The Plodder’s Mile -- Chapter Fifteen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Paula joined the stakeout, over Smitty’s objections. She had offered to bring some food and cook, and Greg had been persuasive. He even reasoned having an imbedded reporter might make both of them look more efficient. They would have nothing to hide. Smitty was used to the two-man stake out, and didn’t want someone around “arranging doilies”. They were all watching the house across the street, waiting patiently for someone who might never come, but who at that moment was wondering how to get out of a barn without getting shot.

Paula decided to get some food ready. Greg was impressed that she had even offered to bring food, since both of the men were used to bringing in fast food during surveillance. It looked like they were going to get a home-cooked meal.

“This won’t take me long,” she insisted, “and since it’s not dark we can get it cooked without lights. If we wait to eat, then I’ll have to cook in the dark.”

Neither man was going to put up a fuss, but Smitty cautioned, “Just make sure you stay in the house, and that no one can see you from across the street.”

“Not a problem,” said Paula. “I brought everything I’ll need in with me. I won’t need to go out the car, and the kitchen is in the back. Don’t worry about me. Just don’t you two get caught peeking out the window.”

Greg smiled at Smitty, and Smitty smiled, too. Maybe this would be all right to have some female company.

Ray had cut the ropes on a nearby saw in less than a minute. He had grabbed the pitchfork and waited by the door. Then waited some more. Soon he was looking out the knotholes in the barn towards the house.

He saw the old man sitting in a rocking chair, rocking in the dirt in back of the house. Resting on his lap was the shotgun, and he didn’t look like he was going anywhere anytime soon.

“Damn.” It was all that Ray could think to say.

Ray thought about sneaking away through the back door and across the fields. But when he looked, he realized the front door was the only door. “Figures,” he said to no one.

There was a small window with some glass panes, but if he broke the glass or made noise getting out the window, the old man would be there before he could run even halfway across the bare field. Ray thought about the old man’s comment about the wide pattern of the shotgun.

It would be dark soon, though. Ray could wait, and then, in the dark, he would make his escape.

John had just spent a nearly perfect day at school. The students seemed to be truly interested in the intricacies of stage design, and had completed their worksheets in an acceptable manner. John had finished his money wish list, and truly felt like his life was blessed.

It was because John was really starting to believe he would get the money. He would be able to spend it as he wanted, and the problems they had faced as a family would disappear. His bliss was so complete, he didn’t even recognize that he was the only one in town spending an entirely perfect day.

His best friend was staked out across the street from his home, waiting for a homicidal maniac to come to John’s house to retrieve the money. His family was in mortal danger, and if they all survived without major incident, it would be a miracle.

John had the ignorance of bliss, truly clueless about what was really happening. Like most people who are surprised when the expected suddenly turns to the unexpected, John was like a deer eating peacefully by the side of the road unaware that the distant roar was an oncoming car. With headlights on bright.

John was so pleased with himself that he decided to treat himself on this most exceptional of days. Stopping by the convenience store on the way home from school, he bought a chocolate covered devil’s food cake donut and a large drink. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day, where the universe was ordered and everything was fine. John would feel much different about his universe in the morning.

Paula came back with food that had been tantalizing them for the last half-hour. The smells coming from the kitchen were so good, they were both tempted to leave their posts at the windows and get the first piece of food for themselves.

The fried chicken was perfect. Not too crisp, not too greasy, and just hot enough to warm them all over. Greg knew something about Paula’s cooking, since she had been slowly preparing him for this fate. That had included several home-cooked meals. Greg was beginning to wonder if he really was a bad detective. He should have seen what she was up to long ago.

“Not bad, huh, Harold?” Greg motioned to the spread.

“Sure beats cold pizza,” Smitty said grudgingly. Greg gave him a dumbfounded look, and even Paula looked insulted at the slim praise.

“Okay,” Smitty said, giving in. “This fried chicken is the best I have ever had.”

Now the other two were smiling. “Better than your wife’s?” asked Greg.

“Much better,” Smitty grinned. “And if you ever tell her this, I will lie like a rug and deny I ever said it.”

“Look across the street.” said Paula. The darkness was falling on the town, and John Graham was pulling his car into his garage. “He’s home.”

“The pigeon has returned to the roost,” said Smitty cryptically. Then he took another bite of the bird in his hand.

The sun was setting in the west, and the hills scattered the light across the farm. Some parts were already in the dusky twilight, but where Simon was sitting, it was still bright. Simon knew Ray would have an advantage when darkness fell. Then this old man would have to go into the house and call the local authorities, instead of getting some of the cash for himself first like he had planned.

This crook didn’t need all that money, and by God he sure didn’t deserve it. But since God had put him into Simon’s hands, well, there must be a reason for it. The guy must have spent some of the $100,000 by now, and if Simon skimmed a little off the top before the crook went to jail, well, that was the reward for being smart and old enough to know what to do when opportunity presents itself. “You’ve got to strike while the iron is hot,” Simon thought to himself. While he had a few more moments to contemplate actually going into the house to call the police, Simon thought back to what that stupid saying actually meant. Probably something about blacksmithing, which Simon had done a bit of when he was younger.

