Chapter 8 of Shiva’s Messenger

Woebegone for the Bag Lady

The BMW was stashed in the Calgary mini-storage and Roger was again driving his pick-up truck. Traveling east with no fixed destination, the Rocky Mountain foothills were soon left behind. The landscape flattened to a nearly featureless expanse of wheat fields. The highway pointed poker-strait and it rolled through shallow dips and over mild rises.

Shiva’s Messenger had selected another Ruger to replace the one that disappeared piecemeal into a string of dumpsters. His father must have also been partial to this model because he’d left a preponderance of them for his son’s use. The new gun was now in the hidden lock box under the truck bed along with another ID set.

“I wonder if I turned my steering wheel even once during the whole tedious highway drive across the Prairie Provinces?” Roger arrived in Winnipeg. Since he still hadn’t decided where he was going, he stopped here for the night. He rented a motel room close to downtown and took a brisk walk in the city core area.

Indian Summer was definitely finished here. If Manitoba had experienced the same mild day that he and Jessica enjoyed on the mountain, it was not in evidence now. A cold front had descended from an arctic air mass and gripped the city in a frosty precursor of the winter to come. Scattered snowflakes swirled in the buffeting winds that twisted about the buildings like skiers down a slalom run.

Winnipeg is often referred to as Winter-peg and where Portage Ave. intersects Main St. is bragged as the world’s coldest street corner. Roger couldn’t argue that assessment. He decided his walk was too brisk in both definitions and made it brief. A café advertised a hot bowl of soup special and it promptly arrived with a biscuit.

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On Tuesday, John picked up the things Sam had prepared. They were perfect. “You do incredible work. It’s no wonder my Dad kept coming back to you.”

“Only the best for my repeat customers.” The crafty old forger smiled wryly. “Come back for whatever you need or just for a chat.”

“Now, I have a long nasty drive ahead.” John sighed at the thought of the monotonous return journey.

“Take a plane and get there quicker.”

“That would be nice but airline travel leaves a trail that’s easy to follow and sometimes I have to pack along things that they would prefer I didn’t carry in my luggage.”

“Then take a train. It’s not as fast as by air but they don’t look at ID. People just don’t hijack as many trains as often as they did in the good old days, so the security is less stringent.” Sam chuckled, he was old but the age of the great train robberies was far before his time. “The trip is just as long but you’ll get there relaxed.”

“Yes, that’s an excellent idea.” John grinned as the prospect of another exhaustingly long drive vanished in a phrase. “Sam, you want a nice pick-em-up truck?

“Yee Haw! Does it come with a cowgirl seat cover?”