The Gardens of Digby Green: Sequence
For a moment, Ray thought Green would take advantage of the proximity of the Denny’s restaurant for breakfast, but Green merged into traffic, heading west. Keeping close enough to track him on the business thoroughfare wasn’t easy, but after Green took the I-80 exit, Ray could breathe a little easier.
Acres and acres of corn, soybeans, and sorghum slid by, punctuated by power poles and billboards. “More hills than I expected,” he muttered. Ray fiddled with the radio dial. His ears caught some jazz, and he left the dial there, tapping lightly on his steering wheel. The rhythms and improvisation would keep him a bit more alert.
Green stuck on his westward course, and Ray wasn’t about to quit tailing him. By now, he had every scrape and ding on the Ford’s tailgate memorized. Ray squinted, and accelerated a bit. That wasn’t the same license plate he’d seen on Digby’s rear bumper all day yesterday.
When someone towing a piece of farm equipment slowed traffic in the lane ahead, Ray slid his phone from his pocket. Glancing at the screen, he shook his head. The battery was down to 17% power. He couldn’t grope in the glove compartment for Rose’s charging cord, not without taking his eyes off traffic. He’d look at the next stop light.
#
At 2:43, Detective Marquez’s computer chimed. A Wisconsin state trooper had caught up with the white pickup south of the Milwaukee city limits. The elderly driver, an Edward Warshowski, understandably confused, had provided the sequence of letters and numbers that filled his vanity plate. That sequence was now in Marquez’s hands.
“Blasted perp has done it twice.”
“What?” Sikes asked.
“He’s switched plates again. A vanity plate from Iowa, this time. Should be easier to spot.” Marquez shot a glance at the FBI agent.
Sikes grunted, and thumbed his phone screen, oblivious.
“Iowa plates don’t mean that’s where he’s going. Green could decide to head for Albuquerque.” The detective’s rapid keystrokes sent out the third B.O.L.O. on this case.
“He won’t get that far. My agents will see to it.”
Marquez ground his teeth together. I almost don’t care who apprehends this jerk, if it gets Sikes out of here. He controlled his breathing, unwilling to give the agent any hint of how deeply he was annoyed.
#
Digby stuck his right hand into his jacket pocket, searching for some chewing gum. Instead, he found the jewelry he’d kept from his gardening sessions in Roseland. It chinked pleasantly, but he could use the cash value for gasoline.
At the next place he saw that was big enough to have a pawn shop, he’d trade it in.
The Gardens of Digby Green: Sequence is an installment of a short story which posts on Fridays. You can find the first part and read from the beginning, here.
Find a link to purchase the Heartland Treasures anthology here.
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