Chapter 2

I watched the numbers count up on the pump as the gas flowed into the tank of the 1993 Jeep Grand Wagoneer. I loved the retro feel of the too large vehicle. Its massive 5.2 liter V8 engine was certainly overpowered for almost anything I needed to do.

I had bought it from a cousin. It was a barn car. You know, an old car that had sat in a barn for something like fifteen years. Martin, Bryce and I had rebuilt the engine, then moved on to replacing the shocks, headliner, carpet. The seats had been professionally reupholstered. The imitation wood siding meticulously reapplied and the body fully restored. Darla hated the thing.

Tank full, I slipped behind the wheel. One luxury I had allowed myself was to update the old stock analog radio with a state-of-the-art head unit. Unfortunately the Wagoneer had the old OBD-I bus rather than the more comprehensive ODB-II diagnostic port. The head unit still allowed me to monitor engine error codes, connect to my phone, add an after market backup camera and gave me full access to navigation.

I was about to punch in the address in Lesserton that Cynthia Smith had given me when my phone started to chirp. I checked the number which came up as Connie Hurley. I had forebared calling Connie to let her know what a snake Bryce was. Could perhaps she have found out some other way?

I swiped to accept the call.

“Danny?” I heard my wife say. I had blocked Darla after leaving home the day of the incident. I had been staying in an Airbnb under a personal account I had created after I realized that Darla had access to our old account.

I thought about hanging up immediate but could not resist the opportunity to snark at Darla.
“When Connie agreed to lend you her phone did she know you’re fucking her husband?”

“Of course. We’re really close friends. They’re both here now on speaker.”

“I tried to call and work things out buddy,” I heard Bryce’s voice say. “But I couldn’t even get voicemail.”

“I blocked you asshole,” I answered.

“Please come and meet with us, Danny,” Connie’s voice added. “I know we can work things out. You know I’ve always kind of had a crush on you.”

The phone was broadcasting over the car’s speakers. My body was just starting to catch up to my mind and the feeling was not pleasant. I was beginning to perceive that what was going on was a little more extensive than a simple affair, but my body was not having it. I felt my face flush and my head get light.

“Not happening Connie,” said as I swiped to end the call.

When the phone immediately rang again I let it go to voicemail. I waited until my pulse regularized and my head stopped swimming.

I heard tapping on my window. I looked up at a guy dressed in dirty coveralls with a cable company logo on them and realized he was the driver of the truck with the big cherry picker on the back parked behind me. I rolled down my window.

“You okay, bud?”

I looked up at him.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

“Can you move up then?”

“Sure.” I started the car and moved to one of the parking places in front of the minimart. I spent a few minutes pulling myself together. I relegated Connie’s number to blocked hell and tossed my phone on the charging pad, another upgrade to the car’s electronics. Then I picked it up again realizing I needed the note I’d linked to the Lesserton lawyer’s name.

I punched the address Cynthia had given me into the head unit. Once the map appeared I pulled out.

The first part of the journey took me down Interstate 81. Unfortunately, interstate driving gave me way too much time to think about the sink hole my life had become. After way too long feeling sorry for myself I started to concentrate on the upside. I was slated for a big payoff. My primary problem was ensuring my unfaithful wife did not manage to latch on to a substantial portion of it. The lawyer lady seem to indicate that as well as property I could expect some amount of money from Uncle Tony’s estate. Odd. I had not seen him in years, probably not since high school. I knew that mom had taken several trips to Virginia to visit once I went away to college.

Five hours into my trip I made my first stop for gas. I was about to slip off onto US Highway 60 and decided to top off before leaving the interstate. Unfortunately the nearest Exxon was half a mile in the wrong direction.

As I filled the Jeep I noticed a beat-up dualie pull up to the minimart. The passenger door swung open and a girl was ejected from cab. As she turned around and screamed, “Assholes!” a small backpack came sailing out of the truck and bounced off her body. The door of the truck slammed shut and its wheels spun as the vehicle dashed out of the gas station, its tires squealing at the driver took the turn at increasing speed.

