“Look … we’ve been on the road for sixteen hours straight!” Wilbur countered as he loosened his tie and took his ID badge off and threw it on the dashboard. “I don’t care if we are making double time right now. I need a break.” Toby gave him a look that let Wilbur know his ploys to gain sympathy were a waste of time. Seeing that he was making no headway with his partner, he threw up his hands in compromise. “Look! I just wanna have a couple of beers and unwind. Swipe a point or two across some stripper’s PDC and we’ll be off to a motel. Fair enough?”
Toby didn’t even give him the courtesy of a reply. What could he do? The man had seniority. As such, he technically outranked him and was the officer in charge. With a frustrated sigh of resignation, he simply folded his arms defiantly across his chest and settled back into his seat.
“Shit like this is the reason people get replaced by robots!” he grumbled. “At least check the rear doors when you get out. That isn’t too much to ask, is it?”
Wilbur looked at him incredulously. “What? You not coming?”
“Hell no! You trying to get me killed, asshole?” The ebony-skinned young man looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Whadda I look like going in some damned redneck bar in the backwoods of Alabama?”
“Awww! C’mon, Bro!” Wilbur waved him off, as he unbuckled his gun belt and let it fall back into the seat. “This is the Silicon South! Hi-tech rednecks and all that shit!”
“Yea … you keep telling yourself that! Have you actually looked around at this place? Looks like a goddamned Valhalla’s Warriors’ convention.” He intoned the name of the white-supremacist prison fraternity as he shook his head adamantly. “No sir! I’ll keep my black ass right here, within reach of my homewrecker.” Toby tapped his electronic rail pistol.
“Suit yourself,” Wilbur half-rolled, half-stepped out of the van. “If you change your mind …”
“Just check the back, shithead!”
Wilbur grinned his patented goofy grin, as he glanced toward the rear. “Be my pleasure.”
Toby read his mind instantly. He immediately regretted what he’d said. “I said check the lock! That’s it!”
Too late! Wilbur had that dull, glazed-over look in his eyes that told Toby he hadn’t heard a word he’d said. God! I’ll be glad when this assignment is over!
A minute or so later, he felt the whole van creak and the back end drop as Wilbur’s full weight entered through the rear door. Toby cursed under his breath as he reached angrily for the intercom button.
“Damnit, Wilbur! Get yer ass outta there!”
“I just wanna check on our precious li’l cargo,” Wilbur’s voice came back to him in a sarcastically wicked tone. “You should come back here and see this yourself!”
“Wilbur!” Toby knew that neither one of them was supposed to be back there. Neither one of them was supposed to even have an access code. The cargo was supposed to have been sealed inside, to be opened only by the team of scientists at the delivery point. Somehow, Wilbur had learned of the nature of the cargo, and through hook or crook, had gained the access code. Probably through another one of his relatives, Toby guessed.
“Seriously, dude!” A certain amount of awe crept into his voice. “You should check this out. It’s so frigid! God, I wish I had me one of these! I’d never leave home.”
“A grateful nation would thank you,” Toby responded dryly.
“Too bad only millionaires can afford one of these! They’re perfect!” Toby’s verbal barb never even registered with Wilbur. His voice seemed mesmerized. “Look at those curves. Those tits. I gotta feel one.” A sudden animalistic growl emanated from the speaker, and the whole van shook violently. “Easy!” Wilbur shouted, his voice portraying slight panic. “Calm down, you little hairball!”
“Goddamnit, Wilbur! If you don’t get outta there right now!” Toby snarled. “I’m cranking up and we’re leaving. I’m tired and I just wanna eat and turn in for the night!”
“Ok, ok! Chill out!” Toby felt the backend lift when Wilbur’s obese body stepped out onto the ground. A few moments later, he appeared at Toby’s window, grinning sheepishly. “Feisty little thing!”
“Well, let me grab your tit while you’re all strapped down with a feeding tube down your throat and an Anal-Vac up your ass!”
“Shame, too!” Wilbur shook his head in disappointment. “That stuff sure looks tight!”
“Will you get your ass in there so we can go? You’re making my head hurt!”
“I’m going! I’m going!” Wilbur turned and started for the bar. “Oh, and I sent you the access code … just in case.”
“Damnit! I don’t even want that on my PDC, Wilbur!” There goes plausible deniability!
“You just never know …”
“Just go … and see if they gotta burger or wings with chili cheese fries!”
***
“Whatcha think’s in the van, Paw?” Junior Tuttle asked his father as they watched Wilbur waddle toward the bar.
“I dunno, but whatever it is … it’s alive!” Gideon Tuttle replied as he turned up the jar of homemade Everclear, before handing it to his oldest son, Rayford. The elder Tuttle ran a leathery, grimy hand through his shoulder-length, stringy gray hair. If people thought he resembled some kind of Old Testament prophet, it wasn’t coincidental. Born the bastard son of a holiness preacher defrocked for molesting little girls in his congregation, Gideon learned the art of manipulation at an early age. The first lesson was a simple one. You can always twist the Bible to suit whatever evil you needed to justify. As a young
