Switcheroo (3 page)

Chapter
4

Kim and I were doing our best to
dance around her belly. If I turned her away from me a little and she looked
over her shoulder with her good eye, she didn’t look pregnant or disfigured.

Right then, Tammy McHenry came by,
carrying her tattered corkboard serving platter. She said hi to her dancing,
gestating friend. Kim introduced me as her private investigator, yelling over
the music that I was going to hammer Georgie for back child support. Tammy gave
me a quick look with eyes that had a child-like sparkle, but an underlying
sadness like she had just found out there was no Santa.  She was very fit and
pretty, a little vacant though, her thoughts elsewhere. I shook her thin white
hand and then she was off with her tray to kill more redneck brain cells, and
there were not many left.

“Nice looking lady,” I remarked;
more to myself.

“What am I, chicken shit?” Kim
snapped.

Damn, one dance and she was
already digging her claws in.  I did not envy Georgie if I ever found him for
her. Kim was losing steam after dancing with her pregnant self. The extra
weight pulled her small body forward into a slouch.

“Shut up and dance,” I said with
mock anger.  I dipped her and she squealed little. I almost squealed too, since
the added weight of her belly sent a jolt through my lower back.

At eleven thirty Kim and I had
finished our drinks and I promised to call from the office with Georgie’s
whereabouts next week. Since I was low on brain cells just like the rest of these
mutts, I switched to coffee. Kim excused herself so I could talk to Tammy.

Tammy came over to our table,
tossing her apron in a nearby hamper on the way.  She slid fluidly into a
chair.  She had on faded black jeans and an unbuttoned white shirt with a white
spaghetti strap thing on under it. I managed to start talking, in spite of
myself.

“Rust Stover, nice to meet you,
Tammy,” I said, doing my best Dale Carnegie imitation - How to make friends and
get laid more often. “I’m very sorry to hear about your ex-husband.”

“Husband, actually.  We were gonna
get divorced, but now we don’t have too. I guess things have a way of working
themselves out.” She said sadly. Perhaps other people who had wronged her
before had also suddenly died. Maybe she was a gypsy.

We passed a few minutes talking
about Kim’s situation. I found myself calling it a ‘case’, since I  was working
on it, although that implied I might actually get paid. I left out the fact
that I had not had a real case in about a year and had never done any real
detecting, other than spying on secret lovers for suspicious minds. I could not
think of a delicate way to introduce the subject of her unreasonable, or
perhaps reasonable, fear of being killed by the bikers who killed her husband,
Travis McHenry. It sounded like a Springer show theme. The direct approach is
best.

“So you think these guys that
killed Travis want to hurt you too?” I sounded like Cosby interviewing a six
year old. She seemed slightly taken aback, so I explained. “Kim was telling me
about your situation.”

“If they find me, they will
definitely want me dead if they cannot have my truck.  I think they might kill
me anyway even if I hand ‘em the keys.” She looked at me wild-eyed, showing a
little fear.

“What makes you think they don’t
already know where you are?” I wasn’t trying to scare her, but that question
came out wrong. Oops. Fear shadowed her face, interrupted from time to time by
flickering light from the mirror ball.

“Well, I’ve been careful, that’s
why.  Billy pays me cash plus tips and I’ve only been here for a week.  I moved
out of my trailer and in with Grandma Tuttle.  I have no phone number, and no
cell phone. Really, no one could find me easy.” She looked at me smugly,
waiting for me to talk. I was enjoying watching her delicate jaw move, barely
hearing what she said.

“Why do they want that truck so
much?” I attempted to arch one of my eyebrows intelligently, fooling no one.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” she said
quietly. “But this could take a minute.”

Her accent was distracting, but
then, so was the rest of her. I settled in with my shitty coffee to listen.

Chapter
5

Travis McHenry had married Tammy
Tuttle on an unfortunate Sunday about two years ago.  This shotgun wedding had
followed a brief courtship during which Tammy had been charmed from a barstool
by Travis. A lanky but somewhat handsome construction worker, Travis had
latched on to Tammy and actually wore shirts with collars and buttons to try to
attract her.

