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“Maybe we can find you a spa in town,” Sam said hopefully.
“Sure. I could see that as a viable business here.”
“Maybe settle for an amateur massage after a long shower?”
“You really don’t think of anything else, do you?”
“That was completely innocent, Remi. I swear.”
She shifted her head and stared up at him with a hint of amusement. “It always starts that way.”
As they neared Honiara, Sam grew quiet.
Remi nudged him. “What now?”
“We need to find the police and report this.”
“Okay. Ask the driver to take us to the station, or at least give us directions.”
Sam rapped on the rear window, startling the farmer, who slammed on the brakes, causing both Sam and Remi to bang into the rear of the cab.
Sam leaned toward the driver’s-side window. “Can you take us to the police station?”
The farmer seemed to understand the word “police” and nodded before giving the old truck gas. Sam slid toward the tailgate and came to rest next to Remi.
“I think that went well.”
She gave him a wide grin. “You’re my hero. Crocodile Fargo, the great white hunter.”
“I just hope the police can do something other than commiserate. I think it was a Dodge truck, but it all happened so fast I can’t be sure.”
The duty officer showed them to a waiting area, where a sergeant took down their report, nodding and asking polite questions now and again. By the end of the hour, two things were apparent to the Fargos: the police were concerned and meant well, and the likelihood of anything happening soon, or ever, was low. The officer explained the problem as politically as he could.
“We’ll check on all the trucks registered on the island, but it could be a long process. And if the driver is any good with sandpaper and paint, we may never find the culprits.”
“But they shot at us. It was deliberate. We saw two of them after we crashed. They were looking for us.”
“Yes, I wrote down the descriptions—two men, islanders, medium height, no distinguishing marks, wearing jean shorts and T-shirts, one brown or burgundy, the other pale blue,” the officer said. “The problem, as you can probably appreciate, is that describes about half the population. We’ll do our best, but it’s not much to go on.” He shook his head. “Your rental vehicle will tell the story, I’m sure. There will be evidence you were rammed, and you say that a shot hit it, so there will be a bullet hole.”
“Yes,” Remi agreed, her heart sinking as she listened.
The policeman regarded both of them. “Why are you in the islands?”
“We’re on vacation,” Sam said, which was close enough to the truth.
“Have you gotten into any fights? A disagreement with someone here?” the officer asked, and they shook their heads.
“No. Everyone’s been nice,” Remi said.
“So you can’t think of anyone who would try to kill you.” It wasn’t a question.
“No. It makes no sense,” Sam said.
The man stared hard at him. “Well, it must to someone. We just don’t have this kind of thing happen here, Mr. Fargo. We’re generally a peaceful island. It’s not like we have roving gangs of criminals going after our tourists.”
It was clear from his tone that the policeman wasn’t buying the tourist explanation, and neither Sam nor Remi wanted to push the issue. When they finished with the questioning, they were close enough to their hotel to walk, and once again the front desk staff seemed horrified by their appearance as they strode through the lobby.
“We’re making quite an impression,” Remi said under her breath. “Next time you want to go sightseeing, I’m out.”