Pootie Game Revived #2: The Kid

[Barnabas]

“Pull over, Angie – now!” Trevor saw his twin sister's eyes instantly glaring at him in the rearview mirror; the look was the same as it always had been for as long as he could remember, the one that conveyed the message that she was either going to need a damned good reason to pull over or a full on brother/sister dispute was about to ensue. “No arguments, Sis, pull over right now!” She did.

They had been cruising the streets as near to the bank as they dared, looking for the kid with the cash, but up until now they had come up empty. And suddenly that was just fine with Trevor, because he knew the search for the kid was over. Walking along a sidewalk, two blocks removed from the town's business strip, was none other than the pawn shop owner who had tried to con Trevor out of the earrings that were even now still hanging from his own ears. But what truly set Trevor's pulse to racing was that he also recognized the briefcase the man from the pawn shop was carrying. “That's a bingo, everybody!” he announced, and stepped out of the car as the man with the briefcase calmly continued his early afternoon walk.

Ike Green reminded himself that there was probably nothing to be alarmed about when he saw with his peripheral vision that Ralph Wallace's car had just stopped and parked on the other side of the street. Even so, he all at once didn't feel quite as invisible as he was accustomed to feeling. In fact, he suddenly felt about as obvious as a fly in a bowl of ice cream. He didn't know why Ralph wouldn't be at the service station right now, but whatever the reason might be, he was sure it had absolutely nothing to do with him. “Not my problem,” he whispered to himself. He continued to look straight ahead and made a conscious effort to maintain a steady gait. But then, in the next instant, it did become his problem. A voice from directly behind him asked, “You got $8.00 in that briefcase, Mister? I thought you might want to up the bid a little on these earrings.” Ike hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath, and now the air rushed out of his chest as rapidly as if he'd just been kicked in his midsection.

The stitches in Zeke's scalp were neatly finished, and everyone was for the moment satisfied that Zeke had had nothing to do with the robbery. Still absent, though, were his parents, and Sheriff Younger decided it would be best if he could keep the kid close at hand... just in case the boy proved to be a bit better at deception than he was now being given credit for. It was time to leave, and the sheriff explained to Zeke that he'd be going for a ride with him. “You might be needed for an ID if we catch up to these two hooligans,” the sheriff had explained. That was fine with Zeke. He was still a bit wary of the sheriff, but he'd played cops and robbers with his pals hundreds of times. If he was now being invited to be part of a situation that was the real deal... well, what kid could pass that up? Why, it might just turn out to be about the most swell thing that had ever happened to him.

The employees' refrigerator was on everyone's right as they passed from the examination room back toward the waiting room, and Sgt. Pepper reached inside the cooler for a Dr. Pepper. Dr. Pepper grabbed Sgt. Pepper by the arm and said, “You're going to have to pay for that Dr. Pepper, Sgt. Pepper.”

“Of course I will, Dr, Pepper,” said Sgt. Pepper... and then everyone began to chuckle. The sheriff picked up the briefcase full of cash on the way out the door, and then the two officers and the kid were gone. Dr. Pepper grabbed a Dr. Pepper from the refrigerator and mentally noted that Joy Pibb hadn't yet returned from the bank. It occurred to him that she might be thirsty too, so he grabbed a Mr. Pibb for Mrs. Pibb, and if her husband Mr. Pibb happened to be there too... well, that Coca Cola drinking Cubs fan knucklehead could find his own soda to drink. But why wasn't Joy back yet? Maybe there had been more scrapes over there than he had originally thought. He went to grab his medical bag, but it wasn't located in its usual spot. He looked about. Nothing. Had he left it with Joy up at the bank? His old medical bag had finally disintegrated a few weeks back, after many years of service to the doctor, and he'd had to temporarily replace it with a faux leather briefcase from Sears and Roebuck. But it was nowhere in sight now. He left the office and locked the door behind him, reasonably sure that the case was with his nurse.

[Barnabas]

Each evening he could get away with it, Francis Xander would stand outside the window of Dorsett's Electronics in the little of town of Carpenter, and he would watch CBS's Douglas Edwards with the News. Francis was utterly fascinated with two things, the news and televisions... and in Carpenter he had neither. The news would forever come to Carpenter; it would never be made here, and Francis's father was of the opinion that it was far more cost effective to read the news from a newspaper (or hear it from a radio) than to have to look at the man who reads it to you from inside a television box. Sometimes, if Mr. Dorsett was in a foul mood, he'd shoo Francis away. Mr. Dorsett didn't like having kids loitering about his business, and he wanted people who could actually purchase televisions ogling over his state of the art RCA television set in the display window, and Francis never appeared to be able to purchase so much as a pack of gum. Francis suffered from scoliosis, and he leaned noticeably to the right. His father liked to tell him that “he leaned to starboard,” but in Francis's mind that only amounted to yet another of the disappointing opinions that so often seemed to spill from the mouth of his father. Francis wasn't aware of the news being made nine miles to the west in Cleves, and it was about as likely that Douglas Edwards would be reporting on events in Cleves as it was that he would be doing the same regarding anything happening in Carpenter. From the west, Francis noticed a boy coming into town. He was running, and Francis judged that the boy would reach him in just about another minute or two.

Oddly, Forrest wasn't all that winded when he reached the little town of Carpenter; definitely thirsty, but not all that tired. He continued running into the heart of the town and then noticed the boy standing outside the electronics shop. As he neared the boy, he saw that it was a television that had caught the boy's attention. Forrest knew of these wonderful devices, but as yet there had never been one in his own home or that of any of his relatives. Nobody had told Forrest that he could stop running, but he judged that if he were in the next town then it would probably be alright with whoever it was that had told him to run that Forrest might be allowed a short break. He decided to introduce himself to the boy. “Hello, I'm Forrest; Forrest Gump.” And Francis Xander put forth his hand, shook Forrest's, and introduced himself, too.

