Strawberries

Picking up Manuel was almost too easy, thought Harry. He simply pulled Manuel's file. His most recent arrest was eleven months earlier. He was busted for boosting a twelve-pack of beer from the local mini mart. With no money for bail, Manuel spent the next seventeen days waiting on the next available court date. He pled guilty to petty theft and was creditted with time served and ordered to pay restitution to the shop owner.

In the box on the arrest record Manuel listed his aunt, Margueritte Ruiz, as person to notify in case of emergency. She was also the only visitor he had during his brief incarceration.

Harry enlisted a pair of uniformed officers to accompany him on the pick-up.

Margueritte lived in a small boxlike home in a once proud blue collar neighborhood that had been in decline for some time. She tended her small yard and flower garden the best she could, but it was a losing battle against the decline and disrepair of the surrounding homes.

Harry stopped his sedan in front of the next door neighbor's house, which appeared to be unoccupied, and the patrolmen nosed in behind.

Not seeing a doorbell button, Harry knocked gently on the screen door. A weary looking woman in her fifties, who Harry assumed to be Margueritte came to the door.

"Yes, sir, may I help you?" she asked.

"I hope so. I am Harry Benson, a detective with the Fresno Police Department" he said, displaying his badge."And I understand your nephew, Manuel is here." he said, in a hopeful bluff.

"No, sir. I have not seen Manny lately." Even as she said it, Harry detected movement in the background.

Manuel burst through the back door wide open, running straight into the arms of the two uniformed officers.

"Well, I'll be ######, Harry was right." the younger one said as they placed Manuel face down in the back yard.

 

Harry knew he didn't have enough evidence for a conviction on armed robbery, not enough to take to the DA anyway, but he certainly had enough to bring him in for questioning. The store tapes and Anthony's interview were enough for now, but he suspected Anthony wasn't through spilling his guts. He would get back to him, but for now, he wanted to get Manuel off the street.

Beyond reading the Miranda rights, Harry didn't bother with booking Manuel, taking him directly to the interview room instead. Not suprisingly, Manuel was defiant, demanding a lawyer.

"Settle down, son. No need for a lawyer if you haven't done anything. Besides, we're just talking here. I just need to clear some things up is all. Starting with where you were last Wednesday." Harry said.

"Last Wednesday? How should I know? What's so special about that day?" Manuel answered.

"Aw, come on now. Surely you heard about the armed robbery? The innocent folks that got wasted? You better think real hard about you were that day. And while we are on the subject, have you ever been in that store before?"

"Hell no, I ain't never been in that Mega Mart."

Harry was careful to not mention the store name and didn't let on to Manuel the mistake he just made.

"What kind of car do you have, Manuel?"

"I don't have no car. Ain't had one in a while."

"Hmm, well that's interesting, because I have a witness who will swear in court that you gave him a ride last Monday."

"That's a lie. How could I do that when I ain't got no car?"

"Well maybe it wasn't your car. Maybe you borrowed it."

Manuel's syes were darting back and forth. A sure tell that he felt himself getting boxed in.

"Have you been associating with a woman with long dark hair lately?" Harry asked casually.

"I see a lot of women." Manuel answered, puffing out his chest. Then asked suspiciously "Why, what did she say?"

Rather than answer the question to which he had no answer, Harry hit the play button on the VCR remote laying on the desk. The TV on the wall came to life, with Manuel's face staring into the camera lense.

"Care to take a guess where that is?" Harry asked.

"I think I really want that lawyer now."

 

The public defender assigned to Manuel was not nearly as high strung as Larry Feine. Actually he was just the opposite. Mitchell Sanders came to California just out of law school seeking his fame and fortune. That was over twenty years ago and Mitchell never lost his North Carolina accent or his laid back mannerisms. Harry liked Mitchell and had told him many times over the years that he should come on over to his side. Or at least go into private practice and deal with a more elevated class of criminals; ones with money. But Mitchell Sanders fancied himself something of a crusader for the downtrodden. He was sincere and honest. Harry gave him that.

