The Blue Barrel

Chapter 1

Two men who could be taken for twins stood beside the casket after it had been lowered into the ground. Is that Ms. Boozer and Mrs. Nash? Jimmy asked of two sixtyish women dressed appropriately for a funeral who were walking toward their car.

Yeah. They're the only ones who showed. Christ, I thought Ma had more friends than that. And where the fuck is your mom? I mean...Jesus Christ, Jimmy, she couldn't even forgive the dead?

They were in their early forties, built the same and even with Oscar's mustache, a scar on his right cheek, and his pony tail and Jimmy's clean shaven face and professional haircut, there was no mistaking their kinship. The difference came in their garb. It was the Mississippi River opposing a backyard creek. Jimmy wore an Ermenegildo Zego sharkskin suit with matching silk tie and was shod in Donald J. Pinter snakeskin black Chelsey boots. Oscar chose a Men's Warehouse charcoal gray suit with a second similar one, only brown, hanging in his closet, because George Zimmerman guaranteed it. He walked in Walmart wingtips.

Sorry I was late. Who's the guy standing under the trees over there? Jimmy pointed across the grave to a small grove of trees about a hundred feet from the grave.

That's the asshole cop who questioned me. He acted like maybe I did it.

Did you? Jimmy curled an eyebrow up.

Thanks a lot, prick. I was in LA when it happened. And I told the fucker that.

Jimmy ignored him. I want them to find out who did. Come on, let's go talk to him. And as far as you're concerned I'm just a friend of the family. My name's Ronald James. Got it?

Really? Oscar called after Jimmy, who was already around the hole in front of them and heading for the trees. He quickly followed as Jimmy approached the detective.

Ronald James, he said as he put out his hand. I understand you're part of the investigation of the deceased. So what do you have? The detective didn't take it.

It's still under investigation. Are you related? He pointed toward Oscar, making his way toward the two men. He immediately saw the resemblance.

That's a very good friend in the ground there. I grew up with Oscar. I want whoever did this to her found. Then I want a half hour with him before you take him into custody.

A tough guy, huh? Where were you when she was bludgeoned to death with a goddamned baseball bat, MISTER James?

I was in Saigon, MISTER whatever you name is.

Saigon, as in Vietnam? What the hell were you doing there? And can you prove that?

Oscar had reached them by this time and stood in awe of the two bantering like they were about to break out in a wrestling match. Saigon? Yeah, what were you doing there... Jimmy put his hand up before Oscar could spit out Jimmy. I was there on business, Oscar.

Jimmy reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a card. This is my attorney. Call him and he can give you all the details you need about who I was with and anything else you need to help in your investigation. And call him whenever you get any, ANY, breaks in the case. He wheeled around and headed toward the road where his rental car sat.

Over his shoulder he heard, Hey, James, I'm not done. And don't count on any friggin' reports. We don't work that way. Jimmy looked over his shoulder and said just loud enough for the detective to hear him, You will. He continued walking. By the time he reached his car, Oscar had caught up.

What the fuck was that, cuz? That's a fucking cop. What are you trying to do? What's with that name?

Jimmy got up into Oscar face so fast he jumped back. I'm trying to find out who killed your mother, Oscar. I don't know what you're doing.

What were you doing in Vietnam, Jimmy?

I had a game to deal.

So you live there, or what? Hey, how about coming back to the house and let's have a beer, huh?

I have to go.

Where, back to Vietnam?

I have a game in Madrid. I have a plane to catch.

So you don't ever go back to Vegas?

I still have a place there, yes. I was dealing big games a few times a year for the Bellagio. I haven't for a year now so I'll probably be selling the place.

You know, Jimmy, I been thinking about moving up there, even before Ma died.

I thought you had a good job at Intel.

It's a nowhere job, Jimmy. I need a change. I got that degree you know.

What is it again, an Associate Degree from Podunk Community College?

Yeah well what kind of sheepskin you got hanging on your fucking wall? Tell me that cuz. Jimmy just laughed.

How hard is it to get into the casinos? Could I become a dealer like what you do? You know, deal cards all over the fucking world?

