Peak Oil (13 page)

“Does it have anything to do with what happened down there?” Neil asked, pointing his chin to where the smoke was coming from.

“Kind of,” Voelkner said grimly.

Alexa raised her eyebrows. “Kind of?”

Voelkner dismissed her with an impatient wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about that now, Captain.” He held his hands together seriously, like a preacher. “The little girl has Jackson’s passport. When I tried to ask her where she got it, she ran away.”

Alexa looked at Neil and they exchanged a knowing glance. “And you ran after her, right?” Alexa said.

Voelkner’s shoulders slumped. “Well, before I knew it, the little runt ran into the road.”
 

Alexa eyes widened as she put her hand to her mouth. “Oh my God, was she—?”

Voelkner shook his head. “No, but the truck driver had an accident. He swerved out of the way and went over on the grass embankment.”
 

“And what happened to your eye?” Neil asked skeptically.

Voelkner scratched his head and grimaced. “Well, I grabbed the little hellion and gave her a good talking to. Dragged her up to the inn. And then Missy decked me.”

Alexa chuckled, stunned. “Missy?”

“Yes, she packs a punch. But that’s all beside the point,” he said impatiently. “She has Jackson’s passport. Where could she have found it?”

Neil grinned and turned toward the walkway. “Let’s go find out, shall we?”

They marched to the reception area. Missy stood crouched, kneeling next to Mary-Lou, wiping tears from the girl’s face with a tissue. When she saw them approach, she stood up and waved a finger at them.

“You keep that French bastard out of my sight. I’m telling you, I’ll break his skinny neck.” Missy moved her shoulders and head from side to side as she spoke.

Neil ignored her and walked straight toward Mary-Lou. He knelt down next to her and lifted her chin. “Are you okay, Mary-Lou?”

She blinked, sniffed loudly, and then nodded her head up and down. Neil picked her up and carried her into the reception area. He dragged a chair closer with his foot and sat down, cradling her in his arms.

He rocked back and forth and spoke quietly to her as she held him around his neck, sucking her thumb and sniffing.

“What happened?” Alexa asked.

Missy glared at Voelkner. “This pig got it into his noggin’ to go chasing my little Mary-Lou down the road and nearly damn well got her killed, that’s what happened.”
 

Voelkner took a couple of paces back, an uncertain look on his face.

Alexa touched Missy’s arm. “Voelkner says that Mary-Lou had a passport. A passport of someone who’s gone missing.” She glanced at Voelkner, who nodded hesitantly. “That’s why he was chasing her.”

Missy slapped her hand on her leg, a scowl on her face. “I don’t care if she had the queen’s crown jewels wrapped in the damn Shroud of Turin. There’s a proper way to address a child.”

“I . . . I’m sorry, Missy,” Voelkner stammered. “I’m not that good with little ones.”

Missy pursed her lips. “You bet your damned skinny behind, mister. You could have gotten her killed.” Her features softened. She seemed to be calming down.

Voelkner nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. Scared me, too.”

Missy nodded and then turned to Neil, a meaty hand planted on her broad hip. Mary-Lou was fast asleep in Neil’s arms. He looked up. “Where is her room?” he whispered.
 

Missy motioned for him to follow her upstairs.
 

“What about the passport?” Voelkner hissed at Alexa.

Alexa turned toward him. “We’ll ask her about it later. Let her sleep now. She had a huge fright.”

“But, Captain, there could be some clues—”

“Thank You, Lieutenant. Stand down, that’s an order,” she said, glaring at Voelkner.

He dropped his head. “Aye, Captain.”

After making sure that Mary-Lou was fine, Alexa asked Voelkner to accompany them to town. Missy still seemed worked up, and Alexa didn’t want to risk the poor man being beaten up again. They drove down the hill toward the main road. The bus depot was busy, hundreds of banner-waving men and woman cascading from dozens of buses.
 

