by Jay Harez
“Yeah, I picked up on that,” Charlie responded.
“We have equipped the cab with various sensors to monitor your general health, heart rate, breathing and the like” the phone was silent again.
At that point Charlie ‘lost his shit’.
“Who the fuck are you and what the fuck am I hauling!?” Charlie exploded into the phone.
Silence.
“Here is my final offer, Charlie,” the phone paused long enough for Charlie to realize that they knew his name.
Fucking Darryl! Charlie thought.
“If you follow instructions and deliver the cargo intact not only will you receive the one hundred thousand but your back child support will be paid off as well,” Mr. Phone said.
Fuck me, thought Charlie. He hadn’t told Darryl the details of his legal problems in the states.
“Where to?” Charlie asked.
“Coordinates are arriving. When you get there you will be switching vehicles to something less consp…obvious,” the phone corrected.
“I know what conspicuous means,” Charlie sighed.
“Apologies. We do not have any information on your educational background. It was wrong of me to presume,” the phone was silent. “Safe travels,” then the phone went dead.
One hundred thousand dollars. Charlie couldn’t stop thinking about it as he stopped to get fuel. He didn’t need to fill up but his Road Luck wasn’t being as reliable as he would have liked. He fueled without incident.
One hundred thousand dollars. The miles vanished as Charlie considered the numerous investments he would make in land and other things that would serve him in his old age.
A FRIENDLY FACE
The GPS took him to the outskirts of a larger city and to the entrance of a parking garage. He began driving up the ascending spiral to the second level. It was almost vacant except for a beat up mini-van and a couple of junker cars further down the aisle. As he approached Darryl stepped out of the driver’s side of the mini-van with his back-pack in hand. Although Charlie was shocked, he was glad. He liked Darryl as much as he could and Darryl could tell him what the fuck was going on. Darryl got into the cab without speaking. He settled in, grabbed the phone from the mounting, popped open the rear panel of it and began dissecting the device.
Charlie could only watch in shock. Darryl removed the battery with one of his unkempt nails and began prying the SIM card out.
“We have about five minutes,” Darryl said. “These…things are not human. I don’t know what they are but I think they are some sort of human mutation or, experiment or something,” Darryl was saying this while he fumbled around in his backpack.
“What?” Charlie asked watching Darryl continue to dig around in the backpack.
“Look bro they told me about the high-jackers” Darryl pulled a new IPhone and charger out of the backpack.
“What did they tell you?” Charlie asked while he eyed the new device suspiciously.
Darryl ignored the question as he plugged the new charger in one of the available ports. He plugged the other end into the new phone but didn’t turn it on.
“Listen to me. This is some sort of rite of passage or Rhumspringa bull-shit. I don’t know for certain,” Darryl paused and softly spoke “I’m not certain of anything anymore.” Darryl was still for a moment. Then he was animated again. “I do know that those things in the back are their young – do you understand me? These mother-fuckers back in Texas, and there’s fourteen of them by the way – minus the guy they brought in for this. He’s some kind of crisis management specialist or some shit.” Darryl looked as if he were about to cry.
Charlie had questions that could wait, but not for long, and he didn’t know how much time he would have with Darryl. The first was how could these clearly well heeled and tech savvy bastards be connected to Darryl? The whole ‘concerned parents of mutant dog-people’ sounded too crazy even for Darryl who believed some pretty out there shit. But Charlie remembered the head of the creature looking into the cab at Ben Franklin’s place. He remembered the howling when he was waiting at the abandoned hotel. He finally had to admit that the head looked like a wolf’s head. However Charlie had never seen a wolf that wasn’t on the Discovery channel and dismissed the possibility…for the most part.
It was all irrelevant. There were other questions such as who were these people offering so much money and how did Darryl get in bed with them and would they really pay him or just kill him when the job was done? Those questions fought for supremacy in Charlie’s hyper-stimulated thought patterns.
