Slow Curve on the Coquihalla

by R. E. Donald

  Hunter heard some growling and muttering, but gradually the heavy breathing subsided.

  "Okay. Explain it, Hunter. And it better be good."

  "All right, Sorry, think back. It wasn't supposed to be a permanent job. I asked you if you'd be interested in making a few bucks driving for Suzanne and getting some information for me about this Waicom outfit, you remember?" Hunter's voice was low and measured.

  "Do you think I'm fuckin' stupid? Of course, I remember! Now you think back. That's exactly what I've been doing, man! Right? We talked about it on Saturday, and I said I'd have everything you need in a few weeks, remember?"

  "Yes, I remember. But it was never up to you to decide how much information I needed. All the same ... ." Hunter yawned discreetly and ran his hand over his sleep warped hair. "... I guess I owe you an apology. I should've warned you, but I gave it a lot of thought and decided to let it play out like the real thing. Did she give you a reason?"

  "Some bullshit story about me running illegally. Over hours. Jesus! The log looks legit. Everybody does it, and the only time anybody says anything about it is when some poor fuck gets caught."

  Hunter sighed. "No, not everybody does it. And I would've reminded you about it on Saturday if I didn't want Suzanne to have a good excuse to let you go. The thing is, I can't let you do the run on Tuesday and I can't risk them planning on you being back to do the run next week. If they're under as much pressure as I think, they've got to make a move as soon as possible. I've got to get them to do the same thing they'd planned to do the night Randy was killed. You're out of it now. Understand?"

  He heard a low growl, then stubborn silence.

  "Listen to me. You did good. You gave me enough. You did your job."

  He heard Sorry's breath ricochet thunderously off the mouthpiece.

  "Sorry?"

  "How can I help you solve the goddamn case if you fuckin' go and pull me out before I get all the facts? Another week, two at the max, I can deliver the fuckin' goods right into your hands. No fuss, no muss. Hard evidence. Give me a chance, Hunter."

  "I can't, Sorry. The smuggling is incidental, remember? I'm looking for a murderer. You being a Ranverdan driver is no longer part of the plan."

  Sorry sighed again. "Shit! I went and told Mo she could buy a bunch of new clothes for the kids. She'll cut my balls off." He paused, and in a softened voice said, "No, she won't. That's the damn trouble. She'll just get all quiet and make me feel like a piece of shit.

  "Jesus, Hunter! I thought I'd be workin' steady for a few weeks. Why'd you go and spoil the whole thing?"

  "Just hang on tight for a couple of hours. I'm going to need you tomorrow. Easy job. Easy money. Besides, you could be driving for Ranverdan part-time again before the week is out."

  "The little bitch just fuckin' fired me, you asshole!"

  "And I'm glad. In fact, I'm really, really glad that she did such a good job of it. It's probably the first time in her life she's ever had to fire a man, and I can't think of a better way to boost her confidence than successfully firing a mean old grizzly bear like you."

  "You asshole!"

  "Give it a rest, Dan. It probably did you good. Listen, don't do anything stupid. Just hang around the house for a while. I've got a few important calls to make. It'll probably be a couple of hours, and then I'll call you back."

  Not for the first time, Hunter asked himself why he put up with Sorry's unbridled roaring. "He's like a big, noisy, clumsy, slobbering bear cub," he muttered as he stepped under the shower. "I just can't help liking the big clown."

  El called just before noon. Hunter's jeans were already flopping around in the clothes dryer, and he was sitting on the back lawn with his landlord debating whether or not it was time for the first beer of the day. "It's almost four o'clock in Halifax," was the deciding argument. "And four thirty in Newfoundland," added Gord as he headed upstairs to get the beer, and Hunter went inside to answer the phone.

  "Okay," El said. "You're all set for tomorrow. I've found you three quarters of a load of low-end T.V.'s and stuff for Calgary. It'll be ready for pick up in Richmond by three o'clock. It doesn't pay great, but it doesn't have to be there until Friday, in case you get hung up. I'll see what I can find you for backhaul outa there. I hope we're luckier than last week."

  "Yes, me too," he said. Another week like the last one and he'd fall behind with his checks to the girls. "Did you talk to Suzanne?"

  "Gary and Murph are driving down together. Gary'll pick up the other rig here before the two of them head down to Seattle."

  "She have anything else to say?"

