those were all CB handles. “Okay,” I said. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Got a handle?”
“Um, no . . .”
“Make one up and we’ll keep in touch,” he said.
I was immediately at a loss. A handle was like a nickname, right? I’d never had a nickname in my life.
“Uh, I-I don’t know—” I stammered.
“Outlaw Annie,” Meatloaf interrupted.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“What?” he asked. “She needs a handle.”
Slackjaw shrugged. “Outlaw Annie good with you?”
I nodded. “Yeah, sure.” Who didn’t love Annie Oakley? I’d grown up out west, I knew who she was. She’d been a badass. “Thanks, guys.”
“You be careful now,” Slackjaw cautioned.
I met Devon at the counter and set my things on it for the cashier to ring up. I told him about the cop and what the truckers had said about police being all around. His expression turned grim.
“Add a state map to that, please,” he said to the cashier, who obliged.
Once we were back in the SUV, we spread the map open on the dash.
“Best to turn off our navigation system,” he said. “Big Brother and all.”
I hadn’t thought of that and now I realized why he’d bought the map. I felt better being able to see where we were going, which was a heck of a lot easier with a paper map. And knowing the government couldn’t track me was also a huge plus.
“Did they say how far away they were?”
I shook my head. “No. Just ‘a bear in the bushes. ’ ”
“Slang for a police car hiding,” he said.
“We need to buy a CB,” I said. “That way we can hear about stuff like this.”
Devon glanced at me. “Exactly what I was thinking,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Perhaps I should be alarmed at how your mind is starting to work like mine.”
I didn’t tell him that Slackjaw had been the one to suggest it to me. “Great minds think alike,” I said with a shrug.
We Googled the nearest Wal-Mart, which had us double back about five miles, but they had CBs so it was worth the trip. Turning it on, I put the channel on nineteen.
We drove in silence for a while as I listened to the chatter on the CB. I noticed lots of semitrucks around. Traffic on the highway picked up as the evening wore on and more truckers were awake to avoid the daytime drivers.
It was about an hour after we’d left the convenience store when something on the CB caught my attention.
“Breaker one-nine, this here’s Slackjaw. You got a copy on me, Kentucky George?”
His accent was the same thick Southern I remembered from the convenience store. The CB speaker crackled again.
“Ten-four, Slackjaw. Kentucky George here, c’mon.”
“There’s a checkpoint Charlie up 65 a ways. They’re stopping everybody. A manhunt goin’ on.”
“Copy that, Slackjaw. How bad is the brake check?”
“ ’Bout a mile now. Outlaw Annie, if you copy, you in particular might wanna get off the boulevard.”
Devon and I glanced at each other. “That’s me,” I explained. “They gave me a handle, said I was Outlaw Annie.”
“I thought it was your idea to get a CB?” he asked.
Damn. So much for my mad spycraft skills. “Okay, so maybe they suggested it, but I agreed.”
A smile flitted across his face. “A checkpoint and manhunt,” Devon said. “That’s not good.”
“And if he’s calling me out by name, then they must be showing my picture around.” I had to thank my luck that we ran into the truckers.
“And they recognized you.”
“So much for the disguise.” I sighed. Cut and dye for nothing, it appeared, if even random truckers could spot me.
“Outlaw Annie, you copy the checkpoint Charlie?”
Picking up the CB, I pressed and held the button. “Annie, here. I copy your checkpoint, Slackjaw. Thanks for the heads-up.” I released the button, then remembered how you were supposed to do these things and quickly pressed it again. “Over.” I glanced at Devon. “That’s how you do it, right?”
He was hiding a smile and gave
“Got a handle?”
“Um, no . . .”
“Make one up and we’ll keep in touch,” he said.
I was immediately at a loss. A handle was like a nickname, right? I’d never had a nickname in my life.
“Uh, I-I don’t know—” I stammered.
“Outlaw Annie,” Meatloaf interrupted.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“What?” he asked. “She needs a handle.”
Slackjaw shrugged. “Outlaw Annie good with you?”
I nodded. “Yeah, sure.” Who didn’t love Annie Oakley? I’d grown up out west, I knew who she was. She’d been a badass. “Thanks, guys.”
“You be careful now,” Slackjaw cautioned.
I met Devon at the counter and set my things on it for the cashier to ring up. I told him about the cop and what the truckers had said about police being all around. His expression turned grim.
“Add a state map to that, please,” he said to the cashier, who obliged.
Once we were back in the SUV, we spread the map open on the dash.
“Best to turn off our navigation system,” he said. “Big Brother and all.”
I hadn’t thought of that and now I realized why he’d bought the map. I felt better being able to see where we were going, which was a heck of a lot easier with a paper map. And knowing the government couldn’t track me was also a huge plus.
“Did they say how far away they were?”
I shook my head. “No. Just ‘a bear in the bushes. ’ ”
“Slang for a police car hiding,” he said.
“We need to buy a CB,” I said. “That way we can hear about stuff like this.”
Devon glanced at me. “Exactly what I was thinking,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Perhaps I should be alarmed at how your mind is starting to work like mine.”
I didn’t tell him that Slackjaw had been the one to suggest it to me. “Great minds think alike,” I said with a shrug.
We Googled the nearest Wal-Mart, which had us double back about five miles, but they had CBs so it was worth the trip. Turning it on, I put the channel on nineteen.
We drove in silence for a while as I listened to the chatter on the CB. I noticed lots of semitrucks around. Traffic on the highway picked up as the evening wore on and more truckers were awake to avoid the daytime drivers.
It was about an hour after we’d left the convenience store when something on the CB caught my attention.
“Breaker one-nine, this here’s Slackjaw. You got a copy on me, Kentucky George?”
His accent was the same thick Southern I remembered from the convenience store. The CB speaker crackled again.
“Ten-four, Slackjaw. Kentucky George here, c’mon.”
“There’s a checkpoint Charlie up 65 a ways. They’re stopping everybody. A manhunt goin’ on.”
“Copy that, Slackjaw. How bad is the brake check?”
“ ’Bout a mile now. Outlaw Annie, if you copy, you in particular might wanna get off the boulevard.”
Devon and I glanced at each other. “That’s me,” I explained. “They gave me a handle, said I was Outlaw Annie.”
“I thought it was your idea to get a CB?” he asked.
Damn. So much for my mad spycraft skills. “Okay, so maybe they suggested it, but I agreed.”
A smile flitted across his face. “A checkpoint and manhunt,” Devon said. “That’s not good.”
“And if he’s calling me out by name, then they must be showing my picture around.” I had to thank my luck that we ran into the truckers.
“And they recognized you.”
“So much for the disguise.” I sighed. Cut and dye for nothing, it appeared, if even random truckers could spot me.
“Outlaw Annie, you copy the checkpoint Charlie?”
Picking up the CB, I pressed and held the button. “Annie, here. I copy your checkpoint, Slackjaw. Thanks for the heads-up.” I released the button, then remembered how you were supposed to do these things and quickly pressed it again. “Over.” I glanced at Devon. “That’s how you do it, right?”
He was hiding a smile and gave
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