by Neil Davies
She picked up the hacksaw again, pulled it across the flesh of a skinny thigh. With so much extra food to be frozen she might have to buy a second freezer.
The freezer clicked and buzzed louder and Veronica Wilson smiled.
AWAY WITH THE FAIRIES
It was an animal. It was far too small to be a person.
Yes, too small. But it had two arms and two legs, and it walked upright.
A nervous, embarrassed voice in the back of Ron Thomas’s head conjured memories of bedtime stories told to him by his mother.
Perhaps it was one of the fairy folk?
He laughed, the same laugh his mother used to give when he begged for the bedroom light to be left on, scared of the dark and the shadows and whatever might be hiding under the bed.
Get a grip on yourself Ron. You haven’t believed in any of that stuff since you were a kid!
Whatever it was that Ron Thomas had seen in a flash of his headlights, moments before the barely perceptible bump as his 18 wheeler truck ran over it, was dead now. Spread out on the highway behind him. It was 2am. He was crossing empty desert. He hadn’t seen another vehicle for over half-an-hour. He saw no reason to stop. He refused to find reason to worry.
It had probably been just another dumb cat, or dog, or rabbit, or something. It shouldn’t have been running across the highway like that.
He reached forward and flicked on the CD. The familiar sound of Nanci Griffith singing Listen To The Radio drifted round the cab and he smiled, relaxed.
Day after tomorrow he’d be home, sitting on his porch sipping a cold Bud, or maybe down at the Alligator Bar, playing pool with the boys and spinning tall tales about the jailbait hitchhikers he’d picked up on his latest cross-country trip. Best of all, he’d be seeing Mary again. Truth be told, even if he had picked up some jailbait hitchhikers, which he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have done more than give them the ride they wanted. Mary was the only woman he was interested in.
Couldn’t tell the boys that of course!
He checked his speed. Had to be careful. Cops were hot on speeding trucks, and the truck companies were quick to drop a driver with a reputation for cop trouble. This didn’t look like a place for speed traps, and other than an occasional dusty billboard there wasn’t much cover for a Highway Patrol cruiser to hide behind, but he didn’t want to take the chance.
There had been a time when he was young, reckless. But now, at 42, he just wanted to get the job done, quietly and trouble-free. He had a woman he loved waiting for him back home and he meant to get back to her in one piece, and with money in his pocket.
He looked out over the desert. A full moon hung bright in the sky, lighting the sand and scrub all around him with a pale wash of colour. Only the truck’s own headlights, picking out the dark road ahead, were brighter. These were the times when he was glad he had left the factory and risked all on this rig. The freedom of the long distance truck driver far outweighed the loneliness.
Lights appeared in his rear-view, bright and growing fast. He kept one eye on them and kept his speed steady. Someone wasn’t taking any notice of the limits.
The black car caught him up quickly in the outside lane, went past him so fast he half expected it to take off. He watched as its red taillights glowed smaller and smaller, until they disappeared altogether and he was once again alone in the dark.
10 miles down the road, and finally there were other lights in the darkness. Neon, flashing lights. Red. Blue. A sign. And beyond the sign, dim in comparison, lighted windows.
Ron slowed his truck, gave himself time to read the sign.
Sally’s All Night Truck Stop And Diner.
He pulled off the Highway and into the almost deserted car park at the side. There was one other truck there, with no trailer attached, a beat-up old Ford Pickup and a shiny, black, foreign-looking car. Possibly a Peugeot or a Renault? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t hot on foreign cars.
He stopped a couple of spaces over from the other truck and, after making sure he had his wallet and his cigarettes, stepped out. He shivered. The night air was cool after the warmth of his cab. He locked the door quickly and made for the diner.
Sally’s looked like corrugated iron, designed to appear like a giant trailer. Perhaps it had been a trailer sometime in the past, converted to stay in one place, had windows put in, a door. He hoped it had central heating and a decent kitchen. An old man sat at one of the windows, drinking something hot, looking out at Ron as he approached. There was no sign of curiosity or interest in those sad, watery eyes. He was just something to look at.
He pushed open the door which, despite its aged, rusted look, swung inwards smoothly and quietly. The warmth was pleasant as he stepped inside and speakers somewhere above his head played soft Country Music. It sounded a little like Alison Kraus, but he didn’t know the song. His kind of music. He was glad he’d decided to pull in.
After the stark exterior, the inside of Sally’s was bright and colourful. The seats were upholstered in red leather-look material, padded and comfortable. The tables were white and clean. Around the walls were old film posters, old road signs, even old government information posters. The key word, he decided, was ‘old’. From the corrugated outside to the history-edged inside, the diner wanted to give the impression of something that had been around for a long time and had old fashioned values. He wondered just how long ago it had actually been built.
Few of the tables were occupied. The old man sitting at the window seat, Ron thought, probably belonged to the Pickup. A younger man, more Ron’s own age, sat further in. He wore blue jeans and a denim shirt. The baseball cap pulled down on his head obscured most of his face as he tucked into a plate of egg and beans. Ron guessed he drove the other truck. Nearer to the door sat a young man, black hair sleeked back and greasy, several days of stubble not quite hiding a weak chin. He wore a dark suit, white shirt and dark tie. He ate a cheeseburger and drank a coke. The word ‘salesman’ jumped into Ron’s mind and he presumed his was the foreign car.
