We join them now, as they've driving The Whale in the fading light of the day. Carl flipped down the visor to keep the sun from his eyes and a huge wad of papers fluttered down, nearly blocking out his vision of the highway in the process. The papers floated around the cab like one of those glass globes with artificial snow flakes inside. Emma sighed. "Carl, I told you not to store all those fishing licenses up there."

Carl pulled The Whale over to the side of the road and started gathering up all the fishing licenses, swearing profusely all the while. "Dang-blasted *%#@*&%* #$@$**$@ rubber band broke. I sure hope I don't lose any of those licenses."

"Well, how many of them do you have?"

"I got 46 of 'em. Two more and I got the whole United States covered."

"Aren't you forgetting Hawaii and Alaska?"

"Heck no! There's great fishin' in them places. Hope they make 'em states some day. Then I can shoot for an even 50 fishing licenses."

Emma looked at Carl with pure astonishment. "Uh, Carl. I hate to break this to you, but Hawaii and Alaska have been states for some time now."

"What? So Reagan finally up and did that, eh? Boy, I got to start paying a little more attention to the evening news instead of watching WWF wrestling and Bill Donahue."

"You mean Phil."

"Right. Him too."

Emma just sighed. "Never mind. How much further are you going to drive before we stop for the night?"

Carl scratched his nose thoughtfully. "Well, I'd sort of like to stay in a motel tonight. I want to do a little work on The Whale ... maybe change the oil and filter, and crawl underneath with a grease gun. It's starting to get a little squeaky here and there. I took a look at the map and there's a good sized town about an hour ahead. It's called Stumpville."

Emma audibly sucked in her breath. "Ooooooh, we better not stop there! I read in the Auto Club magazine where that was one of the towns with the highest auto theft rates in the whole country."

Carl laughed out loud. "Hah! You think anybody is going to be able to steal The Whale? Hells-fire, woman, I got just about every anti-theft device known to man. You just wait until we get to the motel tonight, and I'll show you some real security!"

A short time later, they pulled into the outskirts of town and Carl pulled over to a convenience store to buy a six-pack of beer and sufficient snacks for the evening. While he was in the store, Emma bought a copy of the local newspaper, The Stumpville Gazette, and reacted sharply when she read the headlines. "Carl! Look at this! It says right here on the front page that the car thefts have gotten worse during the last week. Why, just last night, there were four cars and three trucks stolen from local residents. This is awful! Let's stay at some other town tonight."

"Hey, not to worry. We're gonna stay here because I only got an hour of daylight left and I gotta get some work done on The Whale. And there ain't another decent-sized town for a hundred miles. So let's find a motel here real quick before it starts gettin' dark."

Five minutes later, Carl and Emma pulled in to the parking area of the Dew Drop Inn Motel and Trailer Park. After parting with $22.95, Carl pulled The Whale up in front of the door of room 7A and started to work on the Suburban.

First, he jacked both ends of The Whale up in the air and put jack stands under the frame rails, just to play it safe. Then he slid underneath The Whale, using a copy of the Stumpville Gazette to keep from getting dirty, and pulled the pin on the quick-release oil pan drain plug he'd installed. The darkish oil gurgled out into the funnel and from there into the five gallon plastic jug Carl used for collecting used oil.

While the oil was draining, Carl slithered around underneath with his mini grease gun, and gave all the zerk fittings a sptriz of fresh grease, taking care to wipe away the excess grease with a few pages from a Ford truck manual. He also greased all the drive shaft U-joints carefully, then spent a few minutes spraying some WD-40 on spots that looked a bit rusty, or possibly the source of a squeak or two.

Then, lastly, he checked critical nuts and bolts to make sure they were snug. He knew that a simple thing like a loose U-bolt over an axle could let leaf springs flop around and cause trouble, and didn't want any of that.

He then secured the drain plug, yanked the old oil filter, slapped in a new one and poured in 12 quarts of Valvoline 20-50 Racing Oil. That over-sized oil pan sure held a lot. Carl fired the engine up, check for oil pressure and leaks, then shut 'er down and let the oil settle before checking the dipstick level.

Emma wandered out from the room just as Carl was putting the tools away and wiping his hands on an old Ford t-shirt. She was clearly worried. "Carl, I really don't think we should stay here. This motel is right on the main drag and our Suburban is visible from the highway. And you read those headlines!"

Carl just chuckled. "Pay attention, woman, while I set up the ultimate security system. First off, I put two clubs on the steering wheel, then I wrap a chain around the clubs and lock it down tight.

"Next I put this here device that runs from the steering wheel and locks on to the brake pedal. Then I take the hidden chip from under the dash, so The Whale can't be started without it. After that, I take the coil wire off and stick it in my pocket. Now, does that make you happy?"

Emma still looked concerned. "Actually, no. I'm still worried."

"Well, hells-fire, woman, what do you want me to do, take the wheels off?"

Emma smiled sweetly and gave Carl a little hug. "Would you, dear?"

What else could he do? Since The Whale was still up in the air and on the jack stands, removing the wheels was quick and easy, and within minutes, the four tires were stacked neatly inside the motel room next to the TV set.

