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“That’s him, Bonnie!”
Bonnie looked at me wide-eyed, then scanned the traffic in front of us. Her cloudy gray eyes seemed to clear up. “The Cadillac? Is that the one that caused your accident?”
“Yes. Can you follow him? He shouldn’t recognize me in your Jeep. Stay back without making him suspicious, but get us close enough so I can get his license number.”
“I will if this traffic would get going, Jake. Where did all these people come from?” Bonnie said, waving her hands like a banshee. “Why are they going so damn slow?”
Fred must have sensed the excitement in our voices, for he had his big head on our seat with his butt firmly planted in the back seat. He let out a bark to let us know he was in the game, too.
“I think Beaver Creek opened last week, but it’s a little late in the day to be heading for the slopes. There must be an accident up ahead.”
“Well, I wish they’d get moving or I’ll never catch up with that Caddy.”
I opened my window and stuck my head out to try for a better view. “Probably this way all the way to the Eisenhower Tunnel,” I said after closing the window before Fred could stick his head out, too. “I imagine they got snow up there, and someone who doesn’t know how to drive in our weather slid off the road.”
Bonnie snorted. “One of those out of state idiots, I’ll bet. They fly in from California or someplace where it never snows and think they can drive like they’re back home.”
“Tell that to the Donners, Bon.”
She turned to look at me like I’d lost my marbles.
“The Donner Party? You said they never get snow in California. If I recall my history, those poor people were stuck in it for months.”
“You know what I meant, smartass.” She was interrupted by a car horn before she could say more. Bonnie showed them her middle finger before moving another ten feet forward and stopping again.
“I’m never going to get close enough at this rate, Jake.”
“Not to worry, my dear lady. All I need is a clear shot,” I said, taking my cell phone out of my pocket. “If you can get into the far left lane, I’ll snap a picture of his car with my smartphone. It’ll let me zoom in close enough to see the sticker on his plate if we want to.”
Bonnie jerked the wheel to the left and cut off a driver who had been too slow to close the gap. He wasn’t happy and leaned on his horn. Bonnie smiled at me and showed him her appreciation with her now famous, one-finger salute.
We were only one car behind the Escalade now, so I took several shots of the SUV and its driver before his lane started moving faster than ours and we lost him.
“Good driving, Danny,” I said as I put my cell back in my jacket pocket.
We weren’t moving, so I wasn’t too upset when Bonnie turned her full attention toward me. “Who?”
“Danica Patrick. She’s a famous race-car driver.”
Bonnie laughed. “If you’d said Shirley Muldowney, I’d have known what you were talking about.”
I felt like it was my turn to ask who, but let it go. “Why don’t you get off at the C-470 exit and we’ll take the back road through Morrison. I’d like to get home and call Julie’s friend at the DMV to run the plate for us.”
“Your wish is my command, Mario,” she said, looking in her rearview mirror. “Why wait? Or does that fancy phone of yours do everything but make phone calls?”
“I don’t have her number. It’s at home, and who the heck is Mario?”
She simply smiled, reached over to rub Fred on the head, I assume for luck, cut in front of a semi, and headed for the right lane. There was no use trying to say anything over the blare of his air-horn.
***
IT TURNED OUT TO BE too late to call Julie’s friend at the DMV by the time we got back to my house, so I brought my laptop to the kitchen table to examine the pictures in greater detail. Bonnie had been in no hurry to go home and headed straight to my kitchen to see what she could ‘rustle’ up for us to eat. Fred had had enough of being cooped up and gone off into the hills to do his thing.
Bonnie found a can of something in the cupboard next to my refrigerator. “How old is this hash, Jake?”
“Beats me,” I said, looking up from my computer. Although I had several windows in my kitchen, the sun had just set, so the only light was from a ceiling light behind her. She had her hair in a ponytail, the way Julie used to wear it most of the time, and I suddenly had a shot of déjà vu mixed with a jigger of melancholy. Her profile looked like one of those caricatures drawn by a carnival artist. It dawned on me that Julie had put the can of hash in my cupboard only weeks before she had died.
“Are you okay, Jake? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Fred scratched at the door before I could answer. “I better let him in before he breaks down the door, Bon,” I said, getting up from the table and turning away from her. I waited until I was at the door before wiping my eyes.
Fred rushed past me, heading straight for Bonnie, who was still holding the can of hash. He must have thought it was for him. It only made matters worse, so I went out on my front porch to be alone. Julie used to spoil Fred with canned dog food.
“Are you okay, Jake?” Bonnie had followed me out. I’d barely had time to sit in one of the two rockers I had on my porch when she appeared with Fred close behind. Fred must have sensed my mood and came over to sit by me. He put a paw on my leg, forcing me to stop rocking and look down at him.
“I’m fine, Bon. I just needed to clear my head,” I said as I ruffled Fred’s fur.
She took the other chair and started rocking back and forth. “Have you ever thought about selling these on eBay?”
I looked up from Fred who was in doggie heaven from the ear scratching he was getting. I was about to ask ‘Sell what?’” when she continued.
“I’ll bet you could get at least a hundred a piece,” she said, turning a pack of cigarettes end to end. The way she slowly flipped them was mesmerizing.
“Go ahead, Bon. You deserve to light up after that drive on I-70.”
“I’m serious, Jake,” she said, pulling a cigarette from the pack. “I think you missed your calling. How long have these chairs been sitting out here? Two years? And they look like the day you made them.”
I waited for her to light up and take a deep drag before answering. “That’s because I put them in my shed during the winter and give them a coat of fresh stain every spring.”
Bonnie raised the cigarette to her mouth and took another drag. It was like watching a miniature torch light up the wrinkles of her face. “Well, I better get back to fixing dinner,” she said, dousing her cigarette in a beer can on the little table between the chairs. Although I didn’t drink anymore, I had left the can there for her from when I did.
Fred looked up from his ear massage as if to ask permission to follow her. I quit rubbing his ears and nodded for him to go after her. “Go on, you traitor. But you’re going to be in for a big shock when you see that can isn’t dog food.”
***
BONNIE LEFT SHORTLY after dinner. Calling it dinner, though, would be like calling a McDouble a feast. Still, Fred didn’t seem to mind when he not only got his share, but most of ours as well. He was sound asleep at my feet by the time I finally got around to booting my computer.
I wasted several hours trying to connect the license number from the pictures I took of its driver. At first I ignored all the pay-to-see sites by using the term ‘Free’ in my searches. When that didn’t work, I tried searching several Colorado government websites, including the DMV. I discovered that information required me to fill out several forms that included the VIN and the owner’s name. Then I had to either take it to their office in Lakewood, or send it to the main office in Denver. Either way, it would take three weeks at a minimum. I thought of Joseph Heller’s novel, Catch 22. If I knew the owner’s name, why would I bother with the request?
Finally I gave in, and went to one of the pay-per-search sites. Poor Fred got startled out of a sound sleep when I slammed my fist on the table and let out a few cuss words I thought I’d forgotten. After paying nearly ten dollars for the information, they said they would email me the results in three business days. This was Saturday. I wouldn’t get results until Wednesday or Thursday. By that time, the driver could be in Rio. I almost wished I had a beer in the fridge.
Fred soon decided I wasn’t going to shoot him and laid back down. Within minutes, his eyes were racing a hundred miles an hour indicating he gone into a deep sleep, but by that time I’d seen enough of the driver from my pictures to know I wasn’t going to need to wait for the online service to run a trace on the license plate.