The big ex-biker headed for the door, not bothering to put on a coat to fend off the autumn chill outside. "Come on. Let me show you something."
A minute later, they were staring into one of Buster's storage sheds. It was one of the big ones down by the end.
"There is nothing in it," said Eddie, puzzled.
"Not today, sure enough. But if you'd looked into it three mornings ago, you would have found it packed full. The Barclays showed up right when I opened, along with Allen and Neil O'Connor-I think most of the stuff belonged to them, actually, even though the Barclays are the ones who paid the rent-and cleaned it all out. They had three wagons for the purposes. Well-built wagons, driven by some down-timers I don't know. The guy who seemed to be in charge was a real dandy, dressed to the hilt. Fancy plumed hat, the whole works."
Noelle hissed. "The O'Connors? But…"
There seemed to be a thin smile on Buster's face. Between the beard and the darkness, though, it was hard to tell.
"But they have a successful business here? I wouldn't be too sure of that, the way they go through money like it was water. I can tell you this much, for sure. Since the Barclays rented this shed six months ago, they've been steadily filling it up with mechanical equipment-smallish stuff, of course, no big machines-tools, blueprints, diagrams, you name it. I'm pretty sure some of it was swiped from Marcantonio's machine shop, although I couldn't swear to it."
"Oh, wow," said Denise. "Dad, the fuckers are defecting."
"That's my guess. Got no idea where to, though."
Noelle's lips were tight. "You know, Buster, you could have maybe said something about this earlier."
He swiveled to face her. Whatever smile might have been on his face was gone now. "Said something to who? The so-called 'authorities'? Meaning no offense, Ms. Murphy-"
"It's Stull, now. I changed it."
"Good for you," said Denise. "I kinda like your mother, but her ex-husband-the guy who was supposed to be your dad and wasn't-is a complete shithead."
Clearly enough, whatever parental instruction Buster had felt it necessary to give his daughter had never included "proper language for a young lady." Noelle couldn't really fault Buster for that, though. He made a lot better father in everything essential than Francis Murphy had, she didn't doubt that in the least.
"Yeah, good for you," echoed Buster. "Your real dad Dennis is an okay guy, in my book. But like I was saying, Ms. Stull, I mind my own business. I'm as likely to go to the cops as I am to eat tofu for breakfast. I got along with Dan Frost well enough, once him and me straightened out a few issues. But I've generally got as much use for cops as I do for cockroaches. Especially since, in this case, I can't see where they were doing anything illegal anyway except for maybe some petty theft from Dave's machine shop."
He gave his daughter a stern look. "How is it 'defecting' when we're not at war with anybody any longer? People got a right to live wherever they want, you know-and take their property with them. You really oughta watch your language, young lady."
Noelle barked a laugh. For his part, Eddie gave Buster a wary look.
"We're not actually policemen," he said. "No powers of arrest. We're just investigators."
Buster shrugged. "Like the guy said in that Muppet movie. Authorities is authorities."
"He didn't say that," Denise protested. "He said-"
"Do you want to help them?" demanded her father, gesturing with a thumb at Noelle and Eddie.
"Yeah, sure. I don't care what you say, Dad. Those fuckers are defecting. Buncha traitors."
"Then quit arguing with me about movie dialogue and get a move on." He turned back to Noelle and Eddie, smiling again. "If you want to catch them, you'd better plan on starting at dawn. They'll have three days' head start on you, wherever they're going."
"You have no idea?"
"Not a clue. Like I said-"
"You mind your own business. I heard you." Noelle tried not to sound too snappish and testy. Despite his appearance, Buster was generally an easy-going sort of fellow. Still. Aggravating a large ex-biker on his own property in the middle of the night when he was carrying an eighteen-inch flashlight in his hand did not strike Noelle as falling into the category of "good idea."
Eddie was scratching his head. "We'll need to alert the police, first. Then, we'll have to figure out which way they went."
Denise grinned. "I'll find that out for you. Me and my bike. I'll get started as soon as it's light enough to see anything."
"Ain't she a pip?" said her father, admiringly.
Chapter 5. The Nature of Plans
Near Grantville, State of Thuringia-Franconia
"Fucking idiots, what they are," pronounced Denise. She finished the beer she'd ordered at Stephan Wurmbrand's roadside tavern just outside Grantville on the road to Rudolstadt and almost slammed the glass back on the bar. She glared around the room, as if defying any of its habituees to challenge either her use of language or her judgment of police chiefs and cavalry officers.
No challenge came forth, except from Lannie Yost, perched on a nearby stool. Owlishly, he peered at her empty glass. "Ain't you a little young to be drinking that stuff?"
Denise gaped at him. So did several of the other barflies in the place. In their case, because they were down-time Germans who thought the notion of anyone being under age to drink beer was silly-one of those up-time fetishes they'd thought must have died a natural death by now, three and a half years after the Ring of Fire. In Denise's case, because her father was Buster Beasley and she thought-so did Buster, actually-that she was practically abstemious when it came to substance abuse.
She was also gaping because she was outraged, of course.
"You! Lannie Yost, you're pie-eyed half the time! So-called test pilot. You got some nerve-"
"Hey, Denise, take it easy! I wasn't trying to pick no fight."
That wouldn't normally have done him any good at all, except he added hurriedly: "You got the right of it when it comes to Captain Knefler, that's for sure. Guy couldn't find his ass with both hands in broad daylight."
"That jackass. I told him I found their trail, leading south from Rudolstadt. But, noooo. Mr. Military Genius insisted they must have used those rafts the one guy-the one in charge, whoever he is-bought in Jena."
By now, the news had spread all over the area, including some of the details. "The rafts were gone," one of the down-timers pointed out. He was sitting with a friend at a table nearby.
Denise sniffed. "Big deal. All the guy in charge-and I think he's got more brains in his little toe than Knefler does-had to do was hire a few men to pole the rafts downriver. There's day laborers hanging around all over the place, in Jena. Probably told them they needed to pick up something in Halle and take it down to Magdeburg. Off goes whichever idiot came in pursuit-his name's Knefler, did I mention that? It's spelled 'k-n' like in numbskull-while the guy with the brains keeps heading up the Saale valley. Hasn't it struck any of you geniuses yet that Mr.-Whoever is good at this? Why would he have been wearing such a flamboyant outfit just to buy some cargo rafts-if he hadn't been trying to draw attention to himself?"
She was pretty proud of that deductive logic. Maybe she oughta become a detective when she grew up. Finished growing up. Which she was practically there. She'd bet Minnie would partner with her.
On the other hand, she'd neglected to mention that Mr.-Whoever-He-Was had been wearing the same outfit when he arrived at her father's storage place to load the wagons. Obviously, just to make sure every idiot in Grantville connected Obvious Dot A to Blatant Dot B. The Grantville police chief and Captain Numbskull had squeezed that information out of her, despite her misgivings about what they'd do with it, but she saw no reason to weaken her case by divulging it to these layabouts.