1635:The Dreeson Incident

Chapter 59

Grantville

"I hate to say that I'm relieved," Preston Richards said. "But I am."

Ed Piazza nodded.

According to the latest reports, Bryant Holloway had left town in a pickup truck stolen from the Grantville VFD lot.

"Wes Jenkins might have killed him if he had caught him here in town. He isn't likely to go chasing him down, however. Not with Clara's pregnancy so far advanced." Richards sighed. "I suppose part of it's the stress. Cumulative. That's what the Reverend Al says, at least. There's been more violence in Grantville in the four years since the Ring of Fire than we'd have expected in twenty or thirty years, up-time."

"Considering that we've got more than five times the population we did before…" Ed started to say.

"Do you have any idea where he might be headed?" Nasi asked.

Arnold Bellamy answered. "Steve Matheny-that's our fire department chief, if you haven't met him, Don Francisco-says maybe towards Frankfurt. He was over there some time back. Stayed with Chandra's husband, Nathan Prickett."

Don Francisco frowned slightly.

"Surely," Ed Piazza said, "Nathan isn't going to take him in after what he's done to Chandra's sister."

"How's Nathan going to know?" Richards asked. "Unless we radio to him. Which wouldn't be the most prudent thing, right at the moment. Without a SoTF consulate, the USE radio setup in Frankfurt isn't exactly confidential. Or reliable, for that matter."

"Additionally," Don Francisco said, "according to information I have obtained, it would appear that the man is carrying potentially important evidence with him. He was observed, on the way out of town, loading packets of papers into the truck."

"Dare I ask observed where, and by whom?" Arnold asked.

"Preferably not. But it would be desirable to get the papers back. Based on information received, some of them may well be pertinent to the trial of the various hooligans the police rounded up after the demonstration at Leahy Medical Center."

"What can he be planning to do with them?" Ed Piazza asked.

"At present, of course, we don't know. He might be trying to return them to Dumais. It is possible that he intends to try to use the material to make a plea bargain of some kind. Or, or course, he simply may not be thinking clearly."

Those who were sitting in on the meeting purely in the capacity of providers of miscellaneous factual information tried not to wiggle and twist on their chairs.

"How long do you think they're going to be looking at it from all the angles?" Missy asked at coffee break.

"For a long, long time, the way things are going. I must say that when Mike Stearns is around, things get decided faster than when he isn't." Ron grinned.

"It seems to me," Missy said, "that when you narrow down what they're saying, they'd be willing to do without Bryant, since he was sort of peripheral, but they really would like the papers that Pam saw him picking up behind Veda Mae's house."

Ron nodded. That seemed to be the essence of it. "Is there any reason that we can't chase him down and get them? Don Francisco is probably pretty much right that he's heading for Frankfurt. Even if he isn't, pickup trucks are still noticeable in rural Thuringia."

He didn't want to hear himself say that. It was the kind of thing that Giovanna's father had been prone to say, down in Italy. Very Marcoli-ish.

"Chase him down? What can we use to chase a pickup?" Then Missy's mouth formed into an "Oh."

"Are you game?"

Missy took a deep breath. Time to take a risk. "As long as I'm going with you."

"They're fueled up," Denise said. "And the sidecars have gas cans, as many as I could fit in."

"If we run short," Ron said, "we should be able to get more gas in Erfurt. I hope. Plus in Fulda and Frankfurt."

Denise shook her head. "If he's actually going to Frankfurt. You're not going to be able to get more in Podunksdorf, so keep an eye on your supplies. You don't want to be pushing these babies home. Some oil. A toolkit."

"Be careful not to overbalance," Minnie said seriously. Neither Ron nor Missy had a lot of experience with the sidecars yet, especially not on unimproved roads.

"I called Pam," Missy said, "and begged a really big favor of her. To let Mom and Dad know where I've gone after we're well out of town. And tell Mrs. Bolender and Marietta that I need to take a few days for a family emergency. And to tell Cory Joe."

