Page 9 of Rocky Ride

“Stop talking, Virgie and finish your breakfast, or we’ll never get to work.”

Virge gave me the finger as I cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. He was in one foul fuckin mood. Today would be a doozer.

Shiner’s. Louisiana Bayou.

Mason Swift packed up his gear and he and Clyde circled around old man Shiner’s restaurant to the wharf running along the backside of the building.

Vertical boards for cladding, weathered black by the swamp mist, red paint on the window trim and a huge rooster weathervane on the roof, Shiner’s was a landmark. Accessible only by boat. Rivermark.

Mason stowed his gear in the boat and left Clyde on guard to watch it. He went back inside for breakfast and to ask a few questions.

Shiner’s was the best source of information for miles around. The main reason Mason Swift was there.

He ate breakfast alone, then picked up his coffee mug and made the rounds. On the other side of the restaurant Mason spotted one of the Prejean cousins. Notorious family of thieves and murderers. One branch of the family had been killed off bypeople Mason didn’t want to come across. He made his way to the table where the cousin sat and stood next to it.

“Who you looking for, Swifty?”

“Young girl fugitive who shot Carl Levon.”

“Glad somebody shot the slimy fuck. He had it coming.”

“Hear anything on the girl?” Mason sipped his coffee and waited.

“Tell you this much. Heard she was pretty. Bonaventure was in on it. Took his cut when they sold her.”

“Who was the buyer?”

“Those mean fuckers down near the Gulf.”

“I know the ones,” said Mason. “If that’s who’s got her, I might need help getting her back.”

“Good luck with that. Nobody gonna go up against that crew with you, Swifty.”

Mason shrugged. “Guess I’ll do it alone, then.”

“Yeah, you’ll have to.”

Mason gave the Prejean cousin twenty-five bucks for his trouble and strode back to his boat.

Like a soldier, Clyde sat in his seat in the middle of the boat waiting and wagged his tail when he saw Mason coming down the wharf. “Brought you some bacon, Clyde. Your lucky day.”

Best Western. Montgomery. Alabama.

Casey and Ardal ate the free breakfast provided by the hotel and tried to figure out where to start looking for Bobby Prescott.

“A lot of unknowns,” said Casey. “We’re not sure he picked up a driver, although Blaine is pretty sure he would’ve been forced to.”

“Let’s say there are two of them,” said Ardal. “They stop for food and gas. The only way we’ll know if we’re even going the right way is to stop at every one of the truck stops and show Bobby’s picture.”

Casey shrugged. “Let’s go that route. It’s all we’ve got.”

Sheriff’s Office. Coyote Creek. Montana.

Virge stomped into the station in the foulest of moods. Refusing to drink coffee with his brother, he headed to the squad room and hovered over Molly’s desk.

“Did you check out the stripper-haters, Molly?”

“I did, dear. All finished.”

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