Chapter 1

I was driving a very slow box truck up a very narrow road up very steep hill. Josie was grinning like a mad woman. She opened her mouth and gibberish poured forth.

I understood every word.

“Mr. Jackson?” she asked.

“Miss Josie?”

“Have you looked in the mirror lately?” she asked.

“What good would it do me? I know there are cars lined up behind me for miles. There’s no place to pull over. The other lane is thick as fleas on a blue tick hound in a tall grass field. They’re just going to have to suffer,” I said.

This was like the logging road, except this one was paved, and going up instead of down ... steep to it’s called ... it was all of that.

Blind corners abound, the main difference were the overpasses. The road doubled back several times and we drove under where we would be driving on in a few miles. No problem.

Except.

For some odd reason the locals parked their cars under the overpasses. Sans parkers, the crowd behind could have passed but it was difficult enough to thread the way through the parked cars. Some of them had been parked long enough to be dust caked.

I didn’t care, I just kept driving. On the hairpins, Josie proved her worth.

“Left just a little,” she said, as a 1964 Mustang had its nose stuck a bit far into the traffic. As the box came around I had to duck right to miss oncoming traffic in my lane. On the other side of the road was a monstrous 1941 Cadillac Series 75 limousine complete with the suicide doors in the back ... showroom perfect.

We E-Peshawari never threw anything away.

“What are we delivering?” I asked Josie.

“‘Shine,” she said.

“Read that invoice again,” I suggested, “I’m awfully busy.”

“226930 Blue Hill Road, Tony’s Speak. 2650 one gallon milk-jugs JJ Brown’s Pure Corn Squeezins’ Liquor... 1766 six pack flats Green Glass Ball jars with lids and rings ... ten thousand six hundred pre printed labels. To pick up: all clean returns.” She kept reading to herself, then she said, “Tony will try to send all the empty jars he has. We only take green ones. Mr. Brown will charge us a dime each for the wrong color.”

“Why does he do that?” I asked.

“Says right here. ‘Because I have to take them to their owners’, Wait.” She turned the invoice over. Reading; “‘No! They won’t come get them.’” She laughed.

“That was my next question,” I said.

“Evidently, it’s been asked before,” she laughed as she said it.

“Seems obvious to me,” I agreed.

The rest of the drive up hill was accomplished with very little conversation ... except for the parked cars at every overpass ... underpass ... what does one call the road one drives over after driving under it a few miles before ... and what if you’re going down instead of up? Because eventually, we had to go down.

Gravity is what I call it.

The cars under the whatever it’s called were easily recognizable ... but they were just a trifle odd ... like they had been built in Canada ... but not quite that bad ... still ... a Mustang was a Mustang was a Ford and an Impala was an Impala was a Chevy ... like that ... mostly. The difference was just enough for me to realize I wasn’t where I was when I started.

But where was I?

Right now, Josie said, “We’re here.”

And sure enough, the neon sign on the long low building said, Tony’s in gorgeous color. The parking lot should have told me.

It was jam packed with those not quite year models and there were more cars coming in ... most of them had been behind us on the drive up ... about one in ten were continuing on and most of the cars going down were leaving Tony’s.

Tony’s was very popular.

The sign by the side of the drive read, Deliveries. The sign halfway down the drive read, If you ain’t Delivering, Don’t park here. In the back, there was a bulldozer and a small pile of flat scrap.

“I think Tony means it,” Josie said.

“Uh huh,” I replied.

I backed the box van against the loading dock. I felt the bump and stopped. Josie de-cabbed with the padlock keys, invoice clipboard and walked to the loading ... in this case ... the unloading dock.

The receiving agent was huge ... and green ... very dark green. So was Josie ... green ... but not dark ... a lighter shade of green ... and my green driving gloves weren’t gloves.

The moment of truth arrived.

We’re not in Colorado anymore, Josie ... or even in the next state east.