Travis had changed after being
forced into wedlock by Tammy’s bun-in-the-oven.  It wasn’t long before Tammy
realized he was not going to stand the test of time.  Even with a baby on the
way, Travis kept going to all the trashy places he took her when they were
first dating, only now he went by himself. They had settled into Travis’s
single wide trailer, but Travis seemed to show no ambition or any desire to
plan for a better life for his new family.

After Hannah Grace had been born,
Tammy returned to waitressing at O’Charleys.  Hannah stayed with Grandma Tuttle
on those evenings since Travis could not be relied on to be there.

Toward the end of their unhappy
union, Travis bought a used truck at Fast Eddie’s Auto Sales on Chapman Highway, a Ford Ranger.  Eddie’s had purchased a dozen of these in an off-lease
deal. Tammy liked the new truck so they traded her aging Ford Escort for a
second one almost exactly like it. One was black and one was dark blue. 
Neither truck had a lot of features, but both were in fair condition. Good
basic transportation, although not a very good family car, an opinion I did not
share out loud, since Tammy’s story was going so well.

The next weekend, Travis decided
he wanted to take the new blue truck out, since it was still clean from being
detailed at the dealership.  Tammy and the baby went to sleep without waiting
for Travis since he had been staying out later and later.  He came home about
four in the morning, drunk as could be and extremely angry.

“You can’t let me go out for a few
drinks with out fuckin’ with me,” he yelled, barely able to stand up. “Had to
come and check up on me didn’t ya. Real cute how you switched the trucks like
that. Tryin’ to mess with my mind?” He pointed excitedly at his temples, as if
there was anything in there.  He was crazed and Tammy had no idea what he was
talking about. He was in her face and Tammy was definitely scared. She ran and
got him a beer as an apology (for what she did not know) and prayed he would
fall asleep in his dingy recliner.

She had suspected he was cheating
on her but was too petrified of a confrontation like this one to think about
following him. Not wanting to push Travis’ temper, she told him he must have
taken the black truck by accident without thinking about it. She opened the
beer for him and suggested he relax in front of the TV before bed.  She went to
the trailer’s small master bedroom with its huge vanity tub in sight and lay
back down.  Ten minutes later she heard snoring mixed in with the sound of QVC
playing on television.  She went to sleep, relieved.

The next day, Travis had a
horrible hang over and seemed to have no memory of their conversation the night
before.  This suited Tammy fine. Feeling trapped, she was already trying to
think of a peaceful way out of this hellish situation. Travis went to the
construction site for a little over time and left Tammy to drop off the baby
before work.  When she went outside she noticed her blue truck was parked in
the gravel space farthest from the house.  She usually parked in the spot
closer to the door, in case it was raining.   While strapping the baby in,
Tammy noticed the truck smelled slightly of nasty Winston cigarettes, Travis’
brand. (She smoked Virginia Slims).  Maybe he had taken her truck. Maybe he was
on drugs, really losing it this time.

Several times the next week she
had the feeling that her blue truck was not in the spot she had left it in. 
She was very busy and trying to remember where she had left the truck in the
driveway seemed to give her a headache.

The next week it all came to a
head. As it turns out, Travis was cheating and the trucks
were
switching
places. Every night at three seventeen a.m., to be exact (the switching not the
cheating).

Tammy had me really lost now.  She
was telling me this with a serious, beautiful face. My slight buzz made this
all somewhat amusing but it was obvious to me that she believed these trucks
were teleporting, switching as she put it.  I was trying to feign belief, but
she could tell I was not convinced. So she started again

Here’s what happened. It was
Saturday night, a week after Travis’ drunken ranting about trucks switching. 
After eight hours at O’Charley’s, she had picked up little Hannah from Grandma
Tuttle’s and put her back to bed at the trailer before one.

Tammy awoke with a start at three
seventeen a.m.  The sound of tires sliding on their gravel made her ears stand
on end and her eyes locked on to the digital alarm clock before she got up to
run; three seventeen it said.  This unexpected roar of tires ended with a huge
wham as the mobile home shook on its cinder block foundation. She ran to the
door to see what drunk had slammed into their house, only to find her own
husband.  From the trailer’s tiny wooden porch she watched the dust settle and
saw two figures in her husband’s dirty black pick up truck.  The hood of the
Ranger was half way under the trailer, having smashed away the underpinning.
Tammy heard screaming and cussing coming from the cab of the truck.

