JULIENNE, IDAHO
                                                    MAY 3

Sheriff Jones was miserable on two counts; an ice bag against his aching head was doing nothing to ease the pain, and he had accidentally sat on his sunglasses on the veranda."Gawd damn it!" he growled, retiring to his office desk, "what sort of a day is this?" He groaned as Deputy Camano came in at a rush.

     "There's somebody at Rick's Bar who you should see, sheriff."

     "What the hell is it now, Amos? You know I have a bad head. Maybe you can get me a packet of painkillers from Marriott's Store." He glanced again at Camano, seeing the deputy's concern. "What's with you? You look as though you have a worse headache than I have."

     "You should come to Rick's place - now."

     "Why?"

     "There's someone there you should see."

     "Who?"

     "Come see for yourself."

     Jones reached for his Stetson. "This had better be good. After all, I reached my fiftieth birthday last week and I don't propose to get faster as I get older."


     Lucy Scanlon came over with another beer for Lennox and sat opposite him, noting his grey hair, with furrows in it as though he had used his hands to push it back. He had grey eyes; wide cheekbones; generous mouth; the deep lines of life etched on weathered skin. She thought him handsome, and said, "Would you join me for lunch at Duffy's, across the street? Say in twenty minutes?"

     The saloon doors swung open and Sheriff Jones swaggered in with Deputy Camano hanging back. Jones hitched his gun belt, glared round the bar, and noted Lucy sitting with a stranger. He took a long look at Lennox before striding over. "Hello, my little Lucy. You are still okay?"

     "Yes, thanks."

     "That's good - now will you run along while I have words with your friend?"

     "I don't want to run along, sheriff."

     "I said beat it, Lucy."

     She pouted annoyance, got up, face faintly red and went behind the bar. Two customers came in. She served them but had eyes only for Lennox and the sheriff.

     Jones sat in Lucy's seat and smiled at Lennox. "I'm Sheriff Jones, and this fine man with me is Deputy Camano. Mind telling me what you're doing in my town, mister?"

     "I'm just passing through, sheriff, or at least I was."

     "Meaning what?"

     "The young lady behind the bar has offered me board and accommodation for a few days."

     "Has she now?" Jones glanced at Camano, then back to Lennox. "Where is your home town, my friend?"

     "New York City."

     "Oh, so you're a dude from the Big Apple, huh?"

     "You could say that."

     Jones jerked a thumb toward the windows. "Is that your Pontiac parked outside?"

     "It is."

     "Do you own it?"

     "I do."

     "Have you its documentation?"

     "I have, and also my drivers licence, if you want to see them."

     Jones smiled vague disbelief. "Show them to me."

     Lennox did so and Jones studied the details. "You are James Lennox, huh?"

     "That's right."

     "You are James Lennox from New York?"

     "That's right."

     "New York is far away; are you here for any special reason?"

     "No particular reason."

     "Just passing through, huh?"

     "That's right, sheriff. Just passing through."

     "So why stay at Lucy's place?"

     "Because Lucy says her ma can offer me a place to stay, that's why."

     "A sudden change of mind, was it?"

     "It was. I've travelled well beyond two thousand miles and I need a break."

     Jones studied the man who called himself Lennox, and knew instinctively that something did not fit. He also realised why Camano had called him out. He decided to prod the stranger and see his reaction. "Have we met before, mister?"

     Lennox drank beer, wiped his lips. "I doubt it. This is my first visit to Julienne."

     "It ain't Julienne I'm talking about. You seen familiar to me." Jones glanced at Camano. "What do you reckon, Deputy?"

     Camano shrugged. He wanted out of this. "I say he leaves town and stays some place else."

     Jones' eyes swung back to Lennox. "My deputy is right, mister. So how about doing that, leaving town pronto, huh?"

     "I've promised Lucy lunch at Duffy's."

     Jones' hands closed slightly. "Okay, take her to lunch, then get outa town."

     Lennox nodded. "Okay, sheriff. I'll do that."

     Jones pushed himself upright, pain throbbing his temples. "Just make sure that you do." He walked out with Camano and stopped on the boardwalk, gazed at the Pontiac, than at his deputy. "What do you make of it, Amos?"

     Camano took off his Stetson; used it to fan his face. "I'm not sure. I don't know what the hell to think."

     Jones went down the creaking timber steps and walked round the auto. Its  documentation was in order - yet, there was just that little...something. He rejoined Camano. "I say we let things be. If he gets outa town then there's nothing we need do."

     Camano glanced at the watch on his left wrist. "It's almost twelve-thirty, sheriff. I reckon it's time for lunch."

     Jones grunted. "Ain't that just fine? I have me a headache at lunchtime! Okay, grab me a coupla bacon and egg sandwiches from Duffy's while I pick up headache tablets and sunglasses at Marriott's."

     "Is the headache still bothering you, sheriff?"