  "Yeah, she's made Gary promise to call her every couple of hours, and he's going to park it in Kamloops for the night on his way through. Says she's not taking any chances. Shit! Hang on a sec."

  Hunter was on hold again. He watched the landlord's cat stand just outside the sliding glass back door of his suite, delicately sniffing at the air inside.

  "So, where was I?" El was back on the line.

  "Suzanne wants Gary to lay over in Kamloops instead of stopping to sleep on the road."

  "Right. For his first time back anyway. She's still a little nervous. And she also says she's gonna be in Vancouver in the next week or two and wants to spend some time with me here at the office."

  "Good," he said. The cat set its brown paws daintily onto the sill and rubbed its jaw on the frame of the open door. "She really admires you, El, but you scare her, so go easy on her. She thinks she might learn a lot by watching you work."

  "Moi?" said El, with her tommy gun laugh.

  "She might as well learn from the best."

  El cleared her throat. "It wasn't her idea, was it, Hunter?"

  Hunter smiled as he heard another line start to buzz in the background.

  "Gotta go," said El, and was gone.

  The cat refused to get out of his way, so Hunter stepped over its bobbing head and reached out his hand to take the beer Gord offered him. "Cheers," he said. "Here's to innocence."

  The old doctor shrugged agreeably. "I lost mine long ago, but I'll drink to anything."

  "What good is innocence," Hunter muttered, "if all it does is keeps you from seeing the gun just before the bullet hits you smack between the eyes?"

  "This is Black Rabbit calling the rig pulled over on the shoulder. Do you need any assistance? I can send somebody back for you from Merritt. Do you read me? Over."

  "I read you, Black Rabbit. Thanks for the offer, but no help required." Hunter turned down the volume on his CB radio. He had debated turning it off completely, or ignoring any hails that he might receive from passing truckers, but he didn't want some Good Samaritan pulling over to investigate if he didn't respond. He'd keep his responses, he figured, much like the one Cal Burmeister heard the night of Randy's accident. The digital signal gauge on his cell phone remained strong, and the green light pulsed steadily. He looked at his watch.

  It was ten o'clock, still twilight but the sun had long since sunk behind the blunt mountains. Once Sorry's call came, he guessed it would be at least another hour before the vehicle he was waiting for arrived. Or else he would have to carry on up the highway past Kamloops. It might turn out to be a long night.

  His windows were open, but the high winds that commonly scoured this stretch of mountain highway were subdued in anticipation of darkness. The breeze bore a faint scent of pine. He listened to the sporadic swish of passing cars, and the intermittent brisk stuttering of grasshoppers, and the trills of crickets warming up for their nightly performance. Hunter's right hand played scales on the rim of the steering wheel. His narrowed eyes were trained on his side rearview mirror, following the progress of approaching headlights. He wasn't looking for anything specific, yet.

  Betrayal. It had to be one of the most gut wrenching blows life could deal you. Someone who claims to love you, someone you trust and believe in and open your heart to, becoming the author of your worst nightmare, your deepest pain.

  Dad would've just stepp
ed out of his truck and offered to help. It never would've occurred to him to be afraid, would it?

  No. Your dad gave everybody the benefit of the doubt.

  He jumped when the phone finally rang.

  "Hunter? Bingo. I just followed him into the rest area. He parked the rig on the outside rim of the truck side, and I stayed on the car side. It's pretty dark, but I saw the back doors of the trailer swing open. Want me to get closer?"

  "No. Stay where you are. Whatever you do, keep out of sight."

  "Do you want me to call you again when he pulls out?"

  A pair of headlights in the mirror blossomed into a low-bed chip truck, its white, ridged trailer distinguishable even in the near darkness. "Only if it takes longer than ten minutes. Otherwise, just call when he passes the sign for Coldwater Road. That's Exit 256. Okay?"

  "Gotcha."

  Hunter flipped the phone shut, and watched the sky deepen from indigo to black.

  A set of truck headlights approached at a steady speed. Alongside The Blue Knight, the truck abruptly lost speed. Its red brake lights brightened, and the CB started to hiss. "Hunter! Is that you? It's Murph. You need some help? Over."

  "Thanks, Murph. I'm fine. Must've been something I ate. Carry on."

  "Roger dodger."

  Hunter picked up his cell phone again and punched in the number of the Merritt R.C.M.P.

