by Jay Heavner
CHAPTER 6
Roger opened his eyes and looked around. “Where are we?” “Almost to St. Augustine. It’s about time you woke up, Rip Van Winkle.” “Told you Bill, I wasn’t feeling good. I can’t believe I slept that long, and then the first thing I saw was you, Bill. Wasn’t sure if I was still asleep or not. Like a nightmare you can’t wake up from. What a fright.”
“Very funny, ole buddy. You’re making me think twice about helping you.” Roger grunted and gave Bill his best Sam Elliott cowboy annoyed look. “I’m hungry and I gotta pee. How about stopping? Know any place close with good eats?”
“Sure do, and you’re in luck. They serve everyone, even grumpy old men like you.”
Roger growled, “You’re a good one to talk. How far is it?” “Next exit. About five miles. Can your bladder wait that long?” “Yeah, I think so.” “Just checkin’. Sometimes it’s a long way between pit stops on some of our highways and other times the urge can sneak up on us kind of sudden as we get older.” “Yeah, I know what you’re saying about that.” Bill said, “I’ve seen some embarrassing things along the roads. Usually guys, but sometimes women and kids. I remember coming back from Orlando on 528 better known as the Beeline. As I took the left exit and got past the long overpass, I saw a Jeep Cherokee parked on the shoulder up ahead. Those things have a very high road clearance as you well know. I saw a set of adult legs I found out as I passed them that belonged to the momma and next to her was a poor little girl squatting and her butt exposed to God and everyone. A yellow stream ran about 20 feet past the back of the vehicle. Poor thing really had to go.
“I sometimes umpire ball games for the young kids at Fay Park Ballpark in Port St. John. It’s interesting seeing the youths learn the fundamentals of baseball. It can be quite amusing at times too. I remember one game where a boy about six just wiped it out at second base and made a big puddle next to the bag. He stepped off the bag, and the coach told the boy on his team to tag him. He did, and I called the other boy out. I think he learned two lessons that day.”
“Yeah, don’t pee on the field and stay on the bag,” Roger said. “Yup. Another time, a little girl about seven was playing ball. Her coach was pitching to her. She hit the ball and ran to first. She no more got there, when she began to jump up and down on the bag, holding herself, and yelling to the top of her lungs so everyone in the park and maybe even the Almighty far away in Heaven could hear, ‘I gotta pee!’”
“So as the umpire, what did you do, Bill?” “I called time and said to the coach, ‘Coach, the little girl has to pee. What are we gonna to do?’ She rolled her eyes, got another girl to be a pinch runner, and the first little girl ran with her hands on her crotch across the infield over third base and disappeared into the bathrooms just off the side of the field. It was funny. Everyone in the stands was roaring with laugh- ter, and it only got louder as word was circulated that the pee girl was the coach’s daughter. It was a long time out before we could get back to the game. Little kids have no filter when it comes to letting you know about their bodily needs.”
Roger looked at Bill and said, “Ole buddy, would you please quit talking about peeing? Now I got to go worse. I may have to tie it in a knot to keep from wetting myself.” “Would tweezers and a magnifying glass help with that chore?” “Shut up and hurry, please,” Roger said.
“If it was longer, you could hang it out the window and go. People behind us would just think I was spraying water on the windshield to clean it.” “Shut up! Please hurry before I do something rash.” Bill smiled and said no more. Three minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of a fast food restaurant. As soon as the truck stopped, Roger jumped out and ran into the building. Bill locked his vehicle and went inside. He sat at an empty booth and waited. Roger appeared from the restroom with a look of relief on his face. He slid into the booth across from Bill. He asked, “Don’t you have to go?”
Bill said, “I went at the rest stop about 30 miles ago. You were sleeping so peacefully, I let you sleep. No point in waking you and hear you growling like a bear.”
“Wish you had. I growl worse when waking up, and I gotta pee, and relief’s miles down the road. Guess I could have relieved myself in your truck like my dog did.”
