by Nancy Cupp
Bruce cut the corner too short leaving the driveway, and the trailer tandems slid into the ditch, crushing the culvert and taking out a fence post. The trailer rocked, but he stomped on the accelerator and the truck pulled it free, scraping a long deep furrow along one side. He never looked back.
They rode in silence for a while, the dust from the gravel road billowing up behind them. “You know how to program this thing?” He pointed to the GPS on the dash.
“Yeah, I think so.” Margret picked up the Garmin, “Where do you want to go?”
Bruce shoved a notebook in her direction, “The address is on there, the top one.” While she was punching in the address Bruce gave her a sideways glance, “You okay? Did he…”
“No, I mean, he didn’t—I’m okay.”
There was a long silence, then Bruce started to chuckle. Margret glanced at him and he started to laugh harder.
“What?”
“Nothin’—just you,” he laughed some more and soon Margret was smiling, wondering what he was getting at. “It’s just that you got him good—with the ink,” he said with a wry smile. “That stuff is indelible ink and it’ll soak right through, stain his dick black for a while.”
She had to laugh, “Well, he got me first.” She averted her eyes, “Too bad his isn’t permanent.”
It was a sunny hot day, and the road ditches were filled with wildflowers. The GPS announced the next turn onto the highway toward Denver. Almost immediately they came to a weigh station. “Don’t try nothin’ cute,” said Bruce. He downshifted to go in.
Margret noticed the pre-pass missing from the windshield. She remembered Joyce saying it identifies the truck to the weigh station as well as signaling if the truck should pass, or come in and weigh. Without it, they’d have to enter every open station.
She wasn’t sure if that was good or not. She knew if they were caught, Rosa would suffer horribly and probably be killed. Still, she was desperate to be free. She rested her throbbing arm, still stained with black ink, on the window ledge. Maybe it would draw attention.
Bruce slowly pulled onto the scale. She could see the muscles in his jaw flex as he waited for the green light to release him. The sign lit up, Weight OK, exit to I 70, it said. The tension dissipated as they pulled back out onto the highway and got up to speed.
“Ha—our little adjustment worked, they didn’t suspect nothing,” said Bruce with glee.
Margret rode trying not to think about the impossible situation she was in. She stared at the horizon, studying what she first thought was a bank of clouds. “Oh look, you can see the mountains from here.” She’d decided to try to gain trust, maybe it would be an advantage later.
Bruce squinted through his sunglasses, “That’s mountains?”
“I think so. Have you been through the mountains much?”
“Nah—at least not driving a truck. We went skiing once when I was a kid, but I don’t think it was really mountains, more like hills. We didn’t travel much because the old man was a trucker. He didn’t want to go anywhere when he finally got home. I think Mom would’ve liked it though.”
“I got to spend my vacation, let’s see—I guess it was last year, at Yosemite in California.”
“What’s Yosemite?”
“National Park. Lots of mountains, rocks, waterfalls, and bears.”
“Bears?”
Margret laughed, “Yeah, I almost got ate by one. I was kinda lost in the woods, it’s a long story, and I had to pee. So I dropped my drawers, and wouldn’t ya know right then a big ole bear comes sauntering out of the trees.”
Bruce was laughing hard, “I can just see your bare ass running through the woods. What did ya do?”
“Ran like hell of course, I was yanking on my pants, and yelling like crazy.”
“Like the bear would care if you yelled?”
“Well, no—I’d met a Native American guy on the trail, he kinda rescued me.”
“What, he beat up the bear?”
“Ah—no, I fell in a cave—where there were bats…”
“Are you making this up?”
“No, it really happened. It was a wild vacation.”
“Crazy.” Bruce slowed the truck and pulled into a rest area. “You’re going to drive, I’m tired. I’ve been working day and night getting this thing painted. Remember, if you try anything—Rosa’s dead.”
There were a few other trucks idling in the parking area. Bruce allowed Margret to use the restroom, but he lingered outside the door until she came back out.
While she was inside, she ran cool water over her new tattoo. It was burning with pain, and for the first time she looked closely at the damage. She decided the tattoo, although ugly in what it stood for as well as how it looked, was the least of her troubles. She didn’t even realize she had been crying until she looked up at the mirror and saw tears on her cheeks. It seemed like someone else looking back from the mirror, she was still surprised by her blonde hair. Stress was etched into her face.
“What took you so long?” Bruce angrily grabbed her arm, causing the tattoo to bleed.
Margret instinctively yanked away from him, “Back off, I was just taking care of the mess your brother carved into my arm. I’m not going to do anything to hurt Rosa—okay?”
They walked back to the truck in silence, Margret opened the driver’s door and took the tire gauge out of the door pocket.
“What the hell do ya think you’re going to do with that?”
“My pre-trip, of course.”
“You ain’t doin’ no pre-trip. Just get in.”
“What if there’s a low tire or something? Do you want to have a flat? It’s not like we can call road service now can we? You don’t want the DOT to pull you over for a light out or something stupid…”
Bruce was grumbling and cursing when another driver came over. “What kinda custom job ya got here? That there’s a mighty fine restoration, can’t even see the seams.”