"Well, if it isn't the old southern gentleman come to the rescue." said Harry when Mitchell entered the interview room.

"Good to see you, Harry. Been a while." Mitchell responded with a nod. "I suppose you have been freely abusing my client in my absence."

"You know me better than that, Mitch."

"Sure I do Harry. What did he tell you Manuel? Something like 'we're just talking here, just need to clear some things up' ?"

Manuel just nodded as he shot Harry a disapproving look.

"I'm assuming you don't have the physical evidence to arrest my client. Otherwise you wouldn't be on this fishing expedition." Mitchell said, friendly enough.

"You know what, Mitch? You are exactly right. I had already planned on letting him go before you showed up."

"Well I do declare, is that a fact now? What brought on this burst of magnimity, Harry? Growing a conscience all of a sudden?"

"Let's not get carried away, Mitch. There is a stipulation attached to this. I want your client to stay close by. We're not done here. Not by a long shot."

"You can't place restrictions on his travel, Harry and you know it."

"Nice try, Mitch. Remember the ill fated beer boost gone bad? Well that was eleven months ago and your client got a year probation out of it. He really needs to be very cooperative right now. And while you're at it, maybe you two can sit down and go over the questions I asked. He seems a little confused about being in the Mega Mart last week." Harry said as he tossed Mitchell the VCR tape. "Yours to keep. And you might want to help him remember who's car he was driving that day."

The true reason for releasing Manuel was to see what he did next. Harry already had a judge's signature for a phone tap of Margueritte's house and the allotted manpower to keep a constant eye on Manuel. Now it was time to bring Anthony back in the room.

 

Manuel awoke drenched in sweat from a tumultous, restless sleep plagued by nightmarish images of recent events. The woman with the hole in her chest kept returning. There was always fresh blood to pulsate from the bullet wound with each heartbeat. Where does it come from? he wondered. Just die please. I'm sorry lady. Why did you have to be there? He had the customers on the floor, just firing some warning shots over them to keep them in line. The lady with the baby just walked into his line of fire from around the diaper isle. How could he have known she was deaf?

He kept seeing his face staring into the store security camera. Stupid stupid. That idiot Diaz was with me too. Now where the hell has he been the last few days? Nobody has seen him. And what about the getaway car stupid Joey left on the highway? Surely the old man out by the golf course has reported it stolen by now. That cop Benson knows more than he lets on? Why did he release me? Head games is what it is.

Manuel stumbled into the kitchen for a glass of water only to me met by his aunt's glare.

"I didn't like lying to that cop. You know it only makes you look guilty when you run like that. And the police are riding by here now, every half hour while you were sleeping. What have you gotten into Manny?"

"Nothing, tia. The cops are just messing with me. They got some crime they can't solve, so they try to blame it on some poor guy on probation."

Obviously not buying the story, Margueritte left the kitchen as Manuel filled up a glass from the sink. After adding ice cubes, he went out to the front porch to use his cell phone.

 

After fueling, Ricky shunned the truckstop restaurant in favor of a mom & pop diner he discovered quite by accident some years ago. It was two blocks south of the Interstate 40 service road and had room for maybe a half dozen trucks. It was favored by local truckers and overnight parking was not allowed. But the Tex-Mex food was excellent, as was the BBQ, courtesy of the smoker out back.

Upon Ricky's recommendation, they both had beef brisket, pinto beans, hushpuppies and sweet tea. "Yall got room for desert?" Emma, the waitress inquired. "We have some some fresh peach cobbler."

"No, maam. I appreciate it, but I couldn't stand another bite. I could use a refill on the tea, though. What about you, Joey? They got some good cobbler."

"I bet they do, but I am stuffed, myself." she answered.

"Well, yall just let me know if you need anything else." Emma said as she refilled their glasses. "And I just have to say that yall make just the cutest couple."

"That was sweet of her." Joey said as Emma walked away.

Ricky, clearly embarrassed, stifled a yawn as he looked at the clock on the wall.