“Now Roger, you know that ain’t even funny. They still call me Stinky behind my back because of you and that dog of yours. Maybe you need to ride in the back like I made you and the dog after the accident in the cab.”
Roger smiled, “You remember what happened then, don’t you? Things went from bad to worse.” “You would have to remind me. I liked to never get all that gooey crap out of the truck bed. Maybe that wasn’t my best idea, but I’m just glad she didn’t explode like that in the cab.”
“Probably right. It all worked out, but makes for an interesting and funny story.”
“Maybe now, but it wasn’t funny when it happened.”
“So, I never been in a Chick-fil-A before. What’s good on the menu?” Roger said. “Chick-fil-A’s one of the great things about the South. Maybe someday they’ll be everywhere in America, but now they’re not in Yankeeland, just Dixie. Try the Number 1, chicken biscuit, waffle fries, and a drink.”
“Waffle fries? What’s that?”
“Trust me. You’ll like them. Have I ever led you wrong?”
Roger grinned. “Do you want me to give you a straight answer on that?”
“Probably not, but trust me on this. You’re in for a treat.” The two men both ordered a Number 1 with coffee. It was served to them quickly, and they sat down to eat.
Bill watched as Roger unwrapped his chicken sandwich. He took a bite, looked at Bill, and nodded his head. Roger said, “You’re right. This is good.”
“I told you, you could trust me. Try the waffle fries.”
Roger bit into them. “Right again. Very tasty.” He took a sip of the coffee. “Um, this is good too. Just like I like it.” “I knew you’d like this place. It’s one of my favorites when I travel. Ain’t none in Brevard County yet, but I’ve heard rumors now and then of one of these openings up back home.’
“I hope they do. They’ve won me as a customer.”
The hungry boys finished their meal quickly, got a refill on the coffee, and were soon back on the highway traveling north on I 95.
Bill commented, “Have you ever been to St. Augustine?” “Can’t say I have.” “You’re missin’ so much. Oldest place in America. Interesting old town area. Ponce de Leon was looking for the Fountain of Youth there and the old Spanish fort, Castillo de San Marcos, is now a National Park site. Really a great place to visit and learn about history and how this state started. There’s all kinds of legends and unsolved mysteries about the town and the area. I think it would interest you.”
“That does sound interesting, but it’ll have to wait. Got another thing that needs looked into, and explored, and solved first.” Bill nodded and said no more as they drove toward Jacksonville. They should miss morning rush hour traffic, but were sure to have to travel through construction zones in the city. Seemed to him, I 95 had always been under construction and reconstruction ever since it was first built. He looked at Roger and saw he was asleep again. How does he do that?
Drink coffee and sleep? At least he’ll be alert and in full control of his facilities when they made it to the Greenville area. Bill knew he needed to be if he wanted this to go as he’d planned, and Roger was a very smart and tenacious person when he wanted to be. Thoughts and many different scenarios raced through his mind. He hoped it would work out. It better, or he could be in a world of hurt.
CHAPTER 7
At the Georgia-Florida line, the boys stopped at the Georgia rest stop, used the facilities again, and switched drivers. Traffic was light for about an hour and a half until they reached the Savannah area. They passed the 8th Air Force Museum honoring the men who fought and some who died in WW II fighting the air war in Europe. Roger made a mental note to visit this place too sometime in the future.
&nbs
p; As they approached the bridge over the river into South Carolina, traffic came to a screeching halt. Whatever had happened was just up ahead at the bridge. People were getting out of their cars and running to the bridge.
“Think we can help?” Roger said.
“I don’t know. Only one way to find out.”
They got out of the truck and hurried forward to the bridge. A big rig was jack-knifed on it, but the most curious thing was a group of people, mainly young women wearing tight shorts bending over the concrete side of the bridge yelling at something or someone below. Roger looked to where they were watching and saw a man wearing soaked clothing standing in thick dark brown water up to his knees in the river. “What’s going on?” he asked a bystander.
“Unbelievable,” the white-haired man said. “An 18 wheeler hit the back of a port-a-potty truck and pushed it over the side.” “So, that’s the driver down in the river?” someone asked. “Yup, lucky man he’s not dead especially to land in a river that shallow,” Roger said. “Where’s his truck?”