I don't have a clue, Oscar. You'd have to go up there and check it out. You know I've been at it for more than twenty years. What's that asshole detective's name?

Hank something, Mason, something like that. He's with the Albuquerque police. Call 'em and they'll tell you.

Yeah, thanks. He opened the door to the Lincoln MKS.

Hey, Jimmy, what's the chances of me crashing at your place in Vegas, if I decide to go up there, that is, I don't know yet, but just 'til I get on my feet up there, you know?

Jimmy reached in his pocket and pulled out another card. Call Edmund. He looks after the place. Tell him I told you you could stay there at five hundred a month. Just until I sell it, right? And don't fuck the place up, huh? I can't sell a place that's all torn up. And the car in the garage, don't touch it. Don't even breath on it, got it?

Oscar took the card. Thanks a lot, Jimmy, I really appreciate that. 'Course I'm still not sure, about moving up there, that is, but I'm thinking real hard about it. Jimmy closed the door and started the engine. Oscar waved the card at him as he put the car in gear and drove away. Thanks a lot, cuz. Really appreciate this.

Across the continent in the Appalachians of Western North Carolina.

Tom Conard, an investigator for the EPA in Jackson and Swain Counties of Western Carolina, was sitting in Claude's Restaurant with his oldest daughter, Evie, single, a career girl.

So what’s up, sweetie? Tom asked after the waitress took their order and left.

You get right to it don’t you, Dad? She had an edge in her voice.

Uh oh, he thought, she is not happy. He wished they could see each other more often but since she lived up in Knoxville, almost two hours away, they just didn't catch up enough. But when they did get together, she at least seemed happy to see him. Sorry, honey, he said, putting his hands up in surrender. You just sounded urgent on the phone. I shouldn’t have assumed anything. How have you been? We haven’t talked for more than six months.

Sorry, Dad, I didn’t mean to jump on you. Yes, there is something on my mind.

Okaaaay. What is it? Tom asked very slowly because he knew his daughter had a hard time coming out with bad news. When she wrecked the car three weeks after she got her license, she nearly fell apart trying to tell him about it. Of course he didn’t punish her or even admonish her. It happens to new drivers and she was a very cautious driver he wasn't worried about. It turned out not to even be her fault. But he figured she got that anxiety thing from her mother, certainly not from him. He considered one of his weaknesses taking things too casually. He felt people get the impression he didn’t care.

I’ll come right out with it and take my hits.

Why do you always do that? he asked.

Do what? she asked with more than a touch of animosity in her voice.

He walked cautiously through this one. Never mind, sweetie. Just tell me what’s on your mind and let’s discuss it, okay.

Okay, Dad, here it is. Mom is really struggling. I mean realllly struggling. When Tom started to talk Evie put her hand up to stop him. Please, she said, and continued, Sophie and I are stretched to our limits. We have lives too, you know? Mom lost her job in this economic mess. Now she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to pay her rent next month.

So what are you saying Evelyn? You want me to give her money? He was getting irritated but was trying to navigate a minefield he knew could blow a leg off with one wrong step.

What I’m saying, father, dearest, is that the woman needs a little help, that’s all.

I have two boys to raise now. And college ain’t as cheap as it was when you and Sophie went to school.

But you got away with one on your second wife. Just think, if Sallie had asked for alimony or if you two also pumped out a couple, where would that leave you money wise?

That’s unfair, Evelyn. It is what it is. I took care of all of you when it was appropriate. And don’t discount the money I’ve shot to both you and your sister whenever either of you has gotten into a jam.

She grabbed his arm with a tear falling from her eye. That’s because you are who you are, Dad. And I love you for that. And believe me, if this wasn’t such an emergency…

She had changed courses and this threw Tom a little. Now she was begging. He let his guard down on keeping his cool about her feelings even though he knew she could be an emotional wreck. Look, I didn’t tell her to marry George. I had nothing to do with that bastard riding though her money, much of it being the alimony I sent her every month, by the way. He said it with more animosity toward the situation than the person. He actually liked Jean and, in fact, still had a soft spot in his heart for her. He was heartbroken when she told him she wanted out. But Evie didn’t understand that side; had never been married. All she heard was the anger in his voice. When he looked into her face he could see it change. He knew immediately he'd screwed up.