“That man on the television,” Forrest queried, “what's he doing?”
“He's telling us all about today's news,” Francis answered.”
“I see,” said Forrest. “Is that what televisions are for? Telling us the news?”
“Why, yes,” Francis replied. “I suppose they are.” He couldn't think of a better use for televisions, and Forrest's question had sounded almost prophetic.
“That man must get awfully tired, sitting there telling us the news all the time,” said Forrest.
Brilliant! This angel from Heaven thought the news was being constantly broadcast – 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, year-round! He had no idea that Douglas Edwards would be finished with his day's work in another five minutes or so and that he wouldn't return to his desk in front of the camera at CBS for nearly another 24 hours. What an amazing concept! A 24-hour news station! Francis's head was spinning in the epiphany of it all. And then Forrest was saying something.
“You sure do lean to the right a lot,” he said.
“Yes I do,” answered Francis. “I guess I always have.” The question hadn't wounded him in any way. He was used to the stares and the comments, and Forrest seemed nothing other than sincerely curious.
“Maybe if you leaned to the left sometimes you would straighten out,” Forrest observed.
“I don't think I could ever lean to the left, Forrest, no matter how hard I might try. I'll just be leaning to the right for all of my life, I would imagine.” And then Francis had a question of his own. “Hey, let me ask you something. If you had your television station, what would you call it?”
Forrest thought about that for a while. “Radio stations seem to use initials. I guess if I had a television station, I'd call it by my initials.” And then he felt he needed to be on his way again. “Is there any place where I could get myself a drink of water, Francis? I really should be going.”
Francis directed Forrest to the public drinking fountain in the city park, and watched as his new friend ran off in that direction. But Francis's thoughts were a thousand miles away and decades into the future. A 24-hour a day news station, he thought... and with my initials! Francis Oliver Xander liked the thought of that, he liked the thought of that a lot! “But I'll never lean to the left,” he murmurred to himself. “No, that will never happen.”

[Barnabas]

Ned Wittmer finally alerted the sheriff's office to the possibility that there may be a problem at the Standard service station. Customers were required to use the phone booth out by the sidewalk, but as Ralph Wallace was nowhere to be found, Ned simply walked to the cashier's side of the service desk and used the station's telephone. After describing the situation, “There ain't nobody here. The register is open and cleaned out, and one of your deputies has left what looks like an IOU of some kind on the desk.” Sheriff Younger was quickly dispatched by radio to the station, and he and Zeke pulled onto the station's tarmac with lights on and the siren blaring... which Zeke thought was just about the bees knees!

Sheriff Younger deduced in a matter of seconds what the Atrick brothers had failed to notice in the nearly ten minutes that they had spent at the station. The register had been robbed and Ralph Wallace was likely a hostage in his own vehicle, as the green Chieftain was nowhere in sight. The sheriff's face turned near to full crimson when he saw the IOU left by Deputy Jerry Atrick. He immediately returned to his car, raised Sally Mangan (the dispatcher) on the radio, and instructed her to
issue a “Be on the Alert” for a green Chieftain. “And find out what year that car is, Sally. I'm thinking it's got to be five or six years old, and get his license plate number and put that out on the air, too.” The radio transmission would go out to all nearby law enforcement agencies. She knew, also, to call the state police and to call each individual sheriff's office within 100 miles of Cleves.

Sheriff Younger then called out to his deputies and to Sgt. Pepper to ask if any of them had seen Ralph Wallace or his car. Sgt. Pepper responded immediately with a “negative,” and that response was quickly followed by Deputy Barry Atrick. “Negative, Sheriff. But Jerry and I did see another car just like Ralph's a little while ago. It couldn't have been his, though, as some young gal was driving it, and a good deal faster than Ralph ever would. So we should all try to make sure we don't pull her over by mistake, don't you think?” The sheriff could feel his pulse thumping under his shirt collar, and for a moment stars were flashing before his eyes. He struggled to regain his composure, as it wouldn't do to harangue his deputies over the air. There would be far too many other ears listening in.

“Barry, Jerry, and Sgt. Pepper,” he said as calmly as he could manage, “find that car. You find that car and you will find the bank robber and any accomplices she may have. You'll probably find Ralph, too. Any other law enforcement officers picking up this transmission in nearby communities, please direct your immediate attention to the roads leading into your town that would be coming from Cleves. Look for the license plate number and make and model of the vehicle that Sally is putting an alert out for.” And then to Zeke he said, “Against my better jugdment, you're still with me young man. But you make certain your seat belt is fastened and it's tight.” Zeke, eyes as big as saucers, only nodded in return.

Trevor had assured Ike Green that to deviate from his instructions would not be a very good idea, and those instructions had been to continue looking forward, put down the briefcase, and then just walk away. Ike had done exactly that, and like Trevor he realized that he was in no position to call the authorities. To do so would only implicate himself in the aftermath of the bank robbery. Trevor had picked up the briefcase, made sure that Ike was sufficiently acquiescent, and then hurried back to the car. He tossed the briefcase in the back seat, got in, and said, “Let's go,” as he pulled the door shut behind him. Angie pulled away from the curb and drove five blocks down, putting several hundred yards between themselves and the original scene of the robbery. Nearing the edge of town, she turned left and drove back to Main Street. She had heard the siren in the distance not long ago, and she had no doubts that the siren was that of one squad car or another... and it had come from the east. But east was the shortest distance between themselves and the city limits. She turned right onto Main Street, and she knew she was risking another drive past the service station. If she could make it just a few more blocks, they would be past the service station and out of town again. She prayed - or rather what passed for praying in her mind - that the siren hadn't been that of a policeman being called to an unattended service station with no money in the till.

