I slept well for a change, getting in a solid eight hours for the first time in what seemed like forever. Night had fallen over the Booby Trap, and now the place was alive. My truck was just about pinned in place by several other rigs around it, bathed in a fluorescent neon glow, the lot jammed up to capacity.
Having consumed only half a Miller Lite in twenty-four hours, I was understandably hungry. Considering the nasty taste of the beer I had bought, I thought about driving off in search of another truck stop or restaurant with adequate parking for Big Red and slightly more palatable fare. This town seemed quite desolate, however, and I had to piss like a racehorse again; the strip-club would have to do.
As I got dressed, I reached for my charging cell phone and tried to reach Sammy once more. Still, there was no answer on his mother's mobile or home line. I was getting worried about them, but they were sixteen-hundred miles away... there wasn't much I could do. Trying to convince myself that they were probably out at dinner or something, I got out of the truck and walked towards the entrance of the bar.
As I moved between the rigs and cars in the lot I noticed one particular vehicle that froze me in my tracks. It was a familiar black Navigator, parked ominously near the exit to the county road beyond. It was facing me, all the windows blacked out with limo tint save the windshield which was catching a glare from the signs. I couldn't tell whether or not anyone was inside, but it wasn't running.
Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I started walking again... staying clear of the mysterious truck. If there was someone inside, perhaps he didn't realize that I came out of the rig he seemed to be following.
The inside of the club was as packed as the lot, men from seemingly all walks of life drooling over somewhat more attractive women than those who had been on duty when I first showed up. Some loud techno-garbage was blasting from speakers, making it impossible to hear anything outside of the excited whoopin' and hollerin' of the hillbillies infesting the place as they swung their dollar bills around in front of them.
The strippers were at least putting some effort into their craft. Two of them were swinging around on a pole at the center of the room while another broke it down inside of a cage off in a corner. They were much thinner and better kept than Misty had been, but it was still obvious that they were the epitome of trash scraped out of the gutters.
I made my way to the restroom again and made use of the facilities. As I was doing the deed, I could hear a man retching and puking in one of the stalls. The sound and smell were sickening; this dude was in bad shape.
"You alright in there?" I called out as I shook the last few drops out of Mister Winky. Another wave came over the stranger, the sound of further spewing serving as his only response. I hurried out without washing my hands, afraid to start ralphing myself if I had to hear it one more time.
There was an empty stool at the bar so I sat down, facing forward where there were only bottles of booze instead of half naked garbage hoes. To my surprise, good ol' Misty was stationed behind the counter mixing up drinks... apparently she was a dancer by day and barkeep by night.
"Well, it's you." She said with recognition. "Want a Miller Lite, just like earlier?"
"Nah." I answered, not wanting to risk chugging another stale brew. "I'll just have a Coke -- and a menu, if you serve anything decent to eat."
She handed me a laminated card describing typical bar-fare available at ridiculous prices. Nothing sounded particularly appetizing, but I needed to eat before I set back out on the long road ahead. I settled on a bacon cheeseburger, hoping it was something better than that poor excuse for a sandwich your momma used to make for you when you were a kid. Misty nodded and wrote my order down, plopping a dirty looking glass filled with what was supposed to be Coca-Cola on the bar in front of me.
Thankfully, the soft drink tasted relatively normal. I pulled out a Marlboro and started digging for my lighter only to realize I'd left it in the truck. I always seem to leave my damned lighter in the truck. Misty helped me out with one she had stuffed down in her bra, of all places. She tended to a couple of other patrons before turning her attention back to me, leaning her large frame on the bar and turning on her courting powers in a way that made me feel like that poor guy in the bathroom.
"What brings you to these parts, stranger?" She asked. "Never seen you here before -- it's a nice change to see someone other than our regulars."
"Just passing through." I explained. "I generally run up and down the East coast, don't often make it this far west."
"Well ain't that a shame." She returned with a crooked-toothed smile. "I was hoping we could turn you on to the place and get you to spend a little more time with us in the future."