“How in the fuck!” Travis yelled,
holding his bleeding forehead. “Ow, where am I!?”

A female voice that had also been
screaming, now whispered loudly, “Travis, we are at your house, you crashed
into your own house, you idiot.  Why would you drive here of all places?”

Tammy did not recognize the slut
with her husband and did not want to know her. It didn’t matter.  She knew what
the girl was doing with her husband and that was all that counted.

Tammy got even madder when Travis
staggered out of the truck and began explaining that the tramp in the halter
top and white leather skirt was actually Billy Joe’s girlfriend.  He was simply
driving her home because she was a ‘little drunk’ (at least the second part of
that statement was true).

This was when Tammy knew it was
over and she told him so.  Mentally, Tammy retreated to the safety of her
mind.  She tuned out Travis and the bimbo, who were both yelling again.  She
already had an emergency plan in mind. She would grab clothes for tomorrow and
go to Grandma Tuttle’s, taking Hannah of course.  She had a few choice words
for Travis and his cheap whore, with the even cheaper boob job, that Tammy
suspected she still owed money on.  It was toward the end of this cussing
tirade that she realized there was a slight problem- her blue Ford Ranger was
nowhere to be found.  It had been parked in the little gravel pad in front of
the trailer.  It was not on the street either.  Time for plan B.

Tammy really hated to wake up
Ellen Fairmont, the trailer park owner-operator. But Ms. Fairmont was the
closest ride available.  She was a kindly sort of woman, a little too kind
sometimes.  She often let her tenants run behind on lot rent.  She always threw
out the really bad ones eventually.  Tammy had rarely even used her grace
period, but now needed a huge favor.  Tammy asked Ms. Fairmont to give Hannah
and herself a ride to Straw Plains, a twenty minute drive, at 3:38 a.m. Sunday
morning.  Ms. Fairmont didn’t even dress; she walked out of her trailer in her
robe and slippers, equipped only with her cigarettes, keys and billfold.

It was very rare to get stuck on
Highway 640 at four in the morning, especially on Sunday, but there the three
of them were.  Ms. Fairmont was complaining that if they didn’t start moving
soon her old ‘85 Regal would start running hot.

As they inched around a bend Tammy
saw police lights and a tow truck ahead.  As they approached the front of the
line Tammy noticed a blue Ford pick up truck on the wrecker.  Tammy had Ms.
Fairmont pull over to the shoulder behind the flashing light.

“That is my pick up. It must have
been stolen,” She frantically explained to the wrecker driver.

It took several minutes of talking
to the wrecker man and two police officers to convince them that the truck was
indeed hers.  Tammy wanted to know what happened, how the car got there, and
why was it was being towed?  The wrecker driver told her it was parked in the
slow lane on Highway 640 and if it had been a different time of day, it would
have been quickly smashed by another vehicle.  Thankfully, a patrolman spied
the abandoned truck and stopped traffic until the wrecker got there.

“Who was in the car?  The thief?”
Tammy had asked the wrecker driver.

“No one, the truck was empty.”

Chapter
6

I looked at Tammy. After hearing
all this, I tried to give her my most thoughtful gaze. I think what really came
across was a pensive impression as if I had just been spoken to by a homeless
person.

“The two trucks had switched
places, don’t you see?” She tried to whisper loudly, over the loud country
music coming through the PA system.  She was leaning forward a bit, an
expectant look in her eye.

I understood what she was trying
to tell me, no problem. I simply did not believe her.  So young, so beautiful,
but tragically mistaken or possibly insane.  The death of her husband must have
driven her to delusions. I could not believe that Tammy found something that
Einstein had overlooked.

“Don’t you think he could have
taken both trucks somehow and only brought one back, or maybe you were correct
in your first assumption that your truck was stolen after you got home with the
baby? Or maybe he let his girlfriend use it?” I tugged at my beard and gave a
thoughtful look as I said this.