That night, Carl and Emma watched TV, ate a bucket of fried chicken, drank a six pack of beer (Carl), four bottles of Yoo-Hoo Chocolate Soda (Emma), 23 Slim Jims (Carl), three Whoppers (Carl) and a Twinky (Emma). They fell into a sound sleep while David Letterman was half-way through Stupid Pet Tricks on the slightly fuzzy motel TV set.

The next morning, Emma was up first, as usual, and peeked out of the window blinds to see what kind of day it was going to be, then did a quick double-take! The Whale was gone! Sitting there in the spot where The Whale was, were four bright orange jack-stands and a jack.

She got a grumpy Carl up and he walked to the window in his shorts, scratching and yawning as he looked out. When he saw that The Whale was gone, he went ballistic and broke into some major-league Navy cursing. Emma just sat on the bed until the tidal wave of verbal explosions subsided, then quietly asked, "What do we do now? Call the police?"

Carl thought for a minute, then got a crafty look in his eyes. "Yup. We do that, just in case the thief abandoned The Whale somewhere, or if the cops stumble on it by accident. But to get The Whale back, I'm gonna have to do a little bit of bar-hopping tonight."

Emma was confused about that statement, but didn't say anything when she saw the stony look on Carl's face.

***

At 11:35 that night, Carl wandered in to the Kit Kat Klub, the 5th bar he'd been in since dark, and sidled up to the bar. The bartender wandered over and shoved a bowl of peanuts in front of Carl. "What'll it be, buddy?"

"Give me a cold draft and maybe some information."

The bartender immediately looked suspicious. "You a cop or something? We don't want no trouble around here."

"Naw. I'm just sort of broke and got a nice set of mounted tires for sale, real cheap."

"Hmmm. What kind, and what are they for?

"They're 35 inch BF Goodrich Mud Terrain tires in real good shape, and they're on Chevy or GMC one-ton truck rims. Nice polished aluminum ones. I got four of 'em, and I'll let 'em go real cheap."

"How cheap?"

"Uhhh, maybe two hunnert bucks for the whole bunch."

"Hmmmm. Lemme make a phone call or two."

Carl sat there, sipping his beer, munching the stale peanuts and listening to a Patsy Cline song. About 20 minutes later, the bartender returned. "I got you a customer, but he says he can't go $200. He'll go a hundred bucks, maximum."

Carl put a pained look on his face. "Aw, c'mon. You know those things are worth a whole lot more $200. Look, I gotta have $125 to get my Dodge out of the garage, so I can get out of this town. Tell him it's $125, or no deal."

The bartender went away for a few minutes, then came back and said, "OK. You got a deal, but only if the tires are in primo condition. My friend will be here in about 15 minutes. Have another bowl of peanuts on the house."

A short while later, a short, stocky man entered the bar and sat down next to Carl. He wore a work shirt on that said "Stumpville Auto Salvage" above the pocket.

"You the guy with the tires?"

"Yeah. You got the $125?"

"Sorry. All I got is a hunnert bucks. Take it or leave it."

Carl acted upset. "Aw, c'mon, pal. I need $125."

"The short stocky man grunted. "Hey, this ain't a charity and I ain't got all night. You want the hundred or not?"

Carl sighed. "Guess I ain't got much choice. I really need the money."

"Good. Where are the tires?"

"I got 'em stashed down the road out in the woods."

Carl got in his rental car and had the short stocky man follow him to a place on the highway with a cluster of trees just off the road. The man looked at the tires and quickly gave Carl a hundred dollar bill. "These are just what I need. By the way, where'd you get 'em?"

"I found 'em out behind that motel near the main highway. Some dummy must have left them there, so I rolled 'em off here in the woods and figured I'd make a few bucks real quick."

The short stocky man let out a smile. "So that's why that Suburban didn't have any wheels on it. Somebody stole his wheels before we got to the Suburban! Man, that's weird."

With that, the short stocky man loaded the tires quickly in the back of his truck, and drove off.

Carl waited a minute, then followed a good distance back, with his lights off.

***

The sheriff patted Carl on the shoulder and positively beamed. "I can't tell you how happy we are, sir, that you helped us break this car and truck ring. That was good thinking, following them to where they had your Suburban stored. I wish we had more citizens like you around."

Emma positively glowed with pride as the reporter from the Stumpville Gazette snapped photos of Carl for the paper. The reporter then whipped out a pad and pencil. "One question, sir. How did the car thief get injured? As you know, he's in the hospital right now."

Carl looked puzzled. "Well, I sort of tripped him when he tried to run away. He must have fallen at a funny angle or something."

"Sir, he claims you beat him up with a bumper jack."

The sheriff looked hard at Carl. " Is that true, Carl? Did you beat that man with a bumper jack?"

Carl stood up straight and his nostrils flared wide with indignation. "Of course not, sheriff! What do you take me for, some kind of animal?"

***

Later, as Carl and Emma drove out of Stumpville in The Whale, she slid over next to him and put a chubby little arm around his shoulder. "Well, I'm very proud of you and the way you handled this whole situation. There's only one thing I'm curious about, and that's where that crook claimed you beat him up with a bumper jack. But you told the sheriff you didn't beat him with a bumper jack. Carl? Did you beat him up with a bumper jack?"

Carl let out an evil grin. "Nope. Not even. However, I did whomp on him pretty good with a floor jack. One of those big shop types, about five feet long. It wasn't easy to swing, but it sure made an impact on that crook."