“You look like a Texas Ranger,” she said.
'"You'd best hope not. They're the meanest boys that ever walked the planet. Oh, wait, forgot something.”
But she had it. His briefcase. Full of Richard's lions.
“Your damn lions.”
“While I'm looking for this tire, I'll do some thinking about the lions. Maybe I can figure what he's got going.”
There was an awkward moment and then he embraced Jen.
“Thank you,” he said.
“It was damned sweet of you.”
But she pushed him away, brusquely, as if the gift was what any woman would give her husband.
“You run a hundred rounds or so through that. Bud. You know they jam more in the first fifty rounds than they do in all the others.”
“I will, hon.”
“That gun ain't supposed to jam ever,” Jeff said.
“I read all about it in Guns & Ammo.”
He gave her another hug.
“Go on, get out of here. Earn us some money so we can feed these damn boys,” she said, turning.
Bud drove away, into Lawton, but not yet toward downtown, instead veering east into the first strip mall that boasted a pay phone.
Quickly he dialed Holly's number.
The phone rang and rang and rang.
Where was she? Probably met someone. Good for her.
He was about to hang up when, at least fifteen or so rings into it, the phone came off the hook and he heard her tired voice.
“Hello?”
“Are you all right? Were you sleeping? I was worried.”
No answer, only her heavy breaming.
Then finally she said, "You were going to call two nights ago. I was up all night waiting.”
“Holly, I went to Wichita Falls, the robbery? You hear?”
She had not. He told her.
“So you couldn't call? In all that, you couldn't call just once?”
“Holly, I'm sorry. There was no time down there and by the time I got back, it was really late. I just—I didn't think.”
“And you didn't call yesterday.”
He was contrite.
“No. I had a bad night. I'm sorry, I didn't do nothing yesterday.”
“Bud, look what you're doing to me.”
“Holly, this business has come up again. They want me to do some work for them.”
He explained briefly what would happen, how he was going back on duty, searching for cars with a certain set of tires over the southern half of the state.
The Beretta was so heavy under his arm.
“Bud, you make all these promises, then you sort of fade. You like the sex great, but when it comes to making plans, then you fade. You're not there. You're off somewhere.”
“I'm sorry. Holly. Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes, dammit. I have to move. I can't stand this place.
We have to find some new place. Will you look for it with me?”
It seemed excruciating to him. It would be horrible. He hated the new-marrieds aspect of it—checking for shelves and views—and he felt so indecent. But he said, "Of course I will. Sure I will.”
“Oh, Bud,” she cried.
“I knew you would. Oh, Bud, I knew you would.”
“Now, sweetie, I got to go.”
“When will I see you?”
“Soon, I swear. We'll start looking soon.”
Oh' Bud I love you so much!”
Feeling relieved, Bud drove over to the City Hall Annex, an old office building, hastily reconfigured to its new purpose.
On the first floor, in a wide-open bank of rooms, a few Texas Rangers hung around. There was a phone bank and a slew of operators, and a radio receiver, just like at the highway patrol shop, and a filing cabinet, as well as the by now regular complement of computer terminals with civilian clerks. And who seemed to be running the show but his old friend LT. C. D. Henderson of the OSBI, who looked spryer than Bud had ever seen him. For once, the whiff of booze didn't cling to him. A smile even came across the creased old face.
“Howdy there, Bud. They told me you was coming back on as an emergency investigator.”
“Yes sir, I am,” said Bud.
“Figure I can pound on doors as well as anyone.”
“Well, there's many a door needs pounding. Bud, we've already got 'bout six men out there, but with close to four thousand names, the more the better.”
“So where'm I heading?”
“Well, let's see, many of ’em are in Lawton, where we've sent most of our men, and another hotbed is way out in Ardmore. But let's work you in from the country side.
You won't get as much done, since there's some space between ranches, and you may get sick of looking at cattle, but it's got to be done.”
“Great,” said Bud.
He was issued a stack of computer printouts bearing addresses and car registration data for Tillman, Jackson, and Cotton counties, in the southeast sector of the state, about two hours' ride. He was told he'd probably end up heading out to Greer and Harmon and Kiowa counties, too, in the next few days.
“Your truck got a two-way?”
“No sir, it don't.”
“Okay, we'll issue a Motorola portable unit, you won't have no problem.
It'll be pre-set to our net, forty-four point nine. You ten-twenty-three each stop and ten-twenty-four afterward, just in case.
We always want to know where you're at. I hope you ain't lucky again.”
“I hope I ain't either.”
“You got it, right? You just tell ’em we're doing a criminal investigation involving a motor vehicle and investigating is elimination and we want to check them off the list.
You find the car, then you check the tires. If you get the right tires on the right kind of car, then you call it in, wait for what the computer kicks out, and sit by until we decide to raid or stake out.
That's all. If you should bump into anybody nasty, you do not want to be in it without backup.
You're even more on your lonesome now.”
“I get that. I'm looking at cars and tires, not to make arrests. I told you, I don't want to cross with old Lamar again.”
“We got a heavy-duty SWAT team—Rangers, troopers, and an OSBI supervisor sitting out at Fort Sill airfield, with army pilots.
Anybody gets in a jam, we can have twenty men there in a few minutes.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Ten-four, Bud.”
Bud picked up his radio unit and a map, and headed back to the truck.
It took him a few seconds in the cab to get the electronic gear set up.
Then it crackled to life.
“Dispatch, this is six-oh-five, I am ten-seven, outward bound to Tillman county.”
“Ten-four, six-oh-five.”
“ Bud took 44 south of town, followed its straight shot south to the toll plaza at Oklahoma 5, then got off to follow 5 into Tillman's vast and empty flatness. It took him about two hours to find his first stop.
“Dispatch, this six-oh-five, I am ten—twenty-three at Loveland, Route 5, the Del Rio farm, looking for a 1991 Red Tercel, that's license plate Oklahoma One-fiverninerninerroger-Mike.”
“Ten-four, six-oh-five.”
Bud got out at a decaying farmhouse and began what would become his routine for the next two days. He knocked on the door, showed his badge ID, introduced himself, and went into his song and dance. It was amazing how cooperative people could be. Most Americans just love to help the police.
“Why, sure. Officer, it cain't be me or mine,” they'd say, or some variation thereof.
In Loveland, a gnarled Hispanic grandfather took him out back and showed him the car; it hadn't been driven in a year, and rested in rotten splendor atop a quartet of cinder blocks. And so it went: Sometimes the cars were chan, sometimes beat-up. Sometimes they'd been recently sold, and the name of the buyer or the dealership was gladly provided. Sometimes Bud had to wait for a man to come home from the plant or the bar; sometimes it was a boy, returning from town or chores or the Dairy Queen. But sooner or later, the car would turn up, he'd examine it, steal a look at the tires, and pass on it.