Rae and the Two Giant Fish

Rae was a small tow truck with a strong cable, a bright headlamp, and a radio that sometimes crackled like a bowl of cereal. She lived in a little town where the streets curled around gardens, shops, and old brick houses.

One evening, Rae was rolling past the bakery when her radio crackled.

“Look for a giant fish—and then look again,” said the dispatcher. “A blue car named Bix needs a ride to the repair shop. He’s parked somewhere by the river, and he left a blue flag with a yellow star to help you find him.”

“I’ll find him,” Rae replied. She turned toward the winding streets, where lamplight lay in golden squares on the road.

At the town square, Rae spotted a giant fish painted across the wall of a narrow street. Its painted mouth looked ready to swallow the moon.

“Is this the fish?” Rae wondered. “Or should I look again?”

She paused beside a lamppost and studied the clue. The radio had said a giant fish—and then look again. Rae peered around the corner. A second street came into view, and there, on another wall, was a fish just as large, with the same silver scales and swooping tail.

“Two giant fish,” Rae said. “Now I have two choices.”

The street on the left sloped toward the town square. The street on the right curved downhill, where Rae could hear the river making a low, steady shush.

A paper scrap rolled along the curb and tapped Rae’s tire. She held still while a pair of ducks waddled across the street, one after the other. Then she looked from one mural to the other.

“Maybe the clue isn’t finished,” she said. “I need to look again.”

Rae studied the fish more closely. On the second fish, a little blue flag with a yellow star had been painted near its tail. The tail pointed down the right-hand street, toward the river.

“That must be the way,” Rae said.

She followed the street past tall grasses and a wooden arrow that read RIVERSIDE PARKING. The road opened beside the water. A few cars rested in the parking area, their windows reflecting the lamps.

Rae rolled into the main row of parking spaces, ready to look once more.

The riverside parking area curved along the water. Rae checked the cars in the main row one by one. A white van. A red hatchback. A green car with a basket of folded blankets on its back seat.

No Bix.

At the far end of the row, Rae spotted a narrow lane winding around a bend beneath the willow trees. She followed it to a small, separate pull-off beside the water. One blue car sat there, with a blue flag fastened to its window. A yellow star shone in one corner.

“Bix?” Rae called.

The car’s headlights blinked once. “That’s me,” he said. “My engine won’t start, and I didn’t want to block the busy road.”

“You did the right thing by parking safely,” Rae told him. “I’ll take you to the repair shop.”

Rae backed her wheel-lift tow truck into position behind Bix. She lowered the lifting arm beneath his front wheels, secured them in place, and gently raised them off the road. Bix’s rear wheels stayed on the ground, ready to roll as Rae towed him.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Ready,” said Bix.

Rae drove out of the riverside lot at a careful crawl. At the two fish streets, she followed the right-hand road, just as the fish’s tail had pointed. Bix rode steadily behind her, and the town’s winding roads led them straight to the repair shop, where the mechanic was waiting beneath the sign.

The repair shop stood on a quiet corner, with its wide doors open and a row of tools hanging neatly on the wall. Rae eased into the lot and stopped beside the workbench.

The mechanic, a kind woman named Nessa, came out carrying a small lantern. “There you are, Bix,” she said. “I’ll see what’s keeping your engine quiet.”

“Thanks for bringing me here,” Bix told Rae. “I was beginning to think I’d have to spend the whole night listening to the ducks argue.”

From the riverside came a distant quack, followed by another.

“Those ducks do have plenty to say,” Rae agreed.

Nessa checked Bix’s wheels and made sure he was settled safely inside the shop. She promised to look at his engine in the morning. Bix’s little blue flag was still tied to his window, its yellow star peeking out beside the glass.

“Good clue,” Rae said.

“I thought you might spot it,” Bix replied. “I tied it there so I’d be easy to find.”

Rae waved goodbye and drove away. The town had grown quieter. Shopkeepers had switched off their signs, and most windows showed the warm squares of lamps indoors. Rae rolled along the familiar winding streets, past the bakery and the town square.

At the two fish murals, she slowed down. In the still evening, the painted fish looked less like a puzzle and more like two old friends watching over the road. Rae followed the street that curved toward home.

Soon she reached the blue bridge. Its broad arches crossed the river, and the water moved beneath them with a steady hush. Rae drove across, her tires making a soft rumble on the boards.

On the far side, she turned into her own little garage. She parked beside a shelf of clean rags and a tin of spare bolts. Her radio rested quietly on its hook. No new message came, and no one needed a ride.

Rae let her headlamp go dark. Beyond the garage, the river carried the evening along beneath the bridge. Bix was safe at the repair shop, the two fish watched over the winding streets, and Rae was home at last.