headed.
An instant message popped up on his computer screen. Clark had decided this was how he liked to communicate when they were in the office. In his last job, someone would just bellow “hey, asshole, come here.” Clark liked instant messaging. What was he, a 7th grade girl?
“Status on Mrs. Vernon?” it read.
“She’s heading to her mother’s. Outside of Chicago.” Mike typed back, except it took him about ten times longer than if he had just gotten up and had the conversation with Clark at his desk. His fingers were like Snausages on the keys.
He waited for a reply, and got none. Mike really had no idea as to how instant messaging worked. Clark appeared out of nowhere, and perched on the side of his desk. Mike watched Clark’s cufflinks as he talked. He had to be the only guy in the office with cufflinks.
“Chicago, huh? Aren’t you from Chicago?” Clark fished.
“Philadelphia,” Mike wasn’t offering any more information than necessary.
“Oh.” Clark seemed thoughtful. “You’ll like Chicago. It’s great this time of year.”
Chicago? There was no way Mike was going to Chicago! “You’ve got to be kidding? What good will I be there? There is no fucking way Trip Asshole Vernon is going to head back to his Mother In Law’s house!” Mike was screaming now, and the other agents tried to look away and still listen at the same time.
Clark got a serious look on his face. “Trip ‘Asshole’ Vernon is going to go where his wife and children are. So that’s where Mike ‘Shithead’ Towner is headed as well.”
Mike couldn’t believe he was talking to Clark. He kind of liked him like this.
“I really appreciate this Mike. Thank you,” he said holding out his cuff-linked arm.
Oh, Clark, you had to ruin our moment, thought Mike.
###
Mike took his time packing up his standard-issue FBI black Escalade. He had to follow the errant Mrs. Vernon, and without an electronic trail it would be harder to find her, but Mike wasn’t worried. He figured she’d take the easiest path. Women like her always did. Besides, he knew exactly where she was going.
He had stocked up for the drive - his trusty cooler filled with sandwiches, sodas, potato chips, tortilla chips, beef jerky, peanuts and Snickers bars. He was hardcore and ready to make the drive straight through. Driving the Escalade, though, forced him to stop for gas at regular intervals. He had almost made it to the Ohio state line when the red light on the gas tank popped on. Again. Jesus, he thought as he pulled off at the next exit for yet another refill, the FBI should think about investing in a Prius or two.
The town, if you could call it that, consisted of a no-name gas station and a Denny’s restaurant. Mike had to laugh - it would have been better if the gas station had a name and the restaurant didn’t. Good thing he was loaded up with sandwiches and could take a pass on the Grand Slam breakfast for dinner.
He pulled past the lot and noticed a large U-haul truck in the parking lot with New York plates. Victoria Vernon at a Denny’s? What were the odds? He did a quick u-turn and headed into the restaurant. This was something he had to see.
He walked in and sat in an empty booth. There was the usual assortment of truckers, a few older couples, a mother with a
An instant message popped up on his computer screen. Clark had decided this was how he liked to communicate when they were in the office. In his last job, someone would just bellow “hey, asshole, come here.” Clark liked instant messaging. What was he, a 7th grade girl?
“Status on Mrs. Vernon?” it read.
“She’s heading to her mother’s. Outside of Chicago.” Mike typed back, except it took him about ten times longer than if he had just gotten up and had the conversation with Clark at his desk. His fingers were like Snausages on the keys.
He waited for a reply, and got none. Mike really had no idea as to how instant messaging worked. Clark appeared out of nowhere, and perched on the side of his desk. Mike watched Clark’s cufflinks as he talked. He had to be the only guy in the office with cufflinks.
“Chicago, huh? Aren’t you from Chicago?” Clark fished.
“Philadelphia,” Mike wasn’t offering any more information than necessary.
“Oh.” Clark seemed thoughtful. “You’ll like Chicago. It’s great this time of year.”
Chicago? There was no way Mike was going to Chicago! “You’ve got to be kidding? What good will I be there? There is no fucking way Trip Asshole Vernon is going to head back to his Mother In Law’s house!” Mike was screaming now, and the other agents tried to look away and still listen at the same time.
Clark got a serious look on his face. “Trip ‘Asshole’ Vernon is going to go where his wife and children are. So that’s where Mike ‘Shithead’ Towner is headed as well.”
Mike couldn’t believe he was talking to Clark. He kind of liked him like this.
“I really appreciate this Mike. Thank you,” he said holding out his cuff-linked arm.
Oh, Clark, you had to ruin our moment, thought Mike.
###
Mike took his time packing up his standard-issue FBI black Escalade. He had to follow the errant Mrs. Vernon, and without an electronic trail it would be harder to find her, but Mike wasn’t worried. He figured she’d take the easiest path. Women like her always did. Besides, he knew exactly where she was going.
He had stocked up for the drive - his trusty cooler filled with sandwiches, sodas, potato chips, tortilla chips, beef jerky, peanuts and Snickers bars. He was hardcore and ready to make the drive straight through. Driving the Escalade, though, forced him to stop for gas at regular intervals. He had almost made it to the Ohio state line when the red light on the gas tank popped on. Again. Jesus, he thought as he pulled off at the next exit for yet another refill, the FBI should think about investing in a Prius or two.
The town, if you could call it that, consisted of a no-name gas station and a Denny’s restaurant. Mike had to laugh - it would have been better if the gas station had a name and the restaurant didn’t. Good thing he was loaded up with sandwiches and could take a pass on the Grand Slam breakfast for dinner.
He pulled past the lot and noticed a large U-haul truck in the parking lot with New York plates. Victoria Vernon at a Denny’s? What were the odds? He did a quick u-turn and headed into the restaurant. This was something he had to see.
He walked in and sat in an empty booth. There was the usual assortment of truckers, a few older couples, a mother with a
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