by A. Sparrow
No biggie, it was just a little lost coolant, nothing mechanical. Maybe a hose had popped off. I could clamp it back on, refill the radiator and be on my way.
I stepped out of the truck. Thunderheads billowed along the horizon, piling up against the low hills. A hot and swirly wind blew up from the south.
I hadn’t paid attention to the signs, but figured I must be pretty close to the North Carolina border. It looked at first like I was stuck in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but pine and scrub. But there was an exit just ahead, and through the trees a surface road ran parallel to the highway. Just up a little ways was a house and a barn.
I popped open the hood to reveal a steaming, sopping mess. The upper radiator hose had blown, tearing right through an embolism-like bulge below the clamp. Hot antifreeze sputtered out of the hole like a spent geyser.
I undid both clamps with the screwdriver on my Swiss Army knife, wrapped a rag around it and yanked off the mass of searing rubber, passing it from hand to hand like a hot potato. I threw it down on the sand to cool.
I considered using the phone Jared had given me to call for a tow, but he had been adamant about me not using it for anything but direct communications with him. And there was no sense in calling him yet. It wasn’t as if drug cartels offered 24-hour roadside assistance. Why freak him out? I had plenty of time to set things right and get back on the road.
I wrapped the rag back around the destroyed hose and tucked it under my arm. With that exit just ahead, there was a likely a town nearby. Surely there would be a garage or parts store where I could pick up a replacement hose. Ford F150s were probably as common around these parts as pine trees.
I cut through the trees and down a slope to the surface road. As I got close, I could see that the house I was heading for was in horrible shape, with shutters dangling off their hinges and the paint all peeling. The shades were drawn. It didn’t look like anyone lived there, though the fields behind it were plowed and planted with hip-high corn.
On a whim, I walked up the front walk and rang the doorbell. I heard nothing but the wind and some distant thunder. I was about to walk away when the door swung open and a hunched old woman in a tattered sweater appeared, her eyes boring in like lances. She looked to be about ninety.
“Brian ain’t home,” she shouted.
“Who? Um, no ma’am, I’m not looking for Brian. You see, my car broke down on—”
“He ain’t here. But he’ll be comin’ home for supper. Come back around five, then you can talk to him.”
“Ma’am, you wouldn’t know of auto parts stores nearby?”
“Heh?” She screwed her face at me like I had said something preposterous about otters.
“You know, like a garage?”
“Ask Brian when he comes. He’ll know what to tell ya.”
“Okay.” Well, thanks. You have a good day.”
She nodded and attempted a smile, but it turned into more of a scowl. She slammed the door and locked it.
I continued down the road, crossing over a culvert with a muddy creek running through it. An empty two liter Pepsi bottle bobbed in an eddy. I scrambled down and tucked it under a bush so it wouldn’t float away. This would be my source of coolant once I got my new hose. Why waste ten bucks on anti-freeze? Water would do. It was freaking July.
I glanced back at the highway and nearly shit my pants. The lights of a police cruiser were blinking blue and bright as it swooped down like a vulture on my poor truck.
I ducked down behind some milkweeds buzzing with bees and watched him climb out and examine the slick of radiator fluid beneath the grill. He went back and poked around the junk in the back, looking under the mattress. I cringed and ducked down lower.
To my eye, there was nothing suspicious about the truck, no bulges that made it obvious something was stashed below the liner. Jared’s people had done a pretty good job. But a state cop knew what to look for—a telltale scrape or stripped screw might tell him that this bed liner had been installed more than once.
I thought for sure that this marked the end of my drug-running career; that the only running I’d be doing was through the piney woods with helicopters chasing after me. But the cop didn’t mess with the liner. He went back to his car, got a bright orange sticker, scribbled something on it, stuck it on the windshield and went on his way.
I spend a good five minutes in those milkweeds re-learning how to breathe.
