Chapter 11

One of the things about a small town like Elk City is that the people who live there know each other. Spotting a stranger in a small town is almost a civic pastime.

Strangers come in several types. First is the tourist. These folks are easily spotted. They always travel in packs like wolves or coyotes. Sometimes small, usually in an SUV, sometimes large, like in a bus. But always easily spotted by their dress and mannerisms.

Tourists always, ALWAYS, have a camera close by. It could be a cell phone, a digital camera, or a multimillion-dollar SLR with more attachments than a fly fishermen’s tackle box. But in any form, a tourist will have a camera.

Then there is the sportsman. These folks can be easily spotted by their clothing. Hunters will have their blaze orange vests on with camouflage hoodies underneath. Fisherman will have their sixty pocket vests. Usually, with fishing lures and flies hanging from various places. Do not forget the floppy hat with even more lures and flies on it.

Finally, there are the hikers. They will have shorts and plaid Pendleton shirts. But the most noticeable will be their shoes. Hikers will have better footwear than most infantrymen. They will also have the required packs nearby. Hikers also fall into several subtypes that can be determined by the size of their backpacks.

The Sunday morning stroll through nature crowd will have fanny packs. Usually, but not always, with a water bottle attached. The Forestry people always look for these hikers. They know that there is a better than even chance that these folks will be the subject of a search and rescue job.

Then there are the overnighters. They will have a larger pack, not much bigger than a school kids’ bookbag, and sometimes borrowed from their kids. These folks might be thinking of spending the night under the stars roasting hotdogs, making S’mores, and drinking way too much booze. They are also quite likely to need a Search and Rescue party’s assistance.

Then there are the dedicated hiking fanatics. These are the folks who have a stated life goal to climb every mountain, walk every trail, and boldly go where no one has gone before. Their packs will carry more equipment, doodads, gizmos, and thing-o-ma-bobs than a moon mission. They will spend more time planning and equipping a trip than most people take to plan for their next kid or their retirement. The packs will be big, REALLY big. They can easily be spotted from the front or from behind by their bent-over posture, usually seen in geriatric patients or a chiropractor’s office.

But on this day, the visitors to Elk City and Mabel’s diner did not fit any of those descriptions.

First was their car. Usually, tourists will arrive in the standard Sports Utility Vehicle or SUV, which used to be known as the Urban Assault Vehicle, until the public relations folks in Detroit and Tokyo decided that it was a too militant label. If they did not arrive in an SUV, it would be a family sedan. Usually four doors, six cylinders, and smaller than a good-sized dog carrier.

These two visitors fell well outside of any normal category. They arrived in a large V8 Lincoln. Something rarely seen in the country.

The next item was the way they were dressed. These guys were in expensive three-piece tailored suits. Definitely not country wear. Their shoes alone could have paid off the national debts of several small countries.

The moment they stepped into Mabel’s, all conversation stopped.

They were big men, husky and well-built. When they stepped into the diner, they looked around as if looking for a possible threat.

As they sat in one of the booths, Mabel stepped up. “What can I get you fellows?”

The older of the two looked up. “Some pasta and gravy and scotch and soda.”