The Road Home (23 page)

“Yeah, the hippie kid with the freak-o bus.”

“Freak-o?”

“Yeah, well, it was all painted and had pictures of weird guys pasted on it. A regular sideshow at the circus.”

“What do you have on him?”

Bull leafed through the ticket book.

“Here we go. The van had New York plates, 6S-5844. I ran them but didn't get any hits, so I let him go. He said he was a musician. He'd been in San Francisco, but he was on his way to join a band in Nashville. I…uh, I encouraged him to be on his way.”

“You mean you ran him out of town?” Bobby said with a chuckle.

“Well, sort of. He bent something in his suspension running up on a curb. That's the funny part. He did it to keep from hitting Jenny Springer, and I guess she gave him an earful. I sent him over to Dutch to get it fixed. Dutch had the van for two or three days. What's it all about, Bobby?”

“Dutch called me to say he had seen the Hershberger kid headed out of Apple Creek. Jenny Springer was with him.”

“Jenny? That's strange. What would she be doing with that weirdo?”

“I'm not sure. I know you didn't get a hit on the plates, but our resources are a little limited here. You said he was coming from San Francisco? Would you mind calling out there and seeing what you can come up with? And maybe check the registration on those plates again.”

“Sure thing, Boss.” Bull picked up his pad and left.

Bobby sat tapping a pencil on the top of his desk.

The three-hour drive back to Wooster had been uneventful. Johnny was driving, and Sal sat in the passenger seat. Sal hadn't spoken two words the whole time. Maxie was sitting in the back. He had also been silent, but the bulge under his coat spoke volumes. Johnny's thoughts were in turmoil. Jenny was clearly in danger, and he could do nothing. Suddenly a thought occurred to him. Silently he began to pray.

God, if You exist, I'm asking for Your help—not for me, but for Jenny.
She's in real trouble, and I can't help her. I need to get away from these men. Please help me. I don't know who else to ask
.

After he prayed, Johnny felt his heartbeat slow down. The beads of sweat on his forehead dried, and he felt a strange calm. And then he knew what to do.

Bobby was thinking about Jenny and what kind of a disagreement would make her leave Reuben and Jerusha.
It must have been a dilly
, he thought just as the intercom buzzed, startling him.

“Yeah, Jill.”

“It's me, Boss,” Bull said. “I called the boys out in Frisco and got some information you need to hear.”

“Come on in, Bull.”

In a minute, Bull came in holding a notepad with some handwritten notes on it.

“What's up?”

“I checked with the San Francisco sheriff's department, and it seems Johnny boy is a wanted man.”

“Really?” Bobby asked.

“Yep. He was involved in a shootout at a motel just outside of San Francisco about a week ago. I guess one of the residents at the motel was awakened by gunfire and peeked out his window. He saw a hippie van just like Hershberger's tearing out of the parking lot, and shortly after that another car went after it. They left a dead guy in the parking lot.”

“How do they know it was Hershberger's van?” Bobby asked.

“The witness just happened to be an ex-cop. He was able to describe the van in detail. He also remembered both license plates, out of habit I guess. Sure enough, the plates on the van were from New York—6S-5844. The other plates were newer but also from New York
—AX-3636. The van is registered to Ronald Hershberger of Levittown, New York. The other car—a Lincoln—is registered to Moretti Trading Company, Brooklyn, New York. Looks like our boy is involved with some bad people.”

“Bull, put out an APB on the van and the Lincoln in case they're still in the county. I'll call Emmett over in Stark County and have him do the same there.”

“Right, Bobby. I'm on it.”

Johnny drove into Wooster in the early afternoon. Sal finally spoke.

“Okay, Mr. Candyman, where's the dough?”

“At a farm outside of town. I only remember the street I came in on, and I don't know this town so I have to backtrack my way out of town. I have to go down Walnut and then out Liberty.”

Johnny turned on North and headed west. In a few blocks he saw what he was looking for on the right—the big brown building that housed the sheriff's office. He drove slowly by, hoping.
Bull, if you're ever going to be observant, now's the time!

Johnny turned south on Walnut and then turned left around the block, hoping to make one more pass before Sal and Maxie caught on.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Sal asked suspiciously.

“I turned the wrong way back there. I have to go north out of town on Walnut. Just bear with me.”

Johnny felt Maxie's gun barrel against his neck.

“Just don't try anything funny,” Maxie said.

Johnny turned onto North and went by the sheriff's office once more. As they did, a sheriff's patrol car passed them going the other way. Johnny's hopes rose, but the officer kept driving.

Then they turned north on Walnut and headed out of town. Johnny's heart sank.

Once again the intercom buzzed.

“Yeah, what?”

“Boss, you won't believe it, but our boy just drove through town. Tony Garrison was on Walnut Street, and the van passed him going the other way. It looked to Tony like they were headed north, so he went up to the intersection, turned around to follow them and called me pronto. He said Jenny's not with the kid, but there are two men in the van with Hershberger. What do we do?”

“Tell Tony to stay with them but far enough back so they don't catch on. Grab your cruiser and your shotgun and meet me out front. We're going hunting.”

Johnny drove slowly out toward the farm. He knew without a doubt that as soon as he handed over the money, Sal would kill him and probably bury him right there. No one would ever know. And Jenny would surely be killed too. Desperation grew in Johnny's heart.

What do I do now, God?

He was turning onto 585 when he looked in his rearview mirror and saw flashing lights.

His heart jumped. It was a sheriff's cruiser.

Sal put his gun in Johnny's ribs.

“Pull over but don't say nothin'. If you want to live and you don't want to see this cop dead, play it straight.”

Johnny pulled over and waited, but the cruiser just sat behind them. Then two more sheriff's cruisers pulled up across the road, and another roared past and took up a position in front of the van. Bull got out of one of the cruisers, and a smaller man who was carrying a rifle got out of the other. The two took up positions behind their cars with guns leveled. A voice came over the bullhorn from the cruiser behind them.

“You, in the van. Put your hands in plain sight and step out of the car.”

Sal swore and shoved the gun in Johnny's stomach. “Roll down the window.”

Johnny rolled it down and Sal shouted, “If you don't want me to kill this guy, let us go.”

“Bull, they have Jenny!” Johnny shouted.

Sal grabbed Johnny's head with his free hand and turned it so the police could clearly see his gun now pressed against the back of Johnny's head. Johnny closed his eyes.

“Back off, Sheriff!” Sal screamed. “We're driving out of here. Do what I say or the kid dies and so does the girl!”

“Throw the gun out and step out of the car,” came the voice from the bullhorn. The sheriff with the rifle took aim at the car.

“Okay, Sheriff, I warned you!” Sal shouted.

He pulled back the hammer of the pistol with his thumb. Suddenly there was a crack of a rifle and Johnny felt something hot zip by his ear. It struck Sal's hand, and the gun flew away. Sal screamed and grabbed his injured hand. Maxie leaned forward, threw his gun out the window, and raised his hands.

“Now climb out and lay facedown on the ground. All of you.”

The three men climbed out and stretched out facedown on the ground in front of the van.

“Lock your hands behind your head.”

Johnny heard footsteps running toward them, and then strong hands jerked him to his feet. He found himself staring into the eyes of a very determined-looking man. The badge on his coat said “Sheriff.” When the man spoke to him, Johnny could tell that he wanted an answer, fast.