Trevor had the briefcase open just as Angie was turning onto Main Street. “What's this?” he nearly screamed.

“What now?” Angie asked, the panic in her voice only thinly veiled.

“There's no money!” Trevor shouted. “It's only... drugs and bandages and scissors and... I don't know... doctors' stuff!” Angie's eyes were focused on the rearview mirror and the look of disbelief on her brother's face. When she finally returned her attention to the road in front of her, what she saw was the sheriff's car pulling out of the service station's parking lot only a hundred yards ahead.

[Barnabas]

“dumb Dumb DUMB DUMB!” Angie chastised herself. “ I knew damned well that's what the siren was all about, but I came this way anyway!” In the back seat, Trevor was asking what the problem was, but he was just so much white noise at the moment. Angie didn't think she had been spotted yet, and with luck she could make a quick right turn in about another fifty feet. But then the cherry red lights atop the sheriff's squad car came alive and she knew she had been made.

Sheriff Younger, with Zeke belted in the rear seat, took a right as he turned west out of the Standard station's tarmac and onto Main Street. He recognized Ralph Wallace's Chieftain in the oncoming traffic lane immediately and flipped the switch to bring up his emergency lights. He was reaching for the radio mic...

“Hang on tight, everybody!” Angie exclaimed, and she knew the only thing to do now was to make a run for it... she put the pedal to the floorboard, and the Chieftain's engine roared.

He should have expected it, but nonetheless it was to Sheriff Younger's amazement that Wallace's car seemed to be rapidly accelerating as it approached. He decided the radio call would have to wait for a moment or two and began the motion of replacing the microphone in it's cradle... and then his eyes caught something just off to his left.

The car had always been well tuned. It was one of the advantages of having its owner working at a service station, and the Chieftain was accelerating rapidly. Angie would be doing at least 50 miles per hour by the time she covered the distance to the service station, and then her eyes caught something just off to the right.

Betty Lou was hanging the laundry along the clothesline next to the house. She'd heard the police siren a short while ago when she had been collecting clean bed sheets from the laundry machine. Something appeared to be going on just down the street at the Standard station. And that was certainly interesting, to be sure. After all it wasn't every day that Betty Lou heard police sirens in Cleves. And to think that the destination for those sirens had been the distance of only a single block away, well! She'd be on the telephone for a good long while tonight talking with her sister about it, and by then she would undoubtedly have all the particulars.

But for now...

those bed sheets weren't going to dry themselves just so Betty Lou Who could fluff her new dew, step over to the curb, and see what was happening with the service station crew! Her daughter, Cindy Lou, had spilled some glue (that was nothing new), and Betty Lou had said, “Oh, what to do? What to do with you, Cindy Lou!” So Cindy Lou and her dog Boo, had been banished from the house – yes it was true. So after much hype the glue had been cleaned (and with only a single wipe!) And then Cindy Lou Who was contentedly riding her tricycle in tight circles in the driveway, and Boo was happily chasing her in such a live way, and Betty Lou continued to hang sheets so they would soon be in a dry way.

And then came the bark, and not just a happy little yip or yap or a puppy kind of hiccup on your lap. Oh no, this bark – this bark was something far more dark. This sounded something like the rooster's crow that won't let you sleep in the morning. Yes this bark sounded something like some kind of warning. And so at the hour of two, Betty Lou turned with one shoe... and then two, so as to see what the alarm was with Boo. But where was Cindy Lou? She wasn't with Boo. No, she was not with Boo at two; oh dear, once again what to do? And Cindy Lou? Why, on that trike she could be so fleet. And on that trike she was headed for the street! That street where two cars might just meet!

Sheriff Younger had thought the chase was through. To the bank robber he thought, “It's off to jail with you!” But as he glanced to his left he saw a little girl – was it little Jenny or was it little Carol? And then with recognition he knew – and with a sense of horror he shouted, “Cindy Lou Who!”

[Barnabas]

Oh it was said, on that hot summer day, that Angie's heart grew three sizes that day.

“Three sizes?” you say; “three sizes in just one single day?” “Well!” I say! “I say no way, Jose” – that's what I say!

It went like this...

Cindy Lou Who - who was only two - and if it could be said at all that at that age she knew - it was then caution to the wind she threw!

The tight concentric circles on the driveway ridden on her deeply treasured tricycle were fun. And it was thrilling to have her much beloved dog Boo chasing her about. But, Cindy Lou became bored, as two year olds will, and her mother had been lulled into a false sense of security. Cindy Lou was with Boo, after all, and had never before ridden off in the direction of the street. She had been told countless times never to do that, and she had never given her mother reason to be concerned that she might do otherwise. From behind the wet bedsheets that were being hung on the clothesline everything was fine until Boo barked, which he did often. But this time there was a slight sense of urgency to it. Betty Lou looked from behind the bed sheets, and Cindy Lou was nearly upon the street already.

The sheriff and Angie both saw Cindy Lou at the same moment. Sheriff Younger veered right, away from the approaching direction of the child, and Angie, approaching from the opposite direction and in the lane of traffic most proximal to Cindy Lou, turned hard to the left. They nearly missed... but didn't quite. Cindy Lou, on the other hand, suffered nothing more than being terribly startled by the sound of two vehicles colliding. She stopped – frozen – then began crying, and finally turned and raced back to her mother.