Neil took a sharp left onto the bustling main road. People waving Lone Star flags lined the main strip. A brass band in red and blue uniform was practicing a song, and short-skirted pom-pom girls waved at them as they rolled by. Most of the 687 citizens were in town.

They drove past Prairie Lookout Park. The two red trucks had pulled in next to a large, yellow crane. It was slowly hoisting what was left of the burned-out wreckage back onto its wheels. Men in white coveralls were sweeping the debris from the road. Another guy shoveled some sand from a wheelbarrow onto a dark slick by the side of the road.
 

They drove past the Fitch Academy. A police officer directed them to take a detour on a back road to the diner. They crunched down a narrow road and nosed into a space behind the eatery.

Patsy greeted them with a friendly smile by the door, her bangles clinking as she closed it behind them. She led them to a booth next to the window and they ordered coffee and apple pie.
 

A cavalcade of twelve motorcycles boomed into town. Their backs bore the logo of the Dabbort Creek Harley Davidson Club, a snarling tiger with blood dripping from its top incisors. They revved their bikes, polluting the town with fumes and noise. The two men at the rear of the procession had slightly more skewed noses than the rest of the bikers.
 

“Here he comes, ladies and gentlemen,” Patsy announced, twirling her index finger next to her head.

Next followed eight squad cars, sirens blaring and strobe lights flashing as they crawled past the crowds.

Patsy shook her head. “They’re putting up a quite a show for the prick,” she said and disappeared into the kitchen, grumbling.

Fitch arrived a couple of minutes later in a black stretch limousine, small Texas Lone Star and USA flags fluttering in the wind on the sides of the hood. Fitch stood up and leaned out of the sunroof, waving his Stetson and smiling. As they crept past the diner, Fitch nodded and greeted the people with an elaborate wave.
 

People waved and cheered, holding up banners congratulating him. Someone threw confetti and streamers from a roof. A leathery, middle-aged woman hollered at Fitch and exposed her breasts. Fitch smiled and covered his face with his hat, pretending not to look.

“Marry me, Andy,” she shouted.

Fitch shaped a phone out of his thumb and pinkie finger and winked at her. “Call me,” he mouthed silently.

They proceeded down the road and disappeared out of sight. Patsy brought them their coffees as the marching band paraded past. She plonked it down with a derisive snort.
 

“Where are they heading?” Neil asked her.

“The school. Fitch will probably give a speech and sign some autographs, as he does every year.”
 

“What is he, a rock star?” Voelkner asked.

Patsy stared out of the window. She had a faraway look in her eyes. Gyrating pom-pom girls marched past, doing high kicks and waving to the crowd. “Something like that.” She gave a bitter smile and waved her hand, the bangles jingling softly. “Besides being a bastard.”

Alexa put her hand on the woman’s arm. “What happened?”

Patsy shook her head, her lips pursed tightly. A man with a cowboy hat ambled past on the sidewalk below. He touched the rim of his hat in greeting.

Patsy sighed. “Best you ask Fitch about that,” she said, turning around and disappearing into the kitchen.

Neil got up. “Well, let’s go meet him then,” he said, looking at Alexa. “Don’t you think?”

She nodded and shifted out of the booth. Neil dropped some money on the counter on his way out.
 

The Asian man picked it up and called Neil back. “No pay, everything free when Mr. Fitch visit town.”

Neil shrugged and pocketed the cash. “Unbelievable.”

Neil and Alexa followed the steady flow of people to the Fitch Academy grounds. People laughed and joked as they walked through the large, wrought iron gates and ambled past the rose-red brick main building toward the sports grounds at the back.

A raised platform had been set up in the middle of the football field, and Andy Fitch was walking around on the stage with a microphone in his hand, bending over and shaking the hands of people on the field.

“How ya’ll doin’, Dabbort Creek?” he shouted over the microphone, waving his black Stetson hat. A man in a black suit and dark glasses threw T-shirts wrapped in plastic into the swarming mass of people.

