Olsen kicked off the light blanket and swung his legs over the side of his rental bed. He looked around to see if he had any bedmates in the dormitory style room. As far as he could tell, he was alone. He was fully awake now and wondering what his next move should be. He headed for the men’s room. No sense paying five dollars for another shower. He washed the sleep from his face, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair. Now he was ready for a cup of hot coffee and maybe a slice of apple pie with two scoops of vanilla ice cream. He could ponder his next move while he ate.
He trotted down a long hall to the main part of the truck stop. It still smelled like garlic. The dinner had been good, and it had been hot. He slid into a booth and waited for a tired-looking waitress to take his order. At first he thought the night waitress was the same one who’d served him his dinner, but it wasn’t. The only similarity was both women were blondes, and this one was older. Maybe they were mother and daughter, not that he cared.
“What will it be, sweetie?”
Sweetie? Beth was the one who should be calling him sweetie, not this tired, overworked, and underpaid waitress. Olsen forced a smile. “Coffee, apple pie, and two scoops of vanilla ice cream.”
“Coming right up. By the way, since you’re the only trucker who rented a bed, you must be the man some guy was looking for. He came in and said he was supposed to meet you, that he was your buddy. Said there was an accident on the interstate, and he was late and wanted to know if you’d arrived, waited around, or left. Showed the afternoon manager your picture. Darren, that’s the manager, said you were sleeping. Your friend said not to wake you because you’d been on the road for a long time. We said we’d tell you he was here when you woke up. He didn’t come back, though. Maybe you should check your phone. He might have sent a text or called while you were asleep.”
Olsen watched the waitress, whose name tag said her name was Sheila, walk away. His heart started to pound inside his chest. The urge to get up and run was so strong, he had to stomp his feet on the floor. His gut instinct warned him not to do anything stupid. That same gut instinct was telling him someone was outside waiting for him to come out. That had to mean they had found the van and had gone through it by now. Not that they would find anything. Everything of any importance was in the canvas bag on the floor. Why? How did they get onto him? No way could he go back to the van. He felt a sudden blast of cold air swirl around his feet. A big trucker stomped his way to a table across from the booth Olsen was sitting in. Because he was so big, he wouldn’t fit in the booth and needed the table just for leg room.
Olsen watched as the big man ordered the spaghetti and meatballs and two slices of apple pie. He heard him say, “And, Sheila, keep the coffee coming.”
“Okay, Herb. The pie today is mighty good,” she said as she slid Olsen’s pie across the table. He dug right in and looked over at the trucker. “I can attest to that. This is the best apple pie I’ve ever eaten. I had the spaghetti earlier, and it was just as good. So, where you headed?”
“Memphis. You?”
Olsen shrugged as he ate the pie he no longer had an appetite for. Memphis was three hundred miles away. “Don’t know. I was planning on hitching a ride to somewhere. Anywhere, actually. I beat the crap out of a guy who was messing with my girlfriend. They both filed charges, and I lit out. It’s not right, what that skank did. I need to get as far away from here as I can get. Can I hitch a ride with you? I don’t have much cash on me seeing as how I left in such a hurry. I can spot you a twenty.”
“Sure, no sweat. How’d you get here?” the trucker said, shoveling one of the giant meatballs into his mouth.
“Hitched. I rented a cot this afternoon and slept for a while. I’m almost afraid to go out there. Did you see anyone who looked suspicious—you know, like they’re looking for someone like me?”
The trucker laughed. “Actually, I did see two dudes on Harleys. Don’t know if they were looking for you or not. They should be frozen by now, but you never know. Those bikers know how to dress for this kind of weather. You can’t really see outside with all that neon, but it’s been snowing for the past hour. Don’t think it will amount to much.”
Olsen finished his pie at the same time the trucker finished his spaghetti. Sheila had the trucker’s pie and fresh coffee on the table in a nanosecond. He took that to mean the guy was a good tipper.
