1960: My uncle is the FBI Director

Chapter 270 Is the road condition good?

Billy Hawke returned carrying a bag, glanced at the driver's seat, and chuckled twice.

He sat in the back and distributed coffee and sandwiches to everyone.

Martin Joseph Cronin grabbed his coffee, took a sip, and almost spat it out.

At that time, convenience stores provided disposable cups, but not plastic cup lids.

The way people prevent coffee from spilling is to take a sip right away.

One bite isn't enough, so take two.

Convenience stores in DC usually place a piece of paper on top, which can have a slight effect in preventing spills, but not much.

The convenience stores in Shenandoah County obviously don't offer such meticulous and thoughtful service.

After swallowing it with difficulty, Martin Joseph Cronin looked at the cup with a puzzled expression.

The cup was the same as everyone else's; it was a disposable cup provided by the convenience store.

He looked at the other people, and they all seemed normal.

Bernie had already unwrapped the sandwich and put it in his mouth, taking a bite out of half of it.

Billy Hawke put down his coffee cup and asked Martin Joseph Cronin why he hadn't left yet, and if something was wrong.

Martin Joseph Cronin asked:
"Why does this coffee taste so bad?"

Billy Hawke tasted his own, looking puzzled:
"Is it bad? It tastes pretty good."

He also looked at Bernie and Theodore.

The two men each took a bite and looked at Martin Joseph Cronin with suspicion.

The coffee wasn't great, but it wasn't bad either; it was definitely better than the coffee at Felton Police Station.

Martin Joseph Cronin, still somewhat skeptical, took another bite.

It had a bitter taste with a strange salty flavor, mixed with the pungent smell of cheese.

He turned and spat his coffee out the window.

Billy Hawke sat in the back, head down, shoulders twitching as he stifled a laugh.

Martin Joseph Cronin threw the cup out of the car window, which was seen by a convenience store clerk.

The shop assistant came out of the store, pointed to the unidentified liquid spilled on the floor, and shouted in their direction:

"Hey!"

Martin Joseph Cronin ignored him, started the car, drove out of the gas station, and returned the way he came.

They quickly returned to the fork in the road leading into Shenandoah County, and instead of continuing along US-50, the car turned onto another side road.

The road narrowed abruptly, with lush wild grass and shrubs stretching their branches onto the road. As cars drove by, they would occasionally scrape against the car body, making a slapping sound.

The road surface was rough and uneven, full of cracks and potholes, patched upon patched, and the Chevrolet made a continuous, dull thud as it drove on it.

It is paved with a simple mixture of gravel and asphalt, and when the sun shines on it, it will have a glossy black sheen.

Occasionally, you'll encounter a large pothole, causing the entire vehicle to bounce violently. The people inside are like dishes in a wok, suddenly jumping up, their buttocks leaving the seats, and then landing again.

At this point, you need to use all your strength to stabilize your body in order to avoid bumping or hitting something.

The Chevrolet had to slow down, and the wild speed Theodore used to drive was gone.

Billy Hawke, gripping the chair, asked Bernie:

"Is this what he meant by good road conditions?"

The Lone Pine Sheriff had told Bernie that the road from DC to Lone Pine was in good condition and passable.

And when Bernie asked if he needed to change vehicles, Sheriff Hawkins of Lone Pine Town clearly replied that he did not.

Bernie shrugged:
"At least I can still walk."

He pointed forward:

"Maybe this is all it takes, the rest will be fine."

Billy Hawke was speechless and could only hope that the road conditions ahead would improve.

He picked up a paper bag that was tucked between his legs and handed it forward.

The paper bag contained coffee for Martin Joseph Cronin.

Martin Joseph Cronin was skeptical, but after Billy Hawke personally demonstrated how to drink it, he took the bottle and sipped it.

The taste is normal.

It smells like something from a convenience store.

It doesn't taste good, but it's not bad either.

Bernie abruptly changed the subject, introducing Martin Joseph Cronin to the cases they had solved.

But the topic quickly shifted to various rumors.

The three of them were having a very interesting discussion.

Martin Joseph Cronin even carried a notebook specifically for collecting and recording various rumors.

Theodore didn't participate; he simply admired the scenery outside the window, occasionally jotting down notes in his notebook, pondering how to commit a crime and how to hide as a highway killer, a forest killer, or...

Martin Joseph Cronin glanced curiously at the notebook, which contained lines that he couldn't decipher.

