In The Company of Deceit

Chapter 10 - Moves and Countermoves

Reacting quickly to the confusion after the accident, Edwin extricated himself from the wreckage and slipped away in the dark and back onto the highway. He set out at a quick pace in the direction they were going, keeping his eyes and ears open for a possible ride. He knew the police would be called and that names and statements would be taken, and he was determined not to be there when that took place.

If the woman had seen the money would she report it to the police? Why had he done such a foolish thing? Maybe it would have been better if he had been killed in the accident. No, it would be better to get as far away as possible as fast as possible. Each time lights came toward him, Edwin dodged down beside the highway until the vehicles passed and he saw both the highway patrol and the EMS truck fly past as he lay beside the road.

It was almost daylight when he reached the next town of Nephi, having ducked a couple of times when the emergency vehicles and then the van sent by the bus company came back toward Salt Lake. Other than that there was no northbound traffic. He found a small diner that offered all day breakfasts and he took a booth, ordered food and tried to form a plan. His head was sore and he was dead tired but he forced himself to concentrate on his problem.

He didn't want to rent a car and the only transportation was the bus line or private passenger services to Salt Lake's airport. The former would be too risky after news of the accident hit the news and the latter would cost a fortune and be no less risky. As he wolfed down a plate of slippery eggs and fatty bacon, he decided to find a truck stop and see about catching a ride from one of the transport drivers.

The waitress, a middle-aged, seen-it-all, trunk of a woman leaned against his table and listened to his question about a truck stop, shook her head and went about swabbing the table with a grey dishcloth and stacking his dishes.

"Bus is your best bet, pardner." She said with a voice that spoke of a host of cigarettes since adolescence.

"The bus crashed who knows when another will come along." He protested.

"It crashed! Yeah? Where? I never heard nuthin' about that."

"Back outside of Levan. The man I rode this far with told me." He lied.

"Come to think of it I did see the highway cops and an ambulance go roarin' through here last night."

"So, are you sure there isn't a place in town where the truckers stop?"

She bumped a slab of hip against the table again and twisted a finger in her dull brown hair considering him. He wasn't a bad lookin' dude for a Mex, certainly better than a lot of the trash that came through. She finished sizing him up and came to a decision.

"I got a friend that drives to Salt Lake regularly. She'll be takin' another trip today actually. I could call her and see if she'd take you along."

"You'd do that?"

"Sure... well... I think it's worth something, don't you?"

Edwin looked pained. "You mean money?"

"What the hell you think I meant? Know what, forget it." She snatched up the plates and waddled off to the counter. It ticked her off that she wasn't actually hinting at money.

"No, wait! I didn't mean- I'm sorry if you were insulted. I would be happy to- to compensate you for your favour." The dishes rattled noisily in the kitchen tub and she dried her hands on her apron, leaning again as she contemplated Edwin.

"I'll call her and see what she says then we can talk compensation."

Edwin just nodded; he could easily afford whatever she asked for; his recent association deserved a large thank you for that.

******

Ralph Kew closed his cell phone and came back into the dining room from the lobby; phone calls were not permitted in the dining room. His source at the bus depot informed him of the accident the previous night and about the Provo Hotel where the passengers were being put up until they were allowed to go on their way.

Ralph finished his dinner, enjoyed another drink and then left to visit the hotel. His taxi pulled under the portico and the tired looking doorman helped him out of the cab and into the lobby. The desk clerk, brighter and more welcoming after a night's rest, leaned politely forward to hear Ralph's request, the fresh rose in his lapel incongruous to the checked sports jacket. .

"I'm looking for one of the passengers that came here after the accident, a Mister Del Darrigo."

The clerk took out the list he had received and ran a thin finger down the column, shaking his head.

"No one by that name, sir." He lifted a chin assuming an expression of polite tolerance.

"Did all the passengers come here?"

"We have five people currently in rooms reserved by the bus line." He slid the list across the counter and Ralph took note of the names. "I understand one man died, a Mexican gentleman. His friend is being held by the police. Illegals. The name the bus company gave us was Carlos Hateris." The pale eyebrow wiggled up and down. "Oh, and a young woman is in hospital; she was travelling with her mother. The mother is there with her."

"I understood that eight people were on the bus that left Las Vegas."

"I wouldn't know, sir. But then we have five here and with one in custody and two at the hospital; that makes eight. Right?" The tone was hardening.

Ralph frowned and wondered if the Mexican in custody was really Del Darrigo. It was not how he planned this job; it was supposed to be a simple meet the bus when it arrived and get Braddock's money back. He thanked the clerk and went back out to the drive, asking the doorman to get him a cab.

******

High Hat smacked the page of the newspaper with his hand and swore aloud. Two of his hunkies looked up from their card game and waited.

"Damn bus crash outside Salt Lake. The passengers are listed in the paper. That sumbitch Wireton was one of them."

"Did he get kilt?" One man asked, scratching his shoulder under a yellow tank top.

"No. Some beaner and a woman - he's dead and she went to hospital."

"So Wireton ain't kilt?"

High Hat lowered the paper and stared at his man. "What part of no didn't you get, stupid?"

"I jus thought─"

"I doubt that. You an thinkin' are a parody in the same phrase."

"I think you mean paradox, boss." The second man offered. "Parody's like when you satirize or make fun of somethin'."

"Did I ask you what the hell I meant?" He threw down the paper and stood up, puffing his chest and cracking his knuckles. "Both of you get your asses up to Salt Lake and you find that little prick and get my money back. You can do what you want with him but I don't want to hear of him again."

"That mean you want him kilt, boss?" High Hat glared, the yellowish white around his pupils tingeing red.

"Get this moron out of my sight, Mister Dictionary, and don't show your black asses around here if you don't get Wireton." He sat again shoving things around on his desk angrily.

"We'll take care of it, boss, don't worry." The big man took his friend's arm and pulled him out of the room.

"I jus asked a question. What's his problem?"

"Better to just listen to the boss, Arlie, don't try and make conversation."

"'S'okay for you, Boots, you got learnin' an all. I hasta ask if I wants to learn."

"You just do what folks says and you'll be fine."