"I'm no expert on trucking, but I can tell when somebody is getting tired. Don't be a hero, country boy. Life will go on without fresh strawberries." Joey admonished.

"I really appreciate the concern, sweetie, but I know my limits, and I ain't crashed one yet. On the bright side we are down to eleven hundred miles to go. That's pretty close, considering where I started from. I will work in a nap somewhere. I promise."

As Joey opened her mouth to protest, her cell phone buzzed. She grimaced as she looked at the incoming number. "What now?" she answered, not making an effort to be friendly.

"Listen cuz. You have a right to be angry. I swear I didn't know anything was wrong with that car and I will make it up to you." Manuel began and sounded sincere enough.

"Just forget it. The damage is done now. I will be ok; I've made other arrangements."

"I mean it Joey. I promise to make it right. But for now, I need to ask a big favor from you." he pleaded.

"A favor?" she repeated, wondering what he could possibly want.

"If anybody should ask about the car, say you got it from me on Monday instead of Wednesday. That's all I ask. And since we never did the paperwork, nobody could prove any different."

"What the hell are you up to? I wanted the car Monday to begin with. It was your idea to wait, messing up my travel plans. Why should I lie to anybody for you? I have no idea what you are up to, but it can't be good."

"Please do this one thing for me, Joey. They can't connect you to anything."

"That's exactly right, because I won't go along with your crazy plan, whatever it is." Then she hung up.

"What was that all about?" Ricky asked.

"Good question. My loco cousin is trying to drag me into something that can't be good. I am so glad to be going to the other side of the country." Joey said, momentarily forgetting about lecturing Ricky on getting some proper rest.

 

Harry Benson sat at his desk replaying the latest interview tape with Anthony Diaz. He said Manuel tried to recruit him for the store job. Even took him over there two days prior to show him how easy it would be. He said Manuel bragged about how easy it was stealing the car from the old man. Keys were in it. He knew that because he was working in that neighborhood on a day labor job recently.

When asked again where he was that day and why he missed his appointment with his parole officer, he said this. "I was scared. I backed out at the last minute after telling him I was on board. Manny is a little crazy and I thought he might come after me. He knew when I met with my PO and I would be easy to find. So I skipped out on the meeting. My PO is a little slack and I figured he would let it slide. Hell, sometimes he don't even show up. Besides I'd rather deal with him than Manny. I don't know who he got to replace me, but I heard it went down real bad. Glad I wasn't there."

That was his story and Harry believed him. He didn't tell tell Anthony there were two guys in addition to Manuel and the female driver, just to see if he slipped. He didn't mention the third guy, which could mean he truly wasn't involved and didn't know, or he kept it to himself. Harry thought the kid was clean on this though.

His thoughts were interrupted by the old desk telephone. It was Troy Watkins, one of his audio surveillance guys set up in a vacant house two doors down from Manuel. Less conspicuous than using a van on the street in a residential area.

"We got a hit, Harry. On the cell."

"Tell me about it."

"Cell to cell. Must be way out because we got very little. I think she was in Texas, maybe Oklahoma. Get a lot of interference out in the plains."

"You said 'she' ?"

"Yes, sir. The phone is on a local account, same area code. Registered to Esmeralda Josephine Ruiz of Fresno. Same last name as our boy. Pulled up driver's license photo, and you guessed it, long dark hair. I'm guessing you want to check out her residence?"

"You got it Troy. I can have a warrant easy enough, but don't expect her to be there. Maybe we can find something. First thing is to send her photo out to Arizona. Maybe refresh that wrecker driver's memory. How much of the conversation did you get?"

"Not much. Something about Wednesday, something about a car...she can't be connected. That was about it. I could tell she was none to happy to hear from him. Hung up on him. Oh, she did say something about his crazy plan."

"Good work, Troy. Keep hanging around where you are. Maybe he will call somebody else. Now let me have that number. I plan on having a little chat with the young lady."

