Road Test

by David Wickenhauser

  Hugh stepped to the front of the cab to peer out the windshield and side windows. He spotted Charlie walking toward his truck from the direction of James’ truck.

  She was dressed in a new change of clothes, and had bags from a popular women’s chain store hanging from both arms. Hugh opened the passenger door for her to climb in, and helped her with her bags. He could tell she was freshly showered.

  In contrast to the disheveled kidnap victim he had found sitting in the dirt by the side of the road, and who had been riding with him in his truck, Charlie looked very much like the fully composed reporter he and Jenny has first met.

  “Good morning, Hugh.”

  “Good morning, Charlie,” Hugh replied with a smile that grew into a full-on laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You do realize what this looks like don’t you?”

  “No. What?”

  “When a gal hops down from one guy’s truck at a truck stop and climbs right up into another guy’s truck?”

  “Sorry, I don’t get it.”

  “We call them lot lizards,” Hugh explained. “Ladies who are paid by truckers to entertain them in their cabs.”

  Charlie’s face turned red. She wasn’t blushing from embarrassment. Hugh could see she was angry.

  Hugh couldn’t help himself. “Yeah, as you walked past a truck I saw a driver look in his wallet to see if he had enough cash. He must have figured the way you look he couldn’t afford you.”

  “For crying out loud,” Charlie said. She was really angry. “What’s wrong with you people?”

  “You people?” Hugh replayed her words back to her.

  “Yeah, truckers.”

  Hugh ignored that. “So, anyway. You got along pretty well with James then, huh?”

  “We walked down the road a couple of blocks to a shopping mall. I needed quite a few things,” Charlie said, nodding toward her bags. “He fronted me the cash to pay for them.”

  “And, then …?”

  “And then we talked for a long time, until it was late. I didn’t want to disturb you coming back here, so I took the top bunk in James’ truck.”

  Hugh said only, “Uh, huh.” But kept his thoughts to himself.

  “Well, you look nice, with your new clothes, and all,” Hugh said, hoping to mollify Charlie’s anger.

  Charlie snapped at Hugh, “I don’t need you to affirm my looks.”

  There she is. There’s the Charlie Hugh and Jenny had first met in the Sandpoint restaurant.

  Apparently, dressing down for a kidnapping didn’t suit Charlie at all. She obviously preferred her big-city, high-style investigative reporter persona.

  Hugh decided to play it careful. After all, he was counting on her cooperation in dealing with the greater issue at hand – the lawsuit, and what the attorney’s plan B might be when he discovers his first ploy hadn’t worked.

  Hugh decided he needed a plan B of his own in case things didn’t work out with Charlie. He began thinking about a couple of phone calls he could make in the near future.

  Hugh’s phone map app told him his Portland destination was a little under nine hours of driving. That gave him some cushion, weather and traffic conditions permitting, to make the drive within his eleven hours of allowed drive time.

  He had already traversed the short distance west on Interstate 80 to catch Highway 395 north.

  “We’ve got to push it pretty hard,” he told Charlie.

  The atmosphere in the truck’s cab was cooler than it had been since Charlie had first come on board. It was about what Hugh would have expected.

  “It’s going to be close to do it all within my eleven if we encounter any slowdowns along the way.”

  “Eleven?”

  “Yeah. An hours-of-service regulation for commercial drivers. Under normal circumstances, I am allowed a fourteen-hour work day, within which I can be on-duty driving for only eleven of those hours. It’s a very strict rule,” Hugh said, patting the electronic logging device attached to his dash.

  Charlie nodded her acceptance of Hugh’s explanation.

  “So, what did you and James talk about last night?” Hugh asked.

  “He told me quite a bit about when you and he drove together. Some really fascinating stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the first day when he picked you up hitchhiking.”

  “What did he tell you about that?”

  “Everything.”

  “I don’t think everything,” Hugh said. James would know better than that. But, then again, James did like the ladies, and he found it easy talking to them.

  “Hugh, it’s OK. I’ve promised I won’t write about anything I learn while I’m with you. I’ll keep my word.”

  Hugh sighed his relief.

  “But, it sure makes me wonder how Jenny was able to accept you had killed her dad. Not only accept, but fall in love with you.”

  “You get right to it, don’t you.”

  “Just curious.”

  “It was something that grew over time, like in most relationships, I guess,” Hugh said. “She was angry for a while. But when she thought more about the kind of business her dad and her uncle had been in, and especially after they had made it their goal to kill me, she realized I did what I had to do in self-defense.”

  “Now, why couldn’t you say these things during our first interview?” Charlie asked.

  “Because that was on the record, and this is not. Right?”

  Charlie nodded.

  “There was one thing I wanted to ask James about,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I wanted to ask him about that whole jug thing.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “He said he’s the one who introduced you to using one. That it’s a lot more responsible to use a clean, deodorized jug emptied in a proper way rather than doing what a lot of truckers do who chuck soda bottle trucker bombs out of their windows while driving down the highway.”