The Chieftain's front left headlight caught the left rear quarter-panel of Sheriff Younger's squad car and dislodged the rear bumper, which Angie then drove over, puncturing one of the front tires. She didn't strike any buildings, but the collision with the sheriff's car was enough to cause damage to the radiator, and coolant was streaming onto the sidewalk when the big green vehicle came to a halt. The sheriff's car would have spun around completely had it not been for the rear bumper hanging on to its supports just long enough to prevent that from occurring. But then the car did plunge ahead into a street light pole, and the tall pole fell back on top of the car, severely cracking the windshield and destroying one of the emergency beacons on the roof of the vehicle. Sheriff Younger's car door was jambed just enough to make it resistant to opening, but he eventually managed. In the other car, Angie had no such impediment, and she was out of her car with her gun up and ready for a fight. Trevor had had enough. He untied Ralph Wallace, pushed him out the rear door opposite of the side where Angie had taken a stand and told him to “beat it.” - He did. When Sheriff Younger finally managed to kick open his door, he thought it might be prudent to check his rearview mirror before exiting whatever protection his squad car might be offering, and things were as bad as he could have imagined. The woman was outside of her vehicle with her gun drawn... but she was completely exposed. The sheriff drew his own gun, and slid out of the car, but as his car's rear was facing the Chieftain it left him exposed to his adversary as well. “Put that gun down, Miss,” he said, and the answer he got was Angie's first shot, breaking the car door window just behind him and sending bits of broken glass flying. The sheriff hadn't thought she would actually shoot, and though he wasn't hit he was startled, and he twisted defensively in reaction to the shot. Angie wasn't sure if she had hit the sheriff or not, and she hesitated...

“Oh no,” Trevor said to himself, “not this.” This could only end one of two ways; either the sheriff would be shot or Angie would be. He couldn't let either of those things happen if he could prevent it. If Angie shot, or worse – killed, the sheriff, she would never see the outside of a prison again. Trevor bolted from the car and placed himself directly in the line of fire of Angie's gun. He faced his twin sister, put his palms up and said, “Angie, give it up.”

Sheriff Younger saw the look in the woman's eyes and realized she was going to shoot again. He aimed and fired... and Angie did the same. Sheriff Younger's bullet tore the earring from Trevor's right ear, while Angie's tore the earring from his left. Trevor paled, screamed, and fell.

[Barnabas]

Lobe, diamond earring, and bullet, all struck Sheriff Younger, but only the bullet punched a hole in his shoulder and buried itself in the ball of his humerus bone. The projectile's momentum drove him back against the open car door, and because his right arm was still uninjured he tried to square himself for another shot at the woman. The same odd combination of materials that had struck the sheriff had nearly hit Angie as well, but instead missed anything solid and only tugged at her hair as the small mass went on through it. She rushed the downed lawman, hurdling her brother as she did so, trained the gun on the sheriff's head and told him to drop his weapon. Recognizing the checkmate under which he had been placed, Sheriff Younger made an appeal, “There's no need to hurt the boy,” he said, and laid his gun on the sidewalk.

“What boy?” Angie asked as she cautiously approached the sheriff, yet being mindful to keep herself out of arm's reach. When the sheriff didn't answer her question, she told him to step away from the car. Sirens could be heard in the distance, and they were getting louder. Angie could only hope it was the two imbeciles who had given her a free pass earlier. She directed the sheriff to go sit by her brother, and when he acquiesced she folded herself into the driver's seat of the squad car, forced the door closed, and started the engine. The streetlight pole was wedged onto the hood and roof of the car, so she found reverse, hit the gas, and nearly ran over her brother and the sheriff as she freed the vehicle from the pole. Then she spun the car around, began working the forward gears, and from behind her, a wide-eyed boy named Zeke asked, “Ma'am, where are we going?”

[Barnabas]

“Going?” Angie answered the boy in the form of an echoed question. “Anywhere but here.” She hadn't noticed the boy when she'd taken the car, but Angie, who was often quick to anger but just as quick to assess a situation, was anything but rattled by the sudden and unexpected appearance of a passenger. The sheriff had mentioned something about not needing to hurt "the boy" after all, and this must be "the boy" he had been referring to. The speedometer was already pushing its way through the upper sixties into the seventies, and for the second time that day Angie was leaving Cleves and rolling east on County 13. She glanced at the rearview mirror, noted the bandaging on top of the kid's head, and asked, “What happened to you?”

“I got shot,” Zeke answered meekly, frightened of his driver but also sensing that he was looking forward to the time he would be able to tell his buddies all about today's adventure... assuming he would indeed live to tell about it.

“Yeah?” Angie replied. “Some of those cops back there would love a piece of my scalp too. You in trouble with the sheriff or something, kid? He the one that ' shot ' you?”

“No ma'am,” Zeke swallowed hard. “It was you that shot me, truth be told.”

“Me?” Angie stole another glance at the mirror while the speedometer was now blowing past eighty-five mph. Then the recognition kicked in. “You're that kid at the bank, aren't you? The one at the bottom of the steps. My brother's got your collection of nickels and dimes, kid. I hope that's my money you've got with you in the briefcase. It is my briefcase after all.” A mile-and-a-half back, at the edge of town, Angie was also catching the sight of a squad car's flashers. Someone was in pursuit.