She threw her napkin down and rose. She screamed at him. Thanks a lot, Dad. When it really comes down to it, you are one piece of work. You know that! She turned and walked out as people near them heard her and watched the scene unfold.

He didn’t give a flip about them. All he knew was that he just messed up the fragile relationship he had with his high-strung daughter who came to him for help. He shouted at her as she hurried toward the exit. Evie, I’m sorry. Please come back here and let’s talk about it. But she kept walking, right into some poor guy who had a fork full of food heading toward his mouth. It flew up and into his wife’s lap. Tom headed from the table to follow her as she ignored the guy she bumped into and headed for the exit. Just as she got to the door, Tom shouted loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear, I’ll give her some money, Evie. Then he noticed the guy heading for her too, yelling obscenities. She didn’t respond to him or Tom. She walked through the door and out of his life. Meanwhile, the guy continued after her. Tom started toward him and caught up just before he got to the door.

Hey, Tom yelled in his ear, take it easy buddy. She didn’t see you.

Yeah, he turned around, well she owes me and my wife an apology and a cleaning bill for her dress.

Tom was already next to him so he spun the guy around and got right into his face. Get a godammed grip, fella. She’s upset.

Yeah, well so am I. And take your fucking hand off me before I call the cops. In fact, he grabbed his cell from his pocket, I believe I’ll do that right now. You’re godammed assaulting me.

Tom didn’t want this to go any further so he let go. Look fella, sorry about that. That’s my daughter and I upset her. It’s my fault. He grabbed a twenty from his pocket and handed it to the guy.

He looked at it and looked at Tom. What do I look like, a pauper. What do you think that dress cost that my wife’s wearing? You trying to insult me, buster?

No. no. He knew they were in a damned family restaurant, not some high-class bistro uptown. But he didn’t need any more aggravation. He grabbed a couple more twenties. Here, fella, sorry again. Hope that takes care of it. Sorry for your troubles there.

The guy looked at it and got a sly grin, knowing full well he got the best of that deal, more than likely more than the dress was worth. Yeah, I guess that’ll work. But you need to keep a rein on that daughter of yours, buddy. Tom nearly lost it again and was ready to punch him. Instead he just nodded and walked back to his table. He didn't talk to Evie for four years after that. He did send Sandra a few dollars out of his spending money, enough he thought would cover her rent for a month.

Chapter 2

Four years later.

Tom pulled into Howard’s Auto in Sylva, North Carolina, to check on a storage unit. Howard Hesterling was his mechanic since forever. He was honest, a good mechanic and reasonably priced, just what everyone hoped to find in an auto mechanic. Howard was like many small businessmen in rural America. He had some land along Route 107, a fairly busy, well-known highway in the area. So he built a row of twenty storage units that stayed mostly full and gave him some nice spending money every month. These things are a dream for guys like Howard. They clear a small strip on a busy highway, put up ten or twenty ten foot by ten foot units, spread a little gravel from the road up to the units and across the front of them and viola, a cash cow. Every man, woman and child in this country seems to have too much stuff. They own big houses, have a garage so full they can’t park their car in it, then they buy one of those little sheds Home Depot sells, put it in their back yard and fill that up. Still they have more stuff. So the booming business these days is self-storage. There are over forty thousand companies with up to a thousand units counted by self-storage organizations and probably another thirty or forty thousand owned by people like Howard with ten or twenty units who can't be bothered answering polls or telephone surveys about their storage businesses.

In the big metropolises, these things are a project. They have big fences around them, security cameras, a coded gate system and a live-in manager. And still, people break into them. Out in the wilderness, these things stand alone, no fence, no nothing; just a few units lined up with no one around and a telephone number to call on a post if you take unit. Around Western Carolina, you see these things on every highway that has more than ten cars a day passing by. If you see a door up, that means it’s vacant. And you seldom see any doors up. If you need one and a door’s up, you fill it up, put your lock on and call to see where you send your money. Or you already know the owner as a friend and neighbor so you run a check by with a chance to get the skinny on the latest gossip. No fuss, no bother. That’s why guys like Howard love them. With twenty units bringing in fifty bucks a month, which is almost pure profit since there’s so little maintenance, he makes almost a thousand a month. And all he does is collect the money.

