Uncommon Thief

Chapter 38

  Hot on the Trail

  The telephone rang in Randy and Steve's room at seven. They reluctantly dragged themselves out of bed and got dressed. They weren't sure where they were going to go, but they knew they had to keep looking for Sam. When they checked out, they asked the desk clerk where they could get a good breakfast. He pointed out a café down the street, so they walked over to it, went inside, and waited to be seated.

  "Just have a seat anywhere, boys," the waitress said. "I'll be with you in a jiffy." After a couple minutes, the waitress came over and introduced herself properly. "Hi, guys. I'm Jesse, and I'll be your waitress today. What can I get ya?"

  "Two eggs over easy, toast, and bacon for me," Steve replied.

  "I'll take 3 pancakes, 3 scrambled eggs, hash browns, and a double order of bacon," Randy added.

  "Jesus! How can you possibly eat that much?” Steve asked.

  Randy shrugged. "Oh, and I'll take some coffee too.”

  The waitress finished writing, smiled, and then said to Steve, “What’ll you have to drink, sir?”

  "Give me a large orange juice," Steve replied.

  "Okay. It'll just be a few minutes, boys."

  Steve stretched and yawned. "I wonder if I can get a newspaper around here."

  "I think I saw a rack outside."

  Just as Steve was getting up, a tall, middle-aged man with a crew cut walked over to their table. "Are you guys the ones looking for fishing guide?"

  "Well, yeah, we were thinking about it," Steve said.

  "The Sheriff told me I should come introduce myself to you boys. I’m Bart Small. He said Sam Stewart was going to take you out."

  "That's what we thought, but he didn't tell us he was leaving for Las Vegas."

  "Las Vegas? Sam didn't go to Las Vegas."

  "He didn’t? How do you know that?" Steve asked.

  "I saw his airline ticket. He was going to Toronto, Canada."

  "Really? Are you sure?”

  “Well, I do know how to read.”

  “I’m sure you do, but—”

  "Sam and I are good friends. Before he left, he shot a game of pool with me. He laid down his jacket, and his airline tickets were sticking out of his inside pocket. While he was shooting, I couldn't help but see the schedule made up by the travel agency. It said his flight was to Toronto."

  "Did you mention to him that you saw his ticket?"

  "No. Why would I? It didn't really matter to me. I figured he'd be back eventually and then he would tell me what was going on."

  "I suppose he will,” Steve agreed.

  “So, do you need a guide, or what?”

  “Uh, actually, I think we'll take a rain check on fishing today. Something’s come up. We appreciate the offer though, Mr. Small.”

  "Okay, but if you ever want to go fishing around here, just give me a call. I’m your man."

  "We’ll do that. Thanks," Steve said. They smiled as Bart found another table, sat down, and started looking at the menu.

  "I guess, we better check the airlines for the next flight to Toronto," Steve said.

  "Do we need passports to get into Canada?" Randy asked.

  "I don't think so—just a driver’s license, I think.”

  "Good, because I don't have one."

  "Neither do I."

  After breakfast, they called Maria, gave her an update on their progress, and had her book them a flight to Toronto. Then they headed back to LA, and three hours later they arrived at LAX. Their flight to Toronto was supposed to leave LA at 3:10 p.m. and arrive at Toronto at 9:20 p.m. They arrived just as their plane was boarding and got right on, took their seats, and awaited takeoff.

  "How do you suppose we're going to find Sam Stewart without an address or telephone number?" Steve asked.

  "We'll have to do it like they do on TV. We'll go to every hotel and wave Sam's picture at all the staff. If he stayed in a hotel, we'll find him. If that doesn't work, we'll go to all the bars and nightclubs and do the same thing."

  "There must be hundreds of hotels and bars in Toronto," Steve noted.

  "No one said it would be easy," Randy replied. "I just hope we find him before it's too late for Fred."

  "How much longer is the trial supposed to last?"

  "Joel said another two or three days is all."

  "We've got to find Stewart in the next two days. Otherwise, it will be too late."

  The stewardess came over the intercom and greeted the passengers. "Welcome to Flight 267 to Toronto. We’ll be taking off soon, so please be sure your seatbelts are fastened."

  The plane began to taxi out to the runway, and they sunk back into their seats in anticipation of the takeoff. They knew they needed to get some sleep on the flight because for the next few days, it would be a luxury they couldn't afford. As they lay back in their seats, they were a little excited by the hunt they were about to begin, but their excitement was dampened by a gnawing fear that they might fail in their pursuit. The consequences of such a failure they could not bear. They had to be successful for the sake of their blood brother.

  When they arrived in Toronto, they checked into the Cambridge Hotel and began a methodical search for Sam, utilizing the picture Randy had lifted from his cabin. As planned, they first tried all of the hotels. They presumed Sam would not use his real name, so the photograph had to be shown to each and every member of the hotel staff. After visiting the King Edward, the Hilton International, the Royal York, Essex Park, and fifteen other hotels that night, they ran out of gas and went back to their hotel to sleep. They vowed to get up early and continue in the morning.

  By noon the next day, they’d already been to a third of the hotels in Toronto. They were tired and frustrated and stopped at a café for lunch.

  "Do you think we're just wasting our time?" Steve asked.

  "No way. This is just a long and tedious process. No one said it was going to be easy, and it’s the least we can do for Fred. He’d do the same for us."

  "Now I know why I didn't become a cop," Steve mused.

  "You're right. I never realized how much work it was to be a detective," Randy agreed.

  "We should be able to finish all of the hotels today, and tomorrow, we can start going to bars and restaurants."

  Randy looked at Steve and yawned. "Boy, that sounds like fun."

  "Well, we can just pack it up and go home if you want. If Fred is convicted, it will be on your conscience."

  "Oh, come on. I’m just trying to keep my sense of humor."

  The waiter walked over and asked them what they wanted for lunch. Steve pulled out his photograph of Sam and asked him if he had ever seen the man before. He responded by shaking his head no and asked again what they wanted to eat. After lunch, Steve and Randy continued their search, hotel after hotel, bellhop after bellhop, bartender after bartender, but nobody had seen Sam. At 2:00 a.m., exhausted and depressed, they finally went back to their hotel and went to bed, praying that their luck would improve the following day.