THE MILTON-FREEWATER AFFAIR
by ardavenport and tlneill
= = = Act 3 : "So we have a lapsed Thrush on our hands."
The conversation remained casual while the three drove back to Charlotte's trailer: U.N.C.L.E., bombs and Thrush in general.
No one started shooting from the bushes as a rather nervous Charlotte drove up her driveway. She parked the truck next to the U.N.C.L.E. car and stood watching as Illya inspected it for any explosive or otherwise fatal booby-traps.
"People are going to be coming around here wondering what all the shooting was about," Charlotte cautioned. "Somebody's probably already called Sheriff Kune."
"I'm sure we'll be able to come up with a plausible explanation." Napoleon told her. He followed Illya around to the other side of the car.
"I dunno about this," she answered unenthusiastically.
"There's nothing here." Illya stood from looking under the car and brushed the dust from his trousers.
"Well if they wanted to leave a surprise for us with the car they would have done so before now." Napoleon turned back to the trailer sitting quietly in the shadows.
"The trailer?" Illya suggested.
"Hmm. That noise I thought I heard while we were on the steps could have been Boom-Boom leaving behind a calling card. We might have interrupted him."
"We can stay away from the trailer until we catch up with our feathered friends."
"What?" Charlotte objected loudly in an octave higher than what she normally used. "I happen to live there, y'know. What do you expect me to do?"
"Well, you must have friends in town you can stay with," Napoleon replied reasonably.
"At this hour of the night?" she protested. "Besides, people don't just go around blowing up houses."
"Not any more than they blow up bathrooms in truck stops," Napoleon told her.
"What?"
"Please, Napoleon, the bruises haven't even had a chance to form. If you must give Miss Goldstein the gruesome details, wait until I'm not here to hear about it."
"You're serious, aren't you?"
"Very," Napoleon replied. "Are you sure there isn't some place you can stay for a day or two?"
"I'll get my things." She headed for her trailer.
"Wait!" Napoleon ran to stop her, catching her arm. The trailer went up in a fiery ball rising up into the night sky. Napoleon threw himself to the ground, dragging Charlotte with him. Illya disappeared behind the U.N.C.L.E. car. Napoleon heard another car drive up.
"Miss Goldstein!" a man's voice called. Napoleon and Charlotte were just picking themselves up as Sheriff Kune came running.
"Miss Goldstein," the Sherrif was tall and thin with curly brown hair and a big nose. "Are you alright?"
"Uh, yes," she answered.
He turned back and squinted at the crackling, burning trailer. "Look at that," he said in awe. "Now what d'you suppose did that?"
"Perhaps you left the gas on," Illya suggested coming back around the car. "When you get enough of a gas build-up . . . Boom!"
"Boom," echoed Napoleon with a glance at his partner.
Miss Goldstein stared heedlessly at the flaming remains of her home. Napoleon scanned the nearby bushes a bit anxiously. Off in the distance he heard a car start up and relaxed slightly.
"No gas service out here," the sheriff said, noticing the two strangers. "Miss Goldstein, these two friends of yours?"
"Hm?" she asked, tearing her eyes away from the scene of destruction. "Oh, uh, yes. They're, uh, cousins." Numbed by the sudden destruction of all her worldly possessions, she was low on imagination and so relied on one of U.N.C.L.E.'s oldest cover stories.
Sherriff Kune smiled and greeted them. "Well, pleased to meet you, ah Mr . . . ?"
"Napoleon Solo." Napoleon shook Kune's hand. 'Any friend of Charlotte's . . . ,' the agent reflected to himself.
"Illya Kuryakin," Illya responded in turn. ' . . . is an U.N.C.L.E. of ours,' he thought.
Sheriff Kune's smile faded a tiny bit. The old 'my long lost aunt, uncle, cousin, relative-in-general' line was wearing a little thin.
"We'll leave the investigation in your capable hands." Napoleon told him, guiding Charlotte to the U.N.C.L.E. car. "Right now I think Miss Goldstein could use a rest."
