Page 22 of Rocky Ride

J.T. didn’t take walk-ins. If you didn’t have a referral and know the code word passed along from a friend or former customer, J.T. wouldn’t give you the time of day.

Ray and Bobby walked into the body shop and passed two mechanics busy working. They pushed through to the office in the rear of the building looking for J.T. Turnbull.

Sitting behind his scratched metal desk, J.T. looked to Bobby like a retired biker. Long straggly hair and a lot of tats. Big stinking cigar in his mouth.

Nobody who thought he was somebody.

“What can I do for you fellas? Need a paint job or body work I can help y’all with?”

Bobby said, “I’d like you to help me with another problem I have, sir. A problem up in Winnipeg, Manitoba.”

“Uh huh. I can help with that problem, if y’all are willing to pay the price.”

“I can manage it,” said Bobby. “Heard from a friend what your fee was.”

After using the code words, they were in. J.T. got up and closed the office door and locked it. Sat back down in his ratty swivel chair, put the cigar in the ashtray and got down to business.

Without bothering to do any haggling about the price, Bobby coughed up the money in cash. J.T. counted the bills and stuffed them in his metal lockbox with a grin.

A couple of hours later, Bobby Prescott walked out of the body shop with a new identity. Ray didn’t need a new identity because nobody had ever heard of the old one.

Brentwood Trailer Park. Tennessee.

After a great day in Nashville, Ray parked the pickup beside the trailer and carried in a case of beer.

They drank a few, relaxed out on their back patio, and by the time the case was half gone, Ray had written a new song.

“Listen to this, Bobby.”

Ray sang his new ballad about living life on the down-low andwhen he finished, Bobby clapped for him.

“That’s a damned good song, Ray. You might be singing that one for Song of the Year at the CMAs.”

Ray grinned and toasted Bobby with his can of Bud.

Shiner’s. Louisiana Bayou.

Mason ate dinner alone in the restaurant and was grateful for a few minutes away from his prisoner. The girl could be a handful.

He brought a sandwich back to her in the cabin. He untied one of her hands so she could eat, and when she finished her sandwich, he gave her a bottle of water.

After taking her to the bathroom and back, Mason put her in the top bunk and tied her to the bedframe, so she didn’t have much leeway while she slept.

Before trying to get some much-needed sleep himself, Mason walked around outside the cabin until he found a spot with service. When he had bars, he called his client.

“Mason, I’ve been waiting to hear from you.”

“As it turned out, Mrs. Powell, it was not an easy task, but I do have Tammy now.”

“Is she hurt?”

“Doesn’t appear to be.” Mason laughed. “Hard to hold onto, that’s for sure.”

“Would you be open to bringing her as far as the Texas line, Mason? I can meet you there and take her off your hands. All I need is about four hours’ notice to drive from east of Austin.”

“Okay. That suits me, ma’am. I’ll strike off from here in the morning. I’m still on the river, but I’ll call ahead and let you know in plenty of time.”

“Wonderful job, Mason. I appreciate the effort it must have taken on your part.”

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