     Jones hitched his gun belt. "It sure is. Do you want some of it?"

     Camano shuddered. "No, thanks, I've had too many headaches in my time."

     Jones watched Camano head toward Duffy's Cafe, remembering the severe headaches Camano had suffered - and the reasons why. 


                                    Tacoma, Washington.

                                               May 3

Tacoma Industrialist, Red Haskins, the owner of a '74 red Chevrolet unlocked and opened his garage, preparing to visit friends in San Francisco. He stood several seconds, speechless, and then cursed the Heavens, Hell, and anybody else who was listening. He turned to his aide. "What goes on, George? I have the only garage key. We have security guards who 'cuff you if you sneeze, and yet some bastard beats the system and lifts my Chevy!"

     "That's tough, Red," said George.

     "Tough!" snarled Haskins. "It will be tough for some thieving bastard! There's only one guy who can sneak an auto like this; and that rat is Tommy Wade." Haskins closed and locked the garage. George had high-ranking friends downtown at police headquarters and Haskins wanted use of them. "Check Wade out, George. Then have words with this security mob. Tell them that if my Chevy is lost or damaged then they should prepare for World War III." George pointed out to Haskins that Frank Rickard was in circulation; Rickard and Wade were a team long before Rickard did time. Maybe they were together again. "Yeah, check that out too, George, and if Rickard is involved - I want his hide. Oh, and while you're about it, hire a fuckin' auto so we can get to 'Frisco."


     In the Tacoma Auto theft Department, a folder, marked urgent and containing details of the stolen '74 Chevrolet dropped on Detective Mat Warlock's desk. He studied the data. Being aware of Rickard's release from Leavenworth, he knew that Rickard and Wade would team up again. Wade was an ace at stealing autos; so good that he still had a clean record. But stealing Red Haskins' Chevrolet was something else. You did not upset Haskins - for he had gold-plate connections all the way to the State Governor. A blunt instruction came with the file: find Wade and Rickard.

     Warlock, and a partner, acted fast and visited Wade's last known address. Wade had been gone several days, said the property landlord, after paying a month's rent in advance. "In advance?" queried Warlock. "Are you sure?"

     The landlord grinned. "Look at me, detective. I am smiling. A landlord only smiles when he is paid in advance."

     Had the landlord seen Frank Rickard?...Oh, yeah, that dirty child abuser was here. Had Rickard and Wade left together?...They sure did - drove off in a flash auto. Did the landlord recognise the make?...Yeah, it was a '74 red Chevrolet. Warlock said thanks and put out the word on Wade and Rickard: find them, bring them in. If necessary, make it an inter-State search.

                                                       ****

     The intense news coverage paid off, for small town sheriff, Bulky Thompson, picked up the details of the duo and the stolen auto via a local police news bulletin. Thompson had visited Broken Rock to interview Dan Buxton who was recovering from assault. Thompson consulted his notes. Buxton recalled a red Chevrolet calling for gas. There were two men. One man committed the assault; stole over one thousand dollars; the man, armed with a knife, had taken an old Colt 44 and a 9mm Smith & Wesson automatic pistol. Probably, they had headed east. Thompson reported his findings to Headquarters.

                                                        ****

     A '49 Buick sedan drove swiftly through Delmar High Street and proceeded east. Vic Henley stared after it, wondering why Charlie Singleton was not at the wheel. He turned to an assistant. "Did you see that auto?"

     "Yeah, it's Charlie's Buick."

     "So why isn't Charlie driving it?" The assistant had no idea why. Maybe something was wrong. Henley agreed and phoned Charlie's number. The line was dead. "I'll go see if Charlie is okay," said Henley as he climbed into a station wagon on the forecourt.


     Charlie Singleton was struggling to get up when Vic Henley arrived. "Take it easy, Charlie." Henley helped him to a chair; noting drying blood on Charlie's scalp. "Who did this?"

     "There were two of them," Charlie groaned, stroking Toby. "I was hit from behind. Next thing I recall is Toby licking my face."

     "They've taken your Buick, Charlie. I guess the Chevy outside is theirs."

     "Yeah, they wanted a swap. I said no chance. What did I want with a busted Chevy?"

     Henley noted the phone line ripped from its wall socket. "I'll take you in to see Doc Cantrell. He can check you out."

     "No, I'll be okay."

     "You're not okay, Charlie. There's blood on your face. You have a nasty head wound. Come with me, and then I'll contact Sheriff Dobie." Henley assisted Charlie to the station wagon, allowed Toby to jump in, and before driving off, took the plate number and model of the Chevrolet.


     Sheriff Dobie, fresh installed as town sheriff, made fast headway with Charlie after Doc Cantrell had dealt with him. Charlie, head in bandage, recalled what he could, but Dobie learned more from Henley concerning the abandoned Chevrolet. The auto plates matched a message of a Chevrolet stolen in Tacoma... Dobie passed on the details.