'That's what Roadrunner's working on now,' Magozzi said. 'As soon as he started using probability equations, I checked out.'
Up ahead, the ugly glow of fluorescent lights seeped into the night and Badger State Feed and Fuel came into view. Harley eased the rig into an ample fueling area obviously built to accommodate semis, tractors, and sundry other heavy equipment, and before he'd even lowered the stairs, a wiry, sun-cured old man wearing a trucker cap that advertised Purina Feed ambled over, giving the RV a reticent once-over while he waited for the occupants to disembark.
Magozzi, Gino, Harley, and Roadrunner all clambered down, a motley group if there ever was one, but if the old man noticed, he didn't let on.
'Dutch McElroy,' he said, offering his hand to each of them as they came off the bottom step, as if they were visiting dignitaries.
'We really appreciate you coming back here to talk to us tonight,' Magozzi said.
'No problem. Gives an old man something to do on a Saturday night.' He eyed the RV again. 'That's a beaut you got there. Need to top off your tanks?'
Harley shrugged. 'Sure, why not?'
Dutch winked at him and unhooked the fuel hose. 'Thought so. Rig like this sucks down the juice faster than an Irishman on Saint Paddy's.'
Magozzi took a closer look at Dutch's bulbous red nose and decided he was speaking from experience.
'So, you boys are after some women who were in here today?'
'Yes, sir,' Magozzi said. 'Three women in a Range Rover. On the phone, you said you remembered them.'
'Not likely to forget. I may be old, but I ain't dead yet, and when three lookers like that come into a little backwoods place like this, you stand up and take notice, if you know what I mean.'
Magozzi decided to take the last comment at face value so he didn't have to hit a geriatric. 'Did you talk to them?'
'Talked to one of them-a big gal, real pretty, real friendly. She came in for a pit stop, bought some water and a few lottery tickets, and we got to chit-chatting about weather and such.'
'Did she happen to mention where they were going or what they were doing?'
Dutch shrugged. 'Not right off, but she was wearing some kind of dress that looked like a wildcat had got to it-I figured it for a costume, so curiosity got the best of me and I asked where they were heading. When she told me Green Bay, that gave me pause. This place ain't exactly on the way to Green Bay, and I told her so, offered her a map. She didn't take it, though.' He sounded disappointed.
'Why didn't she take it?'
'Said they weren't lost. Said one of her lady friends was from around here and knew where she was going.'
'She didn't mention why they were on this particular road when they were supposed to be going to Green Bay?' Gino asked.
'Nope. I wondered, sure, but I'm not the nosy type.'
At that point, Magozzi knew they'd hit a wall. Honest, salt-of-the-earth folks might make polite conversation by asking where you're headed, but they wouldn't push it further than that unless you offered.
'So these women,' Dutch said. 'Are they dangerous?'
You don't know the half of it, buddy, Magozzi thought, but he just shook his head. 'No, but they are missing.'
'Sorry to hear that. Wish I could be of more help.' He finished fueling the RV and replaced the nozzle while Harley peeled off some twenties to pay him.
'One more thing,' Magozzi said. 'Did you notice which direction they went when they left?'
'Sure did. They pulled out and kept heading north. Now, if they had a local with them, she'd probably know that there are only a couple good ways to cross back over east and head to Green Bay, so I'd take a look at those. Come on into the station, I'll show you on a map.'
The four men followed Dutch into the station and waited patiently while he took a new map from a cardboard stand on the counter and spread it open. 'These used to be free for paying customers, but now we have to charge for them. This one's on me, though. Doesn't make sense, does it? Back in the old days, gas was cheap and you got real service-we'd pump your gas, wash your windshield, check yourtires . . , plus you got a free map. Now gas is through the roof, nobody does squat for you except take your money at the register, and they charge you for maps on top of it all.'
As Dutch painstakingly highlighted roads with a felt-tipped marker, Magozzi's cell rang. When he answered, he heard the distinctive, prehistoric sound of coins being plunked into a pay phone, then the background noise of clinking glasses, multiple conversations, and country-western music. 'It's Halloran. Are you still at Harley Davidson's place?'
'Actually, we're all at a gas station in some place called Medford now. Me, Gino, Harley, and Roadrunner.'
'Medford, Wisconsin? What the hell are you doing there?'
Magozzi colored a little, still half feeling that he'd jumped the gun a bit, hoping that's what he'd done. Grace wasn't in trouble, absolutely couldn't be in trouble, and even if she was, she didn't need him or anyone else on some imaginary white horse tearing across the country looking for them. Grace took care of herself. Always had, always would. 'Making an ass out of myself, most likely,' is what he told Halloran.
'Women-hunting?'
'Yep. Roadrunner traced Sharon's credit card here. Last transaction.'
'Medford? That's totally out of the way . . , shit. This is getting weirder and weirder.'
'Where the hell are you, anyway? Sounds like a bar.'
'That's exactly where I am. I've got FBI ears all over the place here. Can you call me back? I've only got two quarters left.' He read off a number.
'No problem,' Magozzi said, then waved the others back to the RV.
The minute Magozzi mentioned FBI, Harley went into black-op mode and insisted that they call Halloran back on the sat phone. 'It's fully encrypted and trace-proof.'
'The FBI's monitoring Halloran, not us.'
'You can never be too sure with those sneaky sons of bitches. Besides, Roadrunner can patch the sat phone through the audio so we can all hear him loud and clear. It'll be like he's in the room with us.'
They all moved into the RV's back office while Roadrunner took his place at his computer station to set up the call. As his fingers flew over the keys, Magozzi tried not to look at the gnarled joints and crooked fingers of his hands.
Suddenly, Halloran's voice filled the room like surround sound in a theater. 'You there, Magozzi?'
'We're all here.'
'Uh . . , this is making me a little nervous. I'm getting this weird delay on the line. . . .'
'We're calling you via satellite. No chance this phone is covered, so don't worry.'
'Jesus. Cops get satellites in that big city of yours?'
'No, we're in the Monkeewrench RV. This thing has more electronics than the Kennedy Space Center.'
'I'll be damned. And I was excited because I just figured out my cell phone had a speaker on it today. Probably just as well you've got an alternative. That cell of yours isn't going to be much good if you go any further north.'
'That's what Roadrunner told us,' Magozzi said.
'Okay,' Halloran continued. 'Here's the long and short of it. This morning, we pulled three bodies out of a local swimming hole, no IDs. Our ME said it was automatic rifle fire. So we run the prints and nothing comes back. Next thing we know, the FBI snatches our sinkers right out of the state lab, and they won't tell us beans.'
Magozzi's brows shot up. 'They took your bodies?'
'Right off the damn slab, according to the ME down there.'
Harley folded his beefy arms across his chest. 'This is getting interesting.'
'That's just the start of it,' Halloran said. 'A couple hours after that, the cake lady comes up missing.'
'What's a cake lady''