Howard, Tom called out as he walked under the car Howard was changing the oil in. Howard was six-four. he played basketball in high school Anytime he worked under a car, he stooped and had his head bent at almost a ninety degree angle. Tom wondered aloud as he watched him wrench a nut tight onto something. Howard,, why don't you raise the cars higher so you don't end up permanently damaged?

Not to worry, Tom. I have an excellent chiropractor in Dr. Mike. To answer your question, step out form under this thing and look up, my friend.

Tom did and what he saw was about a half inch clearance between the roof and his ceiling. Okay, he sad, ducking back under to talk, I see what you mean. Hey, got any units available?

He looked over at him. I think there’s a couple open. You’d have to check. What’s going on, man? Not you and Jean? Tom rented from him in the past and it was always when he split with a wife. He knew his history too well.

Afraid so, man.

What the heck happened? I thought you two were good.

Long story, he sighed.

Always is. Sorry to here that. Anyway, run down and check. If there is one, grab it and drop a check in my box if I’m closed. Well, you know the routine.

Okay, I’ll run down there now and be right back. As Tom walked away, Howard hollered not to worry about it now, take care of it later. But Tom didn’t like to leave business undone, another hitch in his personality that seemed to bug all three of his wives. He was thinking as he drove down the road, life is getting too damned cumbersome. Three wives and four kids later, the two little guys shut off from me now and one daughter I haven't talked to in four years. And now I’m looking for a place to put junk I call my valuables yet again. Probably not worth a thousand bucks but, hey, it’s all I got. Then I have to find an apartment, again, and sleep alone, wondering what I need to do to get my kids back talking to me.

The guy thinks he must be a bastard. Can’t argue with facts. One wife leaves, maybe it’s her. Second wife, now he's singing Margaritaville, Maybe it’s my fault. Third time, he's living the song, Yeah, it’s my own damned fault. But he was never mean or abusive. He just couldn't figure out how to do the things that a husband needs to do to keep a wife happy. He always made enough money to provide a decent home, not extravagant, but then none of the three ever said they wanted anything more than what he could provide.

He thought often about the mess he made with Evelyn. That was also the beginning of his problems with Jean. She found out he'd sent money to one of his exes and they had a blowup over that. Their second, Sean, was on the way so she settled down accepting his explanation, or so he thought. But it remained a sore point. Every time anything happened that ended in an argument, and they seemed to be having them more frequently, the Sandra check would pop up. It all finally broke with little hope of curing the problem.

He ran down 107 and pulled into the place. There were three units with doors up, two at the entrance, numbers three and four and one down the other end, number nineteen. He pulled the door down on number three but didn’t have a lock so had to run back up to Sylva to get one. One would have thought after so many rentals he’d be swimming in locks but they always seemed to disappear. He decided to take a check to Howard and see if he didn’t have a lock stuck up somewhere. He pulled into his shop and met him in his office.

I’m taking number three, Howard, he said, as he walked into the office. Sounds good, Howard replied. Hey, you have a lock floating around I can borrow? Tom asked him as he wrote a check.

I don’t think so, Tom. A poor waif came in the other day, crying her eyes out over a bad boyfriend she was leaving and I felt sorry so she got the last lock I had.

Oh geez. And I’ll bet you gave her the place rent free.

I told her to move in and we’d settle when she got on her feet.

Hey, if I cry a little, can I get a break on my rent? He laughed. Man you are one softie.

What can I say? He put Tom's name on a card and put a paid stamp with a date on it. Then he put it in a little card index box. That was the extent of his bookkeeping. No receipt. But everyone knew each other and there were seldom problems. Nothing like those TV shows with auctions going on all the time for units people failed to pay on.

