***We join them at the
kitchen table at Officer Honker's house.
"More okra and
possum jowels, Carl?" asked Velveeta, Officer LaRue's wife.
Carl subdued a small
burp. "Gosh, no thanks, Velveeta. I'm packed to the snouts. But I
could use just another taste of that good old home brew."
Velveeta picked up
the mason jar in front of Carl and moments later returned it full. She
smiled. "LaRue, Emma and I are going to go in the living room and
watch WWF wrestling. There's a big tag-team match on tonight, with Greg
"The Hammer Valentine and The Honky Tonk Man, taking on George
"The Animal" Steel and Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka. We'll
leave you two boys alone here in the kitchen so's you can figure out how
to trap those crooks. There's some pecan cookies next to the fridge if
either of you get hungry."
LaRue took a deep
sip from his mason jar and his eyes widened a bit. "Carl, we got to
figure out some way to nab these guys. I think that tryin' to chase 'em
down is a lost cause. All's we got is my Land
Cruiser and that just ain't fast enough. "
"LaRue, when
will your brother-in-law have my Suburban done?"
"Two days.
Mebbe three at the outside. Whyzat?"
Carl took another
deep pull on the mason jar. "Well, why don't we just chase em down
with The Whale? It's got plenty of beans and great suspension."
LaRue emptied his
mason jar and refilled it, "Nope. That'd be way too dangerous. We
might hit one of those New York lawyers while we chase 'em down and get
sued to death. We gotta think of some other way."
Carl emptied his jar
and refilled it, then took a long sip. "Well, howsa 'bout we leave
the keys in The Whale and let them steal it?"
LaRue slurped the
mason jar a good three inches lower. "What good zat gonna do? Then
you're out a perfectly good truck."
Carl sucked down
about half of his jar and shuddered. "What if I'm in it?"
LaRue took another
deep slug. "Then they'll steal you, too. That'd be grand theft auto
and grand theft of a retired Navy Chief Petty Officer. Pretty serious
stuff. Probably a federal violation. FBI might want in on the deal."
Carl drained his jar
and refilled it again. "We don't need the FBI. I'll hide in the boat on the roof and when they steal The Whale, I'll nab 'em. You can wire me
for sound and I'll keep you posted. This way we can follow 'em to their
hideout. Whaddaya think?"
LaRue emptied his
jar. "I think I'll have another drink. It stimulates the thinking
process."
Carl weaved a bit
from side to side. "Yes, but we better have some of those cookies.
You should never drink on an empty stomach."
"Good idea! But
first let's refill these mason jars. Cookies can make a man damned
thirsty!"
An hour later, Emma
and Velveeta shut down the TV and walked into the kitchen, to be greeted
by the sight of two rather large grown men snoring, faces flat on the
kitchen table, with cookie crumbs dribbling out of their mouths. It took a
good half-hour to drag them both into bed.
***Two days later, both
Carl and LaRue were still recovering from a Class AA hangover as they
wandered into the crusty old Sinclair station run by Honker's
brother-in-law. "Carl, this here's Freddy. We call him Frogman,
Froggy for short."
Carl shook hands
with the tall, lanky, freckled, red-haired mechanic. "Well, Froggy.
How's she goin'?"
Froggy carved some
grease out from under a fingernail with a large straight slot screwdriver.
"She's done, Carl. And if I have to say so myself, she's better'n
when she came in here. I found a coupla valves that were burnt on the
edges, and you was pumpin' some oil on number three and number eight
cylinders. I put a good seasoned block in and set up the tolerances jist
like I would for a stock car that was gonna run at Arlington.
"Take 'er for a
spin and don't worry about breakin' 'er in. I run it on the dyno over at
Hank's Speed Shop for a good three hours."
Fifteen minutes
later, Carl pulled back into the service bay, with a big grin on his face.
"Shoot, Froggy, I smoked the tires off the line like a pimply-faced
kid in a little deuce coupe. You are a certified genius."
"Yes, I
know."
***LaRue and Carl
huddled together in a booth at the Frosty-Freeze stand and made their
plans. " Okey-dokey, Carl. Here's the deal. We leave The Whale parked
in front of Shorty's Bar and Grill and Bar."