***
The surface road met up with a larger cross road near the end of a highway exit ramp. A sign pointed left to an overpass and a town called Alford. To the right was nothing but scrub oak and pine. I went left.
Alford wasn’t much of a town, just a small cluster of houses and two-story office buildings. But there was a garage with some old-style gas pumps and a weedy lot crowded with rusting hulks. It looked abandoned, but I headed for it anyway. What choice did I have?
I cut across a vacant lot to get there, which turned out to be a mistake, because I got mired in ankle deep mud trying to hop a ditch. Pickerel frogs watched me with mocking stares from the green slime coating the slow-flowing seep.
The phone in my pocket buzzed. I jumped like there was a snake in my pants and nearly stumbled back into the ditch. I dug the phone out of my jeans. It had to be Jared. Who else knew this number?
“Yo.”
“Holy cow man, you’re almost in North Carolina!”
“H-how did you know that?”
“A little bird told me.” He chuckled. “Jeez, guy, take it easy on that pedal. You got plenty of time.”
Jared’s guys must have installed some kind of tracking device when they were taking out the bed liner. I kind of doubted they had any kind of in with our all-knowing, almighty God.
“Don’t worry. I’m not speeding. I’ve been careful. I’ve just kind of been driving straight through.”
“Yeah, except for last night,” said Jared. “Saw you took a break in Jacksonville. Got a girlfriend there or something? Hey man, that’s cool. Good to have you well rested. But if you’re gonna stop, just pick someplace busy is all. Stay out of them small towns. Cops are damned nosy in those places.”
They had probably stashed a GPS transponder somewhere on that truck. But where would they have put it? It really bugged me to know every step of my progress or lack thereof was being watched from afar. I wanted to find that thing and smash it.
“James? You okay, man? You’re not very talky.”
“I’m … tired.”
“Well go and take your break. Remember, the guys in Ohio ain’t expecting you till five o’clock tomorrow.”
“Five? You said I had forty-eight hours. That would make it more like eight.”
“No worries, guy. I don’t see how that’s a problem, seeing as you’re almost in Charlotte.”
“No. It’s no problem. It’s just—”
“Then forget about it, man. I was just checking in. Making sure everything was alright. Everything is fine, right? You sound a little nervous.”
“Oh yeah. Everything’s cool.”
“Hey. You ever want to do this again, James. Do a good job and there’s more work like this out there. I’m just saying.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
I ended the call. So the Ohio folks expected me at five the next day not eight. No big deal. That was still a good twenty-four hours away. I’d be back on the road in an hour or two if all went well.
As I got closer to the gas station, I could see merchandise on the shelves. It looked like the place was still in business, but closed because it was Sunday. I went up to the service bay and pressed my nose against the glass. Along the side of each service bays, taunting me, was a wide assortment of mufflers, fan belts and radiator hoses, one of which I was certain would fit a Ford F150.
I read the hours on the door. “Open M-F 8-5, Saturday 10-4.”
It was five o’clock. The place wouldn’t open for another fifteen hours. It wouldn’t take long at all to repl
ace a hose. Sixteen hours or so cut off my cushion wasn’t exactly fatal to my chances of getting to Cleveland on time, but I would have to get that hose put on first thing in the morning. Maybe I could have the truck towed here and save some time. I could conceivably be out of here by nine. That would give me eight hours to cross three states. Was that even possible? Maybe if I went ninety the entire way.
Maybe I should have fessed up to Jared and let him know that I was experiencing some complications, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to tell him just yet.
I walked around the station, trying every door, just in case there might be a chance of me sneaking in and helping myself to a hose, but everything was locked up tight. As I came back out front, a blue Chevy pulled up and a guy leaned out the window.
“He’s closed Sundays.” The guy was middle-aged, with a ruddy, pock-marked face and an inquisitive gleam in his heavily hooded, slightly squinty eyes.
“Yeah. I kind of figured.”
“What’s that you got there? Radiator hose?”
