Outside Forces

by R E Swirsky

CHAPTER 10

  Saturday 11:05 Trans-Canada Highway east of Calgary

  Garrod Shaw was slumped against the passenger side window with his chin tucked down against his chest as the truck rolled down the highway headed east. Willard was driving.

  The truck was old, an early nineties extended-cab Chevy with a cracked wind screen and extensive rust on the fenders and rear bumper. The tires were balding and the wheels were out of alignment, requiring Willard to keep the steering wheel pulled to the left to compensate for the drag. Adding to the discomfort, at least one of the tires had thrown a weight and the truck shimmied terribly at high speeds.

  Willard had secured the truck three nights ago from a farm on the eastern edge of the city. There were dozens of vehicles stored on the far side of the barn facing the rural gravel road, far away from prying eyes of the main house. Many of the autos were just empty carcasses, stripped down for parts and resting on blocks. A few had their hoods lifted, looking like nestlings crying up skyward for a much needed feeding. Others that weren’t stripped just sat there with their headlights staring out towards the highway like old men in white tank tops reminiscing about some sweet girl who once warmed the passenger seat.

  Willard knew the old Chevy was in running condition the moment he saw it tucked next to the barn alongside the others. It was the recently cut grass beneath the truck that gave it away. The farm work truck: most farms had at least one. He was pretty sure this one wouldn’t be missed by its owner for a number of days or weeks, maybe not even until harvest season started in late August. As a bonus, the owners had left the keys in the ignition, which didn’t really surprise him. The only task that remained was to secure a plate, and he stole that from a similar looking truck in the casino parking lot on the south end of town.

  Willard reached across the seat and nudged Shaw on the shoulder. “You okay, man?”

  Shaw grunted once and ran one hand up across his stubble-ridden face. “Yeah,” he wheezed out. His eyes remained closed. He shifted his head further into the window, appearing annoyed.

  “That was some good shit last night.”

  Shaw responded with another grunt.

  Thursday night was the teaser. Addicts were like little sluts when it came to their drugs. When it was free, they didn’t care who was offering or where it came from. One dime was all he’d set Shaw up with on Thursday before he staggered out to find his own corner to settle down and ride the wave, leaving Shaw alone in the back room on his own magic carpet ride. By the end of the night, the euphoria had dissipated, leaving him feeling dry and edgy. It didn’t take long before he was upstairs shagging the scrawny brunette with the bad tattoos and black nose ring. Where Shaw ended up at the end of the night he didn’t know. He only knew that at some time tomorrow, Shaw would return wanting more—they always do.

  And Friday, like the little drug slut he’d become since his release, Shaw was there, panting like a dog, as Willard stepped back inside the Ogden house. Willard worked Shaw, dribbling out a small sampling at a time, making sure he knew there was more—plenty more. By late evening, Willard mentioned he was leaving early Saturday for a quick overnight job in Saskatoon and asked Shaw if he was up to keeping him company for the drive.

  “Uhn. What kind of job?” he asked.

  “A delivery. We’ll be back Sunday afternoon.”

  He shrugged and scrunched up his face as he looked about the room full of nameless strangers. “Sure,” he said and laughed. “I ain’t got nowhere special to be.” He laughed again. “I’m free.” He lifted his arms into the air and shook them about. “I can goes anywhere I want.” He grinned again and flashed his yellowing teeth at Willard.

  As long as there were drugs, Shaw was eager to follow.

  Willard had spotted one undercover tracking Shaw as he made his way to the Ogden house upon his release. He suspected the police were upset about the Supreme Court decision ordering Shaw’s release and were determined to find any reason to put Shaw back behind bars where he belonged as soon as possible. He almost suspected a possible police raid of the Ogden drug house, but drug possession was a minor offence and not worth the risk if the police were already inside working on a much bigger target.

  Because of a possible tail, Willard kept all contact to Shaw limited. A few hours ago, Shaw hopped onto a C-Train as the sun broke the horizon, riding first out to the suburbs and then back into the city core. This was followed by a few transfers on city buses. His final destination was back in Ogden at the local farmers’ market where Shaw walked in the front door and out the back, hunched over, straight into Willard’s waiting pickup truck. He remained hunkered down against the floor until they were clear of town.

  “Why did I have to ride so many buses? I could have walked here.”

  Willard didn’t lie.

  “I need to be sure you don’t have a tail.”

  “Oh, I guess,” Shaw replied and scratched his head. “But I’m free. So they can’t charge me with those murders ever again. The courts said so.” He was clearly puzzled.

  Willard chuckled. “But they can throw you back in jail for other things. That’s why they’re watching you.”

  A frown crossed Shaw’s face as if he didn’t understand.

  “They’re watching you, Garrod. They want you back in jail.”

  “But I’m free,” he repeated.

  He just wasn’t getting it. He seemed more like a juvenile than a fully grown, thirty-two-year-old man.

  He chuckled. “Yeah, okay, Garrod. You’re right. You’re a free man. Just like me.” He flashed a grin.

  Shaw smiled back, but it seemed forced.

  As the truck rolled east, Shaw snoozed. Willard checked the time. He was far ahead of schedule.