Payroll by William James Johnson Chapter 15

It was early evening when they saw the highway sign indicating the American border was twenty miles ahead, followed by another which read "Persons entering the United States must report to customs". Until now, they had been the only car on the road. Turning on the lights, as the sun disappeared in the west, Silky felt more secure under the cover of darkness. Ten miles out, another warning about reporting at customs, stood out in the headlights against a black prairie sky.
Suddenly, the back of the rented Dodge came alive with the flashing red and white of a police cruiser in fast pursuit. Sandy growled restlessly in the back seat and Silky felt the energy drain out of his body and into his shoes. Instinctively Rona slouched down in the front seat, trying to make herself as small as possible.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"Police," said Rona. "Probably the Mounties."
"Jeezus. I wonder if those guys got loose and reported us."
"No idea. But we better pull over and find out."
"Yeah, I better."
"Do you want your gun? It's there, under your jacket."
"Hell no. Things are bad enough as it is."
"If you want, I can take a shot at his leg. That'll slow him down."
"For Chrissake Rona, forget the goddamn gun. Let me handle this my way."
"Okay Silky, but if he tries to take us, I'm fightin' back."
Silky stopped the car on the wide shoulder, and the cruiser parked behind them, its pursuit lights still flashing. They watched anxiously as a tall RCMP Constable approached, unable to see if there was another officer waiting in the cruiser.
"What's the problem officer?"
"May I see your ownership."
"This is not my car. It's a rental."
"Did you know you've got a burnt tail light?"
"No I didn't."
"You're left rear light is out."
"Thanks for letting me know officer. I'll get it fixed as soon as we get to the next service station."
"I'll just give you a warning this time. You wouldn't want someone to plow into the back of you. With only one rear light, it's pretty hard to tell at night if you're a car or a motorcycle."
"Thanks. I really appreciate you taking the time to point this out to us."
"No problem. Part of my job. Have a good evening."
The Mountie returned to his cruiser and turned his car around and headed back north.
"Holy gawd. Can you believe it? Chasing us because of a broken rear light...a friggin light. I was sure he knew about us. I don't have any idea how you feel right now, but I haven't any juice left in my arms and legs."
"You really come across as a cool dude. My hands are still shaking."
Silky laughed nervously.
"And you were the one who was going to shoot him in the leg to slow him down."
"I know. It was a crazy thing to say. Don't ask me why. Someone up there must like us. So far, our luck is holding out."
"You can say that again. Thank God he didn't ask us for our rental contract. Look in the glove compartment and see if it's there."
Rona opened the compartment and saw a folder in the dimly lit interior.
"It's a rental contract between Right Way Rental and Sergeant Broom of the RCMP."
"That's too close for comfort. Tear it up and throw it out, and hurry, those lights over there are on the custom station at Portal."
They had taken the long route to the border, staying on back roads where they would not be noticed. He had driven below the speed limit, stalling for time, hoping to arrive at the border crossing after dark.
A young custom's officer with long dark hair sticking out the base of his hat took his time coming to their car."
"I hope to hell he doesn't decide to search the car," said Silky, still up tight about his experience with the Mountie.
"Sandy will probably discourage that."
"Hi folks. Where were you born?"
"Winnipeg," said Silky.
"Fort St. John for me," said Rona.
Suddenly Sandy stuck his head between them from the back seat, and let out a low growl. His unexpected appearance startled the young officer.
"Holy cow. Didn't see him at first."
"That's Sandy. He's harmless. Lots of people have the wrong idea about Dobermans."
"You got papers for him?"
"Sure have." Silky unfolded the permit and veterinarian report and passed them to him.
"Drug Enforcement Agency? This dog used to work in the Agency?"
"That's right. I got him after his retirement."
He returned the papers.
"Thanks. The papers are fine...Where you folks going?"
"Las Vegas. We're taking a little vacation before we have to go back to school."
"Vegas!...I hope you've brought bags of money."
Silky laughed. "All we could get. No sense skimping on a once in a lifetime holiday."
"My feelings exactly. Me and my girl went to Vegas a year ago."
"How was it?"
"Lost everything, including my girl."
"What happened?" asked Rona.
"She's now a blackjack dealer at Caesar's Palace. Preferred the bright lights to settling down in quiet old Portal. Can't really blame her."
"Want us to say hello for you?"
"Hell no. That's all over now. But listen folks, I shouldn't be holding you up like this. You probably still want to put in some miles before you hit the sack."
"We really want to get as far as we can tonight. With only a week to spend, we sure don't want to use it up on the road."
"Okay. Thanks for stopping and have a great holiday."
"You can bet on it."
Silky looked in the rear mirror and saw him standing alone under the bright lights of the border archway, watching them as they disappeared into the darkness.
