Chapter 27

Hassles of Protocol

Driving to Oklahoma Blue’s property takes a while. First you’ve got to get out of Seattle proper, which takes long enough. Then you’ve got to wind down long stretches of country roads which become progressively worse in terms of their upkeep. I don’t like the idea of being stranded out in the woods, especially after dark. The trees crowd in along the road and you can’t see a damned thing. If you come across a deer, or worse yet, an elk standing in the headlights, good luck swerving before you total your ride. It’s cold, wet and generally miserable out here and the very idea of trekking around in the dark trying to find a pocket of cellphone reception makes me want to whip around and go back home. Unfortunately, that is absolutely not an option.

After what feels like hours of cruising at exactly the speed limit posted, I come to a gravel road. There’s a sign reading No Trespassing: Violators Will Be Prosecuted. Of course, this is an empty threat and the bullet holes riddling the metal of the sign confirm that. Out here, same as it is in the cities, it’s every man for himself. Of course, the thing is, there’s fewer men per square mile and most of these men use four-wheel drive trucks. Big, mud-splattered monster machines that have rifles and shotguns hanging in the rear windows of their cabs. Law enforcement officers are few and far between out here so if you’re in need of assistance, hope you don’t mind being aided by a permanently drunk former logger. Maybe I’m exaggerating, but I doubt it.

Though this isn’t my turn-off, adrenaline seeps into my bloodstream. It’s not far from where I’m headed, another unmarked gravel road. Logging companies used to own many of these vast tracts of wilderness so they created these gravel roads to make harvesting the timber easier. I’d never be able to know which of these roads to nowhere I’m supposed to take, but I do know what I’m looking for: a Folgers coffee can sitting alongside the road I’m on. When I see this can then I know that I’m two turn-offs away from where I need to be. I pull over and pick that empty can up because I’ll need it to prove I’m the man Oklahoma Blue’s expecting. Every criminal worth a damn has his or her rituals. This is his. It’s not always a coffee can. The time before this, he used an old hubcap. The point is for the item not to look out of place in its environment yet serve as a key to Okie’s hide-out.

After dumping the rainwater from the Folgers can, I cruise up to the turn-off I’m looking for. I haven’t seen another vehicle for quite awhile, but I know I’m not alone. As a Selachi I can sense lifeforms from a great distance and the fewer of them there are, the stronger their signal is. I already know how far I’ll be going before I reach Okie’s men. There’s at least three of them waiting for me, maybe more. I grit my teeth as I steer my ride onto what’s sure to be a hellaciously torn up road. In these winter months it’s not uncommon to see slices of road buried by mudslides or simply washed away in a flash flood. The trees seem to crush in on either side of the road as if they’re trying to contain its potential widening. As the car bucks and sways its way over the loose gravel, I struggle not to think about what lies ahead. I’ll pass Oklahoma’s men before I see them. That’s the way this game works. I’m coming up to them right now, in fact, my Selachi senses tell me.

In the rear view mirror there’s no sign of them until they turn on their headlights. Pulling over, my stomach does a flip and I get that same sensation of dread, so familiar. It’s the one I always experience when I see red and blue strobes flashing behind me. These dudes aren’t cops, but they’re the authority out here in their own way. As I pull over and cut the engine, I can hear the rumbling from their huge Dodge Ram behind me and though I can’t see them inside the cab from here, I know they’ve got their weapons trained on me. A single false move and they’ll open fire, I’ve been told. I roll down my window and place the can on top of the car so they’ll know it’s me. Next, I put both my arms out the driver’s side window, dangle my keys and drop them outside the car. All this must be done before they’ll be willing to get out of their truck, much less approach me.

Gravel crunches under their boots as they approach the vehicle, alert for any sign of ambush. I sense several more of them, one in the wooded area on each side of the road and a few more grouped up ahead of us, probably listening for any signs of trouble. Even with the truck’s engine idling and their noisy approach, it’s eerily quiet out here. One of them steps up to my door and opens it for me. He’s a medium-sized guy in woodland camo fatigues with a pistol in his hands. He studies me carefully, his face displaying no emotion. From his blond crew cut and close shave, I’d guess he’s been a soldier. Makes sense because those are the men Okie’s most likely to trust.

“Step out of the car,” he orders. “Hands where we can see ‘em and no fast moves.”