“Stupid city slickers probably think ‘iron’ means like an ironing board, and that you should iron your clothes while the iron was hot,” thought Simon. “Idiots. Way too many people in those big cities never got the chance to see what life and death was all about like farm people got to see” he muttered to himself.

That made Simon stop and think that there might be just one more thing he could do to get some money out of this fellow before the cops spoiled his fun. He rose from the chair and went into the kitchen.

Ray thought that his chance had finally arrived. The old guy was going into the house, and it was getting dark enough to sneak out of his self-imposed trap. He was thinking about running around to the front, and just jumping in the truck, but the keys would probably not be there. Besides, after eating dirt from the road, Ray was ready for some payback.

He edged slowly to the door, hoping the moon wasn’t bright enough to light him from behind. He looked toward the back of the barn, and felt comfortable that the moon wouldn’t outline him in the door. As he slowly opened the door, he could see Simon on the phone in the kitchen. Simon was still looking out at the barn and he was talking to someone, but Ray couldn’t hear the words. Ray decided being tied to a phone which still had a cord hooked to the wall was as good as chance as any, and he pulled the door open slowly.

Apparently Simon could see him well enough to sight in his gun, because a shot roared from the kitchen. Ray jumped back as he saw, heard, and was hit in the forehead by tiny shot pellets. It felt like someone had poked him in the face with a porcupine. He jumped back into the barn and fell to the dirt floor. He ran his fingers across his forehead, and the blood covered his hand.

He swore and wiped the blood with his shirt. His hands were still around the pitchfork, and he was furious. Ray began to shake as he thought about this old man holding him hostage in an old barn. Ray vowed that when the time was right, the old man would pay.

Simon was chuckling to himself in the kitchen. He would have to replace the window pane in the kitchen, but he had replaced plenty of window panes in his life, and had never had the fun of shooting one out at close range. He was also amused to see Ray hop back in the barn, and as he loaded another shell, he reminded himself to get another box of these. They sure had a nice spread.

Then Simon picked up the phone again. Still watching the barn, he called his other neighbor to the south.

Smitty was talking into his radio. Signing off, he walked up to Greg and started packing up his briefcase. “We just got a call about Raymond Johnson. He’s stuck in a barn about 40 miles from here,” he explained. “Some old guy recognized him from the television report and walked him back to his house.”

Greg and Paula looked at each other. “So you’re going to pick him up?”

“Well,” said Harold Smith, snapping the strap over his revolver which hung from his shoulder, “if it were only that easy. Seems he’s pinned down in the barn because he ran from the old guy. This Simon Green is waiting outside the barn with his shotgun.”

“But it’s getting dark,” Paula said. “He’ll probably just wait until it’s too dark to see him and sneak back here.”

“He’ll probably try to do that, so why don’t you two stay here while I go out to the farm with some reinforcements” said Smitty, as he walked out the door. “You don’t even have to stay here if you don’t want to, and I can call you if there is any trouble.”

Paula spoke up before Greg could agree to go. “Well, you’ve rented the place for the night, haven’t you? No sense just packing up now and leaving,” she said, looking at Greg in a way that made him not want to protest. “We’ll just wait here for your call and when you have him safely in custody, we’ll come find you.”

Greg coughed. This was a bit uncomfortable for him, but he was an adult, and he really did want to stay with Paula. Technically, he could go with Smitty, but given the choice, he spoke up. “Yeah, we don’t want to endanger John by deserting our post. You never know what can happen with one man trapped in a barn surrounded by a dozen state police.” He grinned.

Smitty laughed and waved his hand back at them. He didn’t need the help. But apparently, Paula needed this time alone with Greg. It really wasn’t necessary to say anything, so he just left.

Simon’s friends began showing up just as Ray was planning to come out of the barn again. It was fully dark now, and Ray doubted even Simon could find him fast enough in the dark to get off a shot. But when he saw a tractor pull up, he knew this was not going to be as easy as he thought.

Simon motioned for Joe to pull around the back. But Joe had got the plan on the phone, and pulled around the back perfectly, parking a respectable 15 feet from the barn door. The bright lights of the tractor shone through the cracks, and Ray had to crouch down. Simon got up from the rocking chair and walked toward Joe. He handed him the shotgun and said, “Shoot him if he comes out. I’ll go pull my truck around from the front.”

Joe took the gun and took aim at the barn. Ray crouched down further, and swore into the dust. He was still holding the pitchfork, and wanted nothing more than to stab those two old guys like bales of hay.

Simon’s truck appeared and his headlights were trained on the door to the barn. He got out of the truck and walked over to take the gun back.. He then walked over and leaned against the front of the truck. Joe walked over and whispered something in Simon’s ear. Simon motioned to the house with his thumb.

“Now what?” was all Ray could say.

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