#160c
The next morning was the start of a two week heat spell that broke all records and defied logic. Helga stoutly insisted the winter was coming very soon. She had Helmer write a list of the foods they needed larger quantities of to make life comfortable for the winter.
Mark and Ben went to town, scouting the countryside for farmers in the process of harvesting. They drove into four fields before they could get farmers to sell them sacks of potatoes, onions, carrots and beans. Helga had sent a list of probable amounts they needed for the amount of mouths to feed. Mark doubled the amount and then bought more.
Carefully spacing out the buying among many different farmers and stores, the two men covered the bounty they were buying carefully and kept a sharp lookout for over-interested bystanders. They went to Brooks for fruit, buying a dozen boxes of apples, a dozen of late peaches and pears.
Driving out of the orchard, Mark happened to spot a pickup bed topper for sale. His red and white Ford looked snazzy with the all-white cab high topper. It allowed for more merchandise to be packed into the space, and Mark and Ben filled it with keeper squash, pumpkins and more sacks of onions. He went into a warehouse store for what they couldn't find out in the fields, while Ben stayed with the pickup.
Ben used a rag and polish on the pickup and pretended to be bored, waiting for his wife to finish shopping. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see a old blue Chevy with a carload of young men cruise on past for the second time. Ben got in the pickup and moved it up several rows, into a space close to the exit door.
When the car slowly moved past the third time deliberately seeking him out, Ben lounged casually against the door, displaying his hand on his gun. The car almost stopped and then slowly drove on out of the lot. His lawman spidy senses were tingling, there was going to be trouble.
When Mark came out with the heaped dolly, they worked together efficiently stowing the additional boxes of food. Ben related what had happened, and they planned their exit. Instead of going to a station to fuel up, they fueled at the mega store. Mark did the work while Ben kept sharp lookout. Eventually he spotted the old Monte Carlo backed into a closed store's parking lot.
Mark had been watching the traffic flow, hoping to find a pattern that would be to his benefit. He finally worked out a plan that would catch the would-be raiders in a two light change. Mark figured he might have to muscle his way into the moving line of cars, probably earning himself a angry gesture or two, but it seemed like it would work. It did.
The 250 wasn't a speedster under the best of circumstances, and as heavily laden as it was, it was definitely sluggish. Mark had a passing memory of where they were and what roads to use to ditch the ruffians, so he had Ben pull the rifle from behind the back seat and load it.
The maneuver stymied the blue Chevy, and then Mark did some evasive and change of directions turns. They were almost congratulating themselves for averting disaster when Ben said, "they're back and gaining on us."
"To me we have a couple of choices," Mark said calmly, "shoot the tires, or disable the car somehow. Or, let them get close and shoot the driver. It's up to you, whatever you want to do but I'm not heading anywhere near home while they are shadowing us."
Ben didn't like any of the choices, but what Mark said was the hard truth. The car and it's occupants needed to be stopped. Ben let them get far closer than Mark was comfortable with, before he leaned out the window and shot out the front tire. The Chevy fishtailed as it continued swerving hard to the right, evidently the youthful driver was not experienced in holding the wheel straight.
The road made a sharp left turn and the car didn't. It went off the pavement, down into the barrow pit and into a driveway of a stone and rock business. The stately basalt columns smashed the rattletrap car as they toppled like dominoes on the hapless thieves.
"Aren't you going to stop and see if they're hurt?" Ben questioned.
"Nope, they'll shoot at me," Mark said matter-of-factly. "Not interested in that. You can bet they all have phones. No brains, but a way to let the world know how stupid they are."
Mark drove back into Portland and started the correct way to get out of town. Several times he backtracked to see if they were being followed, but nothing unusual was noted. "We still have to come to town for feed," he told Ben, "and I'm thinking we need to use Ev's pickup 'cause it's different. Something we did today alerted those goons that we had a lot of supplies. We need to think back and use more caution."
They stopped at the local store and bought ice cream and root beer for a supper treat. The shopkeeper's wife was on duty and she gossiped well. "The paintings that man from your place is painting are selling well. If you see him, tell him we need many more."
Rather than admit they had no idea of what she was talking about, both men nodded wisely and pretended they knew all about it. Ben casually walked over to inspect the small framed oils hanging on the wall, and was very distressed to read the name and the subject of the paintings. They were of the clan, and featured full on faces in fine detail, doing work, sitting talking, and in general totally exposed to the world.
.
. He cant be allowed to leave for any reason even to go to the store.