Sgt. Darren Pepper pulled onto the station tarmac, lights on and siren at the only setting its volume had - full, and saw Archie Younger standing behind a young woman who was handcuffed. But a second glance at the woman made him think that something wasn't quite right; something was a little out of place. The young woman (or was it possibly a young man?) had blood trickling down both sides of her/his neck and it looked as though he/she had been bleeding more profusely not long ago. Archie looked pale and he too was bleeding, though from the left shoulder. The policeman idled his engine, weighing whether he should offer medical assistance to the sheriff and his prisoner or pursue the green Chieftain he'd seen leaving town just moments ago. Sgt. Pepper then decided to simply ask, “What do you think, Sheriff? How bad are you hit? Do you need my assistance?”

“Oh, I'll get by with a little help from my friends,” answered the sheriff. “And there's help on the way, or so Mr. Wittmer here tells me. God help me if it's Jerry and Barry.”

“Do you need anybody?” Sgt. Pepper asked, feeling as if he was addressing ground that had already been covered.

“I just need someone to... to catch that young woman and bring her back here right now! Now go get her!” It was all he needed to hear. Sgt. Pepper was gone – and in pursuit.

[Barnabas]

The Jew's harp had started the whole mess – again. That and Noonan's “spirits,” as he liked to call it. And now Noonan was on the ground, somewhere in the massive cornfield down below, or so she had to assume, and Amelia was circling and looking for a sign of Noonan's canopy. But the canopy had seemed to disappear. Noonan had been floating downward over the field and had disappeared into a small patch of fog near ground level. The fog had dissipated just as quickly as it had mysteriously seemed to form, but for the life of her Amelia could not see Noonan's parachute spread out over the tops of the stalks of corn. Had he gathered it up that quickly? She circled again in the big lumbering bi-plane known as Maxwell's Silver Hammer. She'd named the plane after her father, a carpenter. Fuel was, for the present, of no concern. She had plenty (it was funny how that just never seemed to be a problem anymore) and she could circle the area for a long while yet before she would need to worry about that. Would she ever need to worry about that again? It seemed as though she should have to sometime.

They'd left an airstrip on the outskirts of St. Louis, bound for one of many county fairs they visited annually. Noonan was the self-proclaimed navigator, but usually he'd get drunk and take an in-flight nap while bound for their next gig. Once on the ground when and if they reached their destination, Noonan would normally be sobered up enough to be the money man, the ticket seller and taker. Amelia would then spend her day giving airplane rides to fair-goers. 50 cents per ride; pricey, but there never seemed to be any shortage of customers. But today she was pretty sure they were lost again, and perhaps even without all the extreme drama Noonan was providing, even then they might not find their county fair – the one that always seemed to be out there somewhere. In fact, they always seemed to be lost; lost and never found. It always seemed as though people were searching for them, searching for them and never finding them. How could that be? There had always been the county fairs, hadn't there?

They had agreed to meet for breakfast at Sam Frank's diner near the airstrip. Noonan had shown up late and already drunk, and he had a flask of his “spirits” inside his pocket. Waiting for the ham and eggs, Noonan had pulled from his other pocket the Jew's harp he always liked to play when he was deep into his cups. Amelia was sick of it, the drunkeness, the godawful noise Noonan would create with that damned Jew's harp. And then, just before they'd left the diner, Noonan had paid a visit to the men's room... and he'd left his “spirits” and the Jew's harp on the table. Amelia had taken the opportunity to walk over to the service counter and asked Sam if he'd dispose of the bottle of booze. He didn't want to get involved. When Sam had turned away, she tossed the flask and the Jew's harp together in the direction of the garbage can in the kitchen. The flask had landed in the right spot, but the Jew's harp had landed in an open can of Crisco. Oops!

An hour later, airborne and lost again, the only thing that seemed different was that Noonan wasn't passed out. He had become too worked up over the realization that he had neither his flask nor his Jew's harp, and he was insisting they return to the airstrip in order to retrieve both. Amelia would have none of it. Amelia was in the rear seat, the captain's seat as it were, and Noonan was seated directly in front of her doing about as much navigating as he ever did – which was to say none at all. He didn't like flying. He feared it and he didn't trust airplanes, including this one. For that reason he always flew with a parachute strapped to his back, and today was no exception. “Turn it around, Amelia,” he slurred.
“No,” she shouted back. One always had to shout when conversing in the cockpit of an airborne bi-plane.
“Amelia, turn this thing around or by God I'll walk back there if I have to.”
“Not going to happen, Noonan.”
“Damn it all – then fine!” And with that he stood up, stepped out onto the wing... and jumped.

And now Amelia was circling, looking for a drunk that she didn't even like all that much. But she did feel responsible for him. It seemed as though they had been together for so many years. They had... hadn't they? Maybe she should put the plane down on the gravel road running next to the field. At least then she could call to him. The more she thought about it the more sense it seemed to make. “Noonan,” she murmurred to herself, “you left your spirits in St. Louis, and I left your harp in Sam Frank's Crisco.” She flew away from the area for a mile or two and then turned the plane around and aligned it with the gravel road. She eased off on the gas, trimmed the flaps, and passed over a green car that was just turning onto the gravel road beneath. To Amelia's left, a police car was racing a mile or two behind the car under the airplane. Was he pursuing the green vehicle? Probably not, she decided. She swept over the green car and moments later she was down, on the gravel road, and the big green vehicle she had spotted was racing up behind her.

[Barnabas]

Right ahead, a small convoy of gypsies was approaching Forrest as he continued his run east out of Carpenter. The water at the fountain had helped, but hunger was now becoming a state of constancy and discomfort. And he was getting tired. His legs were beginning to strain under even the relatively small amount of weight that made up the rest of his body. He wanted to rest and he was confused. Forrest had never before encountered such people, but he had never developed a sense of distrust and he assumed the group would be both friendly and helpful. The half-dozen line of horse drawn wagons had now fully closed the remaining distance and Forrest said, “Hello. I'm Forrest – Forrest Gump. I think I might be a little bit lost. Do you know where we are, exactly?”