The white-haired man looked at Roger curiously. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No, what am I missing?” “Everyone around here knows that river runs deep especially at high tide like it is now. He’s standing on the top of the truck cab. It’s in the water below him.”
“Oh,” Roger said. “That sure puts a different perspective on it.” Sirens could be heard and soon the area was crawling with police from several jurisdictions and emergency responders. After looking at the situation, some of the EMTs worked their way down to the river bank and called out to the man. They talked for a minute or so, and as they did, a small boat with a man and a young boy came around a bend in the river. As it approached, they could see the predicament of the wet man and went to his rescue. The truck driver was more than happy to get it the boat. His rescuers took him over to the EMTs on the bank.
As the truck driver got out, the boat tipped, and he fell in the brown water. Two EMTs jumped in and pulled the soaked man to safety on the bank. Once safely on the bank, others had him sit down, and Roger and Bill watched as they checked him out. They seemed satisfied he was okay and shortly afterward, helped him walk up the bank to the interstate highway. Once there, the crowd broke out into spontaneous applause which seemed to embarrass the trucker. He was put in an ambulance that disappeared south going down the shoulder.
With the excitement over, Roger and Bill looked at each other. “Now, what?” a bystander said.
“I guess we wait. Looks like it could take a while,” Bill said. “I think you’re right. Looks to me like they’ll have to get a wrecker in from the South Carolina side and we’re gonna be here a while,” the bystander said. “Where you guys going? I’m heading to the little town Travelers Rest north of Greenville.”
“We’re going the same direction, not quite to Greenville. Simpsonville to be exact,” Roger said.
“Simpsonville,” the man said. “If you want a great meal, stop in at Poppas and Beer, super Mexican place that can’t be beat.” “Thank you,” said Bill. The boys walked over to the side of the bridge and looked over the side. The top of a blue truck was barely visible. “The water is gonna be running blue downstream from here today,” Bill said.
“And crapped up,” someone said.
A woman asked, “Wonder how they’ll get it out?”
A third person said, “It may be there for some time.”
“Maybe, they’ll use a big plunger,” someone else said. Several people laughed. Numerous heads nodded. With the major excitement over, many motorists walked back to their vehicles. Around 45 minutes later, a large wrecker arrived on the north side of the bridge. It took another 30 for the workers to free the jack-knifed truck and clear the highway. Traffic began flowing northbound, but most of it exited at the first opportunity, the South Carolina rest stop. Bill and Roger were some of the first people to arrive. When they exited the bathrooms, they noted the line outside the ladies room was 10 deep and getting longer. Those needs taken care of, they were back on I 95.
They stopped for a late lunch at a Shoney’s Restaurant, and both had the buffet. Back on the road with Roger driving, Bill soon fell asleep and began to snore. Roger found a country station he liked and sang along with Johnny Cash, Ghost Riders in the Sky, Willie Nelson, and even Jimmy Buffet who was still Wasting Away in Margaritaville. The miles and min- utes rolled on as he drove.
Roger stopped at a rest stop on I 26, and a now refreshed Bill took the wheel. He knew the directions to the Miller house in Simpsonville. Traffic through Columbia at rush hour was stop and go, and two hours later, they arrived at their destination.
They pulled into the circular drive leading to a brick rancher that had been painted white. A well-manicured lawn with numerous flower beds gave it a crisp and clean appearance.
They parked, walked up the steps to the front door, and knocked. A noise inside told them someone was coming. The front door opened, and a black woman stood in front of them. A screen door was between them. Bill said, “Is Mr. Miller in? He should be expecting us.”
She questioned, “And you are?”
“I’m Canaveral Flats Chief of Police Bill Kenney, and this is Investigator Roger Pyles.”
“Oh,” she said. She opened the door. “Won’t you come in? My husband has been wondering where you were. You’re late. Bathroom’s on the right if you need it. Come on down the hallway and make yourselves comfortable in the great room. He’s out puttering around in the shed. I’ll get him. He’s been looking forward to talking with you. He has much to tell that should be of interest to you.”