"Why is it
called bar and grill and bar, instead of just bar and grill?"
"Boy, are you
northerners dumb. It's got two bars in it. Anyways, back to business. You
hide out in that big boat on the roof and I'll make sure the keys are on
the dash and the driver's side window is down. Now we know that at least
seven of the 4x4s have been stolen from this spot, and always on a
Saturday afternoon. I figure we're about due for another hit."
Carl clambered up into the boat and settled back with a copy of Field and
Stream. Just about the time he was halfway through the article on how to
get lunker trout on macaroni and cheese balls, he heard the familiar sound
of the door on The Whale slamming shut. A moment later, the macho growl of
the 454 rumbled into life. Then, with a squeal from the rear tires, The
Whale pulled away from the curb and the chase was on!
Carl pulled out the
small walkie-talkie. "Ten-four, over and out, roger-wilco, code
seven, do you copy me, Smokey Bear?"
"Jeez, Carl,
will you knock off the radio jive talk and just listen up. I'm about a
half-mile behind you in my Land Cruiser. I'm gonna fall back 'til I'm out
of sight. After that, I'm gonna hafta rely on you for radio directions.
You let me know about turns and all that stuff. This is Smokey, out!"
"This here's
Carl, in!"
***About an hour later,
The Whale creaked to a halt and Carl peeked from underneath the lower lip
of the boat cover. He was in a clearing with a small cabin and dozens of
trucks with camouflaged, tarps were all over the place. Perhaps a
half-dozen rough-looking men lounged around the makeshift hideaway.
Carl got on the
radio and whispered, "Uh, Smokey, this here's The Whale. I'm in a
hollow with a cabin and a whole bunch of what appears to be stolen 4x4s.
What are you gonna do? There's too many of 'em for one man."
"Just leave it
to me. Over."
"Under,"
said Carl.
Ten long minutes
later, Carl heard and a loud voice boom, "Don't anyone move! Y'all
are surrounded by the Georgia National Guard. This is General Jones
speaking. We will not shoot unless anyone makes a move, but if you even
hint about doing anything funny, my men are under orders to open fire with
bazookas, machine-guns and hand grenades. We have poison gas if you want
to play it rough, and we also have killer attack dogs with us who haven't
eaten for three days."
The men all got big
eyes and looked toward their leader for advice. He simply put his hands up
in the air.
LaRue's voice rang
out again. "Now, I want the smallest man there to pick up a 2X4 and
hit the tallest man on the head with it real smart-like. If he doesn't
drop, we'll put a bullet or two right in the middle of your shorts."
A moment later,
there was a dull thunking sound, followed by a groan.
"Now, the next
tallest man gets the same treatment, or I turn the dogs loose!"
There was another
whacking sound and a body hit the dirt. In a few minutes, only one person
was left standing: a short man with a 2x4 in his hands and very wide eyes.
The voice rang out
again. "Now then, you there with the 2x4. Hit yourself on the head
with it!"
There was a dull
thunk.
"Do it again.
This time with some spirit, or I light off the flame-throwers and then
send in the dogs for a barbecue of the leftovers!"
This time there was
an even louder thunk, followed by a groan and the unmistakable sound of a
body falling to the ground.
Carl stumbled out
from underneath the boat and surveyed the scene around him. All of the men
were on the ground, out cold. Officer LaRue Honker emerged from the
bushes, with an ear-to-ear grin.
Carl shook his hand.
"LaRue, I am impressed! How did you ever come up with that slick idea
of getting them to knock each other out?"
"Had to. Left
my gun back at the gas station by mistake."
"You mean ...
"
"Right. We
coulda been screwed, blued and tattooed."
***Two days later, Carl
and Emma bid a tearful farewell to LaRue and Velveeta. "Where y'all
headed to now good buddy?" asked LaRue.
"South, old
friend. To Miami. We could use some peace and quiet and, as I recall,
Miami is a slow, kicked-back town with a lotta old, retired people."
***Miami? Slow? Whoa,
folks, what are Carl and Emma headed for?