Bruce forced a smile, “Ah—thanks. I’d like to stay and talk, but me and the wife here gotta roll, we’re short on time.”
“I understand brother, you and the little lady stay safe now ya hear?” The driver spit a stream of tobacco that dribbled down his chin and stained his shirt where his belly caught the last drop.
Bruce gently guided Margret up the steps, and got in on the other side. She was busy with a log-book.
“Now what?”
“My log-book. You threw out the electronic system, remember? If I get pulled in I don’t want a log-book violation now do I,” she snapped.
Bruce cursed, “You just better not get pulled in—now drive. Log-book’s not gonna be your biggest problem.”
“Fine!” She threw the half finished log on the dash. “I gotta have the keys if I’m gonna drive,” she held out her hand while Bruce dug in his pocket.
Margret managed to wrestle the truck out to the highway, it took her a long time to get up to speed because she struggled with fifth and seventh gear. Bruce gave her a hard look and shook his head as she dumped the clutch.
“I’m a little rusty—okay,” she said, when he grumbled a little. “At least I didn’t take out a fence post.”
Bruce propped his foot on the dash, and leaned back into the corner and closed his eyes. “Don’t screw up. I’m watchin’ ya.”
Margret stole a glance at him and thought she caught a hint of a smile on his face. As she drove, the mountains in the distance became more distinct. Even though she had a flood of worries, she was drawn to the beauty of sparkling snow capped peaks.
By the time she was approaching Denver, she could hear Bruce gently snoring. Ideas of how to call attention to herself popped into her head like pimples on a teen-ager, but one by one she dismissed them as too risky.
As the truck passed under a highway bridge, she caught a blue flash of graffiti. She already knew what it said, “Trust Jesus.”
All right, that’s what I’m going to do. I don’t know what your plan is, but I hope you let
me in on it pretty soon, she prayed silently. This is getting scary. Please show me what to do, and please take care of Rosa and Blaize.
She worried about her father, knowing he’d be frantic. She thought about Joyce when she adjusted the visor, the pictures of David and his purple heart were still pinned there. Even Joyce wouldn’t recognize the truck now.
Traffic slowed dramatically in Denver, the truck’s sensor picked up the quickly closing gap in front of her and bleeted a loud warning. Bruce jerked awake, his arms and legs flailing, startled by the sound. “What the hell you tryin’ to pull?”
“Nothing—nothing. It’s just traffic, it slowed all the sudden. The truck has a warning system.”
He cursed again and flopped back on the seat, “Damn warning system, we’ll see about that,” he grumbled. “Just make sure you watch the road, dammit.”
Both of them relaxed a little as the traffic slowed to a crawl. “Boy, we sure got here at the wrong time of day. Rush hour I guess, and a Friday night,” said Margret as she downshifted.
Bruce half-turned in his seat, looking in the sleeper area. “I’m hungry, try not to hit nothin’, I’m goin’ back to grab some food. Want something?”
“Yeah, that’d be great. I didn’t eat breakfast.”
Bruce rummaged around in the cupboards. He’d stocked some food back there and added a cooler. Margret got the wrong gear, chugging forward, causing him to lose his balance. “Watch it, or you won’t get yer supper,” he said.
“Sorry, forgot the splitter.”
He opened a can of Pepsi and put it in the drink holder for Margret, then dropped another can in the other holder for himself. He sat down with two peanut-butter sandwiches, took a bite out of one and held the other out for her.
“Thanks.” She took a bite, then laid the sandwich on her leg. With a sip of soda, she said, “Oh that’s good. Caffeine!”
Traffic started to ease up as they turned north on I-25. The Mountains were close now, and Bruce commented on how big they were. The high peaks of Rocky Mountain National park rose up on their left.
“Yeah, I didn’t really notice how high they are when I was in California, ‘cause you just gradually get higher and higher. But here you’re on the flat and then, blam, there they are. Like—you can see the full height of ‘em.”
They ate and rode along in a congenial manner until there was a sign for a weigh station ahead. Both of them quit talking until they got close enough to see the red closed sign. Margret drove on by.
It was getting dark when they reached Cheyenne, Wyoming. The weigh station in Wyoming was closed too and Margret realized most of them would be, because it was the week-end. It meant even fewer chances to be discovered.
The GPS directed her to a dark warehouse on the edge of town. Bruce talked to the guy at the gate, then they drove in. “We’re going to drop this trailer, I don’t need anybody recognizing it. He says he has an empty one with no markings.”
To her relief, Margret didn’t have to do any fancy parking, she just pulled in and they dropped the trailer. The night air was cool with a slight breeze. Moonlight illuminated the dark parking lot as Margret lurched forward, forgetting that driving the truck without a trailer required different shifting.
“Damn, I wish you’d figure out how to drive this thing,” said Bruce.
“Well, next time you hijack a truck, make sure you get an experienced driver.”
“Shut-up. Just back under that trailer there, the tall one.”
“Why’s it so much taller?”
“It’s a fourteen footer, instead of thirteen-six.”
“I don’t think we should take an extra-tall trailer. What about bridge height and all that?”
“Who asked you?”
