Strawberries

I really appreciate the anticipation, everybody. If I did the story on a word program and dumped the whole thing out here at once, it wouldn't be near as much fun.
I have a kind of weird work schedule. I get home early Sunday afternoon and leave back out Wednesday.
I plan to be back on the keyboard this time tomorrow.
Thanks for your patience.

 

"You've really never had catfish before?" Ricky asked, feinging incredulity.

"No, I haven't. Why is that so amazing to you? I can't help it I'm not as world traveled and sophisticated as you." Joey teased.

"Speaking of which, I've been to the birthplace of the king. Not that far from here, actually. Right outside of Tupelo."

"What king would that be?"

"What king? The one and only Elvis Aaron Presley, that's who."

"Really?"

"#### right, I wouldn't make up something like that."

"I am becoming more and more impressed with you, country boy."

"Aw, shucks, tweren't nothin. Back before they finished the four lane, the old road ran right by the place. I don't know if it's still open to the public or not. I haven't been by there in years. I'm surprised this old place still exists. This used to be a busy spot. I reckon there is enough local business to keep it running, along with a few old diehards like me who don't mind going a mile out of the way for some good vittles. Nowadays it seems like most of them boys are too busy running down the interstate to do anything but stop at the Pilot for a dang sub or a burger."

"Well I'm glad you brought me here. It sure is nice. Now do you think your little plan will throw them off the track?"

"It should, hopefully long enough for them to solve the case and catch the real bandits. Only flaw would be if that cop that talked to me got suspicious. But he thought I was alone."

*

After several minutes of frustration in trying to communicate with his insolent nephew, Alberto finally had enough, grabbing the boy by the shirt and slamming him against the kitchen wall.

"No you listen to me and listen good, I have enough of your crap. If you want to land yourself back in the joint, so be it. But I won't allow you to destroy my family in the process. Look around. Cops are riding by here now. And who do you think is in that van down the street? I helped my sister buy this house to get away from the envirnonment we grew up in, in LA, and now you bring it here. That detective was at my house today. My house! Asking questions about my daughter. If anything happens to her, the law will be the worst of your worries."

"You don't know what it's like on the street, old man." Manuel retorted.

Alberto drew back to slap him and was stopped by his sister, Margueritte. "Alberto, no, please." she cried out.

Alberto took his hands off of Manuel and took a calming breath. He began speaking again in a low but menacing tone.

"I don't know what it's like? You think they just invented gang banging? Nothing is new young man." Alberto said as began removing his long sleeve shirt.

Manuel stared with a mixture of surprise and admiration at his uncle's scarred and tattooed body. An eagle covered almost his entire back and both arms were nearly full sleeves. A diagonal knife wound started at one shoulder and skirted his belly button on the way down to his belt line. The wound occured in a prison fight and was not stitched properly, resulting in ragged scarring, as was often the case in prison hospitals. A hollow point bullet had entered his collar bone in some long ago street battle shattering bone fragments, resulting in a star shaped scar where jagged bone exitted his flesh.

"Now obviously they think Joey is involved in this somehow. Even if you didn't tell them that, you have the ability to make them believe otherwise. I know you think you have some loyalty to your cohorts, but let me tell you something, they will dime you out in a heartbeat.
I should have stopped Joey from buying that car from you, especially when I saw the title in a stranger's name. But she is an adult, so I didn't interfere. But now I am interfering. They are allowing you on the street for a reason. And that is to allow you to screw up. And as soon as one of your buddies screw up, they will say whatever it takes to make it easier on them. Obviously there is a woman involved in whatever the hell you did. I want you to go down there and point them in her direction. Nobody has to know, and it might help you in the long run. Remember, people died, and when they start passing out time, you want all the help you can get. And like I said before, you don't want me for an enemy right now."

 

Harry Benson was exhausted. This case has consumed him. He felt there was enough of a lull for him to go home for a shower and a two hour nap. Then several things happened at once, starting with an unexpected phone call.

"Detective Benson speaking, may I help you?"

"Hello, detective. This is Sergeant Arnold Grayson from the Arizona Highway Patrol. I would have called you sooner, but I didn't know there was a problem. I talked to a truckdriver Saturday morning that was stopped by the broken down car that has your interest."

"Ah, the mysterious trucker. Was there a woman with him?"

"If so, she was stashed away in the sleeper. I didn't look and I don't have any paper because the guy hadn't done anything. I just stopped to check on him. We get a lot of rigs overheating climbing that mountain. And like I said, I didn't know there was an investigation ongoing."

"That's quite alright sergeant. We didn't know either at the time. What do you remember about the truck and the driver?"

"White guy, mid to late thirties, blonde, slender. He was sitting behind the wheel, but he could have been around six feet. Oh, bird on his t-shirt. One of those ball teams back east. The one from Atlanta. Falcons, that's it."

"What do you remember about the truck?"

"Peterbilt for sure. Metallic blue. Had a Georgia tag. Shiny trailer, refrigerated."

"Name on the truck?"

"Small lettering on the bottom of the sleeper. Owned and operated by...somebody, crap. Sorry detective, maybe it will come to me. Like I said, I had no reason to write the guy up for anything. Wait...Ricky...something. Sorry."

"That's ok sergeant, more than we had anyway. If anything else comes to you, call me anytime."

As Harry hung up the phone, he looked up to see Troy standing in his doorway.

"What have you Troy?" Harry asked.

"Our signal is gone."

"Gone?"

"Gone, like vanished. Going real good, maybe thirty miles into Oklahoma, then poof."

"What could cause that?" Harry asked.

"Only a few things. I f the phone is completely destroyed, like by fire or smashed, as in run over by a vehicle. Or if it is buried under a few feet of dirt, that will effectively block the signal. So will a few feet of water."

"So what's your best guess?"

"My money is on the water. Looking at the map, I see a big lake in the vicinity, with a long bridge that skirts a portion of it." Troy said.

"Wonder if they drove off the bridge?"

"Never know. I got a call out to the state patrol out there to check for any recent mishaps."

"Thanks, Troy. Keep me posted. I'm stepping out for a few..." was as far as Harry got when his phone rang.

It was the public defender, Mitchell Sanders. "Hello, Harry. I'll skip the usual pleasantries and get right to the reason I called. My client wishes to speak with you. More to the point, I think he's ready to deal."