Previously:

Tommy is about to reveal some disturbing information about Lincoln with a comment, "It was like save the slave and kill the Indian."

Linda joined in too. "Yuh, what are you talking about? President Lincoln didn't do anything to the Native Americans, did he?"

Liz was curious. "He didn't even really have anything to do with them, did he?"


**********

"As you know, our people were getting herded around to be confined to a scrap of land. Then the government wanted to take more and more of that scrap away. Our people were corralled into what were essentially, 'concentration camps'. Needless to say, they rebelled. Well, that didn't go over well.

"Lincoln had over 300 members sentenced to be hanged. For some reason, only 39 were hung. Maybe they ran out of rope. But Lincoln was no friend to the Indian."

There were two fairly long pauses, one before Liz spoke and one after. "Whoa." Liz was stunned. "That surely would never make it to the history books.

"Hey, look at the murder of crows, covering parts of the sky. That's got to be a good sign. Right?"

The ride back felt shorter than the one going, as most often seems to be the case. Whether it's imagination or some trippy thing that happens to time, they didn't know. They were soon pulling into the ghost town of souvenir shops.

At the risk of being discovered, Tommy pulled up to the barn-like structure, housing the coveted car. Everyone quietly, carefully creaked open their car door.

Liz's heart was racing as she muttered in a barely audible whisper, "Please, please, please, let it be my car." It ended in a whimpering tone.

The first thing she saw was the license plate. That is the best way to know if a car belongs to you. But another factor involved in a situation where someone is attempting to identify their car is to have a memory of what is written on their plate. She read 'AYL139'

Liz began to shake her fists up and down. The others didn't know if that was a grimace on her face or if it carried some other meaning. Linda was emotionally involved too.

The best ***spoiler*** to this mystery is that the letters and numbers AYL139 were written on a green Vermont plate.

"Yes, yes, yes. Liz was cheering as quietly as she could."
The two relieved friends were swinging each other around with joyful faces. Relieved, for multiple reasons, Tommy joined them.

"Now we've got to figure out the next step. We have to remember we are not dealing with an ordinary human." Tommy wanted to caution everyone, saying it, partly, to remind himself.

"It should be simple enough. I'll just tell him, that's my car."

"We see how it goes." Tommy was dubious about any smooth transaction taking place."

After backing his car around to the specified door and sounding the three required knocks, Wolf unlocked and budged open the stuck door.

Tommy had the trunk open with the prized battery charger in his arms. After handing it off to Wolf, they were invited in accompanied by a wince and high-strung tone.

As he rounded the corner to replace the charger, Liz muttered to the others. "I guess nothing much has changed. Make sure you get your watch back."

His muted voice became clearer as he came back into their proximity. He'd been saying something, but they only got half of it. "...you were going to be bringing it to me? Hmm?" He looked at them inquiringly.

Tommy intervened, as he had many other times, "We missed most of what you were saying when you were in the other room. What were you saying?"

"I was reminding you, we had a deal. You had said you were going to be bringing me a car to fix. Isn't that why I let you borrow the charger?"

The three shuffled their feet, as they looked back and forth from each other, to Wolf. Liz cleared her throat and took the emotional leap. "Well, we didn't find it, out on the highway. It's actually out back."

She tried to lighten the tension by attempting to bring ironic humor to the tone. "It turns out my car was here all along. It's the one you've been guarding. It's the one Chief Lavendar asked you to repair and protect. That's my car. Isn't that funny?"

She looked around at the other two, who nervously laughed.

Wolf stood there, looked back toward his shotgun on the black, grease-thickened workbench, next, at Liz, then the other two, in total silence.

The forced laughter ceased. A strange silence slithered through the air.

"I'll have to see some serious proof." He woggled his head nervously, attempting to sound demanding.

"We can check the registration & match it to my license. Would that work?" Liz attempted a blythe tone, that wouldn't betray her dread.

She wasn't sure if it were her terror she was attempting to hide, or the all too familiar, putrid smell of burnt coffee, that was making her nauseous.

Though she wasn't confident her wobbly legs would carry her any distance, she volunteered to run out to get her registration.

He responded in a staccato cadence that he'd already made a copy; he always made copies of the registration of any car he works on. "They just have to match up."

The true car owner's individual fingers were shaking as she fumbled to retrieve her license from her card bundle in her fanny pack. She muttered loud enough, so he could hear, "It's in here somewhere. I'm always telling myself, 'you need to put your license right at the front of your cards, so you can find it when you need it.'"