Taken out of context, the conversation sounded incriminating, but Harry knew that could be misleading. Often the way somebody said something told you more than the actual words.

 

This was perhaps the easiest stretch of Interstate 40 heading east of Amarillo. Aside from Oklahoma City, no real traffic to speak of until one got beyond Little Rock, Arkansas and into Tennessee. About thirty miles out of town they felt like the only ones on the road. Ricky set the cruise at a sensible five over the speed limit, letting the big Cat rumble along.

The good meal he had was beginning to settle in and he thought longingly of the big comfy bed a few feet behind him. He also thought for the hundreth time how nice it would be to snuggle up with Joey and he had no doubt that she was more than willing to join him. Therein lies his dilema. He knew there would be no turning back and it could easily become a marathon session, which in turn would lead to some deep sleep.

"How ya feeling, sweetie? You don't look too sleepy." he asked Joey.

"That's because I slept four hours before we stopped to eat. Like you should have done, I might add."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Listen here, I need a favor. I got a little leg cramp." he said, wincing.

"Oh, no. Are you ok? What can I do?"

"Well, it's like this. My left leg is cramping up too bad to push in the clutch, so I can't stop the truck." he lied. "I need you to slip behind the wheel for just a few minutes."

"Oh, no. I don't know if I can do that." she said worriedly.

"Oh, you can do it baby, piece of cake. I will slide the seat up for you. Now come stand beside the seat and just slip in when I get out. I've got the wheel tilted up and will show you how to adjust it when you get situated. Alright, let's do it." he said, not giving her a chance to argue.

"There you go. See how easy that was? Don't worry about changing gears because you won't have to. If you come up behind a slower truck, and believe me you will, just look in the mirror, put on your left blinker and go for it. Just tap the clutch to disengage the cruise control if you need to slow down or speed up with the pedal. I'll be back here if you need me."

She looked back to see him already sitting on the bunk, slipping his boots off.

"But what about your leg cramp?" she asked.

"Better already, but I really need to stretch out some, so I don't have a relapse."

"Relapse, my butt, country boy. That's was a pretty good trick. Now just pray I don't wipe out and kill us all in a firey crash."

"If I thought that, I never would have done it. Don't ask me why, but I trust you. When you get close to Oklahoma City, wake me up and I'll help you get 'er stopped and we can switch over. Nite nite sweetie."

Ricky was sound asleep in less than a minute.

 

The first thing Joey did was to tap the clutch pedal to disengage the cruise control. Then she let some some air out of the seat. She thought Ricky looked kind of cool sitting low like that. Besides, it doesn't hurt to be a little more incognito, even at night. She let the truck slow under seventy, then eased down on it, bringing it up to eighty, just to get a feel of the acceleration.
*

There was something about her she hadn't gotten around to telling Ricky yet. She raced three full seasons on a quarter mile dirt track, starting in the hobby stock class, then moving into modifides.

Her father was a machinist employed by a metal fabrication company in Madera, just north of Fresno. In addition to being an expert machinist, Alberto Ruiz was also a first class welder and auto mechanic. His lifelong hobby was modifying and building cars and motorcycles. It was for that very reason, that his boss, owner of MADERA MACHINE & METAL FABRICATION, recruited him to construct a race car to compete at the local track. It was primarily a rolling advertisement for his company, with the triple M logo emblazoned on the car, but it was also a source of pride, and entertainment for the employees.

Initially the owner's son was the driver. He wasn't the world's greatest driver by a long shot, but he was the owners son. It was proving to be quite the embarrassment, with back to back last place finishes in the points. But, as often happens, fate intervened. The son took a bad fall on his dirt bike. Seems he wasn't much of a moto cross rider either. He broke his right femur, along with a few ribs. He was in for a long recovery. A wave of unspoken relief swept over the company, the boss included.

Alberto asked his boss to give his daughter a shot. She had been racing go karts over five years by then. The boss was skeptical. He wasn't crazy about putting a girl in the car, especially one that was barely sixteen. But what the hell, he thought. She can't do any worse than his son had been doing.