Thanks, buddy. I’ll run down to Clampitt’s and grab a lock. Talk to you later.

Howard got one last zinger in as Tom was leaving. Tom, I thought you’d have a dozen locks laying around as much as you use my units.

He turned, giving Howard the evil eye and before he left, I gave my last one to some homeless guy who needed to lock his hooch away. He said he’d pay me as soon as he got on his feet. He left the shop with Howard shaking a fist at him and went to Clampitt’s Ace Hardware down the street. He hadn’t talked to Wally Clampitt for a couple months so thought it would be a chance to catch up. They chatted for fifteen or twenty minutes, he bought his lock and was on his way to secure the space.

When Tom drove up to number three he noticed a pickup down the other end, at nineteen. He saw one man with a fifty-five gallon drum on his truck backing up to the unit. It caught his attention that all the guy had on his truck was one fifty-five gallon drum. Usually, people come with their truck full to overflowing. Or at least they have something big that won't fit anywhere at home, like a big dresser or sofa. Tom watched him back up to the door, jump out, lower his back gate and climb into the back of the truck. As he watched him struggle, he knew the drum was full of something. Then he watched as the man put on a pair of work gloves. Tom thought that was even more odd. It may have been because of the work he did, investigating illegal dumps by small business people who maybe couldn't afford to dispose of chemicals properly. He'd seen a lot of junk thrown over hillsides or dumped in abandoned buildings. Most times it was difficult if not impossible to identify the guilty party. If that was what was going on here, he had the guy dead to right. In his excitement he never thought that it might have simply been a case that the man had soft hands, not used to heavy work.

Tom liked to think of himself as a sort of detective. He'd always wanted to become a real cop, a detective, maybe an FBI agent. But his five-seven height stopped that, even if they would have accepted two- fifty plus, more on the plus side, pounds hanging on that frame. He got a degree in criminology, holding out hope. But once he faced reality, he answered an ad for the EPA for their investigative division. Now he spent most of his time chasing down farmers who blocked streams, or a tanker truck that had a wreck on the interstate and spilled ten gallons of diesel on the ground. Very exciting stuff. Without his background he most likely would have never paid attention to this guy and his drum.

It was evidently full of something. The guy was really struggling with it. He was smallish, maybe a hundred fifty pounds and five-ten. So Tom used that excuse to mosey down and offer help, and snoop around. How ya doin’? Can I give hand? Looks heavy. He made a mental note of his license plate as he walked to the back of the truck.

I think I’ll be okay. But thanks.

You sure? At least let me help you get it off your truck. Then you can walk it into the unit. You in the chemical business? Tom asked, hoping to get something.

Na, this is water. I don’t like to announce it but I’m a prepper.

Prepper?

You know, getting ready for the collapse.

Collapse? Tom asked.

Yeah. You don’t read the papers? We’re heading for a big crash in this country in case you're not aware of what's happening out there.

Oh, I didn’t know that. So they call you a prepper, huh? Prepping for the big crash. Tom knew what he meant. They even have TV shows about it now. But he wanted to act dumb. Maybe he'd get more info. The thing that bothered him about this guy's story was that true preppers, and he knew a few, as it was quite popular among the mountain folks in that part of the state, is that they never talked specifics. They’d get into arguments about the government this and the government that, but most were very close mouthed about what they were storing and where. Strike one for this guy. Then he started getting touchy. But this was after he told Tom he had fifty-five gallons of water he was supposedly hiding.

Look, mister, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll just get my drum off here and be on my way. He turned and continued walking his drum toward the edge. Tom turned and walked away a few steps, having made a mental note of what the guy looked like and details about his truck. Then he turned to watch how the guy was going to drop this drum full of something off his truck without cracking it open. Even if the guy was legit, all he could imagine was some bad chemical leaking out and being absorbed into the ground creating a long, slow cleanup by a hazmat team. When this jerk got to the edge, Tom could see he was thinking how he was going to do this by himself. He started to ease it over the edge but realized it would fall off and probably land on its side. Tom did a quick calculation in his head and figured it weighed in the neighborhood of four hundred pounds or so. He’d never get it back upright by himself. So Tom walked back over.