The old man was the only one who looked at him as he walked to an empty table near the counter that ran two-thirds of the way along the back of the diner.
He had hardly sat down before a waitress appeared, holding a small notepad and pen in one hand, a jug of coffee in the other. She filled the empty cup in front of him without asking, put the jug on the table and separated pen and pad. She held the pen in her left fist, angled awkwardly, poised over the paper.
“What can I get ya?”
Ron looked up into a lined but pleasant middle-aged face. Her brown hair was tied back in a ponytail. She smiled at him with an unusually small mouth, but her blue eyes were cold, detached. He knew the look. It said, ‘I only smile for the tips’.
“Just a burger and fries.”
“You want everything on the burger?”
Ron shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”
She made a note on the pad and walked away. He guessed the striped dress she wore was some kind of uniform for the place. He couldn’t imagine her wearing it out of choice. It was shapeless, unflattering. She disappeared through a door at the back of the counter. Was she cook as well? Possibly. The place didn’t look like it had enough of a turnover to employ many staff.
The sound of a big engine turned him towards the window. He could see lights, looked like another truck, turning into the diner. He watched as it came to a stop not too far from his own truck.
Funny how truck drivers all drift towards the same spot.
It was difficult to be certain with the truck’s headlights glaring, but he thought he saw movement from the passenger side of the cab. Then a figure crossed in front of the lights, just a dark shape against the brightness. He heard the truck engine rev-up again and it began to move, slowly easing its way out of the car park and back onto the highway. He guessed they were just dropping a hitchhiker off.
Lots of truckers gave rides to hitchhikers on the highways, particularly young, pretty hitchhikers. It was not something Ron f
elt particularly comfortable doing. But there had been times when he’d felt obliged. It was that or leave some young girl standing on the side of the road. And who knew what the next person along might be like? A rapist? A killer? At least he knew she would be safe with him. He would never risk what he had with Mary over some stranger, however pretty she might be.
The door to the diner was pushed open, a cold draft darting inside, reaching Ron’s legs before being smothered by the warmth. The girl who entered had a backpack slung over one shoulder. It said ‘hitchhiker’ to him. He turned his eyes and his mind back to his coffee.
The girl came and stood close to his table, looking around the diner, as if searching for an empty table.
What’s her problem? It’s not like it’s exactly full or anything.
With her standing so close, he couldn’t help but glance up.
She stood side-on to him. She had shrugged the backpack off her shoulder and held it in a slim, pale hand down by her leg. She wore light-blue faded jeans and a black, thigh-length raincoat, zipped up to her chin. Her hair was black, the kind of deep shiny black that reflects the light with an almost oily sheen. It hung straight down to her shoulders. She could have been no more than nineteen.
She turned her head, noticed Ron looking at her and smiled.
It was one of the brightest, broadest and most genuine smiles Ron had ever seen. Her blue eyes twinkled with humour, something he found strangely attractive. It was if they were laughing at some private joke. If he had been asked later, that was all he could have remembered of the girl’s face. That, and the overall impression that he was looking at someone very beautiful.
He smiled a weak smile back and looked down at his coffee, his face feeling hot, his body squirming inside in a way it usually did only for Mary.
The hitchhiker stepped away from his table, to both his relief and his disappointment, and approached the young salesman Ron had spotted earlier. They exchanged a few quiet words and then the girl pulled back the chair opposite the man.
Guess she’s had enough of hitching rides in trucks, he thought wryly.
He watched as she dropped the backpack to the floor and unzipped her coat. She wore a plain white blouse underneath. As her shoulders moved to shrug the coat off, the blouse pulled open slightly. It was unfastened further down than he would have expected, and the movement showed him the soft curve of a small breast. It also showed him enough to know she wore no bra. He was slightly embarrassed when he realised how disappointed he felt that he had seen no nipple.
And that slimy guy sitting right in front of her must have got a much better view than me!
He shook his head and returned to his coffee.
Ron Thomas, you are a sad, pathetic, middle-aged lech!
The salesman and the hitchhiker left the diner while Ron was eating his burger and fries. He watched them go, a little disappointed that the girl didn’t smile at him again.
Get real! At least I have Mary waiting for me at home.
Thoughts of Mary raised a feeling of guilt in his mind. Guilt at the way he had thought about the girl.
He decided he would tell Mary all about it when he got home. He always told her everything about his trips. He didn’t want any secrets from Mary.
Feeling happier, he attacked his meal with fervour.
Twenty minutes later and he was back on the road, his headlights and the pale wash of the moon the only light ahead of him. Sally’s had been an interesting and, for food at least, satisfying interruption in his journey. But now he was on the final stretch, the last part of the run. From now it was non-stop through to the city, and then home.
And Mary.
The CD blared out Steve Earle’s Guitar Town and he sang along, loud and off-key. But there was no one to hear, no one to care. Only Ron Thomas in his own cab, his own little world, and he didn’t mind one bit.