“No. I ain’t finished yet.  This
happens every night at 3:17 am. Every single night.  Wherever these two trucks
are, they switch places at 3:17.  It doesn’t matter if they are in motion or
sitting still.   We didn’t notice the first couple weeks ‘cause they were just
setting in the driveway and we were usually asleep by then.”

She sighed, somewhat exasperated.
I’m sure this is when Kim told her she was going nuts and Tammy feared she was
about to hear it again.

“These people who want my truck
had Travis killed.  But one of these trucks ain’t worth nothing without the
other one.” She looked away, drawing heavily on her Virginia Slim.  There was enough
second hand smoke in the air on a busy Friday night at Orby’s that the
cigarette seemed like a waste of money. Like a fish drinking Dasani.

“The truck is hidden now,” she
started again. “They don’t know where it is.  Every morning this week I have found
a note in the truck. They put a new one in the cab every day and I get it in
the morning when they switch. ” She pushed a crumpled sheet of paper across the
rough tabletop.

-
Leave the truck in the Sears
parking lot at Oakridge Mall.  We will take further action if the truck is not
recovered by 9:00 Sunday morning
.-

I looked her in the eye, holding
the note.  If this was a fantasy of hers, it was an elaborate fantasy.  Crooks
that wanted the goods now and enjoyed retail shopping. Meet at the mall?

“I’m scared, mostly for Hannah. 
If they find out the truck is out at my Grandma’s, they might come after it,
and us.  But, I really want both trucks.  Can you imagine what they would be
worth?  If I could figure out their secret and sell it, oh man. This could be
me and my baby’s meal ticket, see?”

Her doe eyes were hopeful. I was
stuck thinking this girl must be really desperate for someone to believe her.
She was desperate enough to be talking to me about this, a field investigator
who’d never done any real detective work, searching for his Maltese Falcon. 
Part of me was a little ashamed when I told myself I would humor this girl and
agree to help, just to see her some more.  That little ashamed part of my
psyche was getting its teeth kicked in by my libido. What the hell. I started
my spiel.

I told her that if we could come
to an understanding, that I would help her. For a fee, of course.  My mother’s
boyfriend is a retired nuclear physicist from Oakridge National Labs. He would
know how to squeeze some dough out of a discovery like this, if it was
legitimate. If it was not legitimate, I would try to make it somehow lead to
sex with Tammy.  I explained this to her, leaving out the sex part.  Then a few
questions.

“Who knows about these trucks
switching?” I asked.

“No one but Kim, and now you. I
don’t think Kim told anybody. I’m not sure she believes the switching part, but
she knows the people that killed Travis are really after me.” She looked at me
worriedly. “She was just tryin’ to help by telling you. You seem trustworthy. 
I tried to file a police report.  The officer they sent made me feel stupid. 
He said if both trucks keep showing up at my house, how could they be stolen?
Also, I don’t know who Travis may have told. We didn’t talk much after the crash
and it was only a week later he was killed.”

This was all starting to sound
like a bad Spielberg movie.

“I have to be straight with you,
Tammy. This is all pretty hard to believe.” She looked down as I spoke,
suddenly interested in her cigarette.

Her eyes flashed back up, “Come
over and watch the trucks switch, then you’ll see what I mean.”  She seemed
hopeful again.

I missed the rest of the sentence
after the words ‘come over.’ Then I came to my senses and started talking
business.

“If what you say is true I’ll take
the case on a contingency, thirty percent of whatever you sell the trucks for. 
If I don’t find it, I’ll bill you only for my expenses.  Do you want to put me
on the case?” I said casually, but I was actually very interested.

“Great, but thirty percent is too
much, even if it is a dangerous job. This could make me millions. I’ll pay you
… $100,000.”

“It’s all fiat money.”

“A hundred G’s could buy you
something better than a Fiat, at least a new Camaro or Escalade.”

What a kidder.

Tomorrow night, I was to pick her
up at midnight after work tomorrow and go over to her Grandma’s place the watch
the truck do its thing.  Kim was taking her home so I said good night with a
drunken wink and left.  I crunched over the gravel to the LeBaron, feeling cool
but wobbling like a March leprechaun.