Finding Floyd (27 page)

Jack looked over his shoulder at the three
women nestled in the back seat. They were still feeling the
lingering effects of Ralph's happy hour. "Diane, he's a highly
trained FBI agent. Chris knows what he's doing."

"Come on, Diane. He'll be fine. Stop
worrying. This'll be fun." John drove out of the B&B driveway
and headed toward Floyd. "They call it the Friday Night Jamboree. I
was reading about it online. There's music everywhere in town.
We'll have a great time."

Vicky stifled a giggle and Theresa put a hand
to her mouth, hiccupping softly. Diane continued whimpering and
dabbing at her eyes.

Jack leaned towards John and murmured, "Ralph
really over did it with the Bourbon."

"Do you think?" John hissed back.

"Ladies, what would you like to eat tonight?"
Jack propped his arm over the seat and grinned at the three tipsy
girls. "There's pizza, barbeque, and Mexican."

"I'm good," mumbled Theresa.

"There's an Italian Bistro right outside of
town too," he suggested.

"Whatever you want, Sweetie." Vicky giggled
and Jack rolled his eyes.

"I wonder where Chris is. I hope he's all
right," murmured Diane. She pulled another handful of tissues from
the box on her lap and dabbed her eyes.

"I told you to kick his ass to the curb,
girl! Forget about him," said Theresa. "I'll bet he's off somewhere
playing around with his sidekick, that Rodriguez creature. She
scares the shit out of me." She belched and looked up, surprised.
"Where'd that come from?"

Vicky snickered.

"But I don't want to forget him," Diane
wailed. "He must be in terrible trouble. I just know it."

In the front seat, the two men exchanged eye
rolls.

"Girl, face it," said Theresa shaking her
head. "He's just not that into you."

"Well, he sure was the other night! He was
into me a lot!"

At this John and Jack howled with
laughter.

Diane continued to fuss, "I just want him to
call."

John shrugged. "You could always call him.
Then you'll see that he's all right and everything is fine. Hey, I
remember when you were interested in Van Wart. You called him all
the time, right?"

Diane sank back and pouted. "That was
different."

"Whatever."

As they neared town, Jack asked them again,
"Hey, what are you ladies in the mood for? Pizza in town, or the
Italian Bistro, or Mexican?"

"Let's have some more Bourbon," giggled
Vicky.

"You're right! I'm going to," announced
Diane, searching through her purse.

"That's not a good idea," said Theresa
shaking her head. "You two might be a little drunk."

"I don't care anymore," mumbled Diane.

"You will tomorrow," said Vicky. "You'll be
sick. I oughta know. I was drunk once."

"I'm calling Chris because I'm worried. I
love him and I want to talk with him." Diane stabbed one finger
resolutely at her phone.

"Whatever," muttered Theresa.

Diane smiled when there was an answer and
blurted out, "Chris! Are you all right? I love you! Do you love
me?" She listened for a moment, her eyes grew wide and her mouth
dropped open as she recognized the voice. "You're not Chris! What
did you do with him?"

Sam wandered out of the farmhouse kitchen and
looked over the weedy yard. He'd been listening to the Sheriff's
deputy question Granny. The conversation was going in circles, but
gradually the officer was getting some useful information. A second
deputy was in the apartment over the garage taking pictures of
everything. Rodriguez had an FBI evidence team on their way.

As he considered his next move, the wiry
dark-eyed Agent roared up on her bike, throwing gravel and leaving
a deep rut behind her. She strode toward him purposefully, her
motorcycle helmet in one hand and cell phone in the other. She
didn't look happy.

"Toricello has Agent Owen," she stated. "I
called his phone and that asshole, Toricello answered it. We can
assume he's got Chris's vehicle and weapon if he's got his cell
phone. We've got to get rolling and do something, but we don't have
a location. I followed the GPS from his phone, but it led me to an
empty field."

Sam leapt from the porch. "We'll put out an
APB on Owens's Suburban. Other than that, you got any bright
ideas?"

The two Floyd County deputies came out and
Sam quickly gave them the latest information. They digested this
for only a moment, before they got into the police cruiser and
left. He and Rodriguez took off after them, their bikes roaring
down the gravel drive, as Granny watched from her window.