When it was time to settle the bill, the trucker, who said his name was Herb, asked, “How do you want to play this? You march out of here with me, they’ll see you if they’re the ones looking for you. I suppose you could go out the back way. I’ll pull up to the farthest pump, and you hop in. Just stand by the Dumpster. We’ll need Sheila’s help to get you out the back door and to stand watch.”
“Will she squeal on me if they come in here looking for me?”
“Not likely. Sheila and I are . . . friends. If I ask her to keep quiet, she will. Sheila might look like she’s been rode hard and hung up wet, but that gal has a heart as big as a mountain. She’s good people. You can give her that twenty you were going to spot me. Make her life a lot easier.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Olsen almost passed out now that his immediate problem was taken care of. He fumbled in his pocket for the promised twenty and another five spot for the pie and coffee. He held it out to Herb, who took it, got up and walked up to the register, where he had an intense five-minute conversation with Sheila, who looked over at him, nodded, winked, and then stood on her tiptoes to kiss Herb soundly. Somewhere from the other end of the room Olsen could hear laughter and hoots. Obviously, there were others who knew the two were friends with benefits. Whatever, it was all working for him.
Sheila motioned to him to follow her into the back. She led him down a short, grungy hall, then into an even smaller room to a door that led to the Dumpster area.
“Just stand out there, next to the second Dumpster. When Herb swings his rig around, the passenger side will be facing you. Just hop right on in. Look, mister, I don’t know what your story is, but Herb is a really good guy. Don’t take advantage of him.”
Olsen smiled one of his most winning smiles and said, “He said the same thing about you, that you were a nice person. I would never take advantage of someone who is kind to me. Thank you.”
“You want a coffee to go? Of course you do. Herb forgot his, so just give me a minute and I’ll go fetch it.”
Well damn, this was almost too scary-easy. Herb was right—it was cold. Olsen hugged his arms to his chest as he waited for Sheila and the coffee and for the first rumblings of Herb’s rig. What if this was all a big mistake? No mistake if some guy had his picture to show around. Now why would Beth go and do something like that? As he stamped his feet to keep warm, he decided it wasn’t Beth at all, but the guy who was leeching on to her. The guy he had been going to take out tomorrow. Only now, that wasn’t going to happen.
Get to Memphis, get out, head to a mall, heist a car, and head right back to Garden Grove, and from there it was Plan B all the way. Just as soon as he figured out what Plan B was.
The big rig was approaching just as Sheila opened the door. She thrust a bag at him, and said, “Four coffees and six sticky buns. Herb does love his sweets. Good luck, sweetie.”
Olsen didn’t know why he did it but it felt right. He hugged Sheila and thanked her. She beamed her pleasure as she closed and locked the door.
“Memphis, here I come,” Olsen said as he climbed up into the cab and pulled the door shut.
“Juke down, buddy, those two bikers are still out there. By now their gonads should be rock-solid frozen.” Both men laughed as Olsen looked at the digital clock on the dashboard. Two minutes to the witching hour. And then a whole other new day to work toward making all his dreams come true.
Just as Herb and his big rig roared out of the truck stop, the two bikers, employees of Arnold, finally decided it was time to go into the truck stop and get something warm in their bellies. Without knowing it, the two security men settled into the same
booth that Luke Olsen had just left. Both men looked around casually. At midnight, customers were few and far between. No one resembling Luke Olsen was dining. They ordered a pot of coffee and the strawberry-rhubarb pie. They leaned in close across the table and spoke in virtual whispers. Chat up the waitress or not chat up the waitress? Meander to the men’s room, show Olsen’s picture to a few of the diners while the other one chatted with the waitress? Both viable options.
Stan, the more seasoned of the duo, looked at his partner, whose name was Keith, and said, “I’m going to hit the men’s room, and I’ll show the picture around, but you occupy the waitress. Tell her you want to see the room in case we decide to rent a bed. I don’t know how this kind of thing works. It’s not busy in here, and we saw those people who are eating come in while we were outside. And, Keith, use your charm, okay?”
Keith nodded and walked up to the counter, where Sheila was slicing into a fresh pie. He asked if he could see the rental rooms. She told him to wait a moment, until she put their food and coffee on the table, and she would show him.