  Sorry's next call came at four minutes to eleven. "I'm a quarter mile behind him and I just passed the eight hundred meter warning sign for Coldwater Road."

  "Thanks. I'm parked exactly fifteen miles away. Keep on him and call me again if he doesn't stop here."

  "You got it."

  "Hold it!"

  "What, Hunter?"

  "If he does stop, keep out of sight."

  "Damn it, Hunter! You never let me do any of the fun stuff."

  Seventeen minutes later, Hunter once again saw the headlights of a rig in his side mirror. He spoke into his CB mike. "This is TBK, calling any good sams in the vicinity. I've got some kind of electrical problem. I need another pair of hands to hold a flashlight. Any offers?"

  He caught himself grinding his teeth waiting for the reply. "TBK, this is Hasty Pudding." Damn! It was a stranger. "I see you up ahead, but I'm on the downhill side of the road and this don't look like a good place to stop. Good luck."

  "Thanks, Hasty Pudding. This is TBK. I need a pair of hands for a couple minutes. Any good sams coming up over the hill? Over."

  The CB spit and popped again. "That you, Hunter? This is Margaritaville, coming at you from behind. I'll try to pull over just ahead of you and give you a hand."

  "Hey! Gary. Am I glad to see you. TBK out."

  Hunter saw the lights in the mirror slow and the rig's turn signal start to blink. The Ranverdan vehicle eased onto the shoulder in front of him and came to a stop a full truck length ahead. As Hunter opened the door to step down from the cab, a car slowed alongside, then increased its speed and continued on up the hill. Hunter wiped his palms on his jeans.

  Gary was already out of his cab and had walked back as far as the end of his trailer before Hunter reached him. Marker lights from the rigs threw an anemic orange wash over the two men. "Thanks, Gary. I really appreciate you stopping." Hunter was acutely aware of Gary's youth and size. He had fifteen years and twenty pounds on Hunter, easy.

  "Hey! No problem. You'd do the same for me."

  "And, uh – sorry – I should've said. I not only need a pair of hands, I also need a flashlight. I've pretty much drained mine's battery trying to do this repair job with one hand. You got one?" Hunter shrugged apologetically.

  "Sure." Gary's voice seemed to have gone flat.

  Hunter fell into step behind Gary. Gary looked over his shoulder once, stopped irresolutely, then turned and continued on. Hunter couldn't see his face. The moon had not yet risen, and here there was only a pale reflected light from the silver skin of the trailer. A couple of cars sped by on the other side of the highway, followed by a slower truck, a tractor pulling two pup trailers. The noise momentarily obscured the crunch of their footsteps on the gravel strewn shoulder.

  Gary climbed into his cab, and Hunter rested his foot on the lowest step, holding onto the open door. "You afraid you're gonna lose me?" Gary asked. In the light of the cab, Hunter saw him crack a smile.

  Hunter smiled back. "I need the exercise," he said. He leaned back to watch a pair of headlights approaching from the rear. A car whooshed past without slowing and the whine of its tires receded up the hill. Gary found his flashlight and started to back down out of the cab. He shut the door, and it was dark again. Dark and quiet.

  Where the hell were they? Aloud, Hunter said, "Here, you go first, Gary. You're the one with the flashlight."

  Gary clicked on the light. Hunter shut his eyes as the beam leapt at his face. "No. Age before beauty," Gary said. "You go first." The cone of light travelled first to Hunter's feet, then lengthened along the ground behind him.

  Hunter started walking backwards, running his right hand lightly along the dusty aluminum wall of the trailer. "Deja vu, Gary?"

  The beam of the flashlight swung back up to Hunter's face, and he narrowed his eyes to slits, squinting into the light from behind his lashes. "What?!" Gary's voice snapped from behind the vortex of the light. They both stopped dead. The light barely wavered. Hunter brought his right hand down to shield his eyes.

  "I said, deja vu? Haven't you been here before?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about." Hunter could hear Gary's breath now. "You're behaving weird. You're starting to make me nervous, pal."

  "Take the light out of my eyes, Gary."

  "I want to know what the fuck you're talking about. Tell me!"

  Hunter tried to smile, but his upper lip was already raised and curled by the squint. "Take the light out of my eyes, Gary."

  "Fucking tell me! I said. What the fuck are you getting at?" The light dropped for a split second, then returned to Hunter's face again. "Forget the fuckin' light. Tell me!"

