Free Time Flying by Dan Garmen

briefcase at his feet.
    Oh boy, I thought, I’m in deep shit over our conversation yesterday morning in the car. Betsy went home and told her mother about me talking about “hummers.” The old response systems kicked in, causing my stomach to go hollow, anticipating trouble, but then my mind reasserted itself and I reminded myself when it came to trouble over something I’d said, this wasn’t my first rodeo, or even my first time through this day.
    “Rich, come in and sit down,” my father said, not unkindly. My mother was quiet. On closer examination, Mr. Sawyer did look grim, but now I saw the expression on his face wasn’t anger, but worry. What was this all about?
    I sat down, taking the only seat available, a dining room chair clearly brought in for this purpose. I looked around. Hmm, I thought, no blindfold.
    “Rich,” my father began, as soon as I was seated, “the gentleman sitting next to Mr. Sawyer is Mr. Powell, from AM General, the car company. He’s in Security.” I knew AM General, they owned American Motors, who made the Gremlin, the Pacer, fairly cheap cars. They were based north of Indianapolis, in Mishawaka, Indiana.
    I nodded, wondering why AM General Security, which I admit I didn’t even know existed, would care whether or not I had talked to a fifteen year old girl about…Oh, Betsy didn’t have anything to do with it. It was Dean. He had asked his father about “Humvees,” and…
    “According to Mr. Sawyer’s son and daughter,” Powell began, in an authoritative, almost Jack Webb-like voice, “you asked them about my company’s plan to build a vehicle for the United States Army called the ‘Hummvee,’ and we would like to know how you came upon this information.” His gaze was direct and unwavering.
    I shrugged, leaning back a little in my chair. “I’m really not sure,” I lied. “I read Popular Science, Popular Mechanics, Car and Driver…Could have been any one of those.”
    Powell was ready for this answer, and replied, “Any plans for a new Army vehicle are classified, and there has been no release of any information whatsoever. It is impossible for you to have learned even the proposed name of any such vehicle by reading any of those magazines.” His posture remained rigid, and like his attitude, unyielding. “So let’s try this again…”
    “No, we won’t try anything again,” my father interjected. “You asked for an opportunity to ask my son how he knew about some new vehicle AM General is designing…”
    “May be designing,” Powell said, interrupting.
    “Okay, may be designing,” my father mimicked, “and you got it. He told you where he probably read about it. Anything else?”
    Powell’s sagged a little, revealing an opening my father took advantage of. “You’re not the police, or the government. You asked your question, and I think we’re done here.” My father stood up, followed by my mother. The interrogation, not nearly as complete as Powell had wanted, was over. Mr. Sawyer looked like he was about to throw up.
    “Wait a minute,” I said, as Powell straightened after picking his never-opened briefcase up from the floor. “You’re here because you think I found out about the Humvee from Dean or Mr. Sawyer. I didn’t. I asked Dean about it because I knew Mr. Sawyer works for one of the car companies, that’s all.” I had everyone’s attention.
    Powell put his briefcase back on the floor and  nodded at me, indicating he was listening. I looked over at my father, who did the same thing, so I continued. “I was at the library last week, studying and took a break to read about Jeeps. I had a book open, something like ‘The History of the Jeep in World War Two,’ I think,” I said, figuring there must be a book with such a title, as I wove a tale of complete bullshit.
    “So, I’m reading, and this guy comes up behind me, saying, ‘you know, the US Army is getting rid of Jeeps, just like they got rid of horses and mules,’ or