I felt completely silly now.
I continued to feel silly all the way through coffee, my shower, and getting dressed. Driving to the Sparta, the feeling of silliness gave way to mild gaiety, and by the time I walked into the restaurant and located Barb’s table, I was dangerously close to whimsical.
That all came to a crashing halt when I sat down and Barb spoke.
5
“Did you give them the map?”
I felt the blood drain from my face. She couldn’t have said what I thought she’d said. I sat down and asked her to repeat the question. Leaning forward, she nailed me to the spot with her piercing green eyes and said: “Did you give them the map?” Shit, shit, shit. “Did I give who what map?” “Don’t be cute with me. Answer the question.” My heart pounded. “How did you know?” She sat back, sighed, and reached for her coffee. “The mayor told me.”
“The mayor? How the hell did he—”
“Did you give it to them?”
“First of all, if you know who ‘they’ are, could you let me in on it? We didn’t exchange many pleasantries so introductions were just sort of skipped over, and second, yes, I gave it to them—or, rather, they took it after I told them where it was. And by the way, one of them was choking me at the time, then he gave me a shot to knock me out. And for the record, Counselor, they somehow managed to get in and out of my apartment without breaking any locks or windows, which prompts me to ask: Jee-zus, Barb, what’s going on?” She opened the menu and began perusing the selections. “I’m not sure.” I stared. “You never could lie worth a damn.” She shrugged. “Have it your way.”
I reached over and pulled down the menu she was holding. “Is this what was so important? That stupid map? You could have asked about that in the message and had me call you back.”
“No, this isn’t just about the map—though that’s part of it. Don’t ask me how you managed to do it, Prince Charming, but you’ve gotten some very powerful people upset with you.”
“What powerful people?”
“Powerful enough that the both the mayor and chief of police are scared of them. Beyond that, I honestly don’t know, okay?” The waitress came to our table and poured coffee, took Barb’s order, then asked what I’d like to have. “I just have time for coffee,” I said, looking at my watch. Barb said, “You’ve got time for breakfast.” “I have to be at the coroner’s office by nine.”
She shook her head. “Not today, you don’t. Today, you have a new community service assignment. Now order some real food. I’m guessing your diet still consists of whatever pre-packaged trans-fatty caloric nightmare you can toss into a microwave. Hopefully some real cooking won’t send your system into cataleptic shock.”
I ordered my breakfast and the waitress left us with a bright smile.
“Why am I here, Barb?”
“The mayor didn’t call just me, he also called the coroner and Judge Banks. I spoke with Banks this morning before I came here.” She produced a thick envelope from her briefcase and tossed it on the table. “This would be for you.”
Inside was a Triple-A TripTik, a sheet of paper with street directions, an address, and a phone number written on it, as well as three hundred dollars in fifties and a cashier’s check made out to me in the sum of one thousand dollars.
“What gives? Is this check for real?”
Barb added some sugar to her coffee. “Yes, it’s for real—in fact, you can waltz your ass over to the Park National Bank right after breakfast and cash it—if you agree to the offer I’ve been authorized to make to you.”
“Which is…?”
“How would you like to have your record wiped clean and fulfill all your required community service time over the next couple of days?” I almost laughed. “Who do I have to kill?” She blanched. “That’s not funny.” “Sorry.”
Barb stared at me for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. Guess I’m a little grouchy this morning.”
“Apology accepted. Now, I believe there was something said at the outset about an offer…?”
“It turns out Miss Driscoll does have some family, and they’d like to bury her in the family plot, and they’d like her body to be driven home as soon as possible. So here’s the off—you’re way ahead of me, aren’t you?”
I lifted the envelope. “I drive her body home, and when I get back my record is clean and my community service time is done, right?”
She nodded. “And you’ll be two thousand dollars richer.”
“Two? But the check’s for—”
“I know how much the check is for, thank you, I’m the one who had it drawn up. You’ll be given another one just like it when you get back. If you accept the offer, you’ll have to leave today. The family wants her there by tomorrow afternoon.”
I checked the directions and the TripTik. “This is an 18-hour drive. And that’s if you go at it without having to stop.”
“So you stop for gas and food when you need to, and a motel when you get tired. The cash is to cover your travel expenses.”
“Just pull into my friendly Motel 6 with a stiff in the back of my car? You gotta be kidding! How am I supposed to explain a dead body if I get pulled over by the cops?”
She produced another envelope from her briefcase. “This is what’s called a Federal Remains Transportation Permit. Don’t be surprised if you’ve never heard of it, these aren’t issued very often. It allows whomever is in possession of it to transport readied remains across however many state lines necessary in order to reach its intended place of interment.”
I looked at her, blinked, then said: “In English?”
“It’s a permission slip from the Federal Marshal’s Office saying that it’s okay for you, and Average Joe, to be driving a burial-ready stiff halfway across the country so the family can give it a proper funeral.”
“Oh.”
“There’s usually a hell of a lot more paperwork to deal with when something like this has to be done, but Miss Driscoll’s family evidently has a lot of pull in Washington. Neither the mayor nor the police chief would tell me who called them, or what was said, but to give you some idea of just how important someone has to be in order to rate one of these puppies, out of all the FRTPs issued since 1945, counting the one you’re looking at—and there haven’t been as many issued as you would think—one of them was to Eleanor Roosevelt so she could take FDR’s body home by train.”
“…holy shit.”
“Tell me about it. I don’t know who Miss Driscoll was, but her family has enough power to bypass every inch of local, state, and federal red tape. You don’t say no to people like that.”
“What if I do?”
“But why would you? Think about it—this is a gravy job! You’ll be on the road maybe a total of two days, and when you get back home, you’re a couple of grand richer plus your record’s clean and your community service time is marked as fulfilled.”
“Who wanted the map, Barb? Who wanted the map bad enough to somehow break into my apartment in the middle of the night without opening a window or a door? They threatened me! One of them had his big-ass hand around my throat! They drugged me, for chrissakes!”