl Marks. Carl had not been her first boyfriend and there had been others before meeting Phil, but he was the one she regretted letting get away. There had been no doubt in her mind that the Carl mentioned on the radio was the same Carl from her seventeenth summer.

  It was true that she loved Phil with all her heart, but she had never fully gotten over that summer with Carl. She knew it was an adolescent fantasy, but it felt real anyway.

  She smiled to herself. It was more like stalking than an adolescent fantasy. She had a scrapbook in a locked bottom desk drawer at work, full of Dr. Carl Marks. It had newspaper articles mentioning him. It had a copy of his doctoral thesis, pictures of his high school, college and doctoral graduations. She even had recent photos of him, that weird little car he drives, and of his apartment door.

  The scrapbook, if ever found, had the look of someone keeping track of an old high school friend. Carl’s scrapbook was even under Mary’s scrapbook, containing information about her old high school friend’s career as a weathergirl in Huntsville. Louise always chuckled at the thought that even all these years later, Mary was still covering for her, not the other way around as it had been assumed.

  Louise knew there was never any hope of her and Carl getting back together again. She loved Phil and her family too much. But, she had been brutal in breaking things off with Carl, those many years ago. She knew he must hate her and no matter how many times she tried over the years to approach him to apologize, she had never been able to get closer than a camera’s telephoto lens range before chickening out.

  She knew how foolish she had been. A handsome, smart boy had paid attention to her all summer. She had thought she was no longer the chubby, frumpy girl her high school classmates would use once and then ignore. She thought she had changed somehow, imagining Carl had miraculously converted her to a high school hottie. She had foolishly ended it with Carl at the end of the summer. It turned out that the high school boys still looked at her as chubby and frumpy.

  She knew Phil had not cared about those few extra pounds, certainly not after four natural born children. He strenuously proved he loved her no matter what she looked like. Carl had not cared about a few extra pounds either. However, Louise had lost the weight and kept if off, not for Phil or for Carl, but for herself and her children. She kept her hair colored nice and brushed. She learned to dress fashionably. She studied how to be a good hostess. No matter how many miles she ran for exercise or how many visits she made to the beauty parlor, she still considered herself chubby and frumpy. She knew she would always be chubby and frumpy until she could apologize to Carl.

  Since she could not bring herself to face Carl, she hoped a traffic stop by the police on a back road in Alabama would help him somehow. Cloyd had called it a diversionary tactic. She was not sure how it would help, but on the chance that it would, she would keep at it until she grew blisters on her hands from wrangling this old truck around back roads.

  Maybe she would angle up towards Blountville if she was not under arrest.

  FIFTEEN

  HARPO liked the feeling of moving without having to do anything. Sights passed by quick, some quicker than he could recognize. It made him dizzy if he looked at the close things, so he looked far away. He could see too many open and dangerous places, but there were lots of jungle areas nearby. There were enough trees to shelter more of his people than he had ever seen.

  He wondered how those trees tasted. He remembered his mother in the first jungle. She had taught him which fruits to eat and which to not eat, and when. Some fruits you could eat all of the time and some fruits only some of the time. They took him from her before he learned all he needed to know. He would have no one to teach him what to eat and what to not eat here in this new jungle.

  He wanted to go back to his own jungle. He could not eat the leaves, bark and twigs from his trees. No fruit grew on his trees. There were few bugs to eat. But, he had many hairless-not-people to bring him food without having to hunt for it. In his jungle he did not have to worry about challenging other dominate males or chasing away the non-dominate males. Mating was easy.

  He could see large hairy-animals of many kinds in the open meadows. They might be dangerous and they might hunt in packs. There were so many of them. He knew he could not get past them and into the safety of the trees. They looked like grass eaters and made no challenges to Harpo as he and Carl hurried past them. He had never seen such creatures before. He decided they must be dangerous. Why else would Carl rush past them in the hairless-not-people-go-fast-cage?

  Harpo looked at Carl. Maybe the hairless-not-people knew a way past these creatures to get to the trees. Harpo would taste the leaves, branches and any fruit he could find to see if it was good or not. He realized that Carl must know which would be good to eat and which would not be good to eat. He was a good servant who
always brought him good things to eat, so he must know the good from the bad in this wide jungle.

  Harpo huffed with hunger. He told Carl to remember he had only eaten a few fruits all day. He remembered the young hairless-not-people from Carl’s tribe as they shared their meal with him. He liked the little ones, but the fruit they had was little more than a snack.

  He looked at Carl. He had not seen Carl eat either so maybe they were both hungry.

  Carl looked back at Harpo. “Hungry?”

  Harpo nodded vigorously. He was always amazed at how smart Carl was for a not-people. He was learning a few words of true speak. Carl had not learned as many words of true speak as Harpo had learned of the language of the hairless-not-people. Harpo had long ago decided that was because he was smarter.

  Carl said, “We go babble-babble. We will find food there. I babble-babble of us.”

  Harpo took a deep breath. He huffed bubbly, increasing the speed until he roared a series of barks that vibrated deep from his neck sac. He roared into the wind. He ended the call with a few sighs.

  Harpo huffed a quick laugh. He had called to see if any people lived in this jungle. The large animals in the meadows heard the call and many ran away.

  Carl said, “Easy, Harpo. We babble a little time away from food. Give me babble-babble-babble.”

  Harpo quit listening to Carl. He had heard all he wanted to hear. Carl was making the hairless-not-people-go-fast-cage go where he wanted it to go. If this was how the hairless-not-people hunted for food then he would have to wait the ‘little time’.

  The babble from the air quit and music started again.

  Harpo was glad to learn new word: music. He liked music. He needed to find a way to have Carl get him music for his jungle. He wanted this good-music. He did not want the bad-music.