Anita, Caleb, Mother Dora, Gerald, Darius, the baldies, and I all headed to Tennessee to meet with Mickey. East bound and down, loaded up and truckin’. The baldies all sold their cars and bought a couple of dinged-up white vans that looked like they used to have “Free Candy” spray painted on their sides. We hadn’t had time to recruit nearly as many people as I’d hoped, and our training wasn’t even close to done, but if Mickey was calling on us this early, things must be worse than he imagined. We had to make do with what we had.

Mickey didn’t give us an address to drive to or anything like that, but we knew that he was in Chattanooga, taking over for the Futrells, so we made our way back to the city — or we tried to, at least. Two police cars sat on either side of the road, just outside the city limits, lights flashing. We had to stop.

One of the officers — a short, stocky man with a dirty blonde military haircut and sunglasses on even though it was almost dark outside — was leaning against the squad car, waiting for cars to come by. He came up to us first.

“Evenin’,” he said “What’s y’all’s business in Chattanooga?”

“Do we have to have business?” Anita asked. “We’re just passing through.”

“Passin’ through, huh?” he replied flatly.

“Yep, is that a problem?”

“I’ll let you know in just a minute,”

Well, this is fucking weird, I thought. Officer Stocky beckoned for his partner — a taller guy with a similar hair and glasses combo, who transcended stocky and ventured straight into morbid obesity — who got out of the car with two flashlights and handed him one. They shined them into our van, and then all of the baldies’ vans. Their mouths moved and the driving baldies’ mouths moved in return. Both of the cops looked directly at me at the same time, and then they mouthed something into their walkie-talkie. I noticed that the cops in the other squad car also had their eyes locked on me. There were so many things a cop might want to speak to me about that I prayed that they were just profiling me and assumed I had meth in my pocket or something. The two flat headed officers nodded at the baldies and waddled over to my window. They knocked on it, and I rolled it down.

“Can I see some ID, sir?” the stocky officer asked.

“Don’t have one,” I replied, which was the truth. “I was homeless until pretty recently.”

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“What’s your name, then?” he pressed.

“Jacob Dougherty,” I said, quickly thinking of a name off the top of my head. Jacob was a kid who was in my fifth grade class. I don’t know why his name was the first one I thought of at that moment, but he was a dick, so I didn’t mind if bad things happened to him because of it.

“Hmmm, you sure ‘bout that?” asked the obese officer, pulling his belt up over his gut as he stepped closer to the window.

“Pretty sure I know my name,” I replied. This wasn’t looking good.

“Pretty sure I know your name too,” he said. “And I’m pretty sure it ain’t Jacob.”

Silence.

Anita gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. Caleb hid behind his long hair. Mother Dora rubbed her hands together vigorously. Darius was asleep with his head resting against the window, and I could’ve sworn I saw Gerald trying not to smile.

“What’s my name then?” I asked.

“Augustus McCall, if I’m not mistaken,” said the obese officer. “Am I mistaken?” He pulled his sunglasses down his nose and looked over them into my eyes.

“What gave it away?”

“We were told you were comin’, and there ain’t many bums out there traveling with a sixty-man squad and has a tattoo like that,” he looked down at my arm. “Mickey’s waitin’ for you, just go on over to Paw Paw’s and you’ll be able to find him quick.”

“Sounds good, thanks,” I said about a millisecond before Anita stomped on the gas pedal and took us out of there.

What the fuck just happened? I thought.

“What the fuck just happened?” Anita said. “Has Mickey recruited the whole damn Chattanooga police department?”

“Let’s fuckin’ hope so if he’s back at Paw Paw’s,” I said. “That place would be swarming with cops otherwise. Let’s hope he cleaned the place up, too.”

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Paw Paw’s Pickin’ Orchard was no longer open to the public. The big steel gate out front was closed and two burly men holding assault rifles stood on either side. When we pulled up, they pointed them at us.

“Fuck off. We’re here to see Mickey,” I yelled from the window before they could approach us. They must’ve not been used to being talked to that way, because they stopped in their tracks.

“It’s Gus. I’m sure he told you we were coming. Get the fuck out of the way before I glue you to the fucking ground and let you starve to death.”

The gears turned in their heads for a moment, but they eventually decided that everything checked out, and that they’d rather not be stuck to the pavement for the rest of their lives, so they opened the gate and let us in.

It was bizarre, being back at Paw Paw’s. The walkways and trails that were bustling with people last time were now completely empty. The trees had all shed their leaves for the winter, and formed a jagged wall leading up to the gift shop security bunker. With my motley crew behind me, I walked through the gift shop, to the maintenance closet, through the secret door, and down the stairs, back into the bunker, where Mickey was waiting to greet us with a cigar and a smile.

“Howdy, glad y’all could make it,” he said. “Hope officer Clancy didn’t give you too much shit,” The ash on his cigar had gotten too long and fell on its own to the floor. The whites of his eyes had a tinge of pink to them, and his teeth were even yellower than usual.

“Better follow me to the TV room, quick. I think we’re all gonna want to watch the 6 o’clock news.”