It was a few minutes past midnight.
Jack Harden had a long drive ahead of him; the unending procession of sentinel pines and transplanted date palms that lined Interstate Ten on its long straight course through the Florida panhandle blurred by in his periphery.
He had been doing long hauls for nearly twenty years, but this was the last stretch of highway on a nearly eighteen hour drive; what truckers call a turn and burn.
On the long and dust free dashboard, the GPS streamed a miniature 3D version of the actual view through the windscreen. Nice device, but, in his humble opinion, overkill, a big waste of money.
Jack had driven well beyond the legal limit of hours, but that was really the least of his concerns at present. He was breaking the law in the process, something he was normally loathe to do; but he justified this lapse in character as merely a miniscule filament in the otherwise enormous web he had spun tonight.
The sound of the highway rolling under the seventy seven inch wheels of the cherry red tractor was soothing - almost too soothing. Jack decided that a dose of loud rock music was becoming necessary to help him stay awake.
His fingers skittered over the compact discs that were splayed willy-nilly on the passenger seat, and finally settled on one; he quickly slipped it into the CD player, eyes never leaving the highway ahead. Music began to bray from the truck’s speaker system, a welcome distraction from the eerie silence of the cab.
The first track was one of his favorites. It was a song that reminded Jack of high school football games - the smell of popcorn and hot dogs, people of all ages decked out in team colors, some of them laughing, lots of them cursing, and more than a few crying, not to mention the shit that went on under the bleachers filled with unsuspecting fans.
More than anything, though, the song reminded him of Diane.
Dianne, Dianne. Oh sweet Goddamn Dianne .
Even though she was responsible for his current situation, Dianne was the love of his life, the sun in his sky and all that other bullshit. He knew that she was eagerly waiting for his return to their home on the St. John’s River in Jacksonville at that very moment.
But Jack really didn't want to think about her right now. This whole thing was her fault; she had orchestrated the plot that he was now embroiled in.
He cranked the driver’s side window down and was greeted by a blast of frigid November wind. It was just what he needed: the surge of forty degree air rushing into the cab revived him and filled him with false euphoria.
The miles rolled past, and Jack rolled with them.
Although he was forty five, he still felt like a young man, and he knew he had plenty of years of driving on these lonesome highways to look forward to. A driver for nearly twenty five years now, his skill set and work ethic was impressive among his peers. He remembered when the money had been plentiful, and he grimaced at the thought of how he was barely scraping by right now.
His current haul was an easy one; a simple drop that had taken him to Slidell, a small town outside of New Orleans on Lake Pontchartrain. An easy paycheck for an easy job: a nine hour drive there, a quick switch of loads, and then the nine hour drive home. It was a walk in the early morning sunshine for Jack.
He saw a weigh station ahead, and knew he would have to pull over first to properly secure his precious cargo. If a DOT inspector happened to get a little too nosy and decided to inspect his sleeper, his goose was marinated, grilled and served with a pineapple syrup sauce with a freshly steamed vegetable medley and garlic toast. This drive home felt more problematic than Chinese math to Jack, but come hell or high water, he would make it home to his Goddess.
In the rear-view mirror, Jack glanced at the waitress he had duct-taped and tied down on his bunk. She stared back at him, eyes glaring.
They had not exchanged words in what seemed like an
Similar Books
