Chapter Sixteen

The pink neon sign above Honest Injun’s casino flashes on and off as tourists and locals enter for some nighttime fun. In the back, behind a closed door guarded by a couple of Gofers, there is the voice of Mister Nickels.

“Okay. If that’s the way he wants it, hit him again!”

There is the slap of a hand and a few “Oohs” and “Aahs.” The Gofers outside the door look at each other in wonder, while inside the room, Mister Nickels makes another pronouncement, this time louder and more belligerent.

“One more time, eh? Are you sure you haven’t had enough? Okay, Running Fever, hit him again!”

Inside the back room, Running Fever’s hand comes down hard – and slaps a sixth playing card on the table in a game of Blackjack. The card is a “five” and one of the Gofers now has drawn to ‘21’ against Nickels ‘20,’ making him a winner. A few more “Oohs” and “Aahs” go up as Mister Nickels shakes his head in dejection. He has lost a pile of quarters. He turns his attention toward the outside door.

“Where are those two?” he wonders. “They should be here with the Colonel by now.”

Outside, the sound of a Harley engine is heard and grows louder, then dies out. An Underling looks through a small “speakeasy” door before opening the back door. There stands Willie, disheveled and somewhat distraught.

Nickels speaks to Willie roughly.

“Well, it’s about time you got here! Where’s Houston? Where’s T. P.?”

Willie replies, head down.

“Uh, uh. T. P.’s asleep in the sidecar. And Houston, uh. – Well, uh, well, uh.”

“Come on!” snorts Nickels. “Spit it out!”

Willie sheepishly replies.

“He’s on the bike. Sort of on the bike. There’s a Houston on the bike.”

Nickels is incensed.

“What the heck do you mean by ‘sort-of-a-Houston-on-the-bike?”

Nickels motions for one of the Gofers to go out back and check.

“Well,” says Willie, “uh, his last name’s the same. He looked like the Colonel. And...”

Willie throws up his hands, mea culpa style.

“... anybody can make a mistake!”

Nickels, Running Fever and the Gofers look at Willie and at each other, letting this comment sink in.

“They screwed up again, Boss,” says Running Fever to Nickels.

Willie hangs his head.

“Stick a fork in me, Mister Nickels,” he says. “I’m done.”

The Gofer who has gone outside returns.

“Boss,” he says, “he says he’s not Colonel Houston. He says he’s Dewitt Houston. He says he’s actually a doctor and nothin’ to do with all that C.I.A. secrets and stuff. It’s his brother who’s a big cheese in the Air Force and works with the C.I.A. That’s what he says, Mister Nickels.”

Nickels ponders this.

“C.I.A.? I didn’t kn-. C.I.A.? Oh, boy.”

He looks at Willie.

“Now I don’t know whether to be thankful you and that idiot partner of yours are so inept or to keep my intention of kicking your butts all the way to the Canada border!”

Willie remains crestfallen. Nickels just shakes his head. The Gofers, too, shake their heads, mimicking the Boss.

Nickels speaks to Running Fever.

“Go out and see how he’s doing. Apologize. Get him some food. Put ‘em up for the night, then have them get him to the ranch.”

He sighs.

“And they talk about ‘long holiday weekends.’ Boy, this one... ”

The returning Gofer asks, “What shall we do about his wheelchair, Mister Nickels?”

“Wheelchair?” wonders Nickels.

“Yes, sir. The Doc, uh, looks like he’s confined to sitting.”

Nickels looks at Running Fever. Running Fever glowers at Willie. Willie, head still bowed, peeks up at Nickels, who looks up at the ceiling and begins counting to ten.

“One... Two... ”

From the back doorway comes a high-pitched little voice.

“... Buckle my shoe?”

Everyone looks around. In the doorway stands T. P., still a little hung over from the injection, oblivious to all of the goings on.

Willie and T. P. begin their transportation of Dewitt to the ranch early the next morning, as ordered by Nickels. In the sidecar, Dewitt is quiet, but surveys the roadway, the spacious western terrain and the signposts along the way.

“Hey, fellas,” he shouts, “what say the next gas station we make a ‘pit stop?’”

“I could use a break, too, Willie,” notes T. P. “I need to go ‘Number One’ real bad, Willie. I can’t wait ‘til the ranch.”

Dewitt makes a mental note of this destination.

“Okay, okay,” says Willie. “Me, I got a bladder the size of that ‘Hindenburg’ dura-gerbil. You know, that blimp.”

“Oh, the humanity,” says Dewitt, dramatically.

T. P. soon spots a filling station. He points excitedly.

“There. There, Willie!”

The big motorcycle pulls into a small convenience store. It’s closed. Willie adroitly jimmies the lock on the cut-off valve for the gas pumps. He then begins filling the gas tank while T. P. accompanies Dewitt to the restroom. Willie calls out:

“T. P., make sure he don’t go writing messages on the mirror or anything. Check real careful.”

T. P. is ‘holding’ himself, needing to ‘go’ right away. Dewitt tries to appear casual, wheeling along easily.

“Okay, Willie. You can count on me, Willie,” shouts out T. P.

“Yeah,” says Willie to himself. “But apparently I can only count to two,” he laughs. “Buckle my shoe.”

Then he yells out, “Don’t fall in!”

T. P. relieves himself, then quickly checks the facilities before allowing Dewitt to enter.

Dewitt enters the restroom as Willie finishes pumping gas. When he exits, T. P. again checks the stalls and basin. All appears in order: No messages. Willie arrives and goes into the restroom and pulls tissue paper from the holder.

He says to T. P., “Oldest trick in the book. Stick a note on the ‘TP.’ Uh, I mean the ‘TP’ as in toilet paper, not... ”

“That’s okay, Willie,” says T. P. “I understand.”

Soon the motorcycle is heading on up the highway again.

Shortly afterward, with the station now open, an automobile pulls up to one of the pumps. A portly driver gets out and fills his tank, then heads for the restroom.

Inside the restroom, the gentleman washes his hands thoroughly. He grabs some paper towels, then some more. Suddenly, he stops wiping his hands. There is a message on the final paper towel he has pulled.

D. HOUSTON. KIDNAP VICTIM. NOTIFY FBI. HEADED NORTH TO ‘RANCH.’ SAFE SO FAR.

The man lets this sink in for a moment. Then, note in hand, he rushes out of the restroom and hails the manager.