“Those people in Texas want their children back. Please hear me Charlie” Darryl paused for effect. “They will do anything, anything to get them back safely.”
Charlie watched as Darryl powered up the new phone and mounted it next to the GPS. The phone chimed pleasantly and Charlie reached up and slid the unlock button across the screen.
“Glad the two of you were able to connect,” the phone said.
“Where to?” Charlie asked as if he hadn’t just been told that he was carrying a truck-load of mutant dog experiments by a delusional alcoholic.
“Coordinates are being transmitted now. Gentlemen feel free to take time to catch up over lunch. You are very close to your next stop. Charlie I am certain that Darryl has many fascinating ideas to share. I hope they will not deter you from the task. Safe travels gentlemen,” the phone was quiet again.
Neither Charlie nor Darryl was very hungry. They both agreed their time could be better spent en route to a hotel with nice soft beds and cheap tequila and an hour or so later they were checked in and hungry.
Over dinner and tequila Darryl got chatty. Charlie sort of knew that would happen.
“Here you go,” Darryl said as he dropped an American Express gift card on the table.
Charlie picked it up and began rotating the card, edges down against the table. Keeping his hands occupied was a great way of keeping his mouth shut.
“It’s got the other six K on it. You get the bonus upon delivery,” Darryl explained.
“Thanks,” AmEx, I must be moving in the right circles Charlie joked to himself.
Charlie ordered a margarita, Darryl ordered two. After about an hour of old road stories and Darryl’s fantasies about his future business ventures he started talking about their new benefactors.
Pulling a ‘Danny Ocean’ was a common method for the homeless to get a good breakfast. A person who kept their wits about them, dressed appropriately, knew how to get past the cameras, and not draw the attention of the front desk staff could walk into any number of hotels and enjoy the complimentary breakfast intended for guests of the hotel. Darryl had been eating at one hotel for about a week straight in contradiction to the rule of hitting a place once a month when the manager asked to see his room key.
The hotel manager was explaining the penalty for theft of an innkeeper in Texas when the specialist – a.k.a. Mr. Phone – intervened on his behalf. Mr. Phone claimed Darryl was there to meet him for an interview. After the management left the dining area Mr. Phone introduced Darryl to the rest of his party.
Darryl thought he had stumbled into a group of swingers or religious conventioneers but of course, they turned out to be something entirely different. Mr. Phone had explained that they were looking for truck drivers and asked Darryl if he knew any.
The initial arrangements completed Darryl had taken over as dispatcher/coordinator but after the hospital incident Mr. Phone had assumed command.
“What hospital incident?” Charlie understood exactly what incident Darryl was talking about but had to ask.
He had forgotten about the hospital and the BBC reporter’s cool dissertation of the available facts at the time. Charlie hadn’t thought about anything that had happened before the pre-fab shed shoot-out.
Darryl’s moments of lucidity were getting further apart in proportion to the frequency of margarita deliveries. His coherency wasn’t improving either.
“Yeah, ok, maybe you don’
t know,” Darryl pondered this for a moment then continued. “Those fucking animals…” he trailed off, “…what kind of creature could…?” he looked around as if afraid.
“Yeah, they fucked up on the way out. On the way out one of them got into some silver sulfur…, sulfa…” Darryl looked at Charlie for help.
“Silver Sulfadiazine?” Charlie offered, not liking what this latest revelation was leading to. They had been in the hospital – his cargo – he had seen what he thought he had seen back at Ben Franklins place and…
“Yeah, that shit fucked one of them up real good. Didn’t kill it though. Just fucked him up real good,” Darryl concluded.
Silver Sulfadiazine was used as a topical cream on burns and other minor injuries plus it was an antibacterial. Charlie knew this because his wife (former wife) used to be a nurse. She was a nurse for a while until her absences had gotten her ‘managed out”. Charlie remembered that it also increased healing time so if someone were allergic to silver that stuff would hit them twice…Fuck me! Charlie didn’t want to hear any more, he didn’t even want to think about what he had already heard.
