Teller did slow down. And he told Earl, “Try not to worry. If the cops find us, what’ll they do? If you tell ’em I haven’t abducted you, that’ll probably clear the whole thing up. Maybe they’ll try to send us home or something like that, but what can they arrest us for?”
“Resisting arrest.”
“Well, not exactly, but maybe fleeing from a cop. There’s probably a law about that. But I still don’t think we’d ever have to do time. No one wants to throw guys our age in jail.”
Earl wanted to believe that. “Maybe I need to call Becky and set the record straight—so she’ll call the search off. She must be the one who turned us in.”
“Okay. But I’m not sure she’d believe you. If she asks you where we are, I’m afraid you’d tell her, and then she’d let the cops know.”
Earl wasn’t sure. Teller might be right. But he knew how tired he was after all the commotion. “Maybe we should just stop at some out-of-the-way place and rest for the night—you know, hide out.”
“Sure, we can stop early if you want to, but we need to change our route. I’m thinking we take back roads and head north to South Dakota. No one would expect us to go that way. And while we’re up there in South Dakota, we could visit Mount Rushforth.”
“Rushmore.”
“Yeah. Whatever. Wouldn’t you like to see that?”
“Sure. I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“Well, then, we just need to relax. Let’s just figure, if the cops catch us, they catch us, but we’ll have fun before they do.”
Earl wanted to think that way, but he was still shaken by Teller’s wild ride.
“Of course,” Teller said, “there’s something else we have to think about. By now that trooper knows darn well who we are. He’s going to report back that we’re driving this Olds, not my Toyota. And this car will be easy to spot.”
“What can we do about that?”
“I don’t know. I’m thinking about that. We could park it and rent a car, or we could maybe get this one painted.”
“Would you do that?”
“I don’t know. I guess if we had to, I’d do it.” And then after a few seconds, he added, “For now, let’s just hole up at some dumpy motel and stay off the main roads. It’s kind of hard to believe that policemen care all that much about a couple of old guys going for a drive.”
Earl hoped so. But he also knew how protective Becky was. If she thought Teller was putting her dad in danger, she might keep the pressure on. Still, he knew he couldn’t worry too much about all that and ruin his trip. He had to be a little more like Teller. He leaned back and tried to enjoy the view of the countryside.
“Do you want to put the top down now that we’re not moving so fast?” Teller asked him.
“Well, I don’t know. It’s kind of cool, and it might be pretty windy—”
“Naw. Let’s go for it.”
Teller pulled to the side of the road, unlatched the top and then threw a switch. The roof raised and folded back, and there was the sky stretching over them. When they started out again, the air was rather brisk, but Earl realized he had never ridden in a convertible in his entire life. The view was almost startling, the whole vista of mountains and sky like a bubble around them. Cold or not, Earl was glad he was taking a ride in a convertible, even if he got hauled into jail before the day was over. He laughed and then, over the rush of air, yelled, “Hey, Teller, I like this!”
“I thought you would. You’ll soon be an outlaw like me.”
Earl didn’t think so. But he told himself he would quit worrying quite so much and enjoy these days before he got dragged home to live in some little room back home. After a time, as they approached Casper, he spotted a motel that seemed just the right sort of place for a couple of outlaws to hide out. Teller agreed, and they pulled in and parked out back where the car wasn’t visible from the road.
Once they had checked into the motel, Earl got out his tote that was mostly full of meds. He sat down on his bed and began to sort through the bottles. “Teller, could you help me with something?” he asked.
“Sure. You name it.”
“Becky always helped me fill up my pill organizer. Yesterday I tried to remember what I’m supposed to take each day, but I have trouble reading the little print on the bottles, so I just threw everything in. But now I have to get them organized so I’ll take the right ones.”
“Sure. I have 20/20 vision. Hand over whatever you want me to read.” Teller had been lying back on his bed, but now he sat up.
“Well, first I need to find my pills for leg cramps. I’m pretty sure I brought ’em.”
“Just hand me your bottles, and I’ll tell you what they’re for. If you’ve got one for cramps, we’ll find it.”