"I doubt it, M'am." I continued, somehow driven to confide in her, though I had no idea who she was outside of this place. Having been unable to vent to Janet likely played a part in my desperation to talk to somebody, and this lady seemed nice enough -- despite her physical shortcomings. "I'm hoping to get out of this trucking racket all together soon... have a little boy who's growing up way too fast. I'd like to be there for him a little more than I have been."
"What, a hardcore trucker like you -- hanging up the keys?" She chuckled, lighting a smoke of her own. "I've seen plenty of fellas just like you come through that door talkin' about getting out of the game, but I've never once heard of one making it happen."
"You sound like my accountant. Just because you haven't seen it doesn't mean it can't be done."
"You're right, but it's a rare case when a guy with trucking in his blood like you gets out of the saddle. You've got driver written all over your face! I can tell that you're a man who loves working that truck through the gears... it still makes your parts get hard, doesn't it?"
I blushed a bit, a little too ashamed to admit that it was true.
"I knew it!" She laughed. "Your heart hungers for the open road. The sights, the sounds, the smells... the freedom. I don't know you from Adam, but I can tell that you wouldn't be happy cooped up in a room to earn your living. You're a free spirit -- an adventurer who longs to tame the wild unknown. What exactly do you think you're gonna do that will make you as happy as driving that truck does?"
"Open a garage." I replied, sure of myself. "I'm a diesel mechanic just as much as I'm a driver. There are too many shops out there that gouge truckers because they've got them over a barrel... if the rig doesn't run, they can't earn their living -- that makes them easy money. If I give these guys a fair shake, they'll flock to me in droves."
"And you think that will be enough for you?" She asked. "You really believe that you can watch those trucks roll in -- hear the throaty rumble of the engine, and then simply tune it up and watch it leave? Hauling off for another place while you stay put right where you are?"
As ridiculous as it sounds, I knew that she was right. I live for the road; for the journey it takes me on day in and day out. I love Sammy and want to do right by him, but the idea of parking Big Red forever broke my heart in two.
"If it's what I have to do to be with my son, then yes."
Misty laughed heartily, smoke spewing out between her lips. She'd heard this story before and found it to be no more than a fairy tale, that much was clear. She could apparently tell that she'd hurt my feelings a little, though, and choked off her mocking, trying to regain her composure. It looked like she felt a little bad as she walked away to get my burger, not saying another word as she put it down in front of me.
On the surface the food looked delicious. There was a fairly substantial patty browned to perfection atop a beautiful bun with brilliant green leaves of lettuce and a thick slice of bright red tomato to top it off. There was a good portion of crisp bacon sticking out as well with melted cheese draped over top of it. I had expected a pile of crap for the six bucks it cost me, but it looked like I'd actually gotten a quality burger for once instead of the slop they sling en mass at most truck stops.
 
; Slapping some mustard and ketchup on made it look even more appetizing, so I eagerly picked it up and squeezed it down to a size that would allow it to fit into my mouth. The first hint of flavor was amazing, but it seemed to change as I chewed it up. The taste became foul; almost metallic in nature. There was some kind of coarse powder too -- like they had injected Metamucil into the meat. I choked it down and considered for a minute that perhaps I was just coming down with a cold and being deceived by my taste buds.
"What's wrong?" Misty asked, examining my sour-puss before I had a chance to try another bite. "You don't like it?"
"It tastes terrible!" I said, dropping the sandwich back onto the plate. "Is this a burger or something you pumped out of the septic system?"
"Oh shoot!" She exclaimed. "I think I brought you the wrong one!" She quickly took it away, scurrying back towards the kitchen.
I washed the nastiness down with my Coke and wiped at my tongue with a napkin, the flavor staying with me none the less. After a few minutes, the bartender returned with a new burger... looking just as delicious as the first one had.
"Here, try this one." She suggested. "The other one was a special order for one of our regulars -- he has odd taste."
I was apprehensive, but still starving. Taking the smallest nibble possible, I waited for the strange after-taste; but none reared its ugly head. This incarnation was delicious, so I mauled it in true trucker fashion. It was so good I wanted to lick the grease from the plate when I was done, but managed to restrain myself to avoid looking like an animal.