The Chevrolet drove for nearly an hour, the light began to dim, and the road wound its way deep into the forest, carrying a strange mystery that perfectly complemented the topics of conversation.

After driving a little further, Martin Joseph Cronin stopped the car, and everyone got out to take care of their personal matters.

When they first turned onto this road, they could still occasionally encounter tractors or pickup trucks, and houses could be seen on both sides of the road. The further they went, the fewer people they saw. Later, they hadn't encountered any other vehicles for almost half an hour.

Back in the car, Martin Joseph Cronin took out a map, looked at it, pointed to a spot, and hesitantly asked Theodore:

"Are we here now?"

The tall hardwood trees on both sides of the road have canopies that make it look no different from the front or the back.

They were so engrossed in their conversation that they didn't pay attention to the map and it seems they got lost.

After studying the situation for a while, the four decided to walk a little further.

According to the map, there should be a continuous uphill slope ahead, leading to the top of the slope and then winding downhill.

Martin Joseph Cronin rolled up the map and restarted the car.

This time, there was no talking on the bus.

We drove silently for more than ten minutes, the road was smooth all the way.

Martin Joseph Cronin had to turn the car around and go back.

After driving for nearly half an hour, the Chevrolet stopped again.

Billy Hawke got out of the car with a map in hand, looked around, and reconfirmed his location.

The Chevrolet turned around and drove halfway up the mountain before stopping in front of a rusty road sign.

The road sign was covered in rust, and after trying to decipher it for a long time, the group still couldn't figure out what it said.

Bernie pointed to the map:
"Sheriff Hawkins said to turn at the sign halfway up the mountain; that should be the place."

The group looked towards the fork in the road.

It was a forestry dirt road, narrower than the road they were currently traveling on. If the two vehicles were to meet, one of them would have to find an open space to avoid the other in order to pass each other.

The road surface is paved with earth and stones, with exposed soil and sharp gravel embedded in the ground after being repeatedly crushed by vehicle wheels.

The rain from the past few days has left deep ruts and murky puddles on the road.

It looks very bumpy.

Martin Joseph Cronin looked at Bernie:

"Good road conditions?"

Bernie shrugged.

Billy Hawke glanced hesitantly at the Chevrolet, doubting its ability to pass. The group returned to the car, and Bernie took over driving.

Bernie was being very careful and had tried his best to avoid scraping the road, but the road conditions were really worrying.

The Chevrolet had barely driven onto the puddle when its rear wheels inevitably drove into the water.

The entire car body tilted.

Everyone gripped their seats, their bodies tense, yet they were still inevitably swayed and tilted by the car's swaying.

After walking for another hour or so, the sun was no longer visible in the forest. All around us were still deep, dark forests, with no villages or cities in sight.

Everyone regretted not having eaten in the town of Shenandoah before setting off.

No one spoke inside the car; the silence continued.

The continuous bumpy ride and hunger left them exhausted, and all they wanted was to reach Lone Pine Town as soon as possible, have a hearty meal, and then get a good night's sleep.

Around 7 p.m., the road gradually became smooth.

After walking a while longer, a huge, twisted white pine tree came into view.

There was a simple wooden welcome sign under the tree, the writing on it long since faded.

The group finally arrived at Lone Pine Town.

This white pine tree is said to be over a hundred years old, hence the name of Gusong Town (Lone Pine Town).

Theodore and his companions had absolutely no interest in sightseeing.

Martin Joseph Cronin even drove the car with the flair of Theodore.

The Chevrolet roared to a stop in front of an old, two-story wooden house with lights on at the entrance of town, covered in mud and scratches.

The white paint on the exterior walls of the wooden building has peeled off in large areas, revealing the grayish-brown wood grain.

Above the porch hangs an old, rusty tin star-shaped police badge that creaks in the wind.

A hand-carved wooden plaque hangs beside the door, solemnly inscribed with "Sheriff's Office, Shenandoah County - Lone Pine Town".

The paint on the wooden sign was bright and shiny, so it must have been freshly painted.

Bernie and Sheriff Hawkins agreed to meet at the police station after Bernie arrived in Lone Pine.

According to Sheriff Hawkins, the first building you see upon entering Lone Pine is the police station.

The four people got out of the car, and the wooden door of the police station was also pushed open.

Bernie stepped forward to negotiate and quickly confirmed the identities of both parties.

This middle-aged man with thinning gray hair and a tall, bulky build is Wilbur Hawkins, the sheriff of Lone Pine.

