The Pit Stop: This Stop Could be Life or Death

by Carmen DeSousa

  The Pit Stop

  (This Stop Could be Life or Death)

  A Short Story

  by

  Carmen DeSousa

  The Pit Stop

  (This Stop Could be Life or Death)

  A Short Story

  Copyright© 2012, 2014, 2016 by Carmen DeSousa

  ISBN-13: 9780989905077

  www.CarmenDeSousaBooks.com

  PO Box 253

  Delmont, PA 15626

  U.S.A.

  Railcar Diner Image courtesy of Jeff Boyce.

  This is a fictional work. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are solely the concepts and products of the author’s imagination or are used to create a fictitious story and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form by any means, without the prior permission in writing, except in the case of brief quotations, reviews, and articles.

  For any other permission, please email Ann at Contact@CarmenDeSousa.com.

  PROLOGUE

  The old wooden café appeared safe enough, but the lack of surrounding cars gave Gino Canale pause as he opened the door of his hybrid. The GPS he and Sheila had been using had directed them off the highway in search of gas. But there were no gas stations around, just one country store on the outskirts of this Northern California town.

  Sheila opened her door, but he waved her off. “Stay in the car. Let me check out this place.”

  As usual, she did what she wanted and jumped out anyway. “I have to go. I’ve had to go since that last exit you ignored.”

  “Fine,” Gino replied, walking toward the entrance, Sheila on his heels. He listened for sounds of life, but utter silence greeted him. Normally there’d be a hum of electricity, birds chirping … something. A lopsided sign behind a dusty windowpane indicated the café was open, though. He turned to his wife. “What do you think?”

  “I think I need a bathroom — now!”

  Gino reached for the doorknob, but before he could turn the tarnished brass handle, the door screeched open as if the wind — or someone — had opened it. Bells tinkled above the doorframe, announcing his arrival.

  “Hello?” he called, but his voice faded into the stillness of the store. The only noise came from the creaking of the wood planks below the new Crocs his wife had talked him into buying. “Is anyone here?”

  A crackling sound started up behind the counter. Someone had turned on an old AM radio. The music that emanated was reminiscent of old fifties-style music his grandparents used to listen to.

  “Afternoon,” a man called out in a hoarse voice as he popped up from behind the register. “You kids ain’t from around here, are ya?”

  “Uh, no, sir,” Gino stuttered, not sure why he couldn’t find his voice. “We’re heading to a wedding, and we just ran low on gas and were wondering if there was a gas station nearby.”

  The man chuckled. “Son, you don’t need gas. You’ve got a full tank.”

  Gino shook his head. “Excuse me, how would —” Sheila tugged on his arm, then flashed him the look he knew all too well; they’d stopped a hundred times on this trip. “Sir, is there a restroom my wife could use?”

  “’Round back, but she doesn’t have to go.”

  “What’s that racket, Joe?” An old woman stepped through a doorway on the other side of the room.

  Gino gasped and grabbed Sheila’s hand, pulling her toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “But —”

  “Trust me, honey. Something isn’t right.”

  The old man stepped around the counter. “Just a couple of lost souls, Martha.” As the man moved toward them, Gino felt beads of sweat dampen his forehead, but the man just opened the door, allowing them to leave. “We’ll see yens back here soon.” He lowered his head and stared Gino deep in the eyes. “Don’t you recognize me, son?”

  Gino nudged Sheila through the doorway toward their vehicle.

  “What the heck are you doing, Gino?” his wife screeched.

  Gino’s heart pounded in his chest. “That was my Grandpap Joe. He died twenty years ago.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Gino started upright. He swiped his hand across his damp forehead. Perspiration had saturated his mop of hair; he was long overdue for a haircut. He patted the right side of the bed and found his wife’s arm.

  She rolled over in response. “Same dream again, honey?” she mumbled into her pillow.

  “Yeah.” He rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom. “I just don’t understand. They’ve been dead for twenty years. Why am I dreaming about them? And they lived in Pennsylvania their entire life. All of our family does. We don’t even know anyone in California.”

  He leaned against the doorframe and stared at his wife as if she held the answer.

  She must have felt his gaze because she opened one eye, obviously not happy with him waking her up so early. But he’d needed to make sure that she was there … that they were alive and not in some weird purgatory type of reality. He didn’t even believe in the hereafter, let alone an in-between dimension.

  Sheila propped herself up on her elbow and stared at him. “It’s just a dream, Gino. Let it go. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “But don’t you see …” he walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, “it does. My grandfather was the reason I became a cop in the first place. And now, ever since I’ve made detective, their deaths have haunted me. It just doesn’t make sense.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, babe. Go back to sleep. You’re right; it doesn’t mean anything.”

  He swept a strand of hair away from her face and kissed her forehead. Leaning back to look at her, he smiled. “Although, some of the dream was accurate. Like how we can’t go on a trip without stopping every two hours.” He laughed, and she smacked his arm.

  “Go to work, you weirdo.” She rolled over, dismissing the conversation.

