Rigsby hadn't intended to make a rest stop until they were back in California, but with both passengers asleep against their respective windows and the only classic rock radio station he could find fading out, Wayne decided to take the next exit from I-5. It was roughly at the halfway point of the trip anyway, and nearly midnight. The fast food establishments were already closed, but there was an all-night truck stop that was adequately lit. A few semi's were parked in the lot, as were a couple of motorcycles and one dusty old Chevy truck. Rigsby parked just outside the entrance where he would be able to watch the SUV from the window.
The vehicle's slowing speed woke Jane. He opened his eyes, saw the truck stop, and said, "Oh. chili!"
Wayne instantly regretted his choice, but it was too late.
The restaurant was a long rectangle with an exposed kitchen, a counter with attached seats running most of the length of the kitchen side, and the outer wall lined with booths. It was staffed with one cook and one waitress. Neither of them nor the restaurant's patrons blinked at the sight of two men entering with a woman in handcuffs. The newly arrived party of three headed first for the restrooms at the far end. Rigsby knocked on the ladies' room door, then swung the door open to look inside. There was a second door beyond the first, so he stepped inside to check out the facilities. A moment later he returned. "It's fine," he said. "There's a window, but you'd never make it through." Rigsby proceeded to un-cuff Stephanie. "We'll be right outside," he told her.
"Thanks," she said, and went through the door.
As soon as she was inside, Rigsby told Jane to wait outside the door while he used the men's room, counting on the male mechanical advantage of speed in such matters to be back out before Stephanie. Once all three of them were out, Rigsby re-cuffed Stephanie to his left wrist.
"Is that really necessary?" Jane asked.
"She's a prisoner," Rigsby said.
"How is she going to eat?" protested Jane.
"I can manage," Stephanie said. "Stop fussing."
"Yeah, stop fussing," Rigsby said. He led them to a booth, ushered Stephanie in by the window, sat next to her and Jane took the seat across from them. Dinner was an awkward, but amusing affair with Rigsby attempting to eat an over-loaded breakfast burrito one handed. Stephanie selected a single-hand-practical meal of chicken fingers and fries, and Jane, although much tempted by the chili, chose a club sandwich as a more long-car-ride-gracious alternative. By the end of their meals, Rigsby had managed to spill several globs of salsa onto his clothes.
"I'm going to go wash up," Rigsby said. "Give me your arm," he told Jane.
"Why?"
"She can't come with me."
"You're kidding…"
"Nope. Arm." Jane extended his left arm across the table and Rigsby cuffed Jane and Stephanie together. "Stay," Rigsby commanded, then walked back to the men's room.
Feeling awkward with their arms stretched across the table, Jane said, "Maybe I should move over there…" He began to slide out of the booth to sit across from Stephanie but froze at the touch of something hard shoved into his ribs. He looked to his right and found himself staring into the eyes of a dwarf.
"Don't say a word," said the dwarf in a slight British accent. Jane looked down and saw a large gun in the man's small hand. "Both of you get up real quick and quiet before Hercules comes back. We're gonna go for a ride."
* * * *
Rigsby returned from the bathroom to what he was sure was a bad practical joke: an empty booth. Prepared to read Jane the riot act and embarrass him in front of his lady friend, Rigsby paid the check and went out to the SUV. No one was there. "Not funny," he said loudly. "Let's get back on the road." He walked around the parking lot, expecting to find Jane and Miss. Donovan snickering behind a van. What he found instead was Jane's cell phone crushed to pieces. It had been run over by a car.
* * * *