“This is Bravo. We just spotted a green Olds matching the description in the back parking lot of the Cash Store in the 1100 block of Gateway Drive. Can’t see the license plate.”

“Tango’s on it. He just did a walk-by through the alley. Looks like a drug buy but can't verify. Something was exchanged between the Olds and a Ford Taurus. The license plate matches.”

“Okay, wait till they’re on the road again. Anyone set up to tail the car?”

“Bravo’s parked in McDonald’s, and I’m parked just north of the Cash Store. We’re set.”

“The Olds is leaving the Cash Store now. Two occupants inside. We’re headed south on Gateway.

“Bravo, this is Tango. I’m about ten blocks down on West Chester.”

“Copy, Tango. They’re all yours.”

“They’ve got a brake light out. Want me to pull’em over?” Tango asked.

“Not on the main street. Wait till they turn off,” Patterson instructed Tango.

“Your wish is my command,” Tango joked. “The Olds is turning off into Cedar Park.” 

“Poppa, you block off the other exit. We’ll take ‘em in the park.”

The Olds pulled off into a secluded picnic area. Tango kept a safe distance until he was sure they were parked. The overgrown bushes hid his vehicle from view. After a few minutes, he was confident the occupants of the Olds were not aware of the team. He radioed Patterson, “I’m in position.”

“Poppa, come in from your direction. Bravo, keep a safe distance back unless things go sideways. I’m directly behind you. You’ve got the green light, Tango.” Patterson finished giving instructions to each team and leaned back against the headrest with a sigh. Another job well done for his team.

Smooth sailing.

Tango flipped on the lights; sirens would draw too much attention. Putting his vehicle in gear, he approached the Olds and parked directly behind it.

Exiting the SUV, Tango strode to the driver’s side of the car. Two other officers approached the vehicle on the passenger side. One stood at the rear corner, and the other positioned himself a few feet behind him.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Tango bent over and peered into the car. The back seat was littered with empty beer cans.  A skunky, burnt smell assaulted his nostrils.”Looks like you’ve been having a party.”

Shorty opened the passenger door and climbed out. He flicked the blunt away from the car. Burping loudly, he gave the officers a pathetic grin. “Did you come to party?”

“Get back in the car, sir.” The blank stare of the first officer did not affect Shorty.

“We’re not doing anything wrong. I don’t see any badges, so I don’t have to listen to you.”

Tango reached for his badge at the same time Paco yelled at Shorty, “Just shut up, Shorty. Do what they say.” 

“Naw, what they going to do? Ain’t no crime to smoke a little to relax, now is there?”

“Sir, please get back in the car.” The first officer moved closer to Shorty. The second one drew his gun.

“Oh, look, Paco, the tough guy’s going to shoot me. Go ahead, shoot me over a blunt.”

“Shut up!” Paco took a deep breath. “Shorty, get in the car.”

Shorty considered Paco’s request, took one step toward the door, and then lunged toward the first officer. The officer sidestepped, and Shorty tumbled to the ground, spewing a chain of curse words. A short scuffle ensued before Shorty was wearing a new set of bracelets.

Tango shook his head. “Sorry, bud. Guess your friend sealed your fate. Would you step out of the car, please?”

Paco did as asked. “We weren’t disturbing anyone. I’m sorry, my friend is an idiot.”

A voice from the other side of the car responded. “So am I.” He held up a cellophane bag filled with packets of marijuana and another with white powder packets. “Looks like intent to me.”

“Patterson, subjects have been detained. Add assaulting a federal officer and possession with intent to sell to their rap sheet.” 

“Read them their rights. Nice job!” Patterson didn’t want to gloat, but it wasn’t noon yet, and his team had wrapped up the first arrest.

After placing Shorty and Paco in separate vehicles, the team headed back to Cobdon.

************

Two young boys straddled their bikes and waited for the big rig, pumping their arms up and down. The driver accommodated their enthusiasm and blasted his air horn several times. Their excited hoots drifted across the Love’s Truck Stop parking lot.

