Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) by James Best (ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt) 📕

did it pull away again. Baldwin wondered if Smith had a gun in the car.

“Sherrell, reach behind your seat and look in that plastic milk crate,” Smith said. “The yellow one. You should find an old CB radio. Hand it up.”

Baldwin heard rattling around in back before Wilson found it. Smith took it and plugged the charge unit into what used to be called a cigarette lighter. Baldwin had no idea what they called it now. Soon orange numeric lights appeared in a small window in front. Smith auto-scanned the channels, and in nothing flat, they heard a male voice asking if they needed help.

Smith acknowledge the signal and said they had stalled. After some perfunctory conversation, the truck driver offered them a lift, and Smith accepted. He tried the ignition again but was rewarded with silence.

“We need to push this turkey off the road,” Smith said. “After the battery wears out, it will be a hazard to others.”

“In case you had not noticed, it is already a hazard,” Ashley said.

“For that witticism, you get to help push.”

While everyone opened their doors, Smith splayed his fingers and reached under his seat. Baldwin heard a metallic popping sound. She recognized the noise. Her husband used a similar biometric pistol safe under his car seat. She said nothing and pretended not to notice when Smith tucked the gun in the small of his back. He released the brake and put the Land Cruiser in neutral, and they all clamored out into thigh-deep water. Smith popped the rear hatch, and they grabbed computer bags and duffels and slung them over their shoulders.

Pushing the truck over the edge was no mean feat. It took all four of them pushing with everything they had. As soon as it lurched into the water, the muck seemed to suck up the SUV.

Smith looked forlorn. “I sure liked that truck. I wonder if I’ll see it again?”

“If you do,” Baldwin said, “I’ll pay for a thorough detailing.”

Smith smiled. “Thanks. Let’s go meet our new chauffeur.”

The truck driver hadn’t climbed down from his cab to help them get their vehicle off the road. Baldwin hoped that didn’t portend badly for his character. When they climbed aboard, Baldwin discovered that the driver had been folding up his bed to make a rear seat in the extended cab. When he turned around, his appearance startled Baldwin. She had expected an old geezer with dirty clothes and a three-day beard. Instead, the twenty-something, clean-shaven, wiry driver wore what she considered after-surfing gear: loose-fitting cotton, elastic-waist pants, a threadbare tee with a Hawaiian imprint, all bottomed off with a pair of slip-on canvas boat shoes. Her husband dressed similarly on weekends. Excessive tattooing on his neck and arms presented the only off-putting element of his look.

“Get in! Quick!” he said. “We need to get movin’. This water’s gettin’ deeper by the minute.”

After everyone clambered aboard and stowed their gear, the driver quickly settled into the driver seat and shifted into gear. Smith took the passenger seat in front. In a moment, they were rolling down the highway, albeit at less than fifteen miles an hour.

“Name’s Jemmy. Welcome to my world.”

The open rear compartment was a marvel of compactness. The interior included a bench seat, television, miniature microwave, tiny basin, and a toilet room no bigger than a small broom closet. Baldwin had never previously been inside a truck cab, but it reminded her of a miniature motor home.

They introduced themselves, with all but Ashley omitting their honorifics. Smith gave Jemmy the Reader’s Digest version of why they were on the road.

Jemmy said, “I can get you to Oakland, but you gotta find your own way across the bay.”

“No problem,” Smith said. “Much appreciated.”

“How long have you been driving a truck?” Baldwin asked conversationally.

“Not sure that’s any of your business,” Jemmy said.

“Seems like an innocent question.” Smith’s voice raised a note at the end of the sentence, as if he were asking a question.

“Well, it ain’t,” Jemmy said. “I know how to handle this rig. And don’t go messin’ around with that stuff back there. Hey, and no one look in them drawers, you hear?”

“Listen,” Smith said, “we appreciate the ride, but I gather you stole this rig. I don’t care. Getting to San Francisco might save thousands of lives. Thanks for picking us up.”

“Told you already, I can only get you to Oakland. From there, you’re on your own.”

“Understood. No problem. Just thanks.”

“How’d you know I stole this rig?”

“Clothes in those drawers? For a big man, right?” Smith asked.

“Yeah. Gave it away, didn’t I? Well, hell, you sure you don’t care?”

Smith laughed. “If I knew how to drive one of these, I would’ve stolen it myself.”

“I took truck drivin’ school. Would have finished too, if Ma hadn’t took sick. Now she’s gone, they won’t let me back in without payin’ full freight again. Damn crooks.”

“You get us to Oakland, and we’ll help you make tuition,” Smith offered.

“That’s right,” Baldwin confirmed.

“How ’bout my bail?” Jemmy asked without a hint of humor.

“There, you’re on your own,” Baldwin joked. “But I’ll put in a good word for you with a cop I know. By the way, do you surf?”

“Saw my tee, did you? Yeah, I surfed a little. Done lots of things … and thanks for the offer, but I don’t think a cop can help me.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Baldwin said. “These are strange times. Desperate times. People do all sorts of things to survive.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not tryin’ to survive this storm. This is my getaway car.”

“What did you do?” Smith asked in a flat tone.

“Got into a bar fight. Sent this dude to the hospital … if he’s lucky.”

Chapter 27

Just before Evarts left the police station, Standish told him that Mayor Walsh wanted him to call her as soon as possible. He punched up her number as he raced out of town in an Interceptor Utility.

When she answered, he said, “Mayor, Evarts here. I sure hope you wanted me to call