The minute they were out of sight, Stan was up and out of the booth. He beelined across the room where he immediately pulled out Luke Olsen’s picture and flashed it around. All he got for his efforts were a bunch of no’s. Until he came to a table where a whippet-thin man with a scraggly beard was finishing off his plate of spaghetti. His head bobbed up and down. “Yeah, I seen the dude. He was sitting right over there, in that there booth, the second one in. He was talking to Herb. I seen the pretty boy heading out to the kitchen when Herb left. Can’t think of his last name, but he does a run from here to Memphis every day—that’s how I know him. Anyways, I was thinking to myself that pretty boy was hitching a ride with Herb. Now, I don’t know why I say that, just an old trucker’s sixth sense. Herb’s known around here for picking up strays. Talk to Sheila. Her and Herb have a thing going. Doncha go saying I said anything.”
“Thanks. Won’t say a word.”
“You some kind of cop or something?”
“Yeah, something like that,” Stan said as he ambled over to his booth just as Sheila and Keith returned to the main part of the truck stop. He slid into the booth, smacked his hands together, and said, “This looks just the way my mama’s pie used to look. I hope it’s just as tasty.”
Sheila waved as she headed back for the counter.
“Well?”
Keith took a big gulp of his coffee, pronounced it fit to drink, and said, “I only saw one mussed cot. All the others were made up, so that tells me just one sleep customer so far today. They have a sign-in book. I signed us in and paid her twenty bucks just so I could see who signed in before us. Phil Parsons was the name. Ring a bell, Stan?”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s Olsen’s alias according to Jim Mack. Well, see that skinny little guy over there eating by himself? He said he thinks Olsen left through the kitchen and some trucker named Herb gave him a ride. He recognized the picture I showed him. He also said that Sheila, our waitress, and Herb have a thing going on. Herb drives back and forth to Memphis every day. It’s a good bet that’s where our guy is headed because some way, somehow, he made Mike and Dave earlier.”
“So who do we call, Mr. Stonebridge or Jim Mack?” Keith asked. “Ya know, this is really good pie. I might come back here again someday, and the coffee is top notch.”
“I don’t like waking up Mr. Stonebridge at this hour. Send a text to Mack and tell him we’re headed back to town. If he wants to meet, pick a place, or we can meet up in the morning. Let it be his call. Memphis is over three hundred miles away, so nothing is going to happen for the next few hours.”
While Keith sent out a text, Stan was counting out money to pay the tab. He left a generous tip for Sheila, who smiled her thanks, and said, “You be careful out there. I heard it’s snowing.”
Stan nodded and headed for the door. “I say we take the car Mack left for us. We can pick up the cycles later in the day. The snow is sticking. You okay with that, Keith? You get a reply from Mack?”
“Yeah. That guy must never sleep. He said he’d meet us at the Dog and Duck, that place on Silver Street that’s open twenty-four/seven.”
The two men drove off in a swirl of snow, each busy with his own thoughts.
Chapter Twenty-two
To everyone’s relief, less than half an inch of snow fell during the night, and the same amount fell sporadically over the following three days. Jim Mack said he was okay with the weather conditions because it made for better surveillance. That was exactly how he put it.
It was early morning, just a minute past five-thirty, four days after the day they had tracked Luke Olsen to the truck stop and lost him, when Mack met up with Arnold Stonebridge’s four security men. He’d just gone through the drill for the second time to make sure everyone was on the same page. They were all sitting inside a warm Nashville Public Works van parked across the street from the Cozy Corner Café, where John Rossmon worked. Mack pointed him out as John approached the café to start his morning shift.
“I think we can do without another pep talk, Mr. Mack,” Keith said. “We have it down pat. The guy, if he shows up today, won’t make a move until Rossmon finishes his shift around two this afternoon. Thanks to Mike and Dave’s ‘in’ with the cops, we run every license plate that parks on this block. We already know the regulars. We discount female drivers, the elderly, along with teenage kids so as not to waste the PD’s time. We’re looking for a vehicle we haven’t seen before and one that is probably registered out of Memphis, which Olsen heisted after he arrived in Memphis, thanks to a trucker who drove him there.”