“We're traveling in a fried-out kombi on a gypsy trail, head full of zombie,” the man driving the first wagon replied.

Forrest didn't quite know what to make of the answer. “This is a hippie trail? What is a hippie?”

“You misunderstand,” the man said with an accent that was new to Forrest's ears. “I said gypsy trail. You look tired and hungry my friend. Do you accept food from strangers?”

“Well,” Forrest paused a moment to think about that. “Once, I met a strange lady. She made me nervous. She took me in and gave me breakfast.”

“Ah!” the man's eyes widened, as if in recognition of what Forrest had said. “Do you come from a land down under? Where women glow and men plunder?”

“No,” Forrest answered. “I'm from Greenbow, Alabama. Mama says some people up north think the south is down under but I don't really know what she means when she says that.”

“A pity,” the man said. He turned and reached for something behind him. A young girl appeared from inside the wagon and handed him whatever it was he had reached for. “I was buying bread from a man in Brussels. He was six foot four and full of muscles. I said, 'Do you speak my language?' And he just smiled and gave me a vegemite sandwich.” The man hesitated, giving much consideration to the food in his hands. Then he extended it to Forrest and said, “And now it is yours! Eat and fare thee well, my young friend.”

“Have you ever found a vegemite sandwich in box of chocolates?” Forrest asked the man.

“No. I'm quite sure that I have not,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Mama always says life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're going to get. And I surely did not know you were going to give me this.”

Now it was the man's turn to be somewhat dumbfounded by what had been said. He nodded and replied, “Can't you hear the thunder? You better run. You better take cover.” Then he gave the horse a light smack of the rein and he and the others were once again on their way.

Forrest looked about and took a bite of the sandwich. There was only blue sky above him, and he hadn't heard any thunder. Farther off, from the direction he had come, he thought he could perhaps just make out the drone of an engine. And there, low in the sky, there appeared to be a small airplane circling over a field.

[Barnabas]

Deputies Jerry and Barry Atrick stood in front of their boss awaiting orders. But as more and more help from the state police had begun arriving in town, the deputies were thankfully not needed for any remaining part of the investigation. The bank was now secure for the remainder of the day and the service station would also be protected after Sheriff Younger's departure to the hospital in Jefferson City. Neither business would be reopening until tomorrow, and the sheriff was reasonably confident that the bank robber, or robbers, had acted independently and weren't working with anyone employed at the bank. Ralph Wallace had already made a statement confirming the culpability of Trevor and his sister for the crimes committed at the service station as well. Now it was simply a matter of whether or not Sgt. Pepper had been able to catch up to the fleeing woman and the boy. And it was the boy that filled Archie Younger with a sense of regret. He couldn't help but feel that he had made a mistake in keeping Zeke with him after their departure from the doctor's office. He could have easily imposed on the doc to look after the youngster. Now there was a very real possibility that Zeke could be hurt, and Archie wasn't sure how he was going to be able to reconcile that with himself if the pursuit east of town turned violent. He looked up at his expectant deputies and told them to go and look for the missing Gump boy. “Radio the office if you find him. We need to get word to Treelore that the boy is alright as soon as we can.”

Dr. Pepper had attended to both, the sheriff and Trevor, and he was satisfied that neither man's wounds were of grave concern. A surgeon would need to remove the bullet in Archie's shoulder, but all that would be required of Trevor would be for him to hold still long enough for the doctor to stitch up the tissues where his ear lobes used to be. Neither of the diamonds had been located, but then it hadn't yet occurred to anyone that any needed to be looked for either. Still, both the sheriff and Trevor would be making the trip to the same hospital that had received Treelore Gump just a little while ago.

Trevor was in handcuffs, and would remain so even in the bed that awaited him forty miles away. After Sgt. Pepper had left to pursue Trevor's sister and the boy, Sheriff Younger had still felt fit enough to be able to place the young man in cuffs. Trevor had offered no resistance. He was still in a bit of a state of shock, in pain and replaying over and over in his mind the drama that had unfolded. He also couldn't stop thinking about what might have happened had either bullet's trajectory been just the tiniest bit more medial than they were. It made him nauseous to think about it. As to Angie and her part in all that had occurred... “She fired a shot right at me!” he realized, “And then she left – without me!” In Trevor's mind it had been nothing short of a betrayal, irrevocable and absolute. “How could she have done that?” he wondered again. Still, he hoped that she'd gotten away clean and that she hadn't harmed the kid. Trevor had never been one to mind helping himself to other people's assets, but at his core he was essentially nonviolent. Even tying up the service station attendant and forcing him to the car had left him feeling as though he'd compromised himself. And now one police officer or another, Trevor didn't recognize him from anywhere earlier in the day, was placing him under arrest. He was being charged with the kidnapping of Mr. Wallace, robbery of the service station, and as an accessory to the bank robbery. He nodded, indicating that yes he understood the charges against him, and then further indicated that “no” he didn't think he needed anything else in the way of assistance from Dr. Pepper or his nurse. Sheriff Younger would be transported by ambulance to the hospital once it returned from Jefferson City, but Trevor was being escorted to a state police officer's car, and that would be his ride to the room awaiting him. As he was being seated in the rear of the vehicle, he looked out at the assembled onlookers who were gawking at all the disorder that had resulted from the mayhem. And just before the door was slammed shut, he spied his mother, out there on the fringes, watching her son. It occurred to Trevor that the look on her face held about the same level of concern for him that Angie's had... which was to say probably not that much at all.