"The joys of true friendship," Denise said.

"Do you need to check in with anyone?" Missy asked Ron.

"I called Fischer at the Farbenwerke and told him to hold three or four upcoming things until I get back. Otherwise, no." Ron looked a little startled. "I, uh, don't have to ask anybody if I can go. I, ah, still consult with Edelman on marketing, of course; he knows more than I do in that field. And if I wanted to do something radical like change a whole product line, Dad and Magda and my brothers would have to vote their shares and I'd have to persuade them, in order to get a majority. Like I did when Bill and I wanted to add the Whatever Works project. Otherwise… Well, actually, I'm the boss."

Missy looked at him, even more startled than he was.

"I like the lab work, but I don't know it the way Dad does. It would take years to master all that, I don't have any special talent for it, and I don't really need to. Just as long as I understand what's going on. Someone like Bill belongs in the lab, over at the school, learning, or at Lothlorien, working. He shouldn't be spending his time worrying about resource allocation and stuff like that."

"I get it," Missy said. "That's why we've been spending so much time on records systems and such."

"You see," he said. "A business isn't something like the technical stuff you're learning at the libraries, or studying to be a doctor, or even a pastor, like Gerry. It's a different kind of thing. Management, I mean. Once you have a normal, basic education, either you can do it or you can't. And it seems like I can. So I do. It's not very glamorous, but it's the least I can do for the people who are actually accomplishing some real work. It feels a little odd, considering that a year and a half ago I was still checking in with Dad and Magda if I wanted to go somewhere in the evening. But these things happen."

"What do you think?" Minnie asked.

"Honest? I wouldn't put it past them to get into trouble," Denise answered. "I think we ought to go after them. Four heads are better than two. We have Daddy's hog."

That had slipped a lot of people's minds. After the events of March fourth, the police had duly returned Buster's motorcycle, which had been only slightly damaged, to Christin. Minnie and Denise had since repaired whatever damage there was. It never hurt to have a spare on hand.

"Especially," Minnie said, "since I don't think they remembered to take any serious weapons. Missy hardly ever carries a gun, except at work. All the librarians have to be armed when they're on duty, of course. And she didn't ask us for a loaner before they left."

They stood for a minute, meditating upon this serious omission.

"You're right," Minnie said. "We'd better go after them. From what we heard in Clara's office, this Holloway guy seems like a real freak. I'm not sure they can handle him."

"Not to mention," Denise added, "that he's one of the guys I promised Daddy that I'd take care of. At his funeral."

"Do we check with Mrs. Dreeson and Mrs. Wiley first? The mentors?"

"No way. We want to go, don't we?" Denise paused. "They'll want to know why we can't be more like Annalise and Idelette. Sometimes those two models of perfect young-ladylike behavior piss me off, even at second hand. If Mrs. Dreeson and Mrs. Wiley had any idea some of the things those two get up to while they're looking like butter wouldn't melt in their mouths, they'd freak out. I'll tell Mom, though. She can call Benny later and tell him not to worry." She paused again. "Mom has her head screwed on straight about things like this. What does Mrs. Johnson in home economics call them?"

"Priorities," Minnie said. "Your mother has a pretty good grip on what's a priority and what's not."

Before they left, Denise got the M-1 carbine her father had bought for as a hunting rifle a few years earlier. It was a powerful enough gun for deer hunting while being small enough for a girl her size to handle-and, best of all under the current circumstances, it was easy enough to carry on a motorcycle.

After loading her jacket pockets with extra ammunition, she handed the carbine to Minnie, who'd be riding in the sidecar. Minnie held the weapon the way she'd have held an ax or a hoe. Solidly gripped, of course-not the sort of thing you want to see flying loose-but not as if it were really a weapon. She'd never handled guns as a kid, and now with only one eye she didn't see any point to learning.