A couple shared their lunch on the tailgate of a red pickup truck loaded with bales of hay. Underneath the branches of an oak tree, a lone biker tinkered with his Harley engine.  Another Harley registered to Spider Malone was parked a few feet away. Inside the cab of a Walmart eighteen-wheeler, two other FBI agents watched and waited. Spinello and two agents devoured their juicy burgers and fries while discreetly keeping Spider and his female companion in their line of sight. The team was in place.

A family size plate of quesadillas, tacos, and spicy chicken wings filled the center of Spider’s table. Off to the side sat a plate of beef and bean nachos loaded with luscious avocado, tomatoes, onions, sour cream, and shredded cheese. The woman, a thirty-something redhead, pressed her ruby lips together as she sucked the nacho cheese from each fingertip. 

“Oh, this is so good.” She smacked her lips. “Glad you invited me to join you.”

“Enjoy your lunch, babe, but I’ve lost my appetite.” Spider grabbed the bill and headed for the cash register. He glanced over his shoulder, praying she hadn’t followed him.

“Spidey. Where are you going? I’ve got a room.” Several of the diners sitting nearby snickered. One or two of the truckers even offered to take his place. She tossed the napkin on the table.

“Honey, I don’t understand.” She started to follow him, hoping to renew the promise for a wild and crazy afternoon.

“Cut her off.” Spinello clipped. “Don’t let her get out that door.”

“How am I suppose to stop her?”  

“Use your charm. Tackle her. I don’t really care, but don’t let her follow him,” Spinello ordered. “Heads up outside. Suspects on the move.”

Spider handed the cashier two twenties, glanced back at the table, and headed to the door. The woman was weaving through the tables, waving at him. “Spidey.”

The agent waited until she was even with his table. He stood with a glass of ice tea and smashed it into her. The contents of the glass splashed all over her white tank top. The cold liquid ran down the front of her. 

“You clumsy idiot. Look at me.”

“Oh, I am, ma’am.” It was apparent she had nothing under the tank top. Clumsily, he attempted to wipe the liquid off her chest.

“Stop it, you fool.” She slapped his hands away from her. “I’ll clean it myself.” Forgetting Spider, she snatched a napkin from the table and walked haughtily toward the restroom.

Outside, Spider cut across the parking lot in a brisk walk. As he approached his Harley, he eyed the man working on his bike. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled. Spider wasn’t comfortable with anyone being so close to his motorcycle.

“Everything okay?” Spider gave the man and his bike a once over.

“Yup, I’m good.”  The agent stood and turned to face Spider.

“You sure? Cause it looks to me like you’ve got a problem.” Spider snarled.

“Not me, but you do.”  The van pulled up alongside them, blocking the view from the restaurant. Two agents jumped out.

“What the hell’s going on?” Spider reached inside his jacket, but the agent caught his hand.

“Whoa, what do we have here?” He pulled a Glock from a holster inside Spider’s jacket. “An ex-con with a gun.”

“Who are you? What’s going on?”

“You’re coming with us for a little chat.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you or anyone else..” Spider started throwing punches, but he was outnumbered.

The black government vehicle pulled up beside the van, and the agent shoved Spider inside. Two agents loaded the two Harleys into the back of the van, slammed the door, and climbed inside. The driver hi-fived his partner and headed down Highway 43 to Cobden. Their mission was complete.

************

Ric took a deep breath and opened the door to the Last Chance. He waited until his eyes adjusted to the dark interior. The jukebox was playing. The usual gang surrounded the pool table. Nancy was behind the bar talking to Kate and Ruthie. It looked like an ordinary Saturday afternoon, except this time, it was anything but typical. 

Nancy watched the detective walk across the dance floor toward the bar. Her eyes met his, and a shiver ran down her spine.

By the look in his eyes, he hasn’t dropped in for a friendly drink.