  After Gino filled his mega coffee mug, he hopped into his Camaro and tore off toward the station. Huh! Hybrid vehicle! Not even close. Was that what his dream was telling him … that he needed to get rid of his gas hogging Z28? He would, but he only drove a few miles to work, so it’d take a hundred years to make up the difference in price. No. Something about the dream was deeper; he just hadn’t put the pieces together yet.

  The one thing that kept tugging at his mind was that he hadn’t recognized his grandfather’s face at first. The sound of his grandmother’s voice was what had him pulling his wife out the door to safety. But when his grandfather had stepped in front of him, asking him if he recognized him …

  Why was he even thinking about this? Sheila was right. It was just a dream.

  He bit down on his lip and stared at the grade-school children crossing the street in front of him. The crossing guard waved a greeting. Camp Creek was too small of a town for the deaths of two people to go unsolved, especially two of the greatest people who’d ever walked the earth.

  It wasn’t right. Too many unanswered questions shadowed his grandparents’ deaths, even though the M.E. had documented their deaths as, “Death by natural causes.”

  Gino inhaled a large breath as he pressed on the gas, then looked up at the sky at nothing in particular. People just did it because it made them feel better. As much as he’d love to believe that his grandparents were in Heaven, he simply didn’t believe in life after death. Even if his pap wasn’t in another realm, though, he still deserved answers. And Gino intended to get those answe
rs.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Gino leaned back in the booth at the crowded diner, wondering why the captain had asked him to meet him alone. The restaurant was a regular haunt for officers to grab a half-priced meal and free coffee, but he hadn’t been here in years. Too many memories.

  Whenever the detectives mentioned The Pit Stop as their destination for lunch, he’d politely pass, citing he was going to meet Sheila for lunch outside the elementary school where she taught fifth grade. She always liked it when he’d show up right before the lunch bell, toting two subs, a bag of chips, and drinks, whisking her away from her normal bagged lunch in the teacher’s lounge.

  The owners of the diner obviously loved the police department’s patronage, as it kept riffraff away. The once-quiet neighborhood of the fifties had morphed into a crime-filled haven. It made no difference that Camp Creek was a small town. Almost made it worse, as bored teenagers, and adults, seeking thrills, made way for drug dealers and other types of criminal activity.

  As Gino gazed around, he understood part of his dream. The railcar dining car was ancient. The place hadn’t changed since his grandfather had brought him here. Construction workers and businessmen alike occupied red vinyl-covered stools alongside the white countertop to partake in the daily special. A greasy patty-melt burger with fries or homemade meatloaf and mashed potatoes smothered in gravy filled their plates.

  Captain Jeff Jackson flopped down in the booth, inhaling deeply, a wide smile lifting his cheeks. “Don’t you love this place?”

  “Yeah,” Gino lied lightly. Always a good idea not to offend the captain. Of course, there had to be a reason Captain Jackson invited him. The detective in him was instantly curious.

  Jackson’s mouth quirked up. “But you’re wondering why I asked you to meet me here?”

  At the sound of bells, Gino glanced toward the entrance, but seeing no one, turned his attention back to his captain. “Yeah. The thought crossed my mind.”

  Jackson ran the back of his hand up the stubble on his normally clean-shaven face. “I like the food and the country music. Most restaurants have new-age blaring through the speakers and serve rabbit food.”

  “Uh-huh,” Gino agreed. Though his stomach handled those eateries better than the food at these types of places. Maybe it was because Sheila forced him to eat some combination of grilled chicken and vegetables most nights of the week. Of course, he couldn’t complain. Weightlifting his entire life, and even when he was heavy into football, hadn’t given him six-pack abs until she’d changed his diet. “But you didn’t invite me here for the food and music, Captain. What gives?”

  The waitress approached, halting his answer. Her eyes roamed over Gino longer than necessary. He swore women were attracted to his wedding ring. Like moths to a flame, he’d told his wife.

  The woman pulled out her pad. “What’re you boys havin’?”

  “Two specials with sweet tea, Sally,” Jackson ordered for both of them, scooping up and handing her both of the food-crusted plastic menus.

  Probably better, Gino thought, since he had planned to order a chef salad, which would have probably brought into question his manhood in front of his superior.

  The woman smiled and walked off, swaying her hips to the country music that filled the restaurant. Jackson’s eyes remained glued to her as she made her way to the service station. Maybe Sally was the real reason Jackson liked the diner, not the food and music. Gino wanted an answer to why he was here, but figured he’d better wait until Sally returned with their drinks, so he’d have Jackson’s full attention.

  Gino swept the room with his eyes again, a habit he’d probably never stop; it was as ingrained as breathing was.

  After a few minutes, Sally dropped off the drinks and sauntered over to a table of construction workers, working all her momma gave her, it seemed, to increase her tips.

  Although Gino was certain the music was satellite fed – as there’d been no commercials – just the DJ he always heard when he zoomed past the station on his Sirius radio, the speaker above his head crackled like an old AM radio. Then he heard a sound he hadn’t heard in years: someone lighting a pipe. The gurgling noise made him smile, and then the sweet pungent odor invaded his senses, taking him back about thirty years. He turned to see who was smoking in a public restaurant, but the booth behind him was empty.

