Free Gone in a Flash by Susan Rogers Cooper Page A

Smithsonian isn’t just a museum. It’s like a hundred and fifty museums. Well, maybe not that many, but a bunch. Monticello was very nice – that’s the house Thomas Jefferson lived in – and took up the morning, then we had lunch at a cafeteria that was very good, but a tad expensive, then we headed to the Smithsonian. And that shot the entire afternoon! I’m not kidding! The whole baritone section didn’t come with us when we left the Air and Space building, wanting to see
everything
, not just the interesting stuff, and we lost a few more in the Lifestyles or whatever building – the one with Archie Bunker’s chair from
All in the Family
. I wasn’t really interested in any of that fal-de-ral, but then I found this building that had this big walk-in display of the dresses worn by the first ladies over the years. Now that was something! Me and Rachael sorta got stuck in there, discussing the intricacies of some of the hand work. Who knew? Rachael sewed, just like me, and she didn’t need a pattern either. There was a bench, and we just sat there for the longest and oo’ed and aw’ed over those dresses.
    But by the time we were more or less through with the Smithsonian (and we hadn’t even seen
all
the buildings), it was time for dinner back at the hotel. I decided to go up to the room and get room service because, and I hate to admit this, I was tired. A couple of the other people my age also left for their rooms. Three hours later, Rachael still wasn’t back in the room. And all I could say to that was, ‘Told you so.’ I turned off the light and went to sleep, hoping, sorta, that she didn’t stumble getting to her bed in the dark.
    ‘I think we should call Mr Brown,’ Mr Jones said, looking behind them as Mr Smith sped out of Black Cat Ridge. He could see the cop car trailing behind them, lights flashing. This was not a good sign.
    ‘Shut up!’ Mr Smith said, trying to lose their tail by weaving his way speedily through the streets of the subdivision.
    ‘I think he’ll be interested in hearing how you’ve botched this whole thing,’ Mr Jones said.
    ‘You know I’m going to kill you, don’t you?’ Mr Smith said.
    ‘I’m calling Mr Brown right now!’ Mr Jones said, pulling out his cell phone.
    Mr Smith took one hand off the wheel, reached into his shoulder holster and brought out his Beretta. He shot Mr Jones in the foot before he dialed the first digit.
    Willis and Chief Donaldson met up with Morris, the driver of the chief’s car, about seven blocks from the Pugh home. He was standing outside the cruiser looking around.
    Willis pulled up next to him and the chief got out of the car.
    ‘Whatja doing, Morris?’ he asked.
    ‘Well, sir, I was chasing that white car, but then I lost it, but I think it was OK because it wasn’t the same license number as the one reported.’
    ‘Did you get the license number of
this
white car?’ the chief asked.
    ‘Yes, sir, I called it in.’
    At that moment, the dash computer let out a ping. Morris looked at the chief and the chief said, ‘Go on, see what it says.’
    Morris crawled in the front seat of the squad car. ‘Those tags belong to a white 2010 Ford Focus—’
    ‘So it wasn’t even a Taurus you were chasing?’
    ‘Sir, it says those tags were reported stolen earlier today at the Wal-Mart on highway twelve.’
    ‘So it
was
them?’ Willis ventured from his vantage point, still in the cab of his truck, but with the window down.
    ‘Yeah, coulda been,’ the chief said. ‘Shit.’
    ‘You shot me in the goddam foot!’ Mr Jones screamed.
    ‘So don’t threaten me, asshole!’ Mr Smith screamed back. ‘You’re not calling Mr Brown, you got that?’ He brandished his weapon at Mr Jones. ‘You got that?’
    ‘Yes!’ Mr Jones screamed. ‘I got that! I really, really got that!’
    ‘OK, then,’ Mr Smith said, settling back in his seat, a calm mist descending over him. He looked over at Mr Jones, who was trying to get his foot up in