Chapter 4: Lose one gain two

Karen and Rory stood by the side of the road looking at the Fifty-six Ford pick-up. Its hood was up and steam was bellowing past the radiator cap and around the intake manifold.

"Piece of shit!" Rory said offering his middle finger in an obscene gesture to the steaming engine. "Fucking piece of shit!" He said again kicking the left front fender.

"Well that'll do a lot of good." Karen offered sarcastically.

"It does me some fucking good!" Rory replied kicking the fender again.

Karen looked around. They had traveled a few hundred miles away from her uncle's farm and were stranded on a long vacant stretch of little used highway leading out of Tennessee and into Arkansas. The narrow two-lane, potholed highway was straight, flat and deserted in both directions for as far as Karen could see. Very few people used this old stretch of highway after the new expressway had been built.

"This is one hell of a place to break down. I can't see anything ... anywhere." She said shading her eyes from the glare of the sun with her hand and looking around.

"No fucking shit Sherlock!" Rory answered giving the truck another kick. "Piece of God damn shit! What the fuck did I ever do to deserve this?"

Karen knew his last question had been rhetorical, so she didn't bother to answer it. Instead she asked. "Do you think you can fix it?"

Rory shook his head. "No fucking way. See that steam coming out of the intake? Well, that means we blew a head gasket. And as if that isn't bad enough, the Goddamn engine froze up just before the gasket went because of overheating." He looked up and down the highway. "Jesus Christ, we've got to be a hundred fucking miles from anywhere. Piece of fucking shit!" He kicked the truck again, this time he managed a fare-sized dent in the fender.

"Well, what are we supposed to do now?" Karen asked, more to herself than Rory.

"How the fuck should I know! You're the one that wanted to go see that fucking preacher!" Rory answered with exasperation in his voice.

"Don't go getting all pissy with me! I didn't break the God damn thing!" Rory was really starting to get on her nerves. If she had it to do all over again she would have found someone else to help her run away. She knew at seventeen she wouldn't last long on the streets alone, what with cops, pimps, gangs and all, but looking back on it now Rory wouldn't have been her first choice by far, but he had been the first guy actually willing to leave town with her, and he did have a car, or so she thought at the time. It wasn't until the night they actually left she had learned the car she thought was his really belonged to Rory's roommate, and they would have to take a Greyhound bus out of town. If she hadn't already stolen that money from her father, or sent that letter to the newspaper about how her father had been sexually abusing her over the years, so he'd get into trouble, she would have told Rory to take a hike right then and there. But she had taken the money, and she had sent that letter, so now with no other alternative, she had Grayhound'd her ass out of town with Rory like it or not.

'Yes, ' she thought to herself, 'Rory is a royal pain.' She walked to the passenger side of the truck and grabbed a cold beer out of the cooler. She popped the top then took a long icy swallow, before lighting up a Marlboro.

"Hey. Grab me one of those, will ya." He yelled over the truck's hood.

"What? Did the truck blow out your leg along with the gasket?" She sarcastically yelled back.

"Jesus Christ! Who pissed in your cereal this morning?" He said angrily, then opening the driver's side door he leaned across the bench seat and yanked a beer from the cooler himself.

Karen sipped at her beer remembering how she had worked Rory into helping her run away. How she had let him make out with her. Let him feel her breasts and even rub over her crouch a little bit before pushing his hand away. How that one time she had allowed him to believe she had gotten a little drunk, and he had so skillfully maneuvered her into the back seat of his car, and so cleverly slipped down her underwear, then had fucked her thinking, he had planned and manipulated her into submission. Yeah right! She had played him like a drum, giving him just enough to keep his interest and wanting more. Now watching him guzzle beer she wondered if it had even been worth the effort of spreading her legs. She drew in on the cigarette filling her lungs before exhaling.

"Shit we can't walk from here." Rory finally said between swallows of beer. "Guess we'll just have to wait until somebody comes along. Hell, I don't know what else to fucking do."

"It could be a real long wait. I haven't seen anybody on this road since we've been on it. But what the hay." She tossed her empty beer can out into the vacant field and reached for a full one. "Least we got cigarettes and beer."

Art and Louie had not taken much time in the city before leaving, having only stopped briefly to pick up some personal items at each of their apartments, with a little time for inspection of the contents of the bags. One bag contained several key's of cocaine, and a smaller amount of heroine, while the other held at least half a million dollars in medium and small sized bills. Looking at the money, both men felt they had finally hit the jackpot, even Louie's original concerns vanished after seeing that much money.

They were driving south on the interstate just four hours out of New York City when they heard the first news broadcast covering the shootout on the car radio. The news report stated that earlier that day there had been what appeared to be a mob related, drug deal gone bad shootout, that had left four men dead and two others wounded. The police also reported that at least one of the men found dead was a D.E.A. officer. The shootout had taken place in an abandoned warehouse which the D.E.A. reported they had been staking out based on a tip from an informant, and at least one other D.E.A. officer was reportedly found wounded, but should make a full recovery. All other non-law enforcement persons involved included three dead and one seriously wounded man, and were all known to have long time mob and drug dealing connections. Two additional men seen near the warehouse at the time of the shooting were spotted driving away in a two or three year old white Cadillac with New York license plates and were currently being sought by local, state, and federal law enforcement agencies for questioning.

