“Admiral, you’ve got the conn. Just don’t wreck my ship.”
Doc was actually giddy as he exited, and Nube thought there was a bounce to his step as he hurried to the driver’s side. He squirmed in, fastened his seat belt, and adjusted the seat and mirrors before turning to Nube.
Through a grin that seemed to be growing wider by the moment he said, “Now hold on, son. This old man is going to show you just how an automobile of this caliber is supposed to be driven. I think we should hit the main highway before going to Naldie’s office, don’t you? Maybe burn a little carbon out of this thing. He’s so wrapped up in this new murder case that he won’t have any of his deputies out looking for us adventurous souls.”
Nube’s first thought was to renege on his offer, but he thought this just might be the therapy that old Doc needed to feel good again. Returning the smile, he replied, “Like I said, Admiral, just don’t wreck my ship.”
Doc hit all six gears smoothly and had the Audi TT cruising about 80 mph down the freeway when he looked over at Nube. “May I ask you a somewhat personal question, my young friend?”
“Sure, Doc, no problem. Shoot.”
“Tell me, Nube, if you don’t mind, why did you choose the FBI as a career?”
Nube looked at the window as if gathering his thoughts, then turned to Doc. “I was always intrigued with the idea of becoming a profiler. But to accomplish that, I had to initially become a Supervisory Special Agent and then be assigned to the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime, or NCAVC, as the Bureau refers to it.”
Nube gazed at the window again for a few seconds and when he looked back at Doc, there was a tear running down his cheek. “You know, Doc, Ellie never wanted me to join the FBI. You can’t imagine how many times I’ve asked myself why I didn’t listen to her. Maybe, just maybe, if I’d chosen a different career, we’d have lived someplace else and she just might still be alive.”
He wiped the tear, coughed back an impending sob, shrugged his shoulders, and asked, “How’re you doing with the conn, Admiral?”
AFTER AN EXHILARATING ride Doc eased the Audi into town, loving the throaty whine as he downshifted and then eased to a stop in front of the sheriff’s office.
“Well, son. Now that’s what I call a ride. I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate your letting me drive this beauty. It brought back so many memories. But now back to reality. Let’s go find Naldie and see what he’s learned.” He handed the keys to Nube and said with a smile, “The conn is yours once again.”
When they entered the sheriff’s office, the atmosphere felt like it could be cut with a knife. They spotted Pete sitting at his desk, apparently poring over some new data or information. Pete spotted them coming and pushed back from his desk while resetting this week’s new camo cap. “Well look who’s here. If you guys keep hanging out together people are going to start talking. What are you two up to today?”
Doc shook Pete’s weathered hand with its firm grip and noticed his smile and a twinkle in his eye. Doc cocked his head and squinted.
“What’s happened, and how’s my good friend Naldie doing?”
Pete sat back down and motioned to two metal office chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat, my friends. What’s happened is that there’s been another murder. Doc, I think Naldie filled you in on some of the details, but let me start from the top. It might help Nube here to get up to speed.
“This morning at a quarter to eight, old Sam Washburn called the office and asked to speak to the chief of police. Said he hadsome bad news. Now Nube, just to make sure you’re totally up on things, Sam Washburn is an old codger, a confirmed bachelor, who lives on about ten acres of land abutting Whitsell’s pit.
“You should know that Sam’s a man that is rarely seen or heard from. My old daddy used to say that a man like Sam is
Doc was actually giddy as he exited, and Nube thought there was a bounce to his step as he hurried to the driver’s side. He squirmed in, fastened his seat belt, and adjusted the seat and mirrors before turning to Nube.
Through a grin that seemed to be growing wider by the moment he said, “Now hold on, son. This old man is going to show you just how an automobile of this caliber is supposed to be driven. I think we should hit the main highway before going to Naldie’s office, don’t you? Maybe burn a little carbon out of this thing. He’s so wrapped up in this new murder case that he won’t have any of his deputies out looking for us adventurous souls.”
Nube’s first thought was to renege on his offer, but he thought this just might be the therapy that old Doc needed to feel good again. Returning the smile, he replied, “Like I said, Admiral, just don’t wreck my ship.”
Doc hit all six gears smoothly and had the Audi TT cruising about 80 mph down the freeway when he looked over at Nube. “May I ask you a somewhat personal question, my young friend?”
“Sure, Doc, no problem. Shoot.”
“Tell me, Nube, if you don’t mind, why did you choose the FBI as a career?”
Nube looked at the window as if gathering his thoughts, then turned to Doc. “I was always intrigued with the idea of becoming a profiler. But to accomplish that, I had to initially become a Supervisory Special Agent and then be assigned to the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime, or NCAVC, as the Bureau refers to it.”
Nube gazed at the window again for a few seconds and when he looked back at Doc, there was a tear running down his cheek. “You know, Doc, Ellie never wanted me to join the FBI. You can’t imagine how many times I’ve asked myself why I didn’t listen to her. Maybe, just maybe, if I’d chosen a different career, we’d have lived someplace else and she just might still be alive.”
He wiped the tear, coughed back an impending sob, shrugged his shoulders, and asked, “How’re you doing with the conn, Admiral?”
AFTER AN EXHILARATING ride Doc eased the Audi into town, loving the throaty whine as he downshifted and then eased to a stop in front of the sheriff’s office.
“Well, son. Now that’s what I call a ride. I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate your letting me drive this beauty. It brought back so many memories. But now back to reality. Let’s go find Naldie and see what he’s learned.” He handed the keys to Nube and said with a smile, “The conn is yours once again.”
When they entered the sheriff’s office, the atmosphere felt like it could be cut with a knife. They spotted Pete sitting at his desk, apparently poring over some new data or information. Pete spotted them coming and pushed back from his desk while resetting this week’s new camo cap. “Well look who’s here. If you guys keep hanging out together people are going to start talking. What are you two up to today?”
Doc shook Pete’s weathered hand with its firm grip and noticed his smile and a twinkle in his eye. Doc cocked his head and squinted.
“What’s happened, and how’s my good friend Naldie doing?”
Pete sat back down and motioned to two metal office chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat, my friends. What’s happened is that there’s been another murder. Doc, I think Naldie filled you in on some of the details, but let me start from the top. It might help Nube here to get up to speed.
“This morning at a quarter to eight, old Sam Washburn called the office and asked to speak to the chief of police. Said he hadsome bad news. Now Nube, just to make sure you’re totally up on things, Sam Washburn is an old codger, a confirmed bachelor, who lives on about ten acres of land abutting Whitsell’s pit.
“You should know that Sam’s a man that is rarely seen or heard from. My old daddy used to say that a man like Sam is
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