  Hunter thought he heard the faint crunch of tires on the gravel shoulder back of The Blue Knight. He hoped that's what he heard. But Gary would have seen lights, and Gary didn't react. Gary took a step forward.

  "Deja vu. That means you've been here before. You have, haven't you, Gary?" Hunter stood his ground, straining to hear noises in the dark behind him but not daring to turn his head. "In fact, weren't you stopped here, oh, about five weeks ago? Make that exactly five weeks ago."

  Gary's breathing grew rougher, heavier. "You haven't got a damn thing on me, Hunter. Not a damn thing."

  "I don't have to have anything on you, Gary. I'll leave that up to the R.C.M.P." He thought he heard footsteps on the other side of the trailer. Was he hoping too hard? "There's a witness. A witness who saw a Ranverdan rig parked near here at about twelve thirty."

  "So? That was Randy's rig, obviously."

  "The witness went through the toll booth almost ten minutes ahead of Randy. He said that whoever was stopped here was listening to a Jerry Jeff Walker song. Randy didn't have a J.J. Walker tape in his truck ... but you did." Hunter paused, listening. He heard nothing but the whine of approaching traffic and the trilling of crickets and Gary's ragged breathing. "Randy stopped for you just like you stopped for me, didn't he? But I can't believe you planned to kill him, Gary."

  The sound of Gary's breathing stopped abruptly. Several seconds passed. "Kill him? Why would I kill Randy?"

  A car and a truck sped by, going uphill, just feet from where they stood. Hunter let the silence that followed settle around them. He became aware of the booming of his own heart inside his chest, the rush of blood beneath his eardrums.

  "What are you talking about? Why would I kill my own father-in-law?"

  "He switched trailers with you at the last minute in Seattle, didn't he? At Waicom that night, Randy made sure the Edmonton trailer was fully loaded, then he made you unhitch your tractor and hitch it up to the Winnipeg trailer, didn't he?" />
  "Who told you that? Mah wouldn't ... That's a lie!"

  "Easy enough to check, Gary. The R.C.M.P. have Randy's log book. Besides, the trailer numbers will all be on file at the border."

  "Jesus!" Gary kicked at the gravel beneath his feet and took a step closer.

  "Don't make them think you're guiltier than you are. Make it easy on yourself. Tell them what happened. Give them Waicom. Tell them you didn't plan to kill him."

  Again, silence. Gary cleared his throat, then spat on the road. The beam of the flashlight wavered briefly before it returned to Hunter's face.

  "What ... what would that mean, if I didn't plan to kill ... anybody. If I explained it was an accident. Like, in terms of what would happen to me, what would it mean?"

  "It could very well mean attending Jolie's high school graduation. Or maybe teaching Veri how to drive." Hunter's palms were slippery with sweat, but he didn't want to move his arms from a ready position to wipe them dry. He let the silence close in again, gave Gary time to think it through.

  "What if I gave myself up? What if I went and told the cops just how it happened? I really didn't mean to ... I ... didn't think. I just panicked. I ... it was Waicom. Mah said to fix it, or I was a dead man. I figured those guys'd kill me if I screwed up." Gary started gesturing with the flashlight, throwing the circle of light on the gravel, on the trailer, on the road. "I told Randy my headlights kept cutting out. I thought maybe if I could get him tinkering with my truck, I'd be able to get his keys and sneak into the back of his trailer and get the stuff without him knowing. But the goddamn trailer was sealed! I knew he'd be on to me right away if I broke the goddamn seal."

  Gary breathed heavily, wetly, and he swore again.

  "I'd decided to break it anyway, and then I heard Randy coming up behind me, so I ducked behind the trailer. I didn't have time to think. He saw me, and I hit him." He gestured with the flashlight. "Jesus! I fuckin' hit my father-in-law. I knew that was it. Suddenly it wasn't just that Scarfo might cut my throat, but I knew that after I'd hit him, Randy would fire me. Not only would he fire me, he'd turn me in to the police for... for ...." He waved the light at the trailer. "It was good money. I was puttin' away damn good money so I could get out of this fuckin' business. But if Randy found out, he'd ... Suzanne wouldn't understand. I'd lose my wife, I'd lose my kids, and ... I just panicked." The light condensed to an intense circle beside Gary's boot heel.