Precious Cargo

"Let's take the company car." Clyde said as he motioned to a nondescript Ford Crown Victoria that was backed in next to the GMC.
"Georgia State Patrol specs." he said, giving Eric a wink as he eased out of the garage.
They took a short ride west to Villa Rica. Hank's Pit Cooked BBQ was located on the old highway 78.
It was reputed to be the busiest place between Atlanta and the Alabama line in the days before Interstate 20 was completed.
As it was, the local population seemed to provide a steady clientele, for the threesome had to wait fifteen minutes on an available booth.
Clyde used that time to bring Eric up to speed on his expected duties and the company operations in general.

"Hornsby Locaters does just what the name implies." he began.
If a client is seeking a particular style of furniture made in the early 1700s for example, or an obscure piece of jewelry last known to be in Copenhagen, we look for it.
For a fee, of course. And a much larger finders fee, if we are successful. Our recovery rate is very high, hence the abilty to charge higher than average fees.
Hornsby also does the more mundane, but profitable things like hosting art displays and auctions all over the world.
We also do blind negotiating. Mr Smith, for example wants to purchase an emerald known to be in the possession of Mr Jones.
But Mr Jones despises Mr Smith and would either refuse to seel the jewel to Mr Smith or demand a ridiculously exorbitant price.
That's where we come in. Our agent, while pretending to be a collector, approaches Mr Jones.
There is also the case of a seller who prefers to remain unknown, not wishing to appear in need of money.
That is all out of my realm, but I thought you would find it interesting, as do I.
My job merely concerns storage and transportation. What we do is more unique than you would imagine.
You would be surprised how many folks rely on Mayflower, United Van Lines etc for shipping valuable pieces of furniture.
And how many people use bank vaults for storing priceless items. But banks get robbed. We never have."

 

"You ever hear of the New England Patriots?" Clyde asked.
"Yes, sir, of course."
"Sure you do. Well the man that owns that team was in Atlanta a few weeks ago attending an art show.
He purchased a painting by Claude Monet for 6.2 million dollars. Not considered a spectacular Monet, but a Monet is a Monet."
Noticing Kay's mouth drop, he added, "Recently, a Monet fetched well over 40 million in Paris, so this wasn't exactly groundbreaking.
"We have been storing the painting out at our SRS at the rate of $1000 per day. The shipping rate to Boston will be $10,000.
Sunday is his wife's birthday. He will present this to her as a gift at 2000HRS Sunday night at the party at their home in Boston.
"Your job will be to ring the doorbell at 1945HRS. Don't be shocked to recieve an enormous tip. These guys love to show off.
The second leg of your trip is less urgent. I urge you invite Kay to come along. I hear New England is gorgeous this time of the year.
You will be going to a little hamlet, for lack of a better term, in northern Maine.
The place is called Eustis, but that is only your starting point.
Eight miles of gravel road will lead you to a cabin overlooking Flagstaff Lake, which is at the base of Flagstaff Mountain.
Our agent was up there in a rental car last month. He assures me it is accessible in our truck.
For now that is. Next week is the first week of September, so an early snowfall is always possible.
The window is closing, so we need to get in and out next week.
You will have some interesting cargo, and I don't need to tell you that the utmost care will be required.
That old looking truck has the most sophisticated air suspension available.
It was created for us by a retired technician from Rolls Royce, who has also served as a consultant for NASA.
And all the proper securing materials will be in the truck, of course. Never hesitate to call me anytime 24/7 if you have a question, no matter how trivial it seems.
And don't worry about lack of cell towers in the wilderness. I will familiarize you with use of the satellite phone before you leave."

 

Your first one?
This will take weeks, at least.
I'm not transposing this from elsewhere, but making it up as I go along.
Sit a spell, and I hope you enjoy it.

 

I am honored to be the recipient of your first post.

I hope you enjoy it here.