I don’t feel like responding verbally so I simply comply, standing up in the light mist of rain, facing the man.

“You armed?” His accent sounds Southern to me.

“I am.” There’s a part of my nature that won’t let me not return direct eye contact so hopefully this doesn’t threaten Soldier Boy here.

“Where are the weapons?”

“The knife’s in my right boot and there’s a .45 in the waistline of my jeans. In the front.”

He nods. “We’ll be taking those. Give ‘em back to you at the end.”

“Fine by me,” I tell him even though I find this whole process obnoxious since they already know me.

“Disarm him,” he tells one of the others, never taking his eyes from me.

Another of the men takes my weapons, but I don’t look at him.

“Have Roscoe check him out, then do the car.” I don’t think he’s talking to me.

My hands are hanging at my sides when something damp and wet touches them. “What the fuck?”

I can’t help but look. It’s a German Shepherd held on a leash by a lanky guy in similar camo. The dog growls low before he continues sniffing me.

“Might wanna keep still,” the first guy says in a bored tone. “Jerkin’ around only makes him nervous. He gets nervous, he’s gonna bite.”

“Not unless I fuckin’ tell him to, he won’t,” Roscoe’s handler says, telling the dog, “Search!”

“Yeah, and you don’t talk unless I tell you to, either,” Blond Crewcut glares at Dog Handler.

I’ve liked dogs my whole life, so being in their presence isn’t a problem. Thing is, a lot of a dog’s personality depends on how you treat him. I’ve been searched by plenty of K-9’s in my time and though most aren’t hostile, some definitely begrudge the human race. I imagine those dogs, same as some of those guarding drug dealers or junkyards, got made mean by being treated as if they’re furry robots who live only to serve. Roscoe here seems to be acting normal. He doesn’t know me from Adam, so growling when I act startled is natural enough. While we wait, Roscoe thoroughly inspects first me and then my ride, inside and out. I’m hoping he didn’t get too much mud on the upholstery.

“So where is it?” Blond Crewcut asks me once the search is over.

“Where’s what?” Damn these hillbillies and their cryptic communication.

“Brought us somethin’, didn’t you?”

“In the front seat, passenger’s side, there’s a Supersonics’ bag. Money’s in there.”

“Hey,” Crewcut looks over to one of his men, “Count that up for me.”

More time passes while I hope MadBlack gave me the correct amount and that these guys don’t have any issues with math. I also fantasize about killing them all and then stealing the weapons. Be easy enough for me to do.

“Ok,” Crewcut says after his man assures him that all the money’s there, “Boots, jeans, coat and shirt all come off.”

This is a new one.

“Why the fuck do I–” I begin before he cuts me off.

“You want to do business with us, you do it our way. Our way is to check you for a wire.” The bored tone of his voice grates my nerves.

“Whatever.” I do as they’ve asked, cursing the chill rain that causes my entire body to rise up in a riot of goosebumps.

“Drop the boxers to your ankles,” Crewcut’s telling me, “I’ll let you know when you can pull ‘em back up.”

I’d act offended, but right now I’m standing barefoot on sharp gravel in temperatures that hover just above freezing while a light rain falls on me. I’m mainly interested in getting through with this bullshit as quickly as possible, so I peel the boxers down.

“Turn around once, then pull ‘em back up. We’re not interested in seeing you naked, this is standard procedure now.”

I grit my teeth and do as they’ve asked. Probably got mud on the damn things in the process. Ride home ought to be real comfortable in soaked boxers. Damn these fuckers!

“Okay. Now we give you the clothes back. You get dressed again and then we’ll shackle your ankles and blindfold you for the ride.”

One of the men steps forward and hands me my clothes. I dress in a hurry, they bind me, blindfold me and then lead me somewhere away from the truck. They don’t want me, or any other customer, knowing the location of their operation. Another vehicle arrives and they have me step up into it, a van I’m guessing. The ride feels like we’re driving off-road over rough terrain, but I’ve got no way to be sure since I can’t see anything. No one says a word to me the entire way until we come to a stop.

The silence from the engine being cut creates a tidal wave of anxiousness within me. We’re here.

“Ok, partner,” an unfamiliar voice informs me, “Let’s go. Give me your arm and I’ll lead you in.”

They don’t need to warn me not to try anything. I curse those Knuckleheads for getting me into this mess.

Tags: Okie, Oklahoma Blue, Roscoe