Look, at least let me help guide it down off the truck. If that thing falls over and doesn’t split open you’ll still never get it upright.

He looked kind of cross-eyed at Tom and finally said, Yeah, okay. I’ll just ease it toward you and you can guide it down. Watch it though, it’s heavy.

Gotcha. Tom stood behind the tailgate, feet firmly planted, and helped him slowly move it off the truck. It was a blue plastic drum which could mean it contained something caustic. When it finally got completely loose, it was slick on the sides. Tom lost his grip. It came straight down with a thump, hitting the ground hard. It just missed his fat foot. When it settled in the gravel, some of the liquid spilled out of one of the bungholes. It wasn’t water. The man jumped down and said before he hit the ground, Thanks for your help, mister, I got it from here.

Tom decided not to question him. He was hiding something and one thing Tom had learned was that even a farmer doing something legal gets furious if a government official challenges him. He had the license and got a detailed facial imprint in my mind; mustache, a scar on his right cheek and a tattoo on his lower left arm that showed through his sleeve hole. It was the end of a blue banner with the letters ER in red. He had a pony tail of brown hair poking through the hole in the back of a Baltimore Orioles ball cap. Another oddity; folks in these parts usually wore an Atlanta Braves hat or a Tourist cap from the Asheville minor league team. Of course there were plenty of transients coming in from all over so that might not have mattered. But all of that would be enough to positively identify him for Stan Sutton, the county sheriff. He thought about wiping his finger across the liquid that spilled out but it was a heavy white substance that may have been caustic. And even for such a small amount, it wafted an odd odor in the air. He didn’t want a nasty burn. He waved with his back to the guy as he headed for his car.

Tom was getting a little bit of a rush. Most of his cases were handed to him from reports drawn up by neighbors or local county officials about something they thought was wrong or illegal. His job would then entail going to the site of the complaint and investigating to see if a law was being broken. If it was he’d talk with the owner of the property and they would either fix it or debate the complaint. Even if they fixed it they usually did so with grumbling and mumbling. If they refused, he’d issue a citation and turn it over to the local authorities, most likely Sheriff Sutton. And that was it. This one though, might turn out to actually involve some detective work. Little did he know what lay ahead.

On his way back to his car, his foot caught in the gravel and he stumbled a bit, nearly falling to the ground. Great, he thought, this guy's going to take me for a jerk who can't even walk. Tom double checked his lock out of habit and climbed in his car. He drove slowly so as not to raise any suspicion and turned back toward Howard’s shop. When he pulled out, his mind was whirling around the possibilities of this case. He pulled right in front of a car coming from his right. It was one of those instances where you look right through an object without seeing it. The guy laid on his horn and swung sharply right, onto the shoulder. Instinctively Tom slammed the brakes at the shrill sound of the horn as the other driver passed in front of his car, throwing dust and dirt all over the place. Neither car touched. He sat there shaken as the other car slowed down. He stopped a hundred feet ahead. Tom expected him to get out and give him the whatfors and knew he deserved it. The guy looked back and Tom gave him a shoulders up, sorry, kind of motion. The guy settled his own nerves and a minute later, he pulled slowly onto the road and was gone.

Tom pulled out and continued on to Howard’s, still rattled. He pulled into the lot and spotted Howard under a car on the rack. Howard.

He came out from under a car on the rack. Yeah?

Did you rent another unit after I stopped by?

Yeah. A guy came by in a pickup. Why, did you see him down there?

I did. Something screwy about it though.

What’s that, Tom? he asked.

All he had was one fifty-five gallon drum.

I didn’t notice what he had. His truck was facing the shop. But so what? What’s odd about that?

You don’t find it odd that all someone brings to a ten by ten storage unit is one fifty-five gallon drum?

Never thought about it. Maybe he’s going back for more stuff. What are you thinking? Howard was getting a little anxious.

It’s probably the detective in me that even made me think about it. But then, something weird happened. I helped him download it off the truck. It dropped hard on the ground and some of the liquid spilled out the top, out of one of the bungholes.

