More Twisted

me.” Sloan stood and said to Agnes and Bill, “Thanks for the use of the phone.”
    “No problem.”
    “You’re sure you don’t want to stay. I can put some supper on. Please?” The poor woman was now clearly desperate.
    “No. I have to be going.”
    “Yeah,” Greg said, “Dave’s got to be going.”
    “Damn,” the tow operator said. “Hotter in there than it is outside.”
    You don’t know the half of it, Sloan thought, and started down the steps to the idling flatbed.

    The driver winched Sloan’s disabled Chevy onto the bed, chained it down and then the two men climbed inside thecab of the truck. They pulled out onto the highway, heading east. The air conditioner roared and the cool air was a blessing.
    The radio clattered. Sloan couldn’t hear it clearly over the sound of the AC but the driver leaned forward and listened to what was apparently some important message. When the transmission was over, the driver said, “They still haven’t caught that guy.”
    “What guy?” Sloan asked.
    “The killer. The guy who escaped from that prison about thirty miles east of here.”
    “I didn’t hear about that.”
    “I hope it makes it on American’s Most Wanted. You ever watch that show?”
    “No. I don’t watch much TV,” Sloan said.
    “I do,” the tow driver offered. “Can be educational.”
    “Who is this guy?”
    “Sort of a psycho killer, one of those sorts. Like in Silence of the Lambs. How ’bout movies, you like movies?”
    “Yeah,” Sloan responded. “That was a good flick.”
    “Guy was in the state prison about twenty miles west of here.”
    “How’d he escape? That’s a pretty high-security place, isn’t it?”
    “Sure is. My brother . . . uhm, my brother had a friend did time there for grand theft auto. Hard place. What they said on the news was that this killer was in the yard of that prison and, what with the heat, there was a power failure. I guess the backup didn’t go on either or something and the lights and the electrified fence were down for, I dunno, almost an hour.But by the time they got it going again, he was gone.”
    Sloan shivered as the freezing air chilled his sweat-soaked clothes. He asked, “Say, you know that family where you picked me up? The Willises?”
    “No sir. I don’t get out this way much.”
    They continued driving for twenty minutes. Ahead, Sloan saw a band of flashing lights.
    The driver said, “Roadblock. Probably searching for that escapee.”
    Sloan could see two police cars. Two uniformed officers were pulling people over.
    The salesman said to the tow driver, “When you get up there, pull off to the side. I want to talk to one of the cops.”
    “Sure thing, mister.”
    When they pulled over, Sloan got out and told the driver, “I’ll just be a minute.” Sloan inhaled deeply but no air seemed to get into his lungs. His chest began to hurt again.
    One of the officers glanced at Sloan. The big man, his tan shirt dark with sweat, approached. “Hold up there, sir. Can I help you?” He held his flashlight defensively as he walked toward Sloan, who introduced himself and handed over a business card. Sloan observed the man’s name badge. Sheriff Mills. The law enforcer looked over the card and then Sloan’s suit and, satisfied that he wasn’t the man they were looking for, asked, “What can I do for you?”
    “Is this about that fellow who escaped from the prison?” He nodded at the squad car.
    “Yessir, it is. You seen anything that might help us find him?”
    “Well, it might be nothing. But I thought I should mention it.”
    “Go ahead.”
    “What’s the prisoner look like?”
    “Just escaped about two hours ago. We don’t have a picture yet. But he’s in his mid-thirties, beard. Six feet, muscular build. Like yours, more or less.”
    “Shaved head?”
    “No. But if I was him I mighta shaved it the minute I got out. Lost the beard too.”
    “Tattoo?”
    “Don’t know. Probably.”
    Sloan explained about his car’s breaking down and about his stop at the Willises’ house. “You think that prisoner would come this way?”
    “If he had his wits about him, he would. To go west’d take him fifty miles through forest. This way, he’s got a crack at stealing a car in town or hitching a ride on the interstate.”
    “And that’d take him right past the Willises’?”
    “Yep. If he took Route 202. What’re you getting at, Mr. Sloan?”
    “I think that fellow might be at the Willises’