Darryl began dozing in his chair.
What kind of Stephen King bull-shit was this? Charlie thought. He did have about twelve grand on him between the Wal-Mart Green Dot card, the new AmEx card and a couple of hundred in cash. He could walk out of here right now. Leave Darryl to his nap and be on a bus going north or south in two hours tops. Or he could have a hundred grand and no bench warrants.
He roused Darryl. Darryl stood and mumbled something about being in the abomination transport business and staggered toward his room.
In the morning Charlie woke and showered. He couldn’t imagine what the two of them must have looked and smelled like last night sitting in the restaurant. Once he was clean again he considered that the hideous concoction he had doused himself in may have saved his life during the pre-fab shed massacre. He put the coveralls into the plastic complimentary laundry bag and tied it off. He threw the bundle in his duffle and put on the jeans and shirt he had been wearing just two days ago. He asked the front desk to ring Darryl’s room once he was in the lobby. They said the room was vacant since early that morning. Charlie started to ask the time and remembered to power on the phone. Two voice mails. He left the lobby without checking them and walked into the sunlit parking lot. A jolt of fear and betrayal went through him. The truck was gone.
Charlie opted to listen to the messages before he called the Specialist.
First voice mail:
“Charlie, sorry about the truck. Hahaaaaaa! I left something for you though. Safe travels,” Darryl’s voice shouted from the phone. Fuck! Thought Charlie.
Second voice mail:
“Another vehicle is waiting for you at the end of the lot. We hope it meets with your approval” – said Mr. Phone. Ok. So obviously Darryl was sent as relief of sorts.
Charlie did not envy the poor bastard trying to get that truck across the border.
Oh well and thank god Charlie thought. The ordeal was over. Charlie was walking back to the hotel lobby to get breakfast when the bellman came running out with a small package in his hand.
“Senor, your friend Mr. Four-one-one left this for you.” The bellman gasped for air from the brief sprint.
“Gracias,” Charlie said. Charlie didn’t tip because nobody tipped him. Of course after this run he couldn’t really say that. So maybe he would become a tipper. Not too big a tipper but maybe…
Charlie looked in the bag and froze. In the bag was the GPS. This did not look good at all. If he were done he wouldn’t need the GPS.
A rubber band held a set of keys, a car alarm fob, and the GPS. Charlie’s fingers began to tremble. He wasn’t sure if it was rage or fear but his adrenaline was pumping and he could hear his heart in his ears as he hit the lock button on the fob.
An old Camaro chirped back at him. It was just old enough to be credible. Charlie got in. Although he was a small man he was acutely aware of how small the space he now occupied was. After sitting in the Camaro for about ten minutes he decided to call.
“Ah, Driver,” So I’m back to driver now, thought Charlie, as Mr. Phone continued. “Glad you are up and about.”
“Why do I have the GPS?” Charlie asked.
“You will need that to complete the job,” Mr. Phone stopped.
“I thought I was done,” Charlie was feeling more confused by the minute.
“The terms of the agreement were for you to the deliver the cargo intact,” again Mr. Phone stopped before he gave Charlie an explanation.
“How do you propose I do that?” Charlie asked.
“Take the route on the GPS. The route is longer than necessary for a reason,” again Mr. Phone displayed his knack for stopping short of what Charlie wanted to know.
“Who’s looking for me?” Charlie asked.
“At this time various parties…” Charlie heard Cartel “… are seeking a truck matching the description of the one no longer at your hotel,” said the phone. The specialist didn’t sound smug but there was a confidence to his tone.
“So I take the Camaro to where?” Charlie asked. He was getting tired of asking.
“We have arranged lodging for you at the coordinates,” the phone paused “you have one last stop-over then one last leg to drive in the morning. Then you are a rich man. Safe travels.” The phone indicated that the conversation was over.
STOP OVER
Charlie arrived four hours later. He was north now. Close to the border. He could tell by all of the tourists milling around the small town trying not to look white. He started thinking about Darryl trying to get that cargo across the border and the roadblocks before that.