“Yeah. I blew it out on the highway.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
“Yeah. Isn’t it?” I chortled nervously. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know if there are any other parts stores around here? Maybe one of the big chains like Pep Boys or Autozone?”
He scowled and shook his head. “Nothing like that around here. Rock Hill, maybe. But I’m friends with the fellow who runs this garage. I could give him a call for you.”
“Can you? Aw, that’d be great!”
“Hang on.” The guy pulled out his phone and rang up his friend. They made a little too much small talk for my comfort, but once he got down to the nitty-gritty, it seemed to go well.
“Okay … uh … the deal is … he’s at a church function right now. But it’s getting out soon and he could swing on by on his way home. You just stay put and he’ll come find you.”
“Oh, that’s just awesome. Thank you so much!”
“You take care now.” He pulled out onto the road and into the sun hanging low over the pines.
***
Hours passed. I watched the sun dip below the horizon. Twilight spread over the fields like a plague. I was so parched. A damned Coke machine mocked my thirst, locked away behind the glass door.
While I was waiting I had made several forays out into what passed for a town center and found nothing but a realtor, a mini-post office and an insurance company. That’s it. No restaurants. No motels. No convenience stores.
About nine o’ clock, a white Toyota Tacoma finally pulled up and a burly, bearded guy in a rumpled suit and tie clambered out of it. “You the fella with the blown hose?”
“That’s me,” I said, weary but relieved.
He glanced around the lot. “So where’s your car? Out on the freeway?”
“Yup.”
“Well, let’s see what we got here.” He unlocked his service bay and hauled open the overhead door. “What’s the make and model?”
“Ford. F150. 2003.”
“Alrighty. I’m sure we can hook you up. Upper or lower?”
“Upper.”
“Yeah, it’s a common thing you know, those upper hoses. They get singed or nicked and the next thing you know …” He perused the collection of belts and hoses hanging from his wall. “Hmm. I just saw one the other day. Here’s … uh … no, that’s for a Dodge. Maybe this one? Um … no. Guess not, then. Might be time to order some more. Seem to go through them quick enough.”
“You mean, you don’t have any?” I said, my voice rising in panic.
“Sure looks that way. Could be one stashed on the floor somewhere. Let me give a quick look-see.”
He made the rounds of his workshop, peeking under door panels and in the drawers of a work bench.
He straightened up and wiped his hands on his pants. “Nope. All out. I’ll have to order one for you.”
“Today?”
“Well, no. They’re not open Sundays. First thing in the morning. My supplier’s got a guy who delivers. Should have it by … midday … at the latest.”
A wave of panic expanded from the pit of my stomach. “That won’t do. I gotta be in Cleveland by five tomorrow.”
He bit his lip and shrugged. “Sorry son. Best I can do. One exit further and you would have had a wider choice of establishments. But such is life.” Something flashed in his eyes. “What about … duct tape?”
“Duct tape?”
“Sure. Clean it up with soap. Wrap a shitload of duct tape around the hole. Might hold for a little while.”
“All the way to Ohio?”
“Probably not, but … let’s see … give me that hose.”
I peeled off the rag and handed it to him. He rolled it around in his hands, and peered into the openings.
“That’s one nasty looking rip. The way it balloons out and goes right under the clamp. No, I don’t think tape’s gonna hold this one, not once the engine got up to temperature.”
“What about that next exit. Could we call another garage? Have them tow me?”
“Thing is, they might have been open earlier, but it’s Sunday night now. They still pumping gas but ain’t no service folks there. Probably closed at five. I can tow you into my lot, if you want. That’d at least get you off the highway. You could sleep in your truck. I’ll give the police department a heads up so they leave you alone. Not like there’s any motels in Alford.”
***
I passed up his offer for a tow. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I was desperate to get back on that road as soon as possible.
I thanked him for coming by and started walking back to the freeway, racking my brain for a Plan B that would get me fixed up quicker.