CHAPTER 8
The woman said, “My name is Cindy. I’ll get Clyde. Just take a minute. Help yourself to the coffee in the pot on the counter in the kitchen. There’s bottled water in the refrigerator if you prefer.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” the boys said almost in unison. The woman went through a doorway into another section of the house, and she had a pronounced limp. As the boys passed where she had gone, they could see the kitchen and two rooms leading off of it, one a living room and one an enclosed porch with lots of windows. Bill went in the bathroom first, and Roger could hear him relieving himself. Soon he could hear water running in a sink as Bill washed his hands. He exited, and Roger went into the bathroom and followed the same routine as Bill had. Roger found his way to the kitchen. Bill had already located the coffee and was sipping on a steaming cup of the black liquid. Roger got a bottle of water and commented, “I wonder if your cousin Tom Kenney up in West Virginia has decided on starting that bottled water business he was talking about?”
“I think he was leaning heavily in that direction. You two sure caused a lot of trouble for me while he was here, and it was mainly you. His wife’s still hot about you being a bad influence and nearly getting the two of you arrested on his vacation here. You two cost me a lot of favors with the sheriff’s department in keeping you guys out of the pokey. And I’m not going to let you forget it anytime soon.”
“Yeah, I do owe you on that. It’s good to have friends in low places.” Bill gave Roger a dirty look. “Do you really think Sarah would scalp me?” “I don’t think Navajos scalp people, but she may have made an exception in your case.” Roger grimaced. Bill continued, “I’d be more worried about her comments to use your foreskin for a nose warmer.”
“Glad I’m circumcised,” Roger said. “Not sure that would have stopped her. Be glad she’s a thousand miles away and has other matters of more concern at this moment than coming for you. Just the same, I don’t think I’d take any trips up north in the near future especially the area around where Tom lives. Not sure if the moccasin express works for her in West Virginia, but the grapevine’s very active up there.”
“I know about the grapevine. I agree it would be in my best interests not to travel to her neighborhood any time soon.” “You got that right. Something else you need to be aware of. While this county is growing like wildfire, we have a grapevine
here too, especially in the areas where things haven’t changed too much.”
“Like Canaveral Flats?” Roger asked. “Yeah, like Canaveral Flats and the surrounding area. Most of the growth has been in the south end of the county around Melbourne and Palm Bay where Harris Corporation has moved in, but growth is spreading. One day, the whole county could look like South Florida. Think Miami and Fort Lauderdale area.”
“Hope I never see it. Seems urban areas make people crazy.” “Yeah, Miami reminds me of New York City with a tropical spin. I’ll stick right where I am, and let others handle the urban jungles,” Bill said.
“Gloria Hernandez said something similar when I talked to her.” “I’m not surprised. Seems we have a lot of people coming here fleeing from the cities.” “And creating more cities.” “Ironic isn’t it.”
“Yeah, but what’s you gonna to do?” Bill sighed, “I know. What’s you gonna do?”
At that time, a white man and a black woman came out of the shed and began to walk to the house. She still had a pronounced limp. Roger looked at Bill. “Is that them?” Bill nodded. “You didn’t tell me they were a salt and pepper team.” Bill said, “I didn’t know until she mentioned getting her husband.”
“Bet there’s some interesting stories about that, this being the old South.” “Yeah, I bet there is. Don’t push the issue, Roger. We’re here on business. If they want to talk about it, leave it to them. You got a problem with that?”
“No, just seems there’s been lots of surprises in my life lately.” Bill said, “Yeah, you know the old Chinese curse – ‘May you live in interesting times.’”
A little smile came to Roger’s face. “Ain’t that the truth.” The exterior door opened and the Miller’s walked in. Clyde Miller, a man of about 60 with some gray in a full head of hair and a weathered face, spoke, “I see you guys have found some liquid refreshments. Make yourselves at home. We can talk some before dinner. Cindy, you did order from Papas?”