Misty refilled my drink and looked around, noting that it looked like everyone was taken care of for the moment. The DJ called out over the sound system and introduced the feature dancer for the night, drawing the attention of all the men in the building.
A bluesy southern guitar riff sounded out even louder than the dance music had been as a woman sauntered onto a stage at the far end of the room, wearing some kind of leather jumpsuit and mask like Catwoman. Her long blonde locks were spilling out, accentuating her deep green eyes and slim face. She snapped a bullwhip a couple of times before starting to grind on a chair she had carried out, the crowd whistling with its approval.
"Slut." Misty interjected, turning up her nose a bit. I chuckled and winked at the barkeep, feeling a strange kinship with her in our mutual disgust. "I think everybody's good for the time being, stranger... you want to play a round of darts?"
"I should probably get going." I said, the music giving me a headache. "I've got a lot of driving ahead of me tonight if I'm gonna stay on schedule."
"Oh, nonsense!" She insisted. "You've got time for a quick game, now come on!"
The large woman grabbed my hand and pulled me over to a corner far away from the stage, where they had one of those digital dartboard systems like you would see in an arcade. She grabbed two sets of darts from behind the bar and proceeded to setup a game of 301.
I shot first, missing the board all together. The projectile bounced off the wall and flew back at us, landing on a table nearby where a rather large black man was sitting with a mixed drink.
"Yikes!" He cried in his deep baritone voice.
I apologized profusely, hoping to avoid an incident. Thankfully, he was understanding, handing the dart back with a smile.
He seemed out of place in these surroundings; the only African American in the bar, dressed like he was going to a black-tie gala affair. He wore a sharp black suit coat buttoned in the front over a crisp white dress shirt, complete with dark blue tie and golden clip to hold it in place. He had several large rings on his fingers that glimmered in the dim lighting, each encrusted with diamonds or some other sort of gems. The area around him smelled strongly of cologne instead of the diesel-laced stench emanating from the other truckers in the place. He didn't belong here...
"No problem, buddy." He said as he looked me in the eye intently. It seemed like he knew me; like I was an old friend he hadn't seen in years but recognized immediately. I definitely didn't know him, though, so I simply walked away.
Clearly, darts aren't my thing... it was a fun distraction I suppose, but I knew I wasn't in any danger of winning this game. My second and third shot went much better, but they brought my score down just eighteen points between them.
Misty smirked as she took her turn, scoring fifty-six right off the bat like it was nothing.
"I get a lot of practice." She admitted. "Usually pretty dull around here, except on the weekends and when that heifer on stage comes through."
After she had cleared the board, I went again. My next three attempts weren't anything stellar, knocking another twenty-one off my goal. This was getting frustrating; I hadn't expected to win, but I like to think I'm capable of making a decent showing at anything that I set out to do. It was kind of embarrassing, really... being knocked down by this bar-fly.
The catwoman had most of her clothes off on the stage, so most of the patrons weren't paying attention anyway. At least my failure wasn't drawing a crowd.
One person seemed to be watching us, though... the black man I'd nearly hit with my first shot. He was studying us like a football fan would marvel at the Super Bowl if it were unfolding right before his eyes. I would have given him a dirty look, if he didn't look so threatening. Why was he watching me? I still had all of my clothes on, and Misty was certainly nothing to look at... unless he's some kind of chubby-chaser with a thing for horse faces.
Misty tried to distract me from my pending defeat by making small talk as we continued. She kept calling me stranger, so I eventually told her my name to make the slaughter seem a bit less impersonal.
She asked more about my boy, egging me on until I told her the whole story about my relationship with the ex-wife and the wall she had built between Sammy and I. The ex never really flat-out refused to let me see him, but she always made it difficult. Any time I was in town, she found some reason that he couldn't spend time with me. Either he was sick, had a project to do for school, or they already had plans; it was always something.
"You really love him, don't you?" She asked as though it wasn't obvious.
"More than anything." I replied, recovering my darts after another dreadful turn. "You were right about my passion for trucking, but Sammy means the world to me. I would give it all up for him... in a heartbeat, if I had the chance."
