Chapter 1

I was rolling down the interstate on the way home from a week on the road. It hadn't been a bad week. Somebody had a problem they couldn't quite get a handle on, so they called me. I went.

Had a meeting to talk about the problem. Walked out with a couple of technicians and let them show me what they'd found and what they'd done. I guided them through a few more checks, directed by a couple decades of experience, and let them find the failure. A replacement part went in to replace the failed one, we turned it on, things worked.

Had another meeting to talk about what we'd done. I gave as much credit to the local guys as I could possibly do without making myself look like a dolt, but when I walked out of the place, everybody knew who really got things back on track. That's fine. I know who they'll call next time.

So I'm on the road, three hundred miles into the four hundred mile trip back home, cruise control set on seventy-five, even though that last sign I passed said the limit was seventy. I was only getting passed by five percent of the traffic. I saw one of those in my rear-view mirror so I eased out of the left lane to give him the road.

That put me closing pretty fast on a ten year old SUV that was emitting the occasional puff of smoke from the exhaust. Blue smoke. Oil problem. I punched the button on my car's AC to put it on 'recirculate' so I wouldn't breathe that oil stench, and I kicked the cruise control off so I didn't overrun that SUV. My highballing buddy in the left lane blew past me at an estimated eighty-five.

I saw two things happen. First, as Rodney Ramjet passed under an overpass, a blue light started flashing. He was getting ready to contribute to the state's coffers for a speeding.

Second, a huge gout of blue smoke came out of the SUV. Not just the exhaust, either. Under the car. Out of the edges of the hood. It started pulling to the right shoulder.

If I was headed TO a job, I might not have stopped. But I was headed home. No schedule there but my own. And I was feeling particularly happy with myself, so I pulled onto the shoulder behind it.

I expected a door to open. It didn't. Okay, maybe not my brightest move, but let's go see. I got out.

When I got to the driver's side door, there was a female form hunched over the steering wheel, obviously sobbing. I rapped gently on the window.

Tearful eyes turned to me. The face was middle-aged, not unpleasant except for tears tracking down both cheeks.

I held both hands up, showing they were empty. The window came down about an inch and a half. "Are you okay?"

She fought back sobs. "No I'm NOT okay. I tried. I really TRIED..." trailed off into sobs. Recovered enough to squeak "stupid car's dead. Piece of SHIT!" And more sobs.

"Is there something I can do? Help? Call somebody?"

"No! Nobody. Nobody at all!"

I could smell the hot oil and antifreeze as I stood there. This car was badly messed up. "I don't think your car's going to drive. Are you sure I can't help you?"

The window went back up. I thought, 'Oh, well. I tried.' I started to turn back to my car when her door opened. I did a quick, and I hope, not too obvious survey of who got out of the SUV. Inventory: Female. Thirtish. A little less than five and a half feet tall. Not fat, by any stretch, but nicely rounded, instead of that 'anorexic super-model' look. Brown hair, collar-length, streaked with highlights. Brown eyes. Wearing loose-fitting jeans and a decidedly unrevealing sweatshirt, but the front was pushed out just a little, so not 'busty' as they say, but definitely a pair of breasts there. Nails. Natural. A small pair of athletic shoes held the whole mess up.

She wasn't as subtle as I was. She looked me over from head to toe. Fortunately my travel clothes are pretty neat: Canvas pants, clean chambray work shirt. Leather shoes.

"What the heck," she said. "At this stage of the game an axe-murderer would be a step up."

"I'm under treatment for my murderous tendencies," I said. "I'm Charles..."

"Manson," she interrupted. Hint of smile.

"Charles LeBert. Chuck. Thank you."

"Virginia Coleman," she said. "Jenny. Homeless for the last two hours. Now on foot."

"I don't see you whipping out a cellphone, so..."

"Who would I call? My ex-boyfriend? He's who I'm leaving. Mom? In Section 8 housing? Living from one government check to another? Friends? They're a hundred and twenty miles up the road and most of them are on HIS side." Her shoulders heaved in a heavy sigh. Eyes started getting wet again as she inventoried her situation. "And my stupid piece of shit car just broke." Sigh. "How far's the next town?"