Sheriff Hawkins, his cheeks flushed and deeply wrinkled, laughed heartily as he greeted Bernie with a voice tinged with a mountain accent.

Bernie introduced him to:

"This is Agent Theodore Dixon Hoover."

"This is Agent Billy Hawke."

"This is Agent Martin Joseph Cronin."

Sheriff Hawkins' gaze lingered on Theodore for a moment, with obvious surprise.

When his gaze fell on Martin Joseph Cronin, his surprise turned into hesitation.

He greeted us warmly:

“I am Wilbur Hawkins, Sheriff of Lone Pine. You must be tired from your journey; that road was not easy.”

He led the four people into the police station.

A pungent smell of old wood and dust, cheap coffee, gun oil, and old-fashioned ink wafted over.

The police station is not large, only about 200 square feet (about 20 square meters), and is divided into two rooms.

Outside is Sheriff Hawkins' office.

Near the entrance stood two handmade wooden chairs, which looked somewhat rickety.

Opposite the wooden chair was a huge oak desk, piled high with documents.

Behind the desk against the wall was a dark green metal filing cabinet, with several wires twisted onto the drawers as handles.

There was a small cast iron furnace in the corner, with its chimney pipe angled towards the wall.

Theodore looked at the county map and wanted posters hanging on the wall. The map was yellowed and the wanted posters were from several years ago. Some of the wanted posters had already been captured, but here they were still wanted.

Next to the arrest warrant hangs the general's official portrait.

The portrait is large, but when hung next to wanted criminals, it makes the general and president seem like wanted criminals as well.

At the very back of the room, there was a small cubicle separated by thick iron bars and wooden planks.

There was only a wooden bed and a bucket inside.

That should be the detention room.

Sheriff Hawkins glanced at the four people looking around, then subconsciously wiped the surface of his desk with his hand, as if brushing away non-existent dust.
"My conditions here are simple, I hope you don't mind."

He asked the group:

"Have you had dinner yet? Anne at 'Lone Pine' Tavern should be able to prepare some hot soup and bread."

Bernie laughed and patted his belly:
"That's great."

“We set off right after lunch, and only had a sandwich each in the town of Shenandoah. We’re starving now.”

"I feel like I could eat a stag!"

Sheriff Hawkins immediately grabbed his coat:
"Let's go eat first."

He took two steps outside, then turned back to remind everyone:

“The mountains are not like big cities; it gets very cool at night, so you’d better wear a jacket.”

He pointed to the pitch-black night outside:
"The temperature will drop further in the latter half of the night."

Bernie pointed to the Chevrolet outside:

“You reminded us on the phone that we brought clothes with us.”

The temperature here is indeed lower than in DC. During the day it's fine, around 70 degrees Fahrenheit (about 21 degrees Celsius), cool and comfortable, but at night it can drop to 45 degrees Fahrenheit (about 7 degrees Celsius).

Fortunately, Theodore and his team were FBI agents, and the FBI has dress requirements for its agents, requiring them to wear suit jackets over shirts, so they didn't feel the cold much.

The town of Gusong is shaped like the letter "I", with the police station located at the bottom of the "I".

Bernie had intended to invite Sheriff Hawkins to squeeze into the back seats with them, but the Chevrolet's back seats simply didn't have enough space to accommodate three burly men.

Sheriff Hawkins could only lead the way in his pickup truck, with the Chevrolet following leisurely behind.

Bernie was in charge of driving.

After turning the corner, he asked the crowd:
"Why does it feel like the car is making a rattling or clattering noise?"

Billy Hawke guessed that it was damaged by a scrape in the second half of the race.

This statement was endorsed by both Bernie and Martin Joseph Cronin.

Martin Joseph Cronin still harbors resentment over Sheriff Hawkins's statement that the road was clear.

Lone Pine Town is not large; it only took two minutes to reach our destination.

It was a wooden tavern, without even a sign hanging at the entrance.

This should be the commercial area of ​​Lone Pine Town. Theodore looked around and found that there were shops all around the tavern.

The car was parked in front of the pub. Parking spaces were easy to find and spacious enough that you could even park the car sideways.

There aren't many residents here, and the place isn't big. Townspeople can get around in just a few steps; they don't need to drive at all.

'Lone Pine' is the only tavern in Lone Pine Town.

The town of Gusong has a population of less than 300, which is not enough to support two taverns.

(End of this chapter)