The girl picked up her bag and brushed it off. If I was to describe her the word that comes to mind is elfin or perhaps gamine, slim almost boyish. Her hair was short. She was wearing shorts held up by rainbow suspenders over a blouse buttoned only halfway up. I placed her age somewhere south of eighteen, but not as young as sixteen. After slinging her bag on by one strap she reached up and button the middle two buttons of her blouse. Then she began to survey the gas station.

It quickly became apparent to her that my car was the only one present. Our eyes locked for a few seconds, then she broke contact and swung her bag around so she could dig a cigarette out and light it with a disposable lighter.

Just then the pump clicked off. I turned away from her. When I looked back at her after replacing the gas cap she was leaning on the building observing me. Not wanting to be the creep checking out the teenager I slipped past her, not making eye contact this time and entered the store.

Typically, it had a wall of drink coolers along one side and assortment of junk food in multiple aisles. A half bald fat guy who looked vaguely middle eastern was standing behind the counter doing something on his phone. He glanced up at me as I headed to the drinks. I skipped the beer and soda sections and grabbed a flavored water. As I closed the cooler door I heard the store’s door open and their was the girl.

On the counter was one of those commercial hot dog rollers. As well as hot dogs I saw some kind of brats and something they called breakfast sausages.

“How much are the dogs?” the girl asked the clerk.

“Three twenty-five,” he answered without taking his eyes off his phone.

She pulled some bills out of somewhere and then put her bag on the counter and began digging through it. Eventually she seemed to find a quarter and pulled it out with a triumphant look on her face.

The clerk grabbed a pair of tongs and captured one of the rolling dogs. He placed it in a bun which he pulled from a bag behind the counter and put both into a paper sheath.

Placing the wrapped dog on the counter he said, “$3.43.”

The girl looked at him with disgust. “You said $3.25, shithead.”

“Taxes, little miss. Take it up with the governor.”

“Shit,” she said starting to turn away.

I put my water on the counter.

“I’ve got it,” I said.

They both looked at me.

“I’m getting the water anyway. Just add the dog.”

“How much for a drink?” the girl asked Mr. Friendly.

“$1.65.” She perked up. Running back to the cooler, she came back with a Mountain Dew and held out two dollars.

“Just add it to the card,” I said sliding it into the reader.

I grabbed my drink and headed out the door. In a half a minute she ran up behind me.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

She was shoveling the dog into her mouth like she had not eaten for a long time.

“Which way you going?” she asked as I pulled on the Jeep’s driver door handle.

“Over to 60, to US 170.”

I saw something in her eyes.

“Any chance I can get a lift?”

I gave her an obvious looking over. She licked her lips. I wondered was she trying to look inviting or just getting the last of the mustard from her dog.

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen. Too old?”

“No. Just don’t want to end up in some county jail for transporting a minor.”

“I’m not leaving the state.” She balled the napkin and paper tray into a ball and tossed it in the can between the pumps.

Mine was still the only car in the station. An extended cab pickup shot passed on 60, but otherwise traffic was non-existent. I reached in and pushed the button which unlocked all the other doors.

“Alright, get in.” As she slipped into the passenger seat I said, “No smoking in the car. And seatbelts.”

I started the engine as she inspected the cabin.

“Cool car. Didn’t expect to see that,” she said pointing to the head unit.

“I’ve had it upgraded. By the way I’m Danny Becket.”

“Emily. Emily Knox.”

We drove for a while in silence. We crossed over the Interstate and after a few miles on 60 turned off onto US 170.

“So what happened back at the gas station with the pickup?”

“Guy offered me a ride for a blowjob. Then he picks up his asshole brother and expects to get two blowjobs.”

The car swerved.

“Easy there,” she said.

“You don’t...”

“I didn’t offer. You bought me food. Figured you didn’t expect anything for that. At least you never asked. Thought you might not mind giving me a lift. Plus you’re clean, got a cool car and don’t look like a serial killer.”

“I don’t think you can tell a serial killer by looking at them. Otherwise they’d be pretty easy to catch.”

“I guess so.”

We rode in silence for awhile longer.

“So where you going?” she asked finally.

“Lesserton.”

“Really!?”

“Yeah. My uncle died.”

“That’s funny.”