  “He’s got that right,” Hugh agreed. “Those guys who do that are scum, and don’t deserve to be truck drivers. It gives all of us a bad reputation.”

  “Did James tell you about the first time I had to use a jug in his truck?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  “We need to continue talking about our situation with the attorney,” Hugh said.

  “James and I talked about that a little bit last night too,” Charlie said.

  “Really? Did you guys come up with something?”

  “Just a suggestion.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We were thinking I might transfer over to James’ truck.”

  “Wow! Where did that come from?”

  Hugh expressed surprise. But he was actually feeling relief. That thought had already occurred to him, but probably for a different motivation than what Charlie was thinking.

  “Think about it. It’s a win-win.”

  “How so?”

  “My phone, with its tracking app, would come with me, meaning the guys with Rico Investigations would think I am still on your truck, even though I would be on James’ truck. It would throw them off your trail for sure.”

  “OK. I can see that.”

  “It would also free you up to get Jenny back on your truck.”

  “She had to get off because of insurance purposes,” Hugh reminded her.

  “That was then. But it’s now moving to a different stage because of the lawsuit,” she replied.

  “That’s true.” Hugh would definitely prefer seeing Jenny rather than Charlie sitting in the passenger seat. “What else?”

  “Well, you’d have Jenny with you in case they try to do something like kidnap her.”

  “All that makes sense. Let me think about it.”

  “It’s just a suggestion, but I like the idea,” Charlie said.

  “But wait a minute,” Hugh said. “Why would you do that? Why continue to play this out? You could get off in Por
tland, fly home, and be done with all this.”

  “Don’t forget, Hugh, if I show up at my condo without delivering the goods they will carry out their threat to me. I’m perfectly comfortable with James being able to take care of anybody who tries to harm me.”

  “That’s true. I did forget that. OK. So, what’s the plan?”

  “In a nutshell, we find out which WestAm dispatcher gave them your load information. Then we work our way up the chain, very likely leading to the attorney who’s filing the lawsuit. When we have some provable evidence, we alert the authorities, and their whole scheme comes crashing down.”

  “Yeah,” Hugh said. “The attorney, along with everybody who had a part in their plot, goes to prison for murder. The lawsuit, and all our problems go away.”

  “James is going to work on his contacts with WestAm Trucking to get information about the dispatcher, and then we’ll go from there,” Charlie said.

  “Hugh, I could stand to take a jug break.”

  They were still some distance from Susanville.

  “Unfortunately, we’re on a two-lane highway here, in some rough country with no good place to pull over. You’ll have to slip into the back and do your business while I keep the truck moving.”

  “No problem. I’ll give it a try.”

  Hugh was pleasantly surprised at how easily Charlie had relaxed into the trucker way of doing things.

  Charlie unhooked her seat belt, moved back to the sleeper, pulled the curtain divider closed and took her jug out of the cabinet.

  “I should be OK with the truck engine and road noise giving me some privacy,” she told Hugh through the closed curtain.

  “Good. Let me know when you are ready, and I’ll try to keep the truck steady.”

  “OK. I’m set up now,” she said.

  Hugh gave Charlie ten seconds to get started, and then gently tapped his brakes.

  Charlie screamed. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Sorry,” Hugh said. “A coyote crossed in front of us. Go ahead.”

  He gave it another fifteen seconds, then tapped his brakes again.

  Charlie screamed again.

  “Oops, there goes the coyote again,” Hugh said.

  “You better knock it off, mister, or I’m going to dump this jug over your head.”

  “I promise I won’t do it again.”

  Charlie finished using the jug, opened the curtain, and sat back in her seat.

  “You’ve completed your trucker jug initiation,” Hugh said. “Congratulations.”

  “James?” was all Charlie said.

  “Yup. All James. Now, don’t let him try to pull that on you if you do end up riding with him.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “Fifty million. That’s the biggest one yet.”

  Deborah, a paralegal at The Fishburn Law Firm, PLC, in Scottsdale, Arizona, was the attorney’s chief paralegal for handling his truck crash litigation work. She had drafted many personal injury complaints for the attorney, but this was the first wrongful death lawsuit she had drafted in regard to a truck crash.

  This complaint was a ninety-eight-page document, containing forty-five allegations and seven counts against the defendants – of whom there were many.

  Because of the severity of the crash, the usual boilerplate language she used in a personal injury lawsuit wouldn't have worked.

  She was in Fishburn’s office, and had handed him the finished draft to review. The attorney was hoping to file it in Maricopa Superior Court later that day, and he was wanting to give it one more look before affixing his signature to it.

  “It’s too bad the husband waited so long to contact us,” Fishburn said. “We missed out on being able to send a letter of spoliation, and to examine the truck and other evidence ourselves before the truck was removed from the scene and repaired.”

  Fishburn said this for Deborah’s benefit. He knew full well why he couldn’t have done those things. It was because even though the parties involved in creating the fiery fake crash knew the identity of the victims, it took some time for the official forensic identification to be made. It would have been untimely for the husband to have contacted the attorney to get the settlement process started before it was certain it was his wife who had been killed.