I wondered if I could risk driving a few miles with no coolant whatsoever, just to the next exit. That would be risky. It could fry the engine and seize the block—permanently.
I sipped a can of warm Coke the guy at the gas station had given me. It was time to tell Jared the truth about what happened. I got out the phone.
“James? What’s up?”
“Um … small problem.”
“I’m listening.”
“Right after I talked to you. I kinda blew a radiator hose.”
“So? No big deal. Just get a new one. I’ll cover it.”
“The thing is … it’s Sunday … and this happened on the freeway outside this tiny, little town. No one can help me till tomorrow.”
There was a spell of absolute silence. Digital ghosts chattered their teeth across the ether. A cicada call kicked up from a stand of oaks.
“Oh no, James. You can’t do this to me.” His timbre suddenly altered, a warble of fear creeping into his vowels. “You gotta get to Cleveland on time. I went out on a limb for you. My ass is grass if you don’t show up.”
“But I’ll get there, I’m just gonna be a little late. I need a couple more hours.”
“You don’t understand. That’s a lot of inventory you’re sitting on. They’re gonna freak out when that stuff doesn’t show.”
“So what are they gonna do, fine me?”
“That stuff you’re hauling. It’s pure. Uncut. Top quality. Top dollar. It’s a high priority shipment. These guys, they will punish you. They crack skulls, and that’s if you’re lucky and they got laid that day.”
“Jeezus, Jared. This is my first time. Why’d you have me haul something like that? Why couldn’t I start out small?”
“You were safe, James. They like their couriers, virgins.”
“Well, I’m doing the best I can. They’re just gonna have to cut me a little slack.”
Jared muttered something away from the receiver. “You got no clue, James. They’ll assume the worst. They’ll think you made off with their shipment. They’ll hunt you down. You get that truck going; I don’t care how you do it.”
He clicked off. I stood there with the phone in my hand, staring at a meadow dancing with tall grass and vetch. Ohio seemed even
farther away now than before I had left Ft. Pierce.
Maybe I could walk or hitch the five miles to the outskirts of that larger town—Rock Hill—where I could see for myself whether there was any truck stop or 24 hour garage able to help me.
I took two steps, veered off the road, and laid down in the meadow.
***
It was just plain futile. No two ways about it. There was no way I could get to Cleveland on time.
Cripes! One stupid hose blows and all my plans go to crap. Not only would I not collect that second tranche, I would have a drug cartel out for my head.
Maybe there was no way I could go anywhere near Cleveland, even after I got that truck fixed. I couldn’t bring this down on Uncle Ed and his family. I would have to find that transponder, rip it out and run.
It was getting dark out, but I had no inclination to move. My muscles set firm like rigor mortis. A numbness seeped through every inch and pore. It made me not care what happened to the truck or my life’s possessions sitting unattended in the back. It made me not care what happened to those assholes’ drugs.
Problem was, I didn’t care about eating or drinking either. My breaths still came, but it was okay if they stopped. Mosquitoes could take all the blood they wanted from me. All the spiders and ants in South Carolina could tread on me. I didn’t care. Even a bullet to the brain would have been a welcome relief, about then.
And just as I slipped past the threshold of not caring about my fate, a musky smell came on, as strong as if someone had stuffed a truffle up my nose. Roots wrapped around my limbs and pulled me through the tall grass and into the earth.
Not that I ever lost consciousness. I just shifted to a reality just as potent as the one I had left behind. I was there, again in Root, dangling from a tunnel wall in a crude woven sack.
Chapter 18: Luther
The pod of roots encasing me seemed looser and sparser this time, more a covered hammock than a cage. I grabbed two handfuls and tried pulling them apart, but the strands stiffened and resisted.
I had no patience for this crap. I squeezed them hard and pulled with all my strength. As the frustration built in my chest, the entire section shriveled and disintegrated under my grip.