 

"Thank you for the meal, Mr Clyde. I do believe that was some of the tastiest barbeque I have ever tasted." Kay said as they arrived back at SRS.
"My pleasure." Clyde said as he pulled the Crown Vic in next to his yellow Mach1.
"Now I'm not believing a crack security man would leave his keys in this fine hot rod. And the windows down, no less." Kay quipped with a grin as she noticed the key ring dangling from the ignition switch of Clyde's Mustang.
"Safest spot in town. Come on in, and I'll introduce yall to the fellas."
They walked through the unoccupied reception area to a nondescipt steel door recessed into the far wall.
Clyde waved his badge at a bare spot on the wall and a muted click sounded as the door silently slid open.
An entire wall of the operations center was covered with 40 inch LCD color monitors.
Eric recognized some of the views; his Chevelle out front, the GMC in the garage, but who were those well dressed people at a conference table? And that indoor parking garage?
"Peachtree Street." Clyde said from behind him."Our counterparts downtown can see us too. Keeps everbody honest, and more importantly, we back up each other.
There is a Quallcom type system in the truck too. You will enter a number sequence anytime you stop for any length of time, and whenever you start driving.
Not a matter of not trusting you, but we want to know you are in control, ant being hijacked.
Don't worry, it has never happened, but we aim to keep it that way."
"These two serious looking gentlemen are Dan and Joe." He said indicating the two men at computer terminals.
Both appeared to be in their early forties, dressed neat, but casual. Both wore shoulder holsters.
They both rose and shook hands when Clyde introduced Eric and Kay, friendly but wary.

 

Eric was driving for Frank L Penergrast of Dalton, Georgia. FLP in two inch letters along with ICC/DOT numbers was the only decal on the tractors.
The drivers familiar with the outfit said FLP stood for "fast trucks and low pay".
Frank ran a dozen or so trucks(none of which matched) to the west coast with carpet and brought back produce, or dry freight, depending on the season.
Eric was loading household appliances at an import/export warehouse going to Charlotte, NC, when he was approached by Ray Johnson, a fellow FLP driver.
Only there were no other FLP trucks on the premises.
"What's up dude?" Eric asked."And this might sound like a dumb question, but where is your truck?"
"Truck is in Banning, brother, and I'm lucky not to be there with it."
"No joke? What the hell happened?"
"I just pulled up on the scales like normal and they told me to pull around to the inspection bay.
I didn't think too much about it until they was yanking me out of the cab and slapping the cuffs on."
"What did they think you had done?" Eric asked, astonished. "Not me, our stupid boss. They wouldn't tell me much, but from what I gathered, the ATF arrested Frank yesterday.
Shut everything down and confiscating all his property, trucks included.
Once they determined I was just a clueless driver they let me go.
Told me I had five minutes to get my personal belongings out of the truck and I was on my own.
Lucky for me, this driver seen what was going on and offered me a ride back to the house.
He lives in Macon and is loading here for Atlanta."
"Well you can ride with me now if you want." Eric offered.
"No offense bud, but are you crazy? Once you get shut down, we would both be hitchhiking."
"Yeah, I reckon you have a point." Eric said as he headed to the pay phone outside the shipping office.
"Oh Eric! Thank God you called." said his mother in Kennesaw, Georgia. "You aint gonna believe what's all over the news"

 

Eric didn't tell her about talking to Ray. She seemed upset enough as it was.
"Calm down mama.Now tell me what has you riled up."
"That fella you work for got himself arrested for smuggling.
It was on the news last night and in the paper this morning. They got two of his trucks down in Laredo, Texas loaded with guns.
They made it sound like the drivers were involved. Said them boys was locked up down there.
Some Federal agent fella got on there and said every employee was considered a suspect at this time.
Said something about getting this menace off the highway.
By the way, do you know Jamie Hawkins?"
"Yes maam. What did he do?" Eric said.
"Paper said he was arrested at the Georgia scales with cocaine in his truck."
"That was most likely his, mama. That boy aint smart enough to be part of no smuggling ring." Eric replied. "Whatever, but looks like they got their sights set on you boys. I know you aint into nothin', son, but you oughta leave that dang truck at the nearest bus station and get yourself home."
"I'll do something, mama. Don't you worry yourself none. See everybody in a few days."
Eric said, as he stared at the '65 Chevy Impala lowrider parked by the door.
"Who owns the blue Impala out there?" Eric asked the shipping clerk, who had just stepped outside for a smoke.
"It's mine." he said, beaming with pride.
"Sharp, man. I got a Chevelle, almost the same color. Who did the paint job? Somebody local?"
"My cousin, Phillipe, did it. He has his own shop now." smiling even broader now.
"He is an artist, brother."
"Yes, sir. He is the best."
"Does he paint big trucks, also?"
"Si.He has done a few. The guy with the flames on the old Kenworth that just left here? He did that."
"Do you suppose you could introduce me to Phillipe?" Eric asked.
"Si.I can call him now. He is close by."