  Deborah knew none of that background. All she knew was her boss had a knack for picking up a lot of truck crash settlements and lawsuits.

  Named in the lawsuit as defendants was everyone who had any connection with the truck involved in the crash. Hugh Mann, of course, was named as the owner of the truck, but also Western America Trucking, Inc., the carrier he was contracted with, and Freightliner Trucks, a division of Daimler Trucks North America LLC.

  Fishburn had also reached out to name as a defendant the repair facility at the Spokane Freightliner dealership where the driver’s truck had been taken for repairs shortly after the last hijacking attempt.

  He’d had his office staff compile a thick folder of documents about the truck driver’s past history of violence, all entered as exhibits in the massive complaint.

  Damages claimed in the lawsuit included the plaintiff husband’s loss of his wife, and their two children, but also included loss of her future income, and his mental anguish because of the horrific result of the fiery crash. He’d never be able to recover from the trauma of having to try to identify the charred body of his wife who was burned beyond recognition, etc., etc.

  Fishburn still held out hope the trucker’s carrier would decide to avoid a costly, lengthy trial and agree to settle. He realized the truck driver’s reputation for saving the Idaho State Police trooper’s life was problematic; but the attorney had his ringer – the investigative reporter who was currently embedded with the trucker.

  The attorney believed her testimony damaging the trucker’s reputation during the deposition phase would scuttle the carrier’s defense of their golden boy. Failing that, although Frank Rico had assured him it wouldn’t fail, the attorney had a backup plan to encourage the trucker to admit fault for the crash. Another kidnap job for Frank Rico’s men. This one for real.

  The attorney dismissed Deborah from his office, then dialed the number for Rico Investigations.

  “Frank here,” Frank said, once his receptionist had patched Fishburn’s call through to his desk phone.

  “Hey, Frank. I’m finalizing the lawsuit complaint against the trucker and his carrier. I want to make sure we’re still good with the reporter we put in with him.”

  “As far as I know, we are.”

  “Have your guys heard from her yet? Anything good on the trucker?”

  “She’s checked in with William. Said she’s with the guy. Nothing to report.”

  “OK. Thanks.”

  Fishburn didn’t cradle his handset. He disconnected the call, then immediately dialed Joe’s cell phone number. Joe had finished his part in making the crash happen, but the attorney wanted to keep tabs on him. He wanted to be sure Joe wouldn’t go renegade.

  “Joe,” the attorney said when Joe answered. “Anything to report?”

  “No, boss. I don’t think the car I torched out in the desert has been found yet. The longer it sits out there, the more it will look like an abandoned wreck torched by partying teens.”

  “Any other loose ends I need to know about?”

  “Now that you mention it, there might be one.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “My guy, the one whose girlfriend works at the WestAm dispatch office, says somebody has been poking around trying to get his girlfriend to give up my guy’s name.”

  “That could be a problem, Joe, if she gives up his name and they question him. How solid is he.”

  “Not very. He’s at the real low end of the pay scale, if you know what I mean. He doesn’t have much incentive to keep from blabbing names.”

  “Surely you haven’t given him your full name.”

  “Well, boss …”

  “Tell me you didn’t.”

  “I didn’
t. But he has been to my house. He knows where I live.”

  “What other dumbshit thing have you done? Does he know about me?”

  “Maybe a little bit.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It might have come out in conversation that I work for this big-shot Scottsdale lawyer who specializes in trucking lawsuits.”

  “You get with your guy. You do whatever it takes to make sure he doesn’t decide to go stool pigeon on us. Whatever it takes!”

  “Got it, boss.”

  Fishburn immediately redialed the number for Rico Investigations.

  “Frank. We’ve got a situation.”

  He told Frank about his conversation with Joe.

  “You might need to have your crew do something on the side for me.”

  “No problem, Bill. Keep me informed.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “James, do you know where you’re going to be in the next day or so?” Hugh was on his Bluetooth.

  “Yeah, buddy. Why?”

  “Charlie and I have been talking, and we’ve come up with a plan.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “She said you guys had talked about her coming aboard with you for a while. That actually makes sense, so if you still agree to do it, we could hook up somewhere.”

  “I’m unloading in Southern California first thing in the morning, then I’ll be pushing north as soon as I pick up my next load.”

  “How far north?”

  “Hermiston. I’ll park at Corning tomorrow night.”

  Hugh knew that by Corning James meant the large Indian casino about fifty miles south of Redding. It had great truck parking, showers, a barber shop, a beauty salon, a hotel, restaurants, and a world-class buffet for a reasonable price.

  “OK, that could work. Text me your pre-load info, and I’ll see if I can get a load out of Portland tomorrow that can hook us up.”

  Next, Hugh pushed the top button on his Bluetooth. “Call Jenny.”

  “Hey, honey. How’s it going?” she answered immediately. It sure sounded good to hear her voice.