"Don't know what all the fuss is about, but I
hope somebody comes back with something good to eat soon. I'm
getting hungry. Damn that Henry," she mumbled and pushed her walker
back to her chair in front of the television.

"Boone, his deputies, and the FBI folks will
take care of everything. They don't need us interfering," insisted
Preston, as he turned onto Main Street. He waved to some friends
gathered in front of the post office. "Nope. I'm not going to ride
all over hell and gone, looking for some guy who's most likely
halfway to Florida, or Texas, or someplace. I'm going downtown and
play music, like I do every Friday night."

"I'm just saying. We told Boone everything we
know, but I think we should help out, kind of like a posse, and
catch the kidnapper," said Kyle eagerly.

"If I remember correctly, when we were in the
room over the garage and realized it was where the guy held Diane,
you couldn't get out of there fast enough." Preston grinned at his
friend. Now you want to go looking for him?"

"Well, yeah, but..."

"Come on Kyle. Get yourself a slice of pizza,
or an ice cream, and listen to a little music. Sarah and the guys
are probably already here." Preston pulled into the courthouse
parking lot, grabbed his fiddle case, and slid from the driver's
seat. There was a good crowd on Locust, spilling off the sidewalks
and slowing traffic, even though it was still early. Nice weather
always brought more people out to the Friday night Jamboree.

"I got your gun up here and a twelve gage I
borrowed from that little motel-six where I was staying
temporarily." Toricello giggled.

That news sent a shiver of dread through him.
I can't let any of the local police get hurt. I've got to warn them
somehow. If I can roll close enough to the taillight area, maybe I
can kick it out. They'd be sure to pull him over if they saw his
brake light out.

"Pow! Any cop stops me, I blow his brains
out. Hey. I got nothing to lose."

Then again, maybe that's not such a good
idea, thought Chris.

"Ah shit! I'm coming to a town. Where the
hell's the highway? These country roads run me round in circles for
an hour, and then I end up in this shitty little one-horse town.
What gives?"

Thank god he's lost. It gives me more time. I
don't know where he's taking me, but Bruno answered my phone when
Diane called, so she knows that Toricello must have me. If Diane
lets the police know what happened, my chances might be better. Of
course my phone is in a roadside ditch somewhere, so the tracking
app won't do me any good.

He tried to figure the odds of Toricello
having an accident, or being stopped for reckless driving. Could
there be a BOLO out for his Suburban already? When the boss and
everyone else in his division up in New York found out he let
himself be taken by the very suspect he was supposed to be
apprehending, things would only get worse. If I survive I'll
probably have to kiss my job goodbye.

The SUV made a sharp turn to the left and he
rolled over, grunting with pain, as he connected firmly with the
hatch door, wedged in tight and unable to move.

"Please, take me back home. That man has
Chris's phone! Something terrible must have happened!" Diane
covered her face with both hands and began to weep.

"Calm down," said Jack. He reached back and
patted her shoulder. "I'm sure the police and the FBI know their
jobs. Chris is probably on his way to see you right now."

Just ahead on the right was the Floyd Country
Store, where inside people of all ages danced and Bluegrass
musicians played. Other groups gathered around musicians on the
sidewalks, or anywhere they could find room. Each band was
surrounded by a knot of enthusiastic listeners. Everyone seemed to
be having a good time, except for the jerk in the black Suburban
ahead of them, who kept pressing on his horn.

"Victoria, check this out," said Jack,
pointing to the Floyd Barber Shop. It was a small, one chair
establishment. Someone was in the chair, getting a cut from the
middle-aged barber, but at the back of the shop, four men and a
woman were playing a lively Bluegrass tune.

"Live music while you get your hair cut.
Pretty cool," said Vicky.

The barber smiled and gave them a small wave
with his scissors.

"Everybody here is so friendly," said
Jack.

"Yeah, just like the Grove, only more so and
then there's the music," offered John.

Down the road, two pickups had stopped near
the crosswalk, their drivers leaning out to talk to each other,
effectively stopping traffic. Pedestrians milled around them
crossing the street, eager to listen to the music.

