Chapter 3

Robbie’s Great Adventure was scheduled to end at sunup, since he hadn’t been there when Seth stopped by the first time, and Seth’s Jeep was parked at the cutoff just before dawn. He’d just taken a sip of his coffee when he looked up and saw Robbie sitting on the hood of the Jeep. Robbie was staring in through the windshield and chittered away when he saw that Seth noticed him.

He turned over his shoulder and chittered toward the trees. Another ferret scampered up the front of the Jeep and sat down near Robbie. This ferret was pure white.

S: ‘Oh. Well hello, Butch.’

B: ‘Hello, Waabanow.’

S: ‘Robbie. Butch is a lady ferret.’

Robbie looked pleased with himself.

Robbie was pouting.

R: ‘But you will talk to her for us.’

S: ‘Of course I will ... But for now, come on inside and curl up in the back. You’ll probably want to sleep after being out all night.’

The pair of ferrets scampered up to the driver’s window, past the side mirror, and jumped onto Seth’s shoulder and then into the back seat.

S: ‘Butch ... come back for a minute.’ The snowy ferret complied; he petted her all over. ‘You’re feeling not-so-good, are you, girl?’

B: ‘Yes, a little. I mean, no, I’m not-so-good. But I’ll be fighting it off, so it won’t get in the way of me finding a new family. I know it.’

S: ‘You can relax about that, Butch. This is just a little thing you can get from eating and living in the woods for a while. You’ve got some worms in your belly. I’ll help you get rid of them later ... no problem. Now go and get comfy in the back seat.’

The two polecats jumped over the back seat into the cargo area, where they made a little nest among the spare jackets thrown casually back there. Seth smiled to himself as he put the car in gear. He headed toward the Post Office building in Cuba, N.Y., and his meeting with Special Agent Wrox.

Seth Lightfoot wandered over to the board that showed all the offices in the Post Office building. There it was, just what he was looking for: “FBI Office – Cuba, NY.” It was on the third floor – of three. A few moments later he was standing in front of an office door that was half-marbled glass and half cheap wood. He knocked.

“C’mon in,” Agent Wrox shouted from inside.

“Agent Wrox,” said Seth. “Good morning. And you are... ?”

“Carl Yothers,” said the aging man sitting next to Wrox. “I’m the part-time police artist for the County Sheriff.”

Seth: “Glad ta meecha, Mr. Yothers.” He held out his hand.

Yothers: “Just Carl. Everybody calls me Carl.”

Wrox: “I’ve got ya set up on my laptop over there with his program. We don’t actually use paper and pencil anymore. Carl, here, knows how to use the software, so I called him in. Sorta an interagency borrowed kinda deal.”

S: “Got it. The PA State Police have one of these too.”

W: “Everybody does nowadays.”

Y: [Looking at the laptop] “Now, if I can just figger out how to turn it on.”

W: “Just hit any key. It’s already on.”

Y: “Oh ... yeah. I keep mine turned on all the time, too.”

Carl activated the ‘FFA’ icon on the desktop.

S: “FFA?”

Y: “I figger nobody in Warshinton never heard of the Future Farmers of ‘Merica. It stands for FBI Facial Rec’nition. No ... Better make it FBI Facial Artist. That’s it.”

S: “Oh ... right.” [to Wrox] “You know you’ll probably never be able to use this in court.”