Read Online Gone in a Flash by Susan Rogers Cooper - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Rogers Cooper
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parking lot of the new Wal-Mart that had just opened in Codderville. The place was packed and they had their pick of vehicles. Mr Smith had picked a fairly late-model white Ford – a Focus, not a Taurus like their rental, but close enough. Using the screwdriver setting on his Swiss Army knife, he unscrewed the front plate, threw it in the back seat of the car, got in, and drove off down the row of parked cars. Mr Jones did not ask what he was doing. Mr Jones was still not looking at him.
Mr Smith circled the row and came back to the white Ford Focus. Stopping the white Taurus two cars down, he walked up to the Focus, then went round the back and unscrewed that license plate, thinking how much easier this kind of thing was in states that didn’t require a front license plate. Mr Smith threw the back plate in the back seat of the Taurus with the front plate, and took off.
Several miles later, Mr Smith pulled into the parking lot of an office building, and proceeded to change the Taurus’s plates to those of the Focus. Let it be noted that Mr Jones did not help.
‘I’m coming home,’ Willis said.
‘Good,’ I said. ‘The girls are pretty nervous.’ That was not exactly true. The girls were climbing the walls, but more from the excitement of it all than fear.
I’d called Willis to let him know what had happened, and informed him about the response from the Black Cat Ridge police.
‘That’s because I won that contract!’ Willis had said.
‘What contract?’ I’d asked.
‘The Chemco deal,’ he said. ‘Barry’s son-in-law was also bidding, but Dave always bids way too high. Meanwhile, Barry and his wife are supporting their daughter and Dave and it’s all my fault? I don’t THINK so!’
Barry Donaldson was the chief-of-police for the small Black Cat Ridge police department.
‘Well, just come home,’ I’d said. ‘We’ll sort it out together.’
And he did. Come home, that is. And he’d stewed in it all the way home. By the time he walked in the door, if Barry Donaldson had been in the room, it’s a possibility he wouldn’t have made it out alive.
‘I’m calling that son-of-a-bitch! He can’t ignore you—’
‘Honey, I didn’t even talk to Barry! I talked to a dispatcher.’
He stopped, turned and looked at me. ‘Why didn’t you call Barry directly?’ he asked.
‘He’s your friend, not mine,’ I said.
‘He’s not my friend – we just shoot hoops once a week.’
‘That’s certainly more of a relationship than I have with him.’
‘So why didn’t you call me so I could call him?’ Willis demanded.
I sighed. ‘Because I didn’t think about it! I called Luna first, and she said it wasn’t her jurisdiction, that I should call Black Cat Ridge police, so I just dialed their three-one-one number.’
Willis pulled out his iPhone and looked at it, then put it back in his pocket and went into my office, coming out seconds later with the tiny Black Cat Ridge phone directory. He sat on the sofa, pulled out his phone yet again, and dialed the number.
‘Chief Donaldson, please. Willis Pugh calling.’
I sat down in an easy chair opposite him. We waited.
Maybe I should take this waiting period to explain the existence of Black Cat Ridge, the town in which we lived on the north side of the Texas Colorado River. It is what they call a ‘planned community.’ Codderville, on the south side of the Colorado River, was more haphazard. It came about as a cattle-drive stop back in the 1800s, then got bypassed by the railroad and almost died out, only to have a highway come through in the 1930s, which perked it up again, only to be bypassed once more by the freeway system in the 1960s. But by the 1960s, people had dug themselves in: there were some businesses, lots of churches, retail, etc. Codderville, although sleepy, remained.
Then came a developer who saw an expanse of wooded acreage on the other side of the Colorado, and thought: trees! Must destroy now! But, of course, being a
Mr Smith circled the row and came back to the white Ford Focus. Stopping the white Taurus two cars down, he walked up to the Focus, then went round the back and unscrewed that license plate, thinking how much easier this kind of thing was in states that didn’t require a front license plate. Mr Smith threw the back plate in the back seat of the Taurus with the front plate, and took off.
Several miles later, Mr Smith pulled into the parking lot of an office building, and proceeded to change the Taurus’s plates to those of the Focus. Let it be noted that Mr Jones did not help.
‘I’m coming home,’ Willis said.
‘Good,’ I said. ‘The girls are pretty nervous.’ That was not exactly true. The girls were climbing the walls, but more from the excitement of it all than fear.
I’d called Willis to let him know what had happened, and informed him about the response from the Black Cat Ridge police.
‘That’s because I won that contract!’ Willis had said.
‘What contract?’ I’d asked.
‘The Chemco deal,’ he said. ‘Barry’s son-in-law was also bidding, but Dave always bids way too high. Meanwhile, Barry and his wife are supporting their daughter and Dave and it’s all my fault? I don’t THINK so!’
Barry Donaldson was the chief-of-police for the small Black Cat Ridge police department.
‘Well, just come home,’ I’d said. ‘We’ll sort it out together.’
And he did. Come home, that is. And he’d stewed in it all the way home. By the time he walked in the door, if Barry Donaldson had been in the room, it’s a possibility he wouldn’t have made it out alive.
‘I’m calling that son-of-a-bitch! He can’t ignore you—’
‘Honey, I didn’t even talk to Barry! I talked to a dispatcher.’
He stopped, turned and looked at me. ‘Why didn’t you call Barry directly?’ he asked.
‘He’s your friend, not mine,’ I said.
‘He’s not my friend – we just shoot hoops once a week.’
‘That’s certainly more of a relationship than I have with him.’
‘So why didn’t you call me so I could call him?’ Willis demanded.
I sighed. ‘Because I didn’t think about it! I called Luna first, and she said it wasn’t her jurisdiction, that I should call Black Cat Ridge police, so I just dialed their three-one-one number.’
Willis pulled out his iPhone and looked at it, then put it back in his pocket and went into my office, coming out seconds later with the tiny Black Cat Ridge phone directory. He sat on the sofa, pulled out his phone yet again, and dialed the number.
‘Chief Donaldson, please. Willis Pugh calling.’
I sat down in an easy chair opposite him. We waited.
Maybe I should take this waiting period to explain the existence of Black Cat Ridge, the town in which we lived on the north side of the Texas Colorado River. It is what they call a ‘planned community.’ Codderville, on the south side of the Colorado River, was more haphazard. It came about as a cattle-drive stop back in the 1800s, then got bypassed by the railroad and almost died out, only to have a highway come through in the 1930s, which perked it up again, only to be bypassed once more by the freeway system in the 1960s. But by the 1960s, people had dug themselves in: there were some businesses, lots of churches, retail, etc. Codderville, although sleepy, remained.
Then came a developer who saw an expanse of wooded acreage on the other side of the Colorado, and thought: trees! Must destroy now! But, of course, being a
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