Chapter 6: Another country heard from

Jack never dismounted. He just hollered from the jeep, "What the fuck do you want? And get the fuck off my porch, you're trespassing."

The door opened and who Jack assumed was the head honcho stepped out onto the porch.

That did it. That Defender engine and running gear wasn't something the Alphabet soup knew about. They were expecting a putt putt four banger. The road from Frogmorton to the Flintkote mansion was loosely called a road.

The soup had enough trouble getting those full-time all-wheel drive Suburban monsters UP the two track. Down should be extremely interesting. It was.

Before anyone on the porch had a chance to flash a badge, the 1965 300 horsepower fuel-injected CJ-5 was going away and Jack couldn't be expected to stop when he couldn't see who it was who wanted him.

The jeep slid to a stop in front of the Law Offices of Counselor

Shingle. Lo and behold ... Sheriff Shingle and Judge Shingle were in the office for their weekly pinochle game. Sammy Shingle made up the fourth.

June Shingle was keeping score because the Judge had been known to be inaccurate in his addition.

Billy Shingle was dealing because they all know how to false shuffle, false cut, culling, stacking, bottom dealing, seconds, double dealing and center deal.

Court Recorder Bethanne Shingle was sitting in a dark corner playing with the video camera that Judge Shingle had bought with a Federal Grant It was based on Farnsworth's image dissector ... so the entire incident was caught on tape.

The group heard the squealing of tires and the tinny slam of Jeep doors. The Law Office door was wrenched open and two sets of feet stopped, turned the Closed sign around and the definitive clunk of the two deadbolts locking. On the way into the main office someone shut off the receptionist's office lights.

Soon ... very soon ... but NOT before Jack and Sultry managed to say... "You are retained," and threw a dollar ... each ... at the lawyer ... the sound of large V-8's was heard and the innumerable squealing of many tires ... and not a few collisions. The pair stood before the Judge and said, "Marry us ... right now."

Sultry said, "I do."

Jack said, "Me too."

The outside door was no hinderance nor was the lack of lighting to the many thundering hooves of Federal Cattle.

The office door flung open and the Judge said, "I pronounce you man and wife, Gentlemen! A little decorum ... Please. This is a solemn moment in the annals of jurisprudence."

Several of the G-men shouted various versions of, "Shut the fuck up." "Get down on the floor old man." "Hands behind your head, old man" "All of you are under arrest."

"Flintkote ... you are under arrest for evading a Federal officer."

"What Federal Officer?"

"Us," "Who do you think?" and several other exceptionally loud and bullying remarks aimed at intimidating witnesses. The most asinine of the comments was, "You knew who we are ... that's why you ran."

"You made no attempt to identify yourselves."

"You knew who we are."

Counselor Shingle said, "I am an officer of the court. I demand to know the charges."

"We'll think of something."

Sheriff Shingle finally said, "Sultry."

"Sheriff?"

"You are a minor until day after tomorrow."

"I'm seventeen?"

"Yes," Shingle said.

"But my birth certificate?"

"The doctor and the nurse filled it out the way I asked," said the Sheriff.

"Gentlemen, Mrs. Flintkote is a minor and, as such, you may not question her without the presence of her attorney. That would be me."

The sheriff said to the lead suit. "You are forgetting something."

"We're forgetting nothing," he said, "Get him out of here."

When the last man left, the Judge turned to the darkened corner, "Bethanne? Did you get all that?"

"Yes, Sir."

"We need unedited copies of that sent airmail registered and return receipt to CBS in New York and Washington, NBC in San Francisco and LA, PBS in Boston and Chicago, Fox in Atlanta and Houston and ABC in Phoenix and Seattle. TV in Paris, London and Geneva. Cover letter to state that the transcription of the video has been sent to the major newspaper syndicates ... also a copy to the President ... and note that in the cover letters," he said. "Now, help me up ... my knees are killing me."