Five minutes further on he passed a black car. It was a shiny, foreign-looking car. It had pulled off the side of the road.
It’s driver and passenger doors stood wide-open.
He slowed, checked his mirrors, did a U turn and drove back to the abandoned car. He steered his truck onto the desert sand, hoping the wheels wouldn’t sink too far, and stopped.
For a moment he sat in his cab, just looking at the car. Should he get out? Should he just call for help on the radio?
She made her choice. If it was a wrong one, that’s her lookout. No call for me to get myself hurt over it.
But he knew that was wrong. It wasn’t him. How would he feel reading about the discovery of a girl’s body in the desert in tomorrow’s paper? He couldn’t leave someone in trouble.
If she was in trouble!
Maybe they just couldn’t wait to find a motel and went off to do it in the desert?
In the night.
In the cold.
He thought about his radio, decided against it.
Maybe I should just check it out first.
He looked for traffic, but nothing moved in the darkness, before stepping down from his truck and hurrying across to the car.
There was something odd about it. It took him a second or so to work it out.
Even though the doors were open there was no interior light on. He guessed they were either broke or disabled. Maybe this guy didn’t like people to see when he was opening the door?
He was about to check inside for any kind of I.D. when he heard a sound off in the desert. A shuffling, snuffling, running sound. And sobbing.
The girl!
She came out of the dark desert, half running, half stumbling. Her blouse was open, flapping behind her in the light desert breeze. He couldn’t help but look at her breasts. The way that, despite their smallness, they bounced. The darkness of the nipples. Her pale, flat belly glistened in the moonlight. The button of her jeans had popped open, the zip partly tugged down. A tuft of black hair showed.
She was crying.
Watching her, aroused and disgusted at his arousal, Ron seemed to finally realise what he was seeing.
She had been attacked. The guy from the diner had tried to rape her!
He stepped forward and she flung herself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably, her whole body heaving.
He held her, stroked her hair, tried to calm her. Tried not to think of those bare breasts crushed against his chest.
He stared into the darkness, waiting for the man to appear, to come running after his victim. Was he armed? A knife? A gun?
He tried to keep his voice calm. He didn’t want the girl to know how afraid he was.
“Where is he?”
Through her sobs she managed to answer him.
“I… hit him… With a rock… I think I… I might have killed him!”
Ron held her tighter as her sobs grew heavier. If the man was dead, as she suspected, then at least he didn’t have to worry about being attacked. But not knowing for sure was dangerous.
I need to know. I don’t want him sneaking up on us later.
“You stay here. Go over to my truck. I’ll be back in a moment.”
“No!” She grabbed at him as he tried to pull away. “Where are you going?”
She sounded desperate. Terrified.
“I have to know for certain that he’s dead. It won’t take me long to check.”
“You don’t even know where… he is.”
Ron looked into the darkness once more. Whether he could find the body had concerned him, but he presumed to his luck. And if he had found nothing in a couple of minutes he’d give up.
“I’ll manage.”
She hesitated, still holding on to him.
“I’m coming with you.”
“But…”
“No. I can’t stay here alone. I’d rather stay with you. Anyway,” the first hint of a smile showed through her tear-stained face. “I need to know for certain too.”
Within seconds they had lost the car. It could no longer be seen. But Ron had left the lights on with his truck and they could s
till see those. It allowed them to keep a fairly straight trail as they walked into the desert.
She held on to his hand. He wasn’t sorry for the slim, cold feel of it in his fingers.
He was cautious. It was just as likely that the man was still alive. Even if she’d hit him good with the rock, it didn’t mean he was dead. Maybe just stunned for long enough to let her get away.
He could be waiting for them. He could be watching them, listening to them move. Right now. Any moment he could jump them, from any side.
“Was he armed?”
“What?”
“Did he have a knife, or a gun, or anything?”
“He had a knife.”
Ron nodded grimly, wishing she’d grabbed the weapon before running off.
So, now he could be out there, watching them, listening to them, with a knife in his hand. It was not a comforting thought.
They had been walking for less than two minutes when Ron felt the girl tug on his hand. He stopped.
“This is far enough,” she said, letting go of his hand and stepping away from him.
Ron turned towards her.
“What…”
Something hit the back of his head with a deep, sickening crunch, and he fell unconscious to the desert floor.
He woke, with a pounding in his head, to find himself staked out on the sand, spread-eagled. His wrists and ankles were tied. He could move little but his head, and that hurt if he tried to lift it.
It was still night. He was naked. He was cold.
He was terrified!
“What’s going on? Let me go!”
“I don’t think so.”
The girl sat nearby, cross-legged on the ground. Her blouse was fastened now and she wore her coat. Next to her was the salesman, uninjured and grinning.
I’ve been had!
“Listen, if it’s money you want, take it all. Shit, you’ve got it already, in the wallet in my coat pocket.”
He thought quickly, desperately.
“Take the truck. There’s a lot of money in a truck like that. I won’t tell. I’ll say you bought it from me fair and square. How about it?”