by Joe Nobody
“I know. But I saw Sheriff Watts personally escorting them through town, so that made me feel like they must have been safe. That man wouldn’t let any harm come to any of us.”
Bishop barely contained the chuckle, not wanting to let his two line-mates know he was eavesdropping on their conversation. Sheriff Watts had just about had a kitten when the council had ordered him to provide security for the Colbalt-60 being transported back to the U.S. It was the only time anyone had ever seen Watts frightened of anything.
The line inched forward, the conversation about nuclear waste diverting the Texan’s thoughts to New Mexico and his wife.
Terri and Hunter were still there, negotiating the final stages of a trade agreement that would greatly help both sides in the recovery. It would all have been over and done a week ago, but Washington had demanded to become a third party to the negotiations.
In Terri’s shrewd assessment, “Those guys from D.C. could fuck up a two-car parade.”
According to his wife, Hunter was now consistently asking about “Da-da,” and had on one occasion muttered, “Mama.” Bishop had his doubts about the accuracy of her report, knowing Terri was stone cold green over the fact that their son had chosen to address his father first.
And then it was the Texan’s turn in line, a smiling lady behind what had been a teller’s counter back in the old days. “Good morning, sir, how can I help you today?” she greeted.
“I have a voucher,” Bishop responded, handing over a piece of paper Diana had given him just a few minutes before. “I was told I could exchange it for cash at this location.”
Nodding, the lady responded, “That’s correct. Now, let me take a look and see…. Oh, my, this is for a lot of money.”
She turned, motioning over a supervisor, showing the older gent Bishop’s chit.
“Could I see your identification, sir?”
Oh, no, here we go again, Bishop thought, his blood pressure rising. “I haven’t managed to acquire one the new cards,” he explained. “I do have my old, pre-collapse driver’s license, but it’s seen better days.”
After digging in his wallet, Bishop produced the faded card, the laminated surface showing the wear and tear of it’s owners hard life.
Both workers studied the ID, glancing back and forth between Bishop’s face and the not so clear picture. “I’m sorry, but this license is so damaged, we can’t….”
The rejection was interrupted by Diana’s voice carrying across the lobby, “I thought I might catch you here,” she gushed in a happy tone.
“Miss Brown,” both workers greeted as Diana smiled and cut past the waiting queue and came to Bishop’s side.
“I forgot to give you a card to take to Nick when you visit Bliss. Give him my love,” she said, handing over the envelope.
Bishop nodded, accepting the correspondence. And then, with a touch of embarrassment, said, “Could you help me out here? These nice folks are questioning my ID, and I kind of need some money.”
Diana glanced at the government workers and then at the license they were holding. “Is there an issue?” she asked.
“Is this man the individual who should receive payment from this rather sizable voucher?” the teller asked, handing Bishop’s document to the Alliance’s leader.
Diana, with an absolutely straight face, glanced at the document, and then at Bishop, and said, “No. This man is an imposter. Please call the authorities, immediately.”
Bishop’s mouth dropped open, a protest forming in his throat as Diana handed the tellers back his paper and then pivoted to leave.
“Wa-wa-, wait just a damn minute… Diana!” the Texan pleaded, his voice sounding far whinier than he intended.
Bursting out in laughter, she turned back, having to cover her mouth again when she saw Bishop’s helpless expression. “Oh mercy,” she breathed deeply, trying to stop. “If I only had a picture of your face to show Terri.”
Nodding quickly at the two tellers, Diana added, “I was joking. Yes, he’s one and the same as the name on the voucher. I just signed it personally less than an hour ago. Give the man his money; he earned it.”
The councilwoman gave Bishop a hug and said, “Gotta run. I owed you that one. And tell that big lug of mine I love him, and that he’d better hurry up and heal, because there are other gentlemen showing interest.”
And then, just like always, she was gone, a virtual whirlwind of energy and purpose.
Bishop turned back to the tellers, the nice lady now counting out a significant stack of bills. “I would like to remind you, sir that the bank will be reopening soon. They will be offering secure saving accounts, and may even begin paying interest in a few months.”
Bishop nodded, smiling politely. “Thank you.”
Then, hunching forward and lowering her voice like she was about to divulge a secret, she said, “And I just want you to know, it’s not safe walking around with this much cash. While it’s rare these days, thugs and muggers do still exist in Alliance territory. I’d hate to see some mean hoodlum steal your money, young man.”
It was all the Texan could do to keep from laughing, the irony of someone robbing him - after all he’d just been through. “Thank you for that advice, ma’am. I appreciate your looking out for me. By the way, what all is involved in obtaining a new driver’s license?”
Thirty minutes later, he stepped onto Main Street, the bright sunshine, a just acquired driver’s license, and a pocket full of money brightening Bishop’s face.
Looking up and down the street, he began mentally prioritizing what was sure to be a busy day.
Probably the most difficult item on his list was a surprise for Hunter.
According to the last shortwave conversation with Bishop’s better half, Hack had built his son a solar powered, electric train. Terri reported the boy was fascinated by the small engine going round and round.
Hack, it seemed, had taken a liking to Hunter, probably in no small part due to Terri pressing the U.S. government to grant the inventor full amnesty. “It turns out he’s a brilliant man who simply got caught up in a world gone crazy, not a criminal mastermind or insane megalomaniac,” she had informed Bishop. “Right now, humanity needs every speck of genius we can get our hands on, especially these folks out here.”
Bishop wondered if the man still held a grudge over having his foot shot. Just another smart guy you’ve pissed off, he chided himself. You’ve gotta stop doing that.
And then there was his wife’s opinion of the tribes. “Do you remember talking about that prepper guy from the gun store?” she had asked. “The locals have a similar point of view, and in a way, it’s refreshing. I think you would actually appreciate how they live their lives. Hell, I might even consider moving here. It’s beautiful, and I love the people.”
But today, on payday, with cool weather and crisp air, the Texan wasn’t going to worry about any of it. The truck needed fuel. He wanted to get something nice for Terri to celebrate when his family returned home in a few days. He needed seeds and perhaps a new windmill pump. He was hungry.
Using his thumbs like he was hiking up a gun belt, Bishop then tipped his hat low, and began sauntering down the sidewalk. “I wonder where a man can get a bacon cheeseburger in this one horse town.”
THE END
A note from Joe:
To all of the loyal readers of the Holding Their Own series, I’m pleased to announce that there will be an 11th title, currently scheduled for release mid-summer of 2015. Thank you one and all, and God bless.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Joe Nobody, Holding Their Own: The Toymaker