So Earl handed him the bottles one by one, and Teller read the names and instructions. Earl sorted them out on the bed according to whether he was to take them in the morning or night, or sometimes two a day—morning and evening. Finally, Teller said, “Hey, here it is. This bottle says, “Take as needed for leg cramps.”
“Good. I thought I had one like that. Can you give me one?”
Teller opened the bottle and handed Earl a pill. Earl thanked Teller and walked to the bathroom. He looked around for a cup, didn’t find one, and finally just put the pill in his mouth and gulped some water from the palm of his hand. He struggled with swallowing the pill and then realized he had to bend his head back before he swallowed. But now he wondered if he had lost the pill down the drain; he hadn’t felt anything go down his throat. He didn’t dare take another one; he would just have to wait and see whether the cramps went away. He decided to pace around the room for a time and maybe relieve some of the pain he was feeling.
But after five minutes or so of walking, his legs were hurting more, not less, so he sat down on his bed again. He asked Teller, “Could you do one more thing for me?”
“Sure. What’s that?”
“Becky puts my medicine in that pillbox. Sometimes I have trouble getting hold of little pills and dropping them where I want them. And when I get them wrong, it’s hard for me to dig them back out.”
“Not a problem, my buddy. Let’s go through them together, and I’ll put them where they belong. But I’m sure glad I’m not as old as you. You’ve got way too many pills to take.”
“Don’t you use one of those boxes to keep track of what you take?”
“No way. My doc wants me to take a bunch of stuff, but I’m not doing it anymore. I threw all my pills away before we left Salt Lake. It’s best to think positive and eat plenty of all-American junk food.”
“Teller, you can’t just throw your pills away.”
“Why not? Do you think I oughta worry that I won’t have a long life? I’ve already had one, for crying out loud. I’m eighty-three years old.”
“Maybe so. But you might as well feel good until your time comes.”
“I do feel good. I feel great. It’s probably all those meds that are making your brain go into early retirement.”
Earl didn’t know what to think about that, but he worried about Teller. He hoped he was just telling another story and that he hadn’t really thrown his pills away. “Well, anyway,” Earl said, “it would help me a lot if you could put them in their slots for me.”
Teller was grinning. “Hey, I’m your guy. What would you do without me?”
Earl was embarrassed. He didn’t want Teller to think he was helpless. But it eased his mind that his friend was willing to help him. He had worried about that pillbox.
Earl’s legs were starting to relax, and that was a relief. But something else had been on his mind, and he decided he might as well bring it up, not just let it keep bothering him. “Teller,” he said, “I’ve got a lot of things I can’t do anymore, but one of ’em has me worried.”
Teller had lain back on his bed again, and Earl wondered whether he was asleep. But without opening his eyes, he said, “What’s that, Earl?”
“I can’t cut my toenails.”
Teller almost blew the ceiling off the motel room with his wild laugh. “Oh, man,” he finally said, “that’s my problem too. I’ve gotten too heavy these last couple of years, and I can’t fold myself over enough. But you’re not as fat as me.”
“But I’m longer. After I reach that far, I have trouble operating the clippers. And the nails on my big toes have thickened up. I swear, it’s like cutting through steel. The aide at our place back in Salt Lake cut them a while back, but I’m due for another trim, and I don’t know if I can manage it. I was wondering, maybe we could find one of those nail-cutting places along the way.”
“Hey, that won’t be necessary. I’ll do yours if you’ll do mine.” This set him off laughing again. “Ain’t no greater love than that, my friend.”
But Earl wasn’t sure he was okay with the idea. It sounded sort of weird.
“Do you want me to cut yours now?” Teller asked.
“Well, no. I’m okay for a few more days.”
“Hey, let’s get you fixed up. We stopped so early, we’ve got plenty of time. Have you got one of those big clippers for toenails?”
“Yeah, I do. He found his shaving kit in the same tote as the medicines, and he held the clippers up for Teller to see.
“Pull your shoes and socks off.”
Earl still wasn’t sure he wanted to do this, but he did take them off, and then Teller brought a chair around and sat in front of him. “Give me one of your feet,” he said. Earl tried to raise his foot but struggled, so Teller cupped his hand around Earl’s calf and lifted his foot onto his lap. “Oh, brother, it’s good we didn’t wait any longer. Your big toe looks like it has a claw on the end of it.”