  “There was a double homicide yesterday,” Captain Jackson’s voice broke through his reflections of the past.

  Gino swung around to meet Jackson’s gaze. “What? Why wasn’t I called?”

  Jackson cocked his head south. “Not in Camp Creek. Next county over.”

  Gino narrowed his eyes. “Umm … what does that have to do with me, then?”

  “The lead detective, Mark Waters, called this morning. His father, Wilson Waters, worked a case with me years ago, so he knew me.” Jackson lowered his head and spoke in a confidential tone, “The murders mirrored your grandparents’ homicides.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Gino swallowed hard. “Homicides? No one has ever referred to my grandparents’ deaths as homicides.”

  Jackson took a sip of his iced tea, then flashed a quick peek around the diner. “Well, I’ve always thought it was suspicious. Your grandfather meant the world to me; he was my mentor. And their deaths have troubled me for twenty years, as they did Wilson Waters at the time. Even though we worked in different departments, since Wilson had gone to school with your pap and the property sat on the county line, we’d worked it together. But there was nothing to hint of foul play — other than our gut instinct — so our superiors made us drop it.”

  A shiver swept through Gino. “I’ve always wondered. Even as a teenager it didn’t make any sense. What are the similarities?” He glanced over his shoulder again, haunted by the sound of the bells and the smell of the pipe that he knew couldn’t have been his imagination.

  “What are you looking for, Gino?” Jackson’s voice held an edge of irritation, and Gino couldn’t blame him because of how strange he was behaving. He must look like a paranoid schizophrenic.

  Gino turned back toward his captain, afraid to voice his question, but he had to know. “Did you see someone smoking a pipe?” Maybe the man had gone to the restroom.

  Captain’s brow furrowed. “Customers aren’t allowed to smoke inside the restaurant.”

  Gino nodded. He knew that, he’d just hoped he wasn’t losing his mind.

  “Jo, pick up!” a woman’s raspy voice rattled from behind the counter. Gino gasped, then focused his gaze on the woman who sounded just like his grandmother calling out for his pap.

  “Are you all right?” Captain asked. “You look as if you saw a ghost.”

  “Did she just call for ‘Joe’ to pick up?”

  Captain huffed out a breath. “Yeah. JoAnn’s one of the waitresses. I think you need to lay off the coffee, Gino. You’re as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.”

  Inhaling a deep breath, Gino sank into the booth, focusing his eyes on his captain, and did his best to look completely sane.

  Jackson leaned forward. “Back to your grandparents. Have you read their file?”

  “Actually, no,” Gino admitted. He had planned to read it today, but wasn’t sure how the captain would react to him researching a twenty-year-old case. “I’ve always wanted to, though.”

  Captain sucked air through his teeth, a habit the other cops mocked behind his back. “So, you haven’t pulled it yet? Never touched it?”

  Nervous at once, Gino shook his head. What was the captain insinuating?

  “That’s what I was afraid of. It’s missing. I went to pull it this morning when I got the call —” Jackson stopped speaking, his eyes glancing up as an elderly gentleman approached their table, carrying two platters. The discolored apron he wore, which had probably been white at some point, indicated that he probably worked in the kitchen.

  “Two specials, gentlemen —” The man stopped mid-sentence, staring at Gino as thoug
h he knew him. “Gino!”

  Gino glared at the man, questioning how he knew his name. He hadn’t been in here since he was a kid.

  The old man bent down in front of him until they were at eye level. “You’ve grown up!” He flashed a smile, showing off a set of either nicotine or coffee-stained teeth. “Don’t you recognize me, son?”

  “What - did - you - say?” Gino asked each word individually, his voice demanding.

  “Um … Your pap used to bring you in here.” The old man’s voice faltered, obviously taken aback.

  Gino stood and brushed past the old man. “I’m sorry. Excuse me.” He needed to get some fresh air.

  He rushed toward the exit, opened the door, then started to walk out of the restaurant, but stopped and looked up. No bells. His stomach plunged, and he thought he might get sick.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Gino paced the parking lot as his mind whirled. Was he crazy? The dreams, the radio, the pipe scent, the bells. It couldn’t all be a coincidence.

  He hunched over, resting his hands on his knees as his mind battled with reality. Ghosts aren’t real, he repeatedly muttered to himself.

  A familiar voice echoed in his head, but this time it wasn’t a dream or ghost chimes. An embedded memory from his childhood when he was learning to ride his bicycle. His pap had scolded him for wanting to give up after he’d run into the garbage bins sitting at the end of the neighbor’s driveway and started to cry. “Nonsense, boy,” his pap had rumbled in his deep voice. “Stand up, wipe off your backside, and get back on that bike. You gonna let something knock you down? Show your pap that you’re a man.”

  Every time Gino had wanted to give up at the academy, studying for the sergeant’s exams, getting Sheila — he laughed at how he’d refused to back off no matter how many times she’d insisted she didn’t date cops, even though her father was a cop. They’d dated off and on in high school, but he hadn’t seen her when she was away at college. When he spotted her at a neighborhood barbeque, he had to have her and wouldn’t take no for an answer, insisting she go out with him at least once.