After listening to the news report Louie said. "Gee Art. Sounds like Willie made it, huh? They said they found two guys wounded."

"Fuck Willie!" Art answered. "That only means Raw Eddy will be after us along with the cops." He pressed a little harder on the gas pedal trying to put as much distance between them and the city as he could.

It was just a little before dusk. Karen and Rory had been waiting for over eight hours and no one had come along. They didn't even have the luxury of listening to a radio, because there was only an oblong hole where the auto radio should have been. It was as if the rest of the world had just gone away. Both Karen and Rory were on edge and snapped at each other over even the smallest of things.

After several beers and a full pack of cigarettes Karen was even annoyed at Rory's ability to take a leak. He would just unzip his fly, pull out his pecker and let fly. She, on the other hand, was forced to pull down her jeans, squat down, pull and hold out her underwear away from her crouch, pray that nothing bit her on the ass, all the while attempting to keep from soiling her jeans or stepping in the puddle after she finished. "Ah yes," she thought, "what could be better than squatting in the middle of nowhere, over a bed of brambles and nettles, taking a piss?

Karen was relieving her bladder when she saw the car coming in their direction long before she could hear it. It started as a small speck on the horizon then slowly turned into a white spot and finally into the almost recognizable shape of an automobile. "Hey, shit! A car's coming!" She called out excitedly to Rory as she struggled to her feet, trying to avoid any barbs while pulling up her jeans and pointing up the road.

Rory jumped out of the truck and looked to where she was pointing. Far off, in the distance, he could just barely recognize a car moving in their direction. "Bout fuckin' time! Okay," he said excitedly. "Listen up, when it gets close enough you flag it down. If things go down right we'll be driving outa this fucking hell hole with some money in our pockets."

"What do you mean if things go down right?" Karen thought she understood him, but she wanted to make sure.

"This time we do it my way." He informed her. "No sir ... this time you ain't going to blow some guy for a lousy twenty bucks and a ride into town. I don't give a shit who's in that fucking car, I intend on driving away in it ... along with whatever fucking money they got. I'm totally sick of this shit!"

"You better think about it. Carjacking and robbery is big time." Karen didn't care about the people in the car, but she didn't feel comfortable doing what Rory proposed, especially after the amount of beer Rory had consumed.

"And killing your uncle isn't big time! Screw that shit, I'm doing this! When the car pulls over you just make sure you keep whoever's in it busy, so I can get behind them. I don't plan on killing anyone, but I sure as hell will if I have to. I ain't spending another fucking minute out here in this shit hole."

Karen knew he was absolutely serious. Then he added. "Don't fuck this up Karen! I mean it!"

"Don't you either Rory," she answered, "being all liquored up like you are."

Art and Louie had been driving for three days stopping only once at an off-the-beaten-track motel. After the first day, Art got of the more heavily used interstate and took the much less traveled roads and smaller highways, always heading south. While on the interstate Art had noticed a Trooper, parked on an on-ramp who had quickly snapped on his overhead flashing lights and attempted to get behind the caddy. Had it not been for heavy traffic the trooper would have caught them. Art assumed there must be an all points bulletin out on any white Cadillac with New York plates and the Trooper may even had made their plates and concluded they were heading south. He became a little concerned about road blocks, but so far they hadn't run into any.

Art noticed the vehicle parked on the side of the roadway long before Louie said. "Hey, it looks like there's a stalled truck up there, with its hood is up."

"Yeah I see it." Art answered. "Looks like a couple of people standing next to it." He eased up on the accelerator allowing the big car to slow down. "I think I'll stop and pick um up. The police are looking for two guys in a white Caddy, maybe a couple of extra body's will throw them off. Especially out here in hicks-ville USA."

"Yeah Art. That sounds like a real good plan." Louie confirmed.

As they approached Art saw what looked to be a young woman or girl step out onto the pavement flagging them down by waving her arms back and forth. He pulled over and parked several feet behind the pick-up truck.

Although he didn't expect any trouble from a stranded pair of kids, out of sheer habit he pulled his automatic out from under the seat and slipped it into his waistband next to the small of his back. Grabbing his jacket from the back seat he slipped it on while getting out of the car.

"Car trouble?" He called out walking toward Karen and Rory.

"Ah, yeah." Karen called back. "We've been out here all day. Thanks for stopping."

"Sure thing. Wouldn't leave anybody stuck in a hell hole like this." Art said looking around as he quickly sized up the couple. The woman was between sixteen and nineteen years old, hard to tell a kid's age these days, long straight dark hair, five foot two or three, young hard body, sexy and attractive. The man was in his very early twenties, around six feet tall and looked like someone who could have belonged in a street gang, short cropped bleached blond hair, large hoop earrings in both ears, poor quality tattoo of a skull on the left side of his neck, and several indistinguishable homemade tattoos across his knuckles. 'A real punk.' Art thought to himself.