Teller seemed deep in concentration as he looked the toenail over, and then he maneuvered the clippers into place, and Earl heard the snap as he cut the thick nail. Three other sharp clicks followed, and then he worked his way through the smaller nails. Earl expected him to cut too deeply, and he waited for the pain, but Teller was surprisingly careful, even gentle. After the first foot, he lifted Earl’s other leg and went about things the same way.
“Earl,” Teller said as he was finishing the second foot, “your old feet are dry as bones. Your heals are cracking wide open. Do you ever rub any hand lotion on ’em, or something like that?”
“Not really. But the aide does that when she cuts my nails.”
“Well, you need something on them now. Where do you keep your hand lotion?”
Earl rummaged through the tote again. “I’ll see if I can reach down that far and—”
“No. That’s all right. Hand it over. I’ll put some on for you.”
Teller lifted Earl’s feet up again, one at a time, and he dabbed lotion on them and then rubbed it in with long, soft strokes.
“I appreciate your doing that,” Earl said when Teller was finished. But he couldn’t bring himself to look Teller in the eye.
Teller laughed. “I guess I should open up my own nail salon. I might think about that. Just for practice, should I paint your nails?”
“Yeah. Bright red.”
Earl was relieved to laugh. And he felt good to have one more worry taken care of. “Do you want me to cut yours while we’re at it?”
“Naw. I’m good for now.”
Earl was actually glad for that, but he was amazed that Teller was willing to look out for him, sort of like a brother.
On the following morning, Tuesday, Becky called Sergeant Britain, the police officer she had talked to when she first reported her father missing. She asked him whether he had any information for her.
“Well, yeah,” the sergeant said. “We did get one report from over in Wyoming. Let’s see if I can find that.”
Becky was sitting at her desk at work and was using her personal cell phone. She had left a meeting to make the call. She was disappointed that Britain hadn’t called her as soon as he had received a report; she had to wonder how serious he was taking this whole matter. But she waited, told herself to be patient.
“Okay, here it is. A highway patrolman over by Rawlins stopped at a truck stop and spotted an out-of-date Utah license plate on a car. He talked to two older men who denied the car was theirs, and . . . well, I can’t tell what happened exactly, but I guess the men took off in the car, and the officer wasn’t able to track them down. The only thing is, the car was an old Oldsmobile, not a Toyota, so it might not have been your father and the other guy.”
“What made him think that it was?” Becky asked.
“I guess, from what it says here, he rechecked the APB we put out, and the descriptions of the men matched—one tall and the other sort of short and kind of heavy. He also interrogated some people in the truck-stop café, and he came away with the impression that the short guy was calling all the shots. They said it was hard to believe anything he said.”
“That’s them, Sergeant. No question. But why would they be driving a different car?”
“I have no idea. Maybe they stole it.”
“No. My dad would never be part of something like that—not unless . . .” She didn’t finish her sentence, but all she could think was that Teller was completely in control and might even be threatening her dad to go along with everything. What she did say was, “Teller’s obviously running away from law enforcement, so he knows he’s done something illegal. I’ve told my bank to put a hold on any further withdrawals from my dad’s account, but if there’s a way to get to Dad’s money, I have no doubt that Teller will find it.”
“Well, I know that worries you.”
But the sergeant sounded less than concerned. She wondered how hard he would work to keep pressure on police to stay on the trail. “Do you have a description of the car they’re in—and maybe the license plate number?”
“Yes. That’s all in the report.”
“Can you put that out in a new bulletin?”
“Sure. I’ll do that right now.”
Becky felt a little sick. Why hadn’t Britain sent out a new bulletin immediately, without her pushing the matter? But she didn’t say that. She thanked the officer and asked him again to let her know if anything new came in.
After Becky pushed the End button on her phone, she sat for a time, unready to return to her meeting. She had tried to tell herself that this was just a fun trip for her dad, and it wouldn’t hurt anything if he spent some money—even if it was to pay for Teller as well as himself. But running from the police was a whole new thing. She had no doubt now; Teller was trying to pull something, and her father was not safe with him.