“You can relax, Mr. Tillman. I’m trained to handle a vehicle at high speeds,” R.C. said, trying to be comforting. R.C. drove much faster than Tillman was accustomed to, but he hadn’t said a word. He’d checked his seat belt several times, and R.C. had seen him once pressing the floorboard as if trying to push a nonexistent brake pedal.
“Don’t worry about me; let’s just get there and find Elizabeth,” he replied, staring straight ahead.
“Do you think we can drive all the way through your property in this car?”
Tillman thought for a second, then said, “We can drive the front part for sure, but we can’t get to the back forty.”
“Yeah, we can. I’ve got the keys to Tanner’s Jeep.”
This caught Tillman by surprise. He realized that he didn’t know any details about what had happened to Tanner. For the last thirty minutes, he had been concentrating on Elizabeth.
“Where’s the Jeep?” he finally asked.
“It’s at the big yellow gate on the Dummy Line.”
“R.C., what do you think happened?”
R.C. paused for a few moments. “I think they drove up on a drug deal or something like that. Methamphetamine’s a huge problem all over west Alabama. We can’t keep up. Meth labs are popping up everywhere…it’s bad and getting worse. Tanner probably never knew what was going on.”
R.C. whipped onto the gravel road. Tillman noticed the West Union Road sign when they turned. The land had been in his family for two generations. At one time, the farm had been much larger, but years of bad crops and inheritance taxes had reduced it to only 160 acres. Eighteen years ago, he had planted the entire property in pines. He planned to pay for Tanner’s college by thinning them. He had many fond memories of hunting and fishing and horseback riding on this property. Now he was scared to death of what he might discover on the land he loved so much.
“Folks that do meth get addicted instantly. In short order, it ruins their lives,” R.C. continued as he managed to insert a fresh dip at seventy miles an hour on the dirt road. Tillman tensed a bit more. “And none of ‘em ever get rehabbed. I mean, it’s unbelievably addictive. Meth heads get real paranoid, too.” Tillman just nodded, tightening his grip on the door handle.
“We had a guy last month that was convinced people were hiding in his appliances. He’d destroyed his oven, his microwave, the dryer, you should have seen his refrigerator, and-” R.C. was getting wound up.
“R.C., I really…can we concentrate on what we need to be doing?” Tillman said, cutting him off.
“Sure. No problem.” R.C. spat into his green bottle. “But they are easy to spot…the addicts…they have sores on their legs, and their teeth rot out in the front.”
“So you think they ran into somebody selling these drugs?” Tillman asked, resigned to the fact that R.C. was not going to stop rambling.
“Yeah…maybe, or there might be a lab out here if there are any old barns or buildings. It just wouldn’t surprise me.” R.C. slowed down and turned onto the Dummy Line.
R.C. kept up his speed until he saw reflections from Tanner’s Jeep.
“The truck’s gone!” R.C. screamed.
“What?” Tillman asked.
“There was a big blue Chevy truck parked right there. I’ve got the keys to it in my pocket!”
“Whose is it?”
“We don’t know for sure. Shit!” R.C. couldn’t believe this. He knew he should radio in to report this, but he didn’t want to take the time at that moment to call from his vehicle.
He parked his patrol car sideways across the road to prevent anyone from leaving and grabbed a handheld radio. They both got out, and he gave Tillman the keys to the Jeep.
“I like Tanner’s Jeep,” R.C. said as he climbed into the passenger’s seat.
“Yeah, he does, too,” Tillman answered solemnly.
The Jeep cranked right up. Tillman backed up, and they started down the Dummy Line. R.C. powered up the handheld unit and pressed the talk button.
“Miz Martha?”
“Go ahead, R.C.”
“I’m mobile with Mr. Tillman, and I’ll only have a handheld for a while.”
“Ten-four. I’ll tell the sheriff.”
“Tell him the blue truck that was at the gate is gone.”
“I will when he gets off the phone. Y’all be careful,” she added, blowing smoke toward the ceiling.
“Let’s go, Mr. Tillman.”
Marlow was sitting at Ollie’s desk. As Ollie walked past Martha O’Brien, she gave him an understanding glance. He stopped to pour himself a cup of coffee. He could see Marlow in his office talking on the landline. Zach Beasley walked in. Martha got up and hugged him. She had that uncanny ability of knowing what to say, and when to say it, that made everyone feel better. She poured Zach a cup of coffee. Ollie could tell she was going to mother him.
Marlow motioned him to come in. Ollie hung up his cowboy hat, then sipped his coffee.
“That’s right…there will be lots of media attention, and if your helicopter is being used, think of the positive PR that can come from this…you’ll be the hero.” Marlow winked at Ollie. He had opened a can of Vienna sausages and was busy dousing them with Tabasco after placing them on saltine crackers.
“Yes sir…I’m telling you this is big enough the national media will pick it up…everybody from USA Today to CNN,” he replied. He had started to take a bite of his snack when he gently placed the cracker on Ollie’s desk and repositioned the pink weenie. “OK. I’ll keep that in mind…the beach tomorrow afternoon…no, Bill, I promise that won’t happen again…it’s not even deer season.” Marlow laughed heartily. “Have him here as soon as you can. Have him land at the Livingston hospital…Yeah, they have a helipad. Thanks, Governor, and good night,” Marlow said with enthusiasm, then hung up.
Marlow leaned over Ollie’s desk and beamed. “You’ve got your ‘copter. It’ll be here inside two hours.
“You know, these things are good anytime,” he added, cheerfully holding up the can of Vienna sausages. “You want one?”
Ollie ignored the offer, thinking about the helicopter. He was thrilled beyond words but wondered if Marlow was more interested in helping the governor’s reelection efforts than he was in finding Elizabeth. “Thanks, Marlow. What was that about the beach?”
“He needs the helicopter back as soon as possible so he and his family can fly to their beach house on Ono Island…you know, down near Gulf Shores.”
“Shit, Marlow, we don’t know how long this is gonna to take!” Ollie exclaimed.
“Relax. It’ll all work out.” Marlow stood up and offered Ollie his own chair.
“And what was that about deer season?” Ollie asked as he sat down and motioned Zach to come in.
“Oh, that…well, last year we went on a deer hunt down near Mobile and the governor had to be at a fundraiser in Montgomery by seven that night. It was cold, and the bucks were chasing does hard. I killed a huge buck right before we had to leave. We didn’t have time to clean it. He was huge. I didn’t want to leave him, so I talked the governor into lettin’ me load the whole thing, guts and all, in the helicopter and I’d get my trusties to clean it when we got home. Well, while we were flyin’, a bunch of blood ran out and sprayed all over the underside of that white ‘copter, and when we landed, the ground crew ‘bout shit a purple snake thinkin’ that hydraulic fluid had leaked out. He caught some grief about that, evidently. Son, that deer was huge.” Marlow laughed and stuffed his mouth.
Ollie stared at him. Hunters are amazing. What they do for a deer is unbelievable. Hell, it’s insane. Zach walked in, snapping him back to reality.
“OK, OK, let’s get organized.” Ollie grabbed a sheet of paper and laid it next to a county map. He motioned for Zach to have a seat.
“No, thanks, I’ll stand.” Zach couldn’t be still.