"What if -- " She started surreptitiously after making three stellar shots, as though she had some grand scheme cooked up. "There was a way we could make this all work out for you... what if your ex was -- let's say out of the way? You could raise him all by yourself, without her to stand between you. You could work at your garage during the school year and take him out on the road with you in the summer, never having to worry about her putting up a roadblock. I could arrange that for you, Randy -- if that's what you want. I know a lot of people... I could make it happen..."
I was taken aback, this woman I'd only known for a few minutes seemingly suggesting that she would have my ex killed for me if I so desired. There are crazy people out here in the world, I've had encounters with plenty of them, but none have ever suggested something so insidious with as much sincerity as this woman was demonstrating in the middle of a Texan strip club.
I was creeped out, more so than I've ever been in my life. Firing my three shots, I reached for my Coke on the bar and took the last sip. "Thanks for the game, Misty." I said, pulling a twenty out of my wallet and setting it under the empty glass. "But I think I should get going before I fall behind schedule."
"But the game's not over!" She objected, pointing to the score which said that she had fifty-two points to go to take the win.
"It's okay, girl - I think you've got me bested."
I turned to head for the door when she suddenly grabbed my arm, stopping me. Her grip was firm; nearly painful. There was anger in her eyes as she glared at me, refusing to let go despite my efforts to pull my arm free of h
er grasp.
"Just let me take my turn." She said sternly.
I nodded, deciding that she was well off her rocker and need not be incited any further. She kept hold of me as she fired off all three of her darts at once, not even looking at the board. The machine chimed and played a little ditty as lights flashed, her shots having struck twelve, twenty and double-ten to win the game. How the hell did she do that? Three darts at once, all of them spot on in the fields she needed to win!
"I'm not sure you understand what I'm offering." She continued in her threatening tone. "I could make all of your dreams come true, Randy. The garage, the boy -- everything! When you want peace and quiet with your son, you could have it... when you crave adventure, I could send you places that you'd never see otherwise. Places no one has ever seen..."
"Really?" I asked, my voice shaking with nerves and fury. "How exactly is that, Misty?"
"Easily... I could make it happen with the waive of my hand. All of those things could move from the realm of your dreams into reality with little or no effort on your behalf..."
"Oh yeah?" I said. "What are you, my fairy-godmother or something? You're just gonna wave your magic wand and make things go my way?"
Misty smiled an evil smile, melting me where I stood. "I'm no magician, Randy -- but I represent something far greater than your puny mind could ever imagine. I can give you whatever you want, your pleasure to be limited only by the boundaries of your mundane imagination."
"That's a tall order." I returned, irritated instead of amused at her lunacy at this point. My patience exhausted, I put on my best tough-guy face and snarled at her through clenched teeth. "You're digging a deep hole for yourself, Misty -- I think you're letting your mouth write a check that your ass can't cash, because I'm about to slap the living shit out of you if you don't let go of my god damn arm right now!"
The woman's grasp didn't loosen... she held her free hand up, pointing her palm towards the dartboard. I didn't understand what I saw next... suddenly the darts she had fired at it before flew back to her like they had been drawn out my some incredibly strong magnet in her flesh! She caught them, still without looking, and hurled all three simultaneously again. They all struck and dug into the bull’s-eye, clustered together like arrows fired by Robin Hood himself. She yanked at the air, drawing them out and back to her once again before repeating the whole thing, scoring three more hits in the center of the board.
"You have no idea what I'm capable of, Randy." She growled. "You would be wise to listen closely to my proposal."
The black man at the table jumped out of his seat quickly. I thought perhaps he was going to help me, but instead he made a mad dash for the door and was gone just like that... leaving me in this smoky hell in the hands of the devil herself.
"What do you want?" I asked, panicked and desperate to get out of this place. I didn't know what she was or why she was so interested in me, but I didn't like being the subject of her attention one bit.