As his engine idled, John drummed his fingers
on the steering wheel in time with the lively Bluegrass tune that
musicians were playing to his left. The black Suburban was two cars
ahead, the driver still rudely leaning on his horn.

"What's his hurry?" John said under his
breath, as one of the pickup guys smiled and waved to someone in
the crowd.

"Oh my god! That's Chris's car," screamed
Diane. "Look, right there! The black one." She flung open her door,
jumped out and ran down the center of the road into the crowd.

Vicky climbed down and called after her,
"Diane, wait!"

Sam and Agent Rodriguez stood on the corner,
in front of the County Courthouse, watching the traffic roll past.
They recognized Chris Owen's Suburban as it took the turn onto
Locust.

Sam punched a number into his phone and spoke
without a greeting. "The vehicle has just turned down South Locust.
Yes. Too many civilians. Let's move in farther down." Several
impatient blasts on a horn sounded.

"I'm going to go see what the hell is going
on," said Rodriguez.

Sam pocketed the phone. "No. There's a big
crowd over there. Wouldn't want anyone to get hurt. McAndrew's on
his way."

Ignoring him, she sprinted across Main Street
in the direction of Chris's Suburban.

Sam shook his head and took off after
her.

She dodged around knots of people and ran
down Locust. As she ran, she unzipped her leathers and felt for the
holstered gun on her hip. Afraid of injuring a bystander, she
rested one hand on her pistol, as she pounded on the driver's
window. "Federal Agents! Step out of the vehicle with your hands
up!"

As she watched, the window slowly lowered and
she saw Bruno Toricello's ugly grin. Just below, the muzzle of a
hand gun rested on the door, only a foot from her. "You got a
problem with me bitch?"

Without warning, the door was violently
thrown open, hurling her back, forcing the wind from her lungs with
a "whoosh" as her head whacked the pavement. Agent Rodriguez lay
sprawled in the street, staring at the darkening sky, listening to
banjo music and laughter.

Moments later Sam's face swam into view above
her. "I told you to wait," he said, shaking his head in
disgust.

The "Wreck of the Old '97,"was a favorite of
Preston and his friends. It was a tragic ballad about a brave
engineer, who drove his locomotive too fast and was killed when the
train jumped the tracks. Sarah and Mike McCorkle crooned out the
sad story, while he played his fiddle with practiced ease, tapping
his foot to keep time. Next to him was sober faced Beau
Shackleford, thumping on his bass. The McCorckle brothers, Pat and
Mike, played banjo and guitar.

A persistent blasting horn came from the
street disturbing an otherwise peaceful evening at the Jamboree.
Whoever was doing all that impatient honking needed to chill
out.

Scanning the crowd, Preston saw Kyle's
grandfather, Jeremiah Evans, dancing with a pretty woman who had to
be twenty years younger. Preston smiled at the old man who gave him
a sly wink in return. The weather was fine and everyone was having
a good time.

Preston saw there was some commotion up the
street, but he and the boys kept on playing while Sarah sang the
lyrics in her high lonesome twang. Out of the corner of his eye, he
saw a vehicle door fly open and a big man carrying a shotgun jumped
out and raced through the crowd. The runner threaded through the
onlookers, jogged down the steps into Lineberry Park and
disappeared. A few seconds later, two of Boone McAndrew's deputies
dashed after him.

Cutting his eyes back to the black vehicle,
he saw Diane screaming, "Chris, oh my god, Chris!"

Sarah came to the last line of the lyrics.
"Now ladies take warning, from this time on and learn, never speak
harsh words to your true loving husband, for he may leave you to
never return."

The crowd parted for Boone McAndrew as he
approached. He rested a hand on Diane's shoulder. "Here now, what's
all the trouble?"

"Oh Sheriff, thank god you're here. I don't
know where Chris is. That Toricello guy had him, and this is his
car, but he's not here!"

"I promise you, we'll find him soon enough.
Don't you worry Miss Vandersmoot. He can't be too far off." He
reached down, opened the hatch, and a bound and gagged Agent Owen
tumbled into the street at their feet, the duct tape muffling his
grunt of pain.

The Sheriff stood, hands on hips and poked
the bound man with the toe of his boot. "Well now, that was easier
than I thought it would be."