Chapter 104

"I'm Sylvia Porter," I said to the two men who had asked Joan about me. They were obviously cops.

"Are you armed?" the younger of the two asked.

I looked up and saw Rodney, shift his weight uncomfortably. "More or less," I answered. I have permits for everything and i am licensed as a private protection agent," I said.

"Which don't mean dick," the cop's older partner said.

"Well, let's see. Am I under arrest for something?" I asked.

"Not just yet, we are investigating a accusation that you tazered a man and threatened him with a knife," the young one said.

"That's interesting did the gentleman in question surrender his illegal weapons, or did you even ask him, if he were armed." Judging from there lack of response I said, "I guess not. I also guess you better arrest me, or I'm through talking."

"Then you are not going to deny the charge," he asked.

"I have nothing more to say. If you arrest me, I'm going to lawyer up in front of these civilian witnesses," I said. "I'm going to walk out that door, then to the parking lot to get in my SUV and drive the hell out of Atlanta."

They didn't stop me. Rodney and I drove toward our next concert until we were out of Georgia. During that drive Rodney was nervous and watched his rear view mirror.

"Don't get too nervous Rodney, you aren't the one in the cross hairs. Besides if they really had anything, we wouldn't have left that room. Those cops knew that it was bogus. A member of a thug crew accuses a skinny white girl of all that shit. Who is the jury going to believe, you and me, or this thug wanna bes."

"Tell you what Sylvia, I ain't never gonna doubt you again. I think you are some kind of female Dirty Harry," he said.

"Reminds me of a porno movie, called dirty Harriet," I said with a laugh. After a short drive we were in South Carolina. We stopped at a motel just over the South Carolina border for some much needed sleep. I got some eggs at all night breakfast place near the motel, then crashed, Rodney just crashed.

"Hey you ready to go," I asked when the half naked Rodney answered the door. "Go where he asked," he asked. I wasn't dressed for going anywhere. I was in my running suit. My running togs that morning were sweat pants and a sweat shirt with cut off sleeves.

"I thought all you commando types ran before breakfast every morning," I said.

"Us Commando types sleep till noon, when we been up for two days with nothing but high tension shit going on around us. But give me ten minutes and I'll meet you in the parking lot," he agreed.

I was drinking coffee from the motels office coffee maker. It was there along with sweet rolls for the guest. I just took the coffee. I had enough problem with sweet things during the day. I saw Rodney come down in this Jeans and a sweat shirt that could be mine's twin, but it was much larger of course. They were both blue with cut off sleeves. I would guess his didn't come from a thrift store though.

He made a motion directing me to start. I threw the coffee in a trash can. looked at my watch and took off. It had been a while since I ran, so I shot for one hour of solid running. I doubted that I could hold out that long without a break, but it was a goal. The service road was filled with motel parking lots and even a truck stop. The road had to be three or four miles long at least. I lead Rodney to the stop sign, then we turned and ran back. The hour was up but that run would have kicked my ass anyway, so I knew it had been too long, since I ran. Even so we ran around the three motel parking lots as well. That probably added another mile or so to the run.

I was tired when I stepped into the shower, but I wasn't in pain. That would come in about an hour. I dressed for the day in the green fatigue pants, they were sold in stores under the name cargo pants. Mine were big, sloppy and black, most women wouldn't dare wear. I loved them because they had lots of big pockets. I had even had a special holster made for the .38. It was made in probably the last shoe shop in the USA. The holster had a front and a back made of stiff canvas with a Velcro strap over the hammer for safety. There was no way to attach it to anything. But it slipped into the pocket of those cargo pants beautifully. I could wear those pants with a tee shirt and still carry the .38 and a couple of box openers, as well as the stun gun. What was there not to love about the pants? Well except that they wanted to fall down all the time.

I packed the Glock on top of the duffel bag. I wanted to be able to get to it, before we had to meet with Soda Pop. We weren't scheduled to meet till the next day, but we were on call. If Joan came up with anything for him to do, it would be sooner. I was actually looking forward to seeing Soda and his Posse, we had issues to discuss.

We left the little South Carolina pit stop at 8AM after stopping for take out biscuits. It was about a ten hour drive to out next stop, so we wanted to be on the move reasonably early. We pulled onto the highway with Rodney at the wheel and me with a large coffee and biscuit in my hand. He was juggling his breakfast, trying to eat and drive, while I just ate. I had my headphones on playing the highway music I had recorded for my drive from the mountains to the game warden station in the swamp.

I was singing along with 'get your motor running, get out on the highway, ' when Rodney said, "Look at this fucking traffic would ya."