"It's simple, really." She replied. "All you have to do is get in your truck and pull that load you've got to a yard outside of Dallas. Park it there, then walk away... you'll fall asleep peacefully, and when you wake up -- all of your dreams will have come true. You'll be at home with Sammy at your side, your garage waiting for you, and enough money in your bank account to fall off the radar entirely for the rest of your life if you so desire."
Her delivery and the fact that she was restraining me made this seem like a less than appealing prospect. I generally don't care for scenarios that involve my falling asleep peacefully either.
"This load is going to Florida, lady -- and so am I." I snapped. "Now let go of my arm before I get really mad!"
"If you take that trailer to Cape Canaveral, Randy -- your son will die! Slowly and painfully, I promise you! We might even make you watch..."
"Crazy bitch!" I shouted, pulling back and slapping Misty right across her chubby face with every bit of strength I could muster.
The woman recoiled, letting go of my arm as the follow-through of my strike spun her around. The blaring music stopped at the loud crack when I struck her, everyone in the bar turning to face us.
The catwoman caught my attention first; staring at me from the stage with malice in her frigid expression. The black leather of her mask and the flowing yellow hair raining down looked threatening now in the company of her bizarre eyes -- glowing purple and fixed on me, unblinking.
Looking around at the crowd, I was left breathless; the entire horde of the men and strippers -- staring me down with violet pupils reflecting the spot lights pointed towards the stage.
"You'll wish you'd never done that, Randy!" Misty growled.
I turned to look at her and saw that her eyes had changed as well -- I was surrounded by monsters; creatures like something out of a Tales From The Crypt comic.
Sprinting like my ass was on fire, I broke for the door, spilling out into the night as I raced for my truck. While fiddling with the door lock, I dropped my keys like so many helpless women in the movies always do. Picking them up, I looked back to the bar, seeing all the patrons emerging and marching slowly with purpose towards the egress from the parking lot.
I finally got the door open and jumped inside, starting up the engine without giving the glow-plugs a chance to warm up like I usually would. The monsters formed a three-deep wall of humanity, blocking the exit with their bodies.
Trying to figure out what to do, I looked over at them. They were standing near that black Lincoln Navigator -- the one that looked just like the vehicle that had been following me before. The headlights of the SUV came on, and its tires squealed as it sped towards the opposite end of the lot, far away from them. As it pulled a sharp u-turn I got a quick glimpse at the plate; T27-FF5... it was the truck that had been following me on the freeway.
Its high-beams lit the wall of people and I watched in disbelief as the driver revved it's engine to a maddened roar, the tires spinning and throwing off tall plumes of smoke. The people with the glowing eyes didn't move as it started to roll, burning rubber as it shot toward them like a rocket. It plowed right through them, throwing bodies into the air as it rolled over others. The truck squealed to a stop after it cleared the crowd, and the black man from inside the bar stuck his head out the window -- looking back at me.
"Come on, Randy!" He shouted. "They're not people any more, just drive through them!"
The monsters adjusted to form a new blockade, a bit smaller than the last time, as they were standing atop broken bodies that had been bricks in the wall. He didn't have to tell me twice; I slammed my truck into gear and swung wide to make the turn towards them. There wasn't enough room to maneuver Big Red safely, but I was too concerned with running for my life to care about protecting my rig. I ended up dragging the back half of my trailer across the tractor parked next to me, my heavy load pushing it sideways as its headlight exploded and its front end caved in.
The weight didn't allow me to get up a lot of speed, but ninety-thousand pounds worth of truck is more than enough to cream human bodies when moving at any velocity. Big Red made quick work of about a half dozen, my trailer taking out a few more as I sped out into the road. It made for a rough ride; my air-ride seat was bouncing up and down like mad, everything in the cab being jostled by the effect of rolling over bodies and potholes at a high rate of speed.
Even my glowing Jesus shot out of the cigarette lighter outlet. It was as though it was spring-loaded; firing out and crashing into the backrest of the passenger seat, which it then slid down.
The Navigator turned towards the freeway in front of me, so this time it was me following it. Leaving the creatures behind in our dust, we took the on-ramp to I-10 East. A quick look at my fuel gauge reminded me that I would need to stop again soon... a prospect that I didn't even want to consider.
Chapter 12