9 Seconds of Freedom, Original Suspense Fiction, Part 14, links to parts 1-13
I kept an eye on the mirror. I knew eventually what I would see. About ten minutes out of town, I spotted him. It was a sheriff’s cruiser. I didn’t know if it was Crawford, or Skinner. Probably Skinner, I figured.
Crawford didn’t seem to be much for grunt work. I’d been surprised to see him the night before.
Now, to find a good place to put this tracker. I headed northwest toward I 40, I hoped he would follow me that far. The sun was getting close to the horizon when I spotted a truck stop. We’d left the sheriff far enough behind we couldn’t see him. I needed a bit of privacy to get this done.
I pulled into a spot at the end of the big rig parking area, hidden from the road. I was looking for a driver who was finishing his fueling. Like I knew what that looked like. I needed someone ready to leave.
The truck slots at the pumps were all empty. I’d been planning to slip the tracker up under a big rig and send it across the country. But, I was running out of time.
Then it occurred to me, all I needed was a metal body. Any vehicle would do, and I didn’t even need to get underneath it. After all, I didn’t care if they found it, as long as it took them a few hours. I walked across to the passenger vehicle fueling. That’s when I spotted him.
It was sheriff Crawford, and he was trolling past, looking for my truck. I guess he didn’t see it, because he pulled past and looped back around about a quarter of a mile away. He sped back toward the truck stop and pulled to the side of the road, near the interstate exit, fifty yards from me and parked.
I kept my head down. He didn’t know what I was wearing today, and I looked like half the guys in the lot. Blue jeans, brown boots, and a plaid shirt. I walked up to the pumps. The first car I approached, the driver watched me, suspicious. I smiled and nodded.
There was a pickup on the other side of the island, right in plain view of Crawford’s cruiser. I walked up and took the squeegee from the bucket. I moved to the front of the truck and started scrubbing the windshield, staying on the side of the truck away from Crawford. I just needed to drop the tracker in the truck bed and walk away.
“Hey! What are you doing to my truck?”
The driver was coming back, and he looked mad. If he caught Crawford’s attention, I was ruined. I pretended to trip, and slipped the tracker under the edge of the body, just below the passenger door. Then the driver was on me.
“Listen buddy, if I need my windshield washed, I’ll ask, okay?” he said.
I stood up, and looked toward Crawford. Just at that second, a big rig pulled in, hiding me from his view. I smiled.
“Sure man, uh, wrong truck, looks a lot like my friend’s. I was going to surprise him,” I said.
I walked away awkwardly, the guy watching me the whole way. I climbed into the truck with Leeanne.
“Did you do it? I saw Crawford come past. Did he see you?” She asked.
“Yes, and no, I don’t think he saw me,” I said.
I looked towards the passenger vehicle pumps. The driver of the pickup was still suspicious. He looked at his truck door where I’d fallen. If he bent just a little lower he’d see it. If he didn’t pull out before the big rig moved, Crawford would see him, and it would all be over.
Neither of those things happened. It couldn’t have been timed better. The driver climbed into the pickup and pulled out. The big rig jumped, then rolled forward, heading out at the same time, perfect cover. I held my breath.
From where I was I could see Crawford’s car, but I couldn’t see him clearly. I had to imagine the look of surprise when the tracker started moving again, back the way we’d come from. But a few seconds after the pickup pulled out, he pulled out too, headed back the way he’d come just a few minutes before. It worked.
Now if the next part of my plan worked that well.
It didn’t.
I pulled out of the truck stop and onto I40. We headed back East. I figured we’d go back south and find the perfect place to dump the stuff. About thirty minutes later, I took an exit south and settled in for the thirty-minute drive to the next decent sized town.
Sometimes irony just overtakes you. We’d gone about five miles south when I started to feel the unmistakable wobble of a tire going flat. Karma. I probably could have done all this without causing Hal so much trouble, but what could I do now?
“You got a spare?” Leeanne asked.
“Yeah, in the bed,” I said.
I walked down the truck to look at the damage. It was the driver’s side rear tire. It had just gone flat, so the tire wasn’t shredded too bad. I had a full-sized tire under the canvas cover.
That’s when I remembered what she was about to find.
“Aggghhhhh!” Leeanne screamed.
She stepped back from the truck and dropped the flashlight she’d been holding.
“What the hell is that?” she asked.
She pointed into the truck.
I sighed. Dammit. I’d been going to explain it. Well, she’d understand in a minute, and either love me for it, or think I was completely crazy. Here goes.
I picked up the flashlight and pulled the canvas cover open.