morning.”
“Oh, that boy. Sorry, Huff. Just needed a
little clarification.”
I bit my tongue to keep from laughing.
“Yeah, well,” Huff said. “Whatever.”
“Where is he?” I asked, cutting through the
thickening BS.
“He was spotted outside of Quakertown.”
“That’s just a pit stop on 476,” I said.
Huff nodded and uncrossed his legs. He leaned
over the desk, resting his right forearm on his oversized calendar
pad. “At a gas station.”
“So he’s headed north and filling up a gas
tank,” Sam said.
“When was this?” I asked.
Huff glanced at his watch. “About an hour
ago.”
“Why are you just telling us now?” I asked.
“An hour’s a long time to waste.”
“I just found out a few minutes ago,” Huff
replied, holding his hands out toward me.
“So an hour ago,” Sam said. “He’s about
thirty miles away. That means he could be up to a hundred miles
away now.”
“If he stuck to the interstate,” I added.
“And there was no traffic.”
“That’s right,” Sam said. “Or he could have
picked up 76 and headed to New York from there.”
“Or gone west,” I said. “Using back
roads.”
“How’d we find this out?” Sam asked.
Huff said, “They knocked around the cashier
and took a couple hundred out of the register. Didn’t pay for their
gas either. Filled up two tanks on a tan and white F-250.”
“Plates?” I asked.
Huff shook his head. “Negative there.”
“Dammit,” I said.
“Dammit,” Sam echoed.
“So what now?” I asked.
Huff leaned back in his chair. He crossed his
ankle over his knee again and placed his hands in his lap. “You two
go up there and interview the kid. I don’t trust those hick cops to
have done it right. They might have missed something that will help
us find them.”
“You know that’s out of our jurisdiction,”
Sam said.
“Yeah, I know, smart ass.” Huff picked up his
paperweight and tossed it between his hands. He stopped and pointed
at us. “That’s why you keep this quiet. If I get any further leads,
I’ll reach out and we’ll go from there. Otherwise, I expect you two
back here in about three hours.”
Chapter
10
We took Sam’s Camaro. It was fast and it drew
more smiles from the ladies than the police issued Chevy I drove. A
quick trip through the city and we were on 95 heading north.
Traffic was thick, but moving. Conversation was sparse and fell out
of our mouths like molasses. Typical, given the circumstances. Our
minds were elsewhere, yet at the same place. We filled the first
few minutes of that half-hour drive by surfing radio stations. We
settled on a jazz station. With the windows rolled down, the tones
were nearly sucked out of the car before I they hit my ears.
We reached Quakertown a half hour later. Once
a pit stop for travelers, it had tripled in size in the last
decade. To the west were farmlands, remnants of the once rural
community. To the east, new residential subdivisions established
for those who wanted to work in Philly or Allentown, but not live
in either of the cities. Plus, they could get more for their money
out here. Big houses, three to four thousand square feet, which
cost a fraction of a thousand square foot place in one of the
historic districts. There was a small downtown area. The only ones
who frequented it were the locals. An uncommon blend of farm folk
and suburbanites, like mixing coffee from Belize with a Turkish
blend. Surely not frequented by those who broke up the monotony of
their five hundred mile drive with a filling of the tank, an
emptying of the bladder, and a sandwich or bag of chips.
“What gas station did he say?” Sam said as we
pulled up to the red stoplight at the end of the exit ramp.
At the stoplight the open windows provided
the oppressive humidity an opportunity to envelop us. I felt my
forehead grow damp with sweat. I used the edge of my thumb to clear
my brow as I looked out the window and surveyed the scene. “That
one, over there.”
Sam
“Oh, that boy. Sorry, Huff. Just needed a
little clarification.”
I bit my tongue to keep from laughing.
“Yeah, well,” Huff said. “Whatever.”
“Where is he?” I asked, cutting through the
thickening BS.
“He was spotted outside of Quakertown.”
“That’s just a pit stop on 476,” I said.
Huff nodded and uncrossed his legs. He leaned
over the desk, resting his right forearm on his oversized calendar
pad. “At a gas station.”
“So he’s headed north and filling up a gas
tank,” Sam said.
“When was this?” I asked.
Huff glanced at his watch. “About an hour
ago.”
“Why are you just telling us now?” I asked.
“An hour’s a long time to waste.”
“I just found out a few minutes ago,” Huff
replied, holding his hands out toward me.
“So an hour ago,” Sam said. “He’s about
thirty miles away. That means he could be up to a hundred miles
away now.”
“If he stuck to the interstate,” I added.
“And there was no traffic.”
“That’s right,” Sam said. “Or he could have
picked up 76 and headed to New York from there.”
“Or gone west,” I said. “Using back
roads.”
“How’d we find this out?” Sam asked.
Huff said, “They knocked around the cashier
and took a couple hundred out of the register. Didn’t pay for their
gas either. Filled up two tanks on a tan and white F-250.”
“Plates?” I asked.
Huff shook his head. “Negative there.”
“Dammit,” I said.
“Dammit,” Sam echoed.
“So what now?” I asked.
Huff leaned back in his chair. He crossed his
ankle over his knee again and placed his hands in his lap. “You two
go up there and interview the kid. I don’t trust those hick cops to
have done it right. They might have missed something that will help
us find them.”
“You know that’s out of our jurisdiction,”
Sam said.
“Yeah, I know, smart ass.” Huff picked up his
paperweight and tossed it between his hands. He stopped and pointed
at us. “That’s why you keep this quiet. If I get any further leads,
I’ll reach out and we’ll go from there. Otherwise, I expect you two
back here in about three hours.”
Chapter
10
We took Sam’s Camaro. It was fast and it drew
more smiles from the ladies than the police issued Chevy I drove. A
quick trip through the city and we were on 95 heading north.
Traffic was thick, but moving. Conversation was sparse and fell out
of our mouths like molasses. Typical, given the circumstances. Our
minds were elsewhere, yet at the same place. We filled the first
few minutes of that half-hour drive by surfing radio stations. We
settled on a jazz station. With the windows rolled down, the tones
were nearly sucked out of the car before I they hit my ears.
We reached Quakertown a half hour later. Once
a pit stop for travelers, it had tripled in size in the last
decade. To the west were farmlands, remnants of the once rural
community. To the east, new residential subdivisions established
for those who wanted to work in Philly or Allentown, but not live
in either of the cities. Plus, they could get more for their money
out here. Big houses, three to four thousand square feet, which
cost a fraction of a thousand square foot place in one of the
historic districts. There was a small downtown area. The only ones
who frequented it were the locals. An uncommon blend of farm folk
and suburbanites, like mixing coffee from Belize with a Turkish
blend. Surely not frequented by those who broke up the monotony of
their five hundred mile drive with a filling of the tank, an
emptying of the bladder, and a sandwich or bag of chips.
“What gas station did he say?” Sam said as we
pulled up to the red stoplight at the end of the exit ramp.
At the stoplight the open windows provided
the oppressive humidity an opportunity to envelop us. I felt my
forehead grow damp with sweat. I used the edge of my thumb to clear
my brow as I looked out the window and surveyed the scene. “That
one, over there.”
Sam
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