Chapter 1: A Wonderful Gift

December 18th, 2019 was a normal Southern Indiana fall day. The sun blocked by gray clouds, misting rain falling intermittently, and at 5pm the traffic on I-65 South was heavy. The rumble of the Hemi in the Dodge Challenger I had been given by the rental agency was exciting and frustrating at the same time.

Exciting because ... well ... who doesn’t love a powerful and fast car. Frustrating because of the traffic, the ever present road construction, and the maddeningly slow speed limits of these ‘Northern States’.

The Challenger was a ‘happy mistake’ this time. Usually I only managed to get the Toyotas, KIAs, Mazdas, Nissans, and occasional Prius’ that are considered ‘economy rentals’. That’s how it works when you are a truck driver and your company cares more about their bottom line than taking care of the drivers. On “special occasions” I would get lucky and a roomy mini-van would be my conveyance from one load to another, but not frequently. This was a first for me though. A really nice ride from my last load of the year to my home where I would stay until after New Years.

Just South of Louisville, KY I stopped at a Pilot truck stop to give the big V8 a long drink. It was a thirsty bastard, but I didn’t care.

$45 of fuel later and I pulled into a McD’s for a quick bite. I had plenty of time. I was planning (and looking forward to) being South of Nashville, TN later in the night, and making the run from Nashville to Birmingham to Home after 11pm when most law Enforcement would be spread thin enough to allow some ‘play time’ with the shiny V8 powered car.

And I did.

I had pulled into a small fuel stop South of Nashville around 7pm just to waste a little time and empty my bladder. As I exited the car, I slipped the .380 caliber Ruger LCP into my front pants pocket. It, or another gun, traveled with me everywhere I went. A habit I had developed over the past 20 years.

I remember picking up a cold diet Soda and a candy bar before heading out to the car to kick back and rest a while. Not a smart choice of snacks with my recent blood sugar troubles, but a daily treat I told myself I earned for myself.

At 5’6” and 215 pounds I should have opted for water and a bag of nuts. But I was an ‘old geezer’ and figured at my age the gut I sported was nothing to worry about. I was beyond all that macho man male hottie sexy stuff.

As I heard in a movie once, I was what young ladies would refer to as a ‘comfortable old man’.

As I exited the store, I heard a man’s voice coming from the side of the building ... and it sounded like he was not in his happy place. Dropping the sack on the seat of the Challenger, I eased the LCP out of my pants pocket and made my way to the corner of the building, tucking it my right hand into my jacket.

An older man, about 65 or 70, was being menaced by a couple of saggy pants wannabe thugs. They had him pressed against the side of a beautiful White on Turquoise 1957 Chevy Bel Air Sport Coupe that was parked at the ‘Free Air & Water’ machine.

The two ‘yoots’ shot me a look when I stepped around the corner. One of them Spoke to me saying, “This ain’t your bizness bitch”.

Being me, I loosed my pistol bearing hand from my jacket, leveled it at the closest thug, and replied, “Is now bitch.”, and then I sidestepped to a position where my line of fire would not put the old man ‘downrange’.

The two backed off the old man, and as soon as they rounded the rear of his car they took off running as fast as their ridiculously sagging pants would allow. (anyone who wears their pants like that should be fair game, anywhere and any time, for a dose of pepper spray to the ass crack)

I stepped over to the old guy, watching the two ass clowns depart. I asked if he was okay and he said he was fine. He refused my suggestion that we call the cops, and said he just wanted to get back on the road as he needed to be in Nashville before his ‘wives’ (which I did not fully catch until a few minutes later) got worried.

I offered my help in putting air in the front tire of the car that had brought him there to begin with and he accepted. We talked a few minutes, and I was able to get a ‘tour’ of the car. It was pristine ORIGINAL MINT condition, showing only minor road wear. The Gray cloth and turquoise painted interior was immaculate. And that’s when I saw the picture on the visor.

The old man, a few years younger, standing in front of the car with two of the most gorgeous 20’s something blonde women you can imagine on either side of him, and a faintly cute very slim brunette to one side.

Nodding to the picture, I had to comment “That’s some mighty Pretty Ladies you’re hanging out with there.” His eyes twinkled and he smiled and said, “My wives? Yes, They are.” I guess the questioning look on my face prompted him to continue with an explanation. One I found hard to believe, but he did have the picture as ‘proof” that he at least knew them after all.