[puzzleme]

Like his father before him, Trevor had never commanded much of Lana’s love or attention. Trevor looked just like Angie – so much so that, early on, his mama took to calling him Caitlyn just to get his goat – but he was never like Angie. Where Angie had a wild and mean streak, Trevor, deceitful and sneaky as he was, had a kind and tender streak and he had loved his father. No, that’s not right; he still did love his pop. Alive or dead, no one knew because he’d escaped five years ago and no one had seen or heard from him since. A legend now, what with all the talk and scandal.

Just thinking about what his pop must’ve gone through and, certainly, Lana had never been any help to the man. Probably drove him half way to mad all by herself. But that day, that sad and terrible day… Why, Trever was just a kid then, himself. Couldn’t have been much older than Zeke when they took his pop away.

It was Sheriff Younger’s own father who finally discovered what had been going on with Trevor’s pop. The older Sheriff Younger burst in on his friend unannounced and found the babbling Rivers slow-dancing to “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” with Lucilla “Lucky” Strike who’d been dead for two days now! God rest her soul, her husband Mitch had had enough of her shenanigans and, as they say, that was that.

Now that dance might’ve been excused or overlooked, if you will, but for the added horror of the audience who were witness to the goings-on. There they were, dressed to kill and slouching in their chairs, all five of the recently departed hometown ladies and gentlemen looking for all the world like they didn’t give a damn about who Rocky Rivers was tripping the light fantastic with. Combed their hair, he did – coifed the ladies’ – shined their shoes, and set a good stiff drink in front of each along with cocktail napkins and a bowl of salted peanuts.

‘Course Rocky was just his nickname. Got it back in World War II. When nothing more was to be done for the mortally wounded, the tender-hearted medic would take the dying men and rock ‘em to sleep whenever he could. Likely that’s where his troubles began. Ironically, that’s where his talent and skill and life-long livelihood also began. You see, Rocky became an undertaker. Best in the business. Cared well for the dead and living alike. Not a corpse in his funeral home but that someone didn’t exclaim, “Why, my goodness! Doesn’t she (– or he, as the case might be –) look wonderful! The living, too, were petted and made to feel oddly at home.

So, there he was again, embracing the dead and caring for them like living folk. Chatting away, too, about the weather, the Platters’ great harmonies, and, “Oh! What beautiful hair you have, Lucky!” Swore he’d marry her soon as he could free himself of the loathsome, albeit breathing, Lana.

Trevor had been bringing lunch down to his pop whose place of business was on the first floor of their home when he heard the commotion and the older Sheriff Younger shouting for Rocky to, “Let go of her, dammit, Rocky, just let GO!”

The older Sheriff Younger was beside himself with grief for his best friend’s obvious mental breakdown and didn’t see young Trevor in time to stop the boy from hurling himself at Rocky and Lucky who still was held fast in Rocky’s embrace. They tumbled to the floor in a heap, living arms and legs tangling all around with, well, you know…

Later on Trevor wept at the memory of his pop being led away to the waiting ambulance all the while begging for just one more dance with his true love. Please. Just one more.

Lana was nowhere to be found to comfort Trevor, not that she would have done so anyway. Without her, it fell to the older Sheriff Younger to fill in the details for the fellows from the loon… ah… mental hospital before they took Rocky away.

“Yep, that’s right, fellers. He’s the funeral director, all right. Name’s Rocky Rivers. Oh, right, you mean his given name. Well, boys, nobody’s called him that in, well, I’d say ten years or more. Doubt he’d even answer to it. Real name’s Barnabas, a’course. Barnabas Rivers. You fellas be good to him, now. He’ll come around and we’ll be here waiting to welcome him home.”

The attendant shook his head sorrowfully, “I don’t know, Sheriff, he’s pretty far gone,”

“Well, I know,” said the older Sheriff Younger. “I know. Yeah. Beethoven was deaf. Helen Keller was blind. I think Rocky's got a good chance.”

[Barnabas]

“Ever go for a plane ride, kid?” The continued silence from the back seat was beginning to annoy her, but there was no time for conversation now anyway. "Let's go,” Angie commanded. “And bring the case with you.” The order might as well have been given in Greek as the kid remained frozen in his seat, frightened, and wide-eyed. “Move it – now!” she yelled. And that produced the desired results, as Zeke made for the door. Angie had turned onto the gravel road in the hopes of having a better shot at losing her pursuer. She had also guessed that the longer she remained on her original course the more likely she would soon encounter law officers coming from the opposite direction. Turning had seemed to be the best option. And then, out of nowhere, an airplane was suddenly landing in front of her... on the gravel road. The wingspan of the biplane left no room to negotiate her way around the aircraft, and she'd had no choice but to come to a stop. The police officer in pursuit would catch up to the unusual roadblock in a matter of moments, and Angie had thought she would be forced to make a stand and shoot it out. But then it occurred to her that the airplane might be more boon than bane after all. It might in fact just be the perfect vehicle for an escape. But she would have to move fast, and now she and the kid were making a dash to the pilot who was calling out something in the direction of the cornfield. The thundering of the plane's idling engine made it difficult to hear what the woman in the cockpit was saying, but it hardly mattered; she and the plane were Angie's ticket out of here.

“Noonan! Noonan, where are you?” the woman was crying. “We must be on our way, Noonan. They are expecting us in Fulton!” She had not noticed her hijacker until Angie was nearly standing on the lower wing of the biplane, pistol up and ready to brook no argument. If the woman in the cockpit was cognizant of the gun being aimed at her, she offered nothing in the way of concern. Instead, she addressed them. “They're looking for me, you know? They're always looking for me.”