And?

He had told me it was water.

Water? he asked. Why the heck would he store fifty-five gallons of water?

He told me he was one of those preppers, like what you do. I figure you probably know him.

Naw, never seen him before. ‘Sides, we all know each other but don’t generally socialize with each other.

Well anyway, it wasn’t water. It was some kind of gooey chemical. It had a god-awful smell to it. I think we ought to tell Stan about it. Do you have information on him?

Now Howard was getting irritated. Stan Sutton? Why the heck do you want the sheriff involved? So it wasn’t water. So what.

Howard, I think he is storing some kind of chemical he doesn’t want to pay to have disposed of properly… Tom never got to finish when Howard jumped all over him.

Look, Tom, I like you and all. And I do appreciate you have to do your business. But I have to tell you, a lot of folks around here think you stick your nose into things that are best left alone.

Tom stood, stunned. No one had ever said that to him. Oh sure, he got farmers pissed and some businessmen weren’t too happy with him pushing EPA regs. And he knew the animosity in the area against a fed, any fed, but he was a local, growing up there and just doing his job. So you think I ought to forget about an illegal drum of chemicals stored in your unit, just forget it? Now Tom was irritated.

Howard came back at him. This guy paid up for a year. That’s now his private property. You or Stan or whoever got the notion, would have to get a warrant to check his unit. And I’ll back him up on that.

So you don’t know this guy, huh?

No I don’t. He filled out a card like all my tenants do but again, you don’t see that information without a warrant.

Now Tom was really getting angry. I understand what you’re saying, Howard. But I’ll tell you this, it will cost you as much… what did you get for a years rent, about six hundred?

I give people a month free for paying up for a year.

So you got five-fifty. It’ll cost you more than that in fines if you try to hide this.

Howard got right into his face. I don’t care if I lose your business, Tom. Don’t threaten me. I’m not hiding a damn thing. I don’t know what’s in that drum and I don’t care. He’s a renter and he has rights. You and the feds can deal with it in the proper way or don’t deal with it at all. And I’ll tell you this, I’m guessing Stan will say the same thing. He watches out for us so you federal bastards don’t run over us.

So now I’m a bastard, huh? I’ll go down and take my lock off. You can keep your unit empty for all I care. And I will be back with a warrant or whatever else I need to check that unit. And we will find out who this guy is. He turned and stormed out. The storage facility was not far from Howard’s and the sheriff’s office was in the opposite direction so he ran down first to take off his lock. When he pulled in he saw that unit nineteen’s door was locked so he knew the man put his drum inside. Good, he thought, he hadn't scared him off. He got his lock and headed back to town to talk with Stan.

Chapter 3

Yeah, we can get a warrant if you think it’s really necessary to break in. You have the power based on your knowledge and position. But I’m warning you, Tom, if this is a local, you sure are going to ruffle some feathers, especially if he’s one of those preppers, like you said. They are really pissed about you feds jumping into their shit all the time.

Stan was making an effort to watch his territory. Tom understood and agreed but was only doing this because that drum might have something in it that could be very dangerous. He didn’t agree with a lot of the ticky-tacky rules he was handed to enforce. And the people had no idea how many he didn’t follow up on just because of that. But if something created a hazard to the people, then he thought it his duty to follow through and use his power. If there was a spill and people had to stop using their well water, he'd never hear the end of how they never did anything useful.

Let me check his plate first, Stan said. If he’s local, we’ll go talk with him and ask him to show us what’s inside. Tom reluctantly agreed that it made sense to try to find him so he could show them himself. Stan ran a check on the plate. He came back with a paper, excited.

Tom, you may be on to something.

What’s that, Stan?

That plate came from a 2007 Buick Lacrosse in New Bern.

New Bern? On the coast?

Yep. New Bern, reported two weeks ago yesterday. And there was a truck similar to the one you described reported stolen in Wilmington on the same day. In fact there were three in that area in the past three weeks.

"So what’s he doing delivering a fifty-five gallon plastic drum of something to a storage unit almost six hundred miles