Charlie tuned the Camaro’s radio to the BBC. According to the reporter, the attack on Federales manning a roadblock by Cartel members was the second of two puzzling atrocities committed by the cartels in the last forty-eight hours.
Charlie hadn’t seen any of the notorious cairns that plagued northern Mexico’s roadways. Of course a local would be a fool to erect one of the three-stone pyramids on roads the Cartels depended on. Charlie’s confidence increased as he grew accustomed to the trade-off of comfort for power and made better time than he anticipated.
It wasn’t a hotel this time. Instead it was a villa. Two stories with a traditional circular drive in the courtyard. Charlie drove into the circle and got a one hundred and eighty degree view of the now waterless fountain at the center. A lean, sad looking old man answered the door.
“Good afternoon and welcome. Please come in,” said the man Charlie assumed was the butler.
“Thank you,” Charlie said as he entered the foyer which could easily be called a lobby.
“I was informed that you would be our guest for the evening. Do you have any specific needs such as laundry services or food preferences?” the butler asked with what Charlie thought sounded like a South African accent.
“I could do with a change of clothes, a shower and a rare steak,” Charlie offered.
“As you say sir,” the sad butler paused “anything else?” the butlers smile verged on a smirk, but a benevolent one. Like a new parent watching their child learn about the world. Charlie wondered how a person could smile and appear sad at the same time.
“Internet access and cable television would be great,” Charlie suggested.
“We have both in the media room,” the sad butler gestured at a room opposite the foyer/lobby. “Your room is up the stairs to your left. I have taken the liberty of selecting a few things for your use. If you need further assistance please pick up the phone in your room. Would dinner in an hour be acceptable?” he asked with a kind tone.
“Yes, that would be,” Charlie said as he turned and began his ascent up the spiral staircase.
Charlie went up to his room and unpacked his duffle to find another surprise awaiting him. It was the two Thermoses and a third one with a note attached.
C –
Not certain ab
out talking on these phones but I still have the other phone if you need to reach me and the number is under ‘D411’ in the contacts. Both of your Thermoses have a little left. The third one may come in handy if you have cargo problems.
- D
Charlie had slept a full night’s sleep the night before but was fatigued nonetheless. Too fatigued to address any new Thermoses for certain. He showered. With a towel around his waist, Charlie dripped his way from the bath to the area occupied by the king-sized bed where he had dropped his duffle. He inventoried its contents. One set of over-sized and wreaking coveralls in a plastic bag courtesy of Mamma Machete, three Thermoses and another surprise…the whip.
Charlie couldn’t believe he had been carrying it the entire trip. Looking back he couldn’t remember a circumstance under which it could have made a difference but it was comforting still.
Surveying the room, Charlie noticed black slacks and a white polo shirt folded neatly on the chair by the door to his room. Apparently laundry service meant new clothes. Charlie had never owned a dress shirt or a pair of slacks. He had once thought that the day would come when he had an extra twenty dollars and he would go to the thrift store and buy himself a suit. Hell, he thought, with this kind of money he might even wear it.
The steak was delicious and Charlie took a chance and asked the butler for a Tecate afterward. He took his beer and exited the kitchen where he had opted to take his meal. He wandered into several vacant parts of the villa until he found the media room. The fifty-five inch television mounted on the wall was positioned so that he could see it and the dual Thunderbolt monitors at the same time.
Behind the desk was a window to the courtyard and the Camaro. Charlie watched through the window as the butler paced around the courtyard giving the second floor a glance every now and again. Maybe, Charlie thought, I’m as much a mystery to him as this whole ordeal is to me.
Charlie watched without concern until the butler stopped and scrutinized the front driver’s side tire. The butler walked out of Charlie’s sight line only to return moments later with a jack. Charlie got curious. The butler placed the jack and began to crank up the car. Charlie was impressed. If this guy checks the tires he is due a tip, he thought.
