"Catching Jane" Ch. 2

~Chapter Two~


Tucker sat stunned in the tiny conference room of Horton Memorial Hospital.
How could he have been so blind to a problem as big as Jupiter itself?
If that wasn’t bad enough, if what Louise had told him was true, it could have been what Jane had contracted those eight months ago.
He sat in the dismal room with his head in his hands, contemplating what he should do.
How can I fix a problem on this scale? I’m just a small time sheriff. I can’t do this. I can’t!
As he sat, dwelling on the enormity of the disaster awaiting him, he suddenly became very angry.
It had robbed him of his life, and he wasn’t going to sit around and let it defeat him.

Jumping up from the table, he strode out of the room and set a quick pace for the front door.
Outside, he quickly got into his truck and headed for the office.

“Good to see you this morning, Chief!” hollered Roy, the dispatch operator. “We all thought you were sleeping in this morning.”
Tucker smiled and waved a greeting. He really hated it when they called him “Chief”. They tried to sound like a big city police station, but it made them even bigger hicks for it. They were good deputies though. He could never complain about that. Each and every one, willing to go to the end for him.

Sherry, the only woman deputy they had, smiled at him as he waded through files and paperwork to get to his office.
“Good morning, Tucker. How’s it going with the chickens?”
Humor leaked from every word, and Tucker was waiting for her to burst into laughter at any second.
“Great. Actually had a lead this morning over at Old Man Ross’ place.” he said as he continued toward his office. The piles of paper seemed to grow as he went. “What in Heaven’s good name is this stuff?”
Sherry did laugh now. “Sorry Tucker, I had the ladies at the church ask me to help with the food drive they are having for the missionaries. I have to mail out all these flyers. They have every address, and they are planning to send a flyer to everyone in town. Just to let you know, you’ll be getting one too.” She continued folding the papers she had sitting in front of her.
He looked at the stacks of letter, envelopes, and stamps. Raising an eyebrow, he said, “You couldn’t have done it at home?”
“Not with the twins. Those boys don’t sit still for a moment. I would have this stuff scattered from here to yonder, and I’d never get it back again. Sorry, Tucker. Has to be here.”
Tucker just shook his head, grinned and waded his way into the office.

Sitting at his desk looking over files, Tucker decided he would call a friend.
As he dialed the phone, the first wave of doubt began to flood him.
What if this was a bit mistake? It could be possible that the whole thing was just a misunderstanding from Louise. She did say that these things were implied, not actually spoken.
He paused in dialing, and then began again. He had always been taught to listen to his gut. It had gotten him out of more jams than he could remember. He would follow it again.
The phone rang, and then a deep male voice answered on the other end.
“Yes?”
“Clark?”
“Speaking,” said Clark.
“Clark, this is Tucker.”
“Hey Tuck, what’s going on? How are you?”
“Things are okay Clark, but I really need your help on something. Can we meet somewhere and talk?”
The voice on the other end became graver.
“Of course, Tuck. Anywhere you want. I can fly down as soon as I gather some things. Do you need me to stay a few days?”
Tucker smiled. If there was ever a friend he could count on, Clark Diageo of the FBI would always be it.
“Thanks Clark. I would like that. I have a real problem here.”
“Hey, anything for you man. I’ll be there pronto.”
Tucker said his goodbyes and then slowly hung up the phone. There was no going back. He was going to battle this thing head on, and there would be no stopping him.


Tucker sat patiently in a booth in the “Painted Bucket”, which said nothing for the décor of the café itself. There didn’t seem to be any paint anywhere, and the café appeared to have been built back when paint didn’t exist.
Still, it offered a variety on the menu that was slightly pleasing to the taste, so Tucker had ordered ham and eggs with some coffee and was now awaiting the arrival of Clark Diageo.
As the waitress brought his food over to him, he noticed Clark’s dark, rippling hair making its way through the crowd on the street. You could always tell Clark by his hair. It was so black that it gave sheens of blue every time light would hit it. Not only was it black, but the curls that clung to his scalp gave Clark a devilish appearance.

He made is way to the table, ordered some coffee, and, smiling with one eyebrow cocked at a odd angle, stated, “Well, Tuck, what did you drag me here for this time?”
Tucker smiled. Clark was one big joke. Always smiling and laughing about something.
“I have a problem and I need your help.”
Clark grinned. “Out with it.”
Tucker finished a bite of his ham and, placing his hands on the table, began.
“Well, it started with the chicken stealing.”
Clark sat straight up, placed both hands on the table and with a disgusted air, snorted with laughter.
“Chicken stealing? You called me from my job as a FBI AGENT to help you track down chicken thieves?”
Tucker began to laugh at the mock incredulity that filled Clark’s face and eyes.
“I said, Clark, that it started with chicken stealing.”
Clark relaxed his exaggerated pose and half closing his eyes, assumed an air of indifference.
“Well. That’s different.”
Tucker wanted to throw his eggs at him. He was always such a cutup.
“Do you want to help me or not?” he said, grinning at Clark.
Clark grinned back.
“Sounds interesting. Never hunted chicken thieves before.”
Tucker’s smile broadened.
“Well, sit back and let me tell you the story.”