“Well, at least we have that in common,” Angie shouted back as she glanced over her shoulder. The squad car was just now coming to a stop behind Sheriff Younger's stolen vehicle. Angie had considered taking the briefcase from the kid and leaving him behind, but the cop's arrival changed her mind. Kids weren't good for much... but they made excellent shields. A cop was far less likely to send a bullet down a path that might lead to an innocent child. “In the plane, kid – now!” Angie extended her right arm, aimed, and fired a shot in the direction of the squad car.

Zeke stepped up onto the wing, tossed the briefcase into the forward seat and then pulled himself into the plane, too. There was something creepy about the pilot; she seemed to be staring right through him. He didn't know whether he should sit down or simply scramble out the other side of the plane and just keep running. And then the pilot spoke to him, “Can't you hear? Can't you the thunder? You better run. You better take cover.” Zeke didn't have an answer.

“He's not going anywhere!” Angie shouted at the pilot. She too was now jockeying for her place in the forward compartment. Quickly, she shoved the kid forward, sat down, and then pulled him down into her lap. Looking back, with one eye on the squad car and the other on her pilot, Angie yelled, “Let's get this magical mystery tour started, sister!” Again she levelled her gun at the pilot, and again it seemed to fail to make an impression. “Come on now! Get this bird in the air!” The pilot appeared to be more placated than anything else, certainly not terrified. Whatever had prompted her to land the plane earlier seemed to either be dismissed or forgotten. Fifty feet behind them, the policeman was cautiously exiting his car, taking up a defensive position behind the open door. In the pilot's seat of the plane, Amelia sat, strapped herself in, released the brake, and gave the pistons all the gas they could take.

[Barnabas]

[IMG][/IMG]

"I said I will lead this dance!" Barnabas giving dance lessons again.

[puzzleme]

"Ever been to Howland Island, Missy?", shouted Amelia over the roar of the engines. "Take your breath away, it's that pretty."

Just as the wheels were about to leave the ground, Amelia caught sight of Noonan struggling to free himself from his parachute. Ignoring Angie's frantic gun-waving and cries of "Go! GO!! Get us the hell out of here NOW!!", Amelia pulled back on the throttle and stopped the plane just inches from the entangled Noonan.

"Scoot over there now, Missy, and make room for Noonan," Amelia ordered. "We're not going nowhere, nohow, and noway without my navigator. Why, we'd just go flying around in circles forever. Now scoot!"

[Barnabas]

“Take off, lady! Your friend stays here!” Angie commanded. Again, with the gun pointed directly at the bridge of her nose, it seemed to hold no sway whatsoever over the strange woman in the cockpit. Angie could see that the police officer, now a quarter of a mile behind them, had come to recognize that the plane might not be leaving after all, and he was now getting behind the wheel of his squad car. Soon, he would be around the sheriff's car and on his way to the standstill between the pilot, her friend, the kid, and – worst of all – herself. Angie could wait no longer. “Fine,” she exclaimed, “I can't shoot you but I can sure as hell shoot your friend.” She turned, aimed, and fired a shot, striking the man known as Noonan right between the eyes.

From a distance of a few miles, Forrest heard a crack pierce the air, and then a short while later there came another just like the first. He thought about what the gypsy had said when he had asked Forrest if he could hear the thunder, and the warning about taking cover which had followed. He hadn't seen any clouds at the time, but now – far off in the southwest – a line of gray was approaching. But the “thunder,” or whatever it had been, had sounded much closer than that. He took the final bite of “vegemite sandwich” and muttered to himself, “There isn't anyplace to take cover even if I wanted to. No sir. Not so much as even a culvert to crawl into with a muskrat.”

In the back of the state policeman's car, Trevor's eyes rolled up into their sockets until only the whites of his eyes shown. He jerked violently once, then again, and finally between clenched teeth he spat the words, “Don't shoot them, Angie! Don't! It's not the way! Just... just get away from her! Now!” In the front seat, officer Dick Starkey couldn't believe his bad luck and, panic stricken, said, “No no no no, please don't die no more. I'm tired of taking them to the morgue! No thank you please, just make yourself sneeze, and then I'll get you to the hospital door!”

Instead of the expected backward jerk that would be instantaneously followed by the bits of bone and crimson exploding out of the back of his head, Noonan's face seemed to shimmer for a moment... and nothing more than that. He continued advancing toward the airplane, cursing and demanding that the pilot (Amelia he'd called her) produce his spirits and a Jew's harp. Angie literally disbelieved her own lying eyes and fired again, which only produced the same result. Noonan was going to board the plane and she realized she wasn't going to be able to stop him. The cop was coming... and Angie leaped from the plane, onto the starboard wing. The gun fell onto the gravel road, but too many paradigms had suddenly changed in the reality that was Angie Rivers' mind. The gun stayed where it landed, and Angie ran straight for the cornfield.

Zeke followed Angie's lead, and he grabbed the briefcase as he was making his exit. Noonan was into the forward compartment as quickly as Zeke had exited, and Zeke lightly jumped off the wing onto the road. For the rest of his life he would never be able to sort out what it was that had possessed him to pick up the gun, but that's exactly what he did. And from behind him, he heard Sgt. Pepper shouting at him, “Freeze! Drop your weapon and the case!” Zeke looked up and saw the officer's gun levelled directly at himself. He leaped back onto the starboard wing, grabbed a strut, and then Amelia was hurtling the plane forward. Moments later, Zeke was airborne.