Margret shrugged, “I’m just saying,” It took her three tries to get lined up right with the trailer, and then she hit it hard when the fifth-wheel finally slid under.
“Christ! Get out there and crank up the dollies, while I hook up the lights.”
Margret was still breathing hard from cranking up the landing gear. She joined Bruce as he walked around to check that no lights were out. As they stood behind the row of trailers they could hear an eerie, undulating sound. Bruce stopped short, “What the hell is that?”
“Trailer ghost,” said Margret.
“What?”
“My trainer, Joyce, says it’s a ghost from dead drivers, haunting trailers.”
“Gives me the creeps,” Bruce shuddered. “Let’s get outta here, I’m driving for a while.”
14
A New Job
Joyce stared out the window of the Greyhound bus with one foot propped on the seat in front of her. She’d spent days talking to the local police, and corporate headquarters, before they finally arranged for a bus ticket home. Corporate had the idea the truck would turn up locally and she’d be needed to drive it back.
The trip from Kansas City back to Minnesota wasn’t far, but it was taking forever. They’d already made half a dozen stops in every little donut dunkin’, hog calling, town on I-35. The driver pulled off the highway at Clearlake, Iowa, and into the lot at Pilot.
Joyce was familiar with the store, it was one of her regular fuel stops. She headed straight for the restroom and was on her way to the coffee before the rest of the women on the bus had filtered through the rows of chips and candy. As a truck driver, she’d always been annoyed with hordes of slow-moving bus riders that created long lines in the women’s room. Now she was one of them. She used the points on her fuel card to pay for her coffee and was back on the bus before the driver finished his cigarette.
For the remainder of the trip Joyce thought about retirement—from truck driving at least. What would she do? Factory work seemed like a prison sentence, and she really wasn’t the office worker type. Retail stores hired lots of unskilled workers—but at minimum wage. She’d eaten so much fast food while on the road even the smell of it turned her stomach, working there wasn’t an option.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to drive a truck anymore, it was just time to be home for a while. She wanted to have friends to hang out with, and it was time to reconnect with family. Maybe she’d even buy a little house. She had plenty of money saved, there was never enough time to spend it.
When they arrived in Minneapolis, Joyce went straight to the area where cars were waiting to pick up friends and family. She had nothing to lug with her, everything was gone with the truck. A familiar passenger van with Hometown Carriers painted on the side pulled up to the curb. The driver said, “Where’s your gear?” Usually the drivers they picked up had tons of gear; she’d often volunteered to pick up new drivers herself.
“I’ve got nothing, it’s a long story,” said Joyce putting on her seatbelt. She told her story to the driver as they drove to the yard.
“They didn’t fire you for losing the load did they?”
“I hope not. I might quit anyway, but I don’t want to be fired. I’ve got five years in with this company, eight total.”
“Five years with one company is a long time for a truck driver.”
“Yeah I know, but after the first two companies, I figured out they’re all pretty much the same.”
“I suppose you’re right. Sometimes I get so pissed off though, I just gotta go somewhere else.”
Joyce thanked him for the ride and went in to talk to John in person for once. John finished the call he was on and then took off his headset. “Joyce, glad you’re back. Let’s go in there and talk,” he indicated a small private office that was seldom used.
“Have they found out anything yet?”
“Not much, the back ground check on your student, what’s her name again?”
“Margret.”
“Yeah Margret—that checked out all right. No criminal background. Actually, there’s hardly anything on her at all. She was a witness in some trial a year ago, but that’s not criminal activity.”
“Nothing on the truck yet? You would think she—it would t
urn up by now.”
“They found the Zonar smashed on the highway. It was west of where you—er—where it was lost—or stolen I guess.”
“I prefer stolen.”
“Right, and neither your phone or hers has been in use. No trace of the freight has turned up either. It was a high value load, you didn’t discuss it with anyone did you?”
“Of course not—you know me better than that. She didn’t have time to talk to anybody either, we ate supper together. But we did have a DOT inspection, of course they looked at the bill-of-lading.”
“Why didn’t you set the anti-theft device? That’s policy with high-value loads.”
Joyce dreaded that question, she’d answered it a zillion times already, and kicked herself every time she had to tell it again. “Policy states anytime the truck is unattended the device has to be set, it wasn’t unattended, Margret was in it.”
“Okay. You left the keys in it—unlocked?”
“Yup—again, Margret was in it.”
“But she was sleeping.”
“She was in the bunk, I don’t know if she was sleeping.”
“All right, I just had to ask—you know. Corporate doesn’t want me to put you in another truck just yet. Why don’t you take some time off until this thing gets sorted out?”
“I was thinking about quitting, finding a stay-home kind of job.”
“I don’t want to lose you as a driver, how about if I find something for you to do around here for a while? Can you use a computer?”
“You want me to dispatch?”
“Driver Manager.”
“Whatever—I’m not a whiz kid on the computer.”
“Maybe you could do the orientation class—we always have new drivers starting.”
“I’ll try it, it’ll be okay if I can stay awake.”
“Good, your experience will be good for new drivers to hear,” John smiled, “and you can stress the importance of using the anti-theft…”
“Uggg! I’ll never hear the end of it will I?”