"Helluva way to spend your life."
"I thought he would never shut up."
"When he said we should bring a bag of money if we're going to Vegas, I almost choked. Can you imagine the stories he'd tell if he'd searched the car and found the payroll? Now I hope our friend Ivan will be ready when we get there."
"Maybe we should get a motel, and arrive in daylight tomorrow. If we keep going, we're still going to have to find some place to sleep. This way, if we can find an out off the way place, there's less chance of us being spotted."
"Good idea. Seems I remember when we went to Bowbells, there was a farm about twenty miles south that had a sign on the fence about having a guest room. How does that sound?"
"That should do it, if we don't miss it in the dark."
"It'll be on your side. There was an old buckboard standing in the front yard."
"I'm surprised you would remember something like that."
"Guess I remembered because it made me think of my uncle Henry's farm. I'll tell you all about it someday."
Fifteen minutes later they saw the eery outline of the old wagon against a dark sky. Sitting back from the road about two hundred yards, was a tall, three story clapboard farmhouse, with an antique lamp in the window. Silky parked out front.
"Wait here until I check it out."
A comfortable porch sprawled across the front of the house and along one side. On it were a homemade wooden swing and several rocking chairs. A couple of milk cans painted black were used to display dried flowers.
Silky knocked on the screen door and waited. He knocked again, and saw the door to the kitchen open into the hallway. An elderly woman wiped her hands on her apron as she came to the door.
"How do you do Mam. Saw your sign out front. Do you still have a room?"
"Indeed I do. Please come in young man."
"My fiancee and our dog are in the car. Any objection to us having our dog in our room? He really is no trouble."
"Certainly not. I've always liked animals. Go get them, and I'll show you the room."
He returned to the car and grabbed the suitcase and the money pouch.
"Looks real nice, at least the lady does."
"What about the room?"
"Haven't seen it yet, but if it's anything like her, it'll be fine."
As they came up the steps, the woman extended her hand.
"I'm Yanis Fuerny. I'm glad you saw my sign. It's kinda hard to see at night. Most people are past it before they know I have a guest room."
"Stan Howard Miss Fuerny. My fiancee Doris Fleming, and our dog Sandy."
"That's Mrs. Fuerny. I'm widowed. Just call me Yanis."
"Okay. Yanis it is."
"What a lovely home you have Yanis," said Rona.
"Me and Olaf would have been married forty years this coming October. Lived here since the day we got married. Unfortunately, he was killed in a bad tractor accident a couple of winters ago."
She led them upstairs to a beautiful master bedroom, furnished in early American Colonial maple, complete with braided rugs, and hand made quilt.
"This is wonderful," said Rona.
"Most folks like it. This was our room, but it's really too big for just one person, so I took the smaller room down the hall, and turned this one into a guest room."
"It really is a splendid room," added Silky.
"The bathroom's over there. I don't suppose you've had supper."
"No we haven't but I wouldn't want to put you to any bother."
"No bother. I don't like to eat alone. I was about to make myself a batch of potato pancakes, with real maple syrup. Think you'd like that?"
"Sounds terrific. But before we do anything else, I'd like to pay you for our room."
"No hurry. Clean up first. You'll feel better."
"Really Yanis, I would like to pay you now."
"Okay Mr. Howard. I usually get twenty dollars if that's not too much."
"And something for the supper?"
"Oh no. I'm just so glad you stopped. The supper's on me."
"All I got is Canadian money. Is that going to be a problem?"
"Not at all. I go up to Canada a lot. Got relatives in Flin Flon. Out here American and Canadian are a lot alike."
"Well then here's forty dollars for you."
"Forty dollars...oh I couldn't take all that."
"That's for breakfast tomorrow as well."
Yanis took the two crisp twenty dollar bills and wrinkled them intentionally.
"I always like to crease them like this when they're new, so's I won't make a mistake and give an extra one away. Feels like they just came from the mint."
"Yes. When I went to take out our money for our vacation, the bank had a stack of new bills."
"It's funny how holding this new money makes me remember something like this happening before. He was Canadian too."
"Who was that?"
"A nice young man. Polite. Clean cut. I enjoyed having him stay. He could tell such stories. The next morning he gave me a nice tip, and when I went to put the money in my bank, it turned out, he had held up a liquor store and the serial numbers on the money he took were all recorded. The police told me the young man had escaped from one of your jails in Manitoba. I think they call it Stoney Mountain."
"Well I can assure you Yanis, this money does not come from a liquor store. It comes to you direct from a Canadian Bank." It was Rona's turn to almost choke. When they left the next morning, Yanis Fuerny stood on the porch waving until they got to the end of her lane, then went inside and wrote down their licence number, just in case.

Download a children's collectible art design by William James Johnson at www.noozoon.com