Mack sighed. He hated it when the people he worked with got cocky. Not that these guys had reached that point, but they were close. They were irritated that they were spending hours and hours watching and waiting, but that’s what stakeouts were. Boring and mind bending. The one thing working against them, and Mack said so, was the crowds of holiday shoppers as the countdown drew closer to Christmas. Why couldn’t this little street that housed the Cozy Corner Café be nestled among body-parts stores, dry cleaners, and the like instead of the quaint one-of-a-kind boutiques that women so loved to shop in for the holidays.
Crowds just didn’t work for those doing the surveillance; it gave an edge to the person or persons being surveyed. In addition to the crowds, clothing, reversible jackets, and colored hats and caps just added to the problem. It was too easy to switch a black watch cap to a bright red or yellow one. All one had to do was duck into a doorway, remove a jacket, turn it inside out, and the wearer went from beige to dark green or plaid. He lost count of the people he’d tailed and lost for those same reasons over the years when he worked for the FBI. For some reason, these guys were just not getting it, so he kept hammering it home every chance he got. In the end, he sighed and climbed out of the van.
Before he closed the door to the van, Mack leaned in and let loose with his daily reminder. “Mr. Stonebridge has taken a strong liking to Mr. Rossmon and for some reason has taken responsibility for him, so please, don’t let him down.” And his little speech worked. Until the next time or the weather changed.
Mack walked along, his head down against the wind as his thoughts raced. He was parked two blocks over, totally out of eyesight of the Cozy Corner Café. He climbed into his very ordinary silver Honda and turned on the engine and the heater. He looked at the gas gauge and was glad he’d filled it up the night before. He waited till the car warmed up before he drew his file folder out of the pocket on the side of the car. Today was the day. He was sure of it. Olsen was going to make his move. According to all the information he’d gathered on his profile, plus reading up on similar cases, he was convinced that Olsen had moved up two steps. He’d shelved Beth for the moment, thinking that once he got Rossmon out of the way, she would fall into his arms. Pure Stalker 101. For some ungodly reason, the stalkers never thought beyond the point where they eliminated the person they perceived as standing in their way. All they could thi
nk was that the path was now clear to their real objective, the person they were stalking. They never thought the police would intervene, never gave a thought about going to jail. Never thought there would be witnesses. Luke Olsen fit into that category so perfectly that Dr. Sonja Hill, the person who wrote the book, could have interviewed Luke Olsen personally.
Mack had read the doctor’s book word for word, from beginning to end, at least three times. He could practically recite it verbatim. Today was the day. He could feel it in every fiber of his being.
Mack leaned back in his seat, turned the heater to low, then cracked both front windows. He made sure the doors were locked before he closed his eyes. Not to sleep but to think.
While Mack was thinking, John waited tables, as the four security men talked among themselves, and Beth worked in the kitchen alongside Arnold Stonebridge, preparing the daily breakfast. They’d become friends, best friends actually, since her return from Garden Grove. She adored the little man with the sad eyes. She wished there was something she could do to erase that look. Beth, the world’s fixer upper. Which reminded her, she had to call Moose for a progress report. After breakfast would be soon enough.
“You have that faraway look, Beth. Are you thinking about your brother?” Arnold asked.
“Among other things, you are a mind reader, are you not, Mr. Stonebridge?” Beth giggled.
“When are you going to start calling me Arnold? I’m sorry, but I can’t read minds. You just look far away.”
“I think you’ll always be Mr. Stonebridge to me. That’s a good thing. You earned that title. Actually, I was thinking about Jake. After we clean up here, I’m going to call Moose and get a progress report,” Beth said as she poured orange juice from the juicer into a pitcher. She carried it over to one of the tables and set it down.
“I am so glad you made the decision to let me decorate this place for Christmas. All the trees and evergreens will get here midmorning. I just love Christmas, don’t you?”
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