Joey was not only capable, she was an overnight sensation. In the twenty-five race season she had nine wins and finished third in the points in a field of twenty-six cars. She earned the handle Joey Rabbit from her competitors . It was clear that she was about to outgrow that class quickly, so the boss commissioned Alberto to build a modified class car during the off season. There was a rocky start getting accustomed to the added horsepower and the more seasoned veterans she was racing against, but after a half dozen races, and as many crashes, she began feeling at home, winning four races and finishing tenth in the points.

It all came together the following year. Alberto fine tuned the suspension, as well as the motor. Joey was eighteen now, with fire in her belly. Eleven wins(most in the field) and missing the trophy by ten points, thanks to dropping a driveshaft with five laps to go in the last race.

That was the final season for the MMM car. The business took a severe downturn during the election year of 2008 and the company was faced with the undesireable prospect of laying off employees for the first time ever. The owner was a benevolent man and chose to forgo his hobby rather than be forced to do that. That was fine with Joey. She was realistic about how monumentally slim the chances were of her ever moving up into NASCAR or any division that would be profitable, for that matter. She focused on her education from that point on, but never lost her love of driving, competitive or otherwise.
*

 

After adjusting the squelch on the CB, she started searching out a desireable station on the XM reciever. Then her cell phone sounded. Now where the heck is it? Darn. It was in her handbag on the floor, in front of the passenger seat. She leaned to her right. Stretch. Just a little more. Almost got it. Then she felt the truck drifting out of the lane, over the center line, causing her to snatch it back into the lane. Screw that. Probably that moron Manuel anyway. The only people she cared to hear from were her father and her cousin, Hector, in Miami.

Passing through Shamrock, Texas. Cool name. Cool looking rig up ahead, too. Shiny, stainless steel trailer doors. As she got closer, she could make out a picture of a peach on the lower, outer corner of each of the shiny doors. Joey fell out in the left lane and began easing around the rig. Pulling up to the tractor, she saw it was a Peterbilt, very similar to the one she was driving. Another peach was on the side of the sleeper, along with PEACH STATE PRODUCE-Villa Rica GA.

Then something unexpected happened. As she nosed ahead she heard the RPMs rise on the peach truck as it pulled up beside her. What the hell? This may have been her first trip, but something seemed unprofessional about that. Without concious thought, her competitive juices stirred and her right foot was pressing down on the pedal. You asked for it, dude.

Whatever was under the hood of the peach truck was no match for Ricky's 600 CAT. Joey smiled at the sound of the turbo spooling up. The high pitched whine, combined with the roar of the seven inch straight pipes was music to her ears. A short time later(she wasn't sure how much had elapsed) a voice came across the CB. Before picking up the mic, she looked in the right side mirror to see she had advanced about ten truck lengths on the peach truck. She then glanced down at the dash to see the needle brushing ninety. Oh, crap she thought as she lifted off the throttle.

"####, Mustang, I didn't mean to piss you off. Just playing around, brother."

Joey felt sheepish, realizing that must be a friend of Ricky's and she just got done showing out like a rookie.

"Uh, this isn't Mustang. He's taking a break at the moment." Joey answered.

"Aw, hell. I didn't know he had a co-driver. I just talked to him last week and he didn't say anything about it."

"It was a last minute deal. This is my first trip."

"Cool. Mustang's a good dude. Sorry about riling you up back yonder. I'm not usually like that. What do you go by anyway?"

"That's ok, I'm not usually like that either. You can call me Joey the ...just Joey." she answered, thinking it was probably time to drop the rabbit.

"10-4 Joey. They call me Junior."

"Alright, Junior, let's get on across."

By the time they reached the Oklahoma border, another set of headlights eased up from behind the pair of Petes. It was a Western Star pulling a spread axle flatbed. He introduced himself as Wolfman and asked if he could tag along. As they passed the Loves truck stop, a T600 Kenworth coming down the entrance ramp joined the merry band as well, and off they went into the night.