People cheered and clapped and scrambled to get their hands on the T-shirts. The crowd started a slow clap, shouting “Tiger Finn, Tiger Finn,” in unison.

Fitch raised a hand. “Now you folks know that this is my favorite place on earth,” he shouted into the microphone. The crowd whooped and cheered.

“And for all the loyal support I’ve been receiving from you good folks, I’ll be having a party at Prairie Lookout from three o’ clock, just for
you
!”
 

The crowd erupted.

The first bars of “Achy Breaky Heart” started playing on large speakers. Fitch shook his head to the rhythm of the song and shimmied a couple of dance steps. He finished with a pirouette on the back of his heel, his jacket waving around him like a black tutu.
 

“Barbecue and beers are on the house,” he announced and pointed his hand in the air. “Come say hello!”
 

The throng of people whooped and clapped their hands. An impromptu line-dance ensemble started gyrating, swaying, and skipping to the tune of the song.

Andy Fitch scanned the crowd with a smile, put his Stetson on his head, and bounced off the stage energetically, walking to a metal table surrounded by men in black uniforms. They had placed poles with metal chains between them in front of the table. People arranged themselves in a queue, waiting patiently to meet their hero. Andy Fitch sat down and received the first admirers; they shook his hand, and Fitch stood smiling as their photos were taken.

He scooped up a pamphlet from a stack on the table. On it, Andy Fitch winked, pointing directly at the camera. A message next to his photo read, “Tiger Andy, he’s our man. If he can’t do it, we’re all screwed.” He signed it, winked, and handed it to the couple at his table.

Large trucks had been parked at the edge of the football field. Men started unloading crates of beer, carrying them to temporary gazebos in the center of the field. The crowd dispersed, nodding to the beat of the music.
 

An hour later, Fitch was attending to the final stragglers in the queue. Neil joined them and waited for the couple in front of him to receive their signed pamphlets. Fitch waved him over with a smile. Neil nodded, walked to the table, and stuck out his hand. Fitch clutched his hand firmly, shaking it up and down.
 

Fitch’s eyes lingered on Neil’s face for a moment, a stiff smile on his lips. He held onto Neil’s hand for a second, tightening his grip. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Allen.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Fitch,” Neil said, squeezing back. Fitch’s eyes narrowed momentarily, the corner of his lip twitching before he let go of Neil’s hand.
 

Neil slid his wallet from his back pocket. “Unfortunately, I’m not here to exchange pleasantries. I’m here on official business.” He flashed his Interpol badge at Fitch. “Government business.”

Fitch fixed stone-cold eyes on Neil’s face. He slouched into his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “Is this about the porn movies?”

Neil nodded. “Yep.”
 

“Look, Mr. Allen, or may I call you Neil?” Fitch asked.
 

Neil shrugged.
 

Fitch sprang up and walked around the table. He wrapped his arm around Neil’s shoulder, talking in a hushed tone. “We’ve dealt with this issue internally. Meet me for breakfast tomorrow at the ranch and I’ll explain everything.”

Neil shrugged the arm off his shoulder. “I’ve got time now.”
 

Fitch gave Neil an icy stare. “Well, I don’t. I need to make sure that my people are happy.” He waved at the crowd on the football field. “We’re having a barbecue at Prairie Lookout.” His lips smiled but his eyes didn’t. “Meet me for breakfast at my ranch at eight.”

Then Fitch’s smile disappeared and his eyes narrowed to two slits. “That your partner?” he asked, nodding his head toward Alexa.
 

Neil nodded.

He leaned toward Neil. “Leave her at home. Let’s deal with this like men.”

Neil shook his head. “Not possible. She’s leading this case.”

“Leave her at home, or we do this the arduous way, through the judicial system.” Fitch stared at Neil, two pairs of blue eyes locked onto each other. Fitch smiled thinly, turned away, and waved as he left. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Allen.”