"'Course, a'course," the sheriff agreed. "I've already called the fire department; called 'em on the radio as I was driving up, so don't worry about a thing Miss Goldstein. You take her along to Jennie Foster's place on Oak Street. First house on your left. It's yellow. Where y'all staying?"
Napoleon glanced at Illya, who shrugged slightly in return. "Well, we hadn't actually gotten that far. Miss Goldstein was going to show us someplace . . . "
"The motel," Charlotte responded for them.
"I'll get in touch with you when this is all settled then." He started to turn away but stopped. "Say, is Bernie coming back here for his truck?" He pointed at the vehicle they'd arrived in.
"Oh, I think so," Charlotte responded in a quavering voice. "I think he was going to pick it up sometime tomorrow or something."
"Well he can't leave it here. It'll get in the way."
"The keys are in it. He won't mind if you just move it until he comes back."
"I oughta' just call . . . ,"
"Oh, no," Charlotte stopped Kune from going back to his car. "I think his grandmother's having trouble with her hip again. He probably couldn't leave the house anyway. You can just move it over there." She pointed to a distant spot of gravel. Napoleon looked like he was going to say something but Charlotte repeated, "He can come by and get it in the morning."
"Well, if he can't come out . . . " The sheriff trotted around to the offending truck and got in. "But you give him the message to come get it as soon as he can."
"I will," she promised and got into the U.N.C.L.E. car with Napoleon and Illya. Charlotte kept her hands clasped firmly in her lap and concentrated on not moving around too much for fear of squashing Illya, whose lap she occupied. Illya didn't say very much and kept his hands to himself.
"Perhaps we should have offered to take Bernie's truck home for him," he commented.
"No, we couldn't have done that," Charlotte responded immediately.
"Bernie doesn't like you driving his truck?" Napoleon asked.
"We can't go to Bernie's house."
Illya thought to himself that there was really no reason why they had to take the truck back to Bernie's house when they only needed to use it to get to the motel. There was no good reason for an overweight woman to be sitting on his bruises. He supposed that it was just fate.
"Oh?" Napoleon questioned.
"That's probably where those two Thrush guys went to," she admitted.
"I see. I take it this Bernie entertains Thrush on a regular basis. Is he anybody we know?"
"He was the kind of short, average one with the Thrush rifle."
Silence reigned while the two agents digested this bit of information.
Napoleon spoke up first.
"Ah, Charlotte, maybe you should tell us a little bit more about this Bernie person."
"Skinner. His name is Bernie Skinner. Turn right at this corner," she directed.
Napoleon and Illya listened attentively as Charlotte gave directions and told them about U.N.C.L.E./Thrush relations in Milton- Freewater.
"You were at Bernie's house?" Illya asked in surprise.
"We were playing games on the computer when those two came in and told Bernie's grandmother that they were Thrush and they needed Bernie to go after some U.N.C.L.E. agents."
"So they saw you?" Napoleon asked.
"No, we were in the basement. Bernie went upstairs to talk to them."
"You were playing games on the computer? A Thrush computer?" Illya asked.
"Uh, yeah. Bernie's got a terminal. I know I should have mentioned it in my last report, but if I did they might tell me to do something about it and if I did then Thrush'd probably have Bernie killed and I couldn't do that to Bernie." she finished plaintively.
Napoleon treated her to another round of silence so, knowing that her loyalties were in question, she filled in the void.
"It's not Bernie's fault that he's Thrush. It's in his family. He's Thrush like . . . like people are Jewish."
"So, it not being his fault, you decided to call a truce," Napoleon concluded."
"Uh, yeah. He's not a bad guy and he's kind of lapse about the Thrush business."
"So, we have a lapsed Thrush on our hands," Illya said to the back of Charlotte's neck.
"He didn't look very lapsed to me," Napoleon commented. "Lapse I'll grant you, but not lapsed."
"Shooting with the best of them," Illya added.
"And tripping over his own feet."
"He did it to spoil their aim," Charlotte insisted.
Napoleon and Illya let the subject drop. They left Miss Goldstein at her friend's house after agreeing to pick her back up before breakfast the next day.
= = = END Act 3