Speedy saw something maybe a half mile in front of him and to his left; it looked like an artificially straight berm of earth. The berm was at a lower elevation than where Speedy was currently walking, so he could look down on it nestling among the foothills about a hundred yards off the highway. The berm was roughly square and obviously artificial even though covered in grass and dotted with a few patchy clumps of shrubbery and small trees. Its near side extended for roughly a quarter mile down the road like a fortress of mounded dirt; at thirty feet tall the sloping ramparts were too high for Speedy to see the ‘fortress’s’ interior even from above.
As he hit the flatlands an off-ramp came into view up ahead, leading to a well-lit fifty-yard gap in the center of the berm. A big rig swung off the highway and decelerated toward the opening in the berm, the engine moaning a sad song as the driver downshifted. The truck disappeared into the gap’s lit-up maw.
During a momentary lull in traffic Speedy left the highway on sudden impulse, trotting across a field of waist-high dead grass rippling in the light wind. He listened for oncoming engines on the highway behind him and he glanced back frequently to watch for approaching headlights from either direction, dropping prone in concealment as needed.
By the time he’d reached the base of the berm at least half a dozen trucks had entered or exited the gap to his left. Speedy lay in the tall grass at the bottom of the towering squared mound of grassy earth and looked up at where the long berm’s top met the sky. The berm’s edge extended horizontally beneath the moon’s loveless rays like the ramparts of an abandoned castle.
Speedy could hear the irritated grumbles of big-rig engines on the other side of the berm, as well as muffled sounds of other activities he couldn’t identify. He reared up to look back one more time at the highway, searching for pursuit and seeing none.
He began climbing the steep slope, staying amongst the thicker patches of grass and vegetation as best he could. At the berm’s skyline he came to a patch of bushes big enough to actually conceal him, and dropped prone to slither into the midst of it. Speedy leopard-crawled forward on his belly, knees and forearms until he could peep over the rim of the berm and spy out what was on the other side.
The grassy berm Speedy lay atop was only one side of a huge hollow square. All four sides were level mounds of brush- and tree-dotted earth ten yards tall, a quarter-mile long and perhaps a hundred feet wide. The berm Speedy was lying on was the only one with an opening in it.
Filling the hollow center was a billiard table expanse of cracked pitch-patched asphalt. A large one-story building like an oversized drive-in theater snack bar squatted in the exact middle of the lot, covered by enough neon to blind a pimp and surrounded by concentric groupings of parked big-rig semis and trailers. A miserly grid of parking lot lights provided isolated islands of illumination.
It was a truck stop.
Speedy looked back along the way he’d come, surprised at the actual distance he’d had to slink in from Highway 101 now that he could view his route from higher ground. The intermittent flow of highway traffic continued in both directions back there, indifferent to his paranoia.
He still saw no sign of pursuit but he had no faith that Buck hadn’t dimed him, had no reason to think CHP wasn’t about to hunt up his back trail any minute sweeping and scouring the highways and byways for him. It wouldn’t take much effort on their parts to sweep up a lone wolf like himself once he was actually on their radar.
Even though he was in a hella hurry to get home to the Bay Area, it was the shrewder move to stay off the highway for a little while. Speedy studied the truck stop inside the berm, casing it, profiling all the comings and goings.
The wind sighed through the foliage he was hiding under. The full moon’s rays were muted to a dappling as they shone through the rustling branches, painting him and the ground he laid on in a cool, dim, hypnotic pattern of shifting spots of light tinged by pale reds and yellows from the terminal’s neon. Exhaustion blindsided him and sucker punched him into oblivion as his dimming gaze watched the trucks with predatory intentness.
Speedy slept.
He woke just before sunrise. At first he thought it was just his chattering teeth and overall shivering that had shaken him into wakefulness. He was as sodden with discomfort as a hung-over junkie to be sure. The clammy pre-dawn air and the stone-hard ground he’d laid on had sucked away the body heat from his bones like giant leeches.
The moon was down. Although the horizon was perceptibly brightening with the approaching sun, most of the light illuminating his surroundings still spilled up from below, from the lights of the truck stop on the other side of the berm’s ‘skyline.’ Those artificial lights’ pale glow silhouetted the shrubbery surrounding him.
Speedy sensed movement all around him and froze as best as he could given his shivering; he breathed as shallow as possible, mouth open to improve his hearing. He’d been sleeping on his belly, and was facing the ground as he opened his eyes. He kept his gaze pointed downward as he forced his eyes unfocused, willing his peripheral vision to pierce the darkness around him. He had to know what was going on here; ignorance was fatal.
There were things moving around him, lots of them; small cat-sized blobs hopping about or sitting still. Once more Speedy was reminded of just how alien all this was to a city boy like him – he had no idea what to make of any of it. The hairs on the back of his neck rose and stood to attention.
Something landed on the ground right next to him with a thump, and he rolled up fast and silent onto one elbow, his other arm shooting out to grab it in what would have been a blur if anyone had been there to watch. Something warm and small and furry dangled from his grasp, gyrating and keening frantically as it tried to get away. Speedy didn’t relax his grip despite almost freaking out himself, instead cautiously pulling it closer and squinting at it in the dim reflected light from the truck stop below.
It was only a rabbit.
Speedy lowered his arm and relaxed his grip as he lay back down on the cold ground, weak with reaction as the terrified bunny sped off. He looked up at the dimming stars and was racked by spasms of silent laughter, shaking in hilarity without making any sound that might attract lurking threats to him. The shudders of soundless laughter gradually subsided, almost painful in the necessity to keep them silent and private.
Speedy rolled over to rest on his elbow again and looked around him amidst the harmless Rabbit Kingdom, an intruder spying on them as they went about their rabbity business.
The sky had been lightening for a while and now; from behind the far berm of the truck stop, the rays of the rising sun rose to pierce the dawn sky like golden spokes. The parking lot lights snapped audibly off in the truck-stop lot on the other side of the berm, and the bunnies all hippity-hopped to whatever underground burrows they called home.
Speedy took advantage of the sunken truck stop’s relative dimness and gloom to rise from his resting place and slink down the inner face of the berm to its bottom. He straightened his disheveled clothing and scoped things out as he started across the lot.
His first impression: a lot of traffic to hide in, which was always a good thing. Trucks were grumbling and mumbling as they downshifted into or up-shifted out of the lot through the entrance. Parked trucks were bleeding their air brakes with alligator hisses. Other trucks were gunning their engines as they headed out on their trips; diesel smog belched from their twin exhausts as they accelerated from their parking slots.
The rigs were grouped in a rough semblance of order, in uneven concentric circles surrounding the truck-stop terminal building. Speedy couldn’t figure out if there was some kind of pecking order involved or if it was first-come-first-served. It was bedlam, a kind of organized chaos.
Pedestrians did not have the right-of-way here; this was Truck Land. Speedy had to dart or hop out of the path of a rolling semi more than once as he wound his way through the parked or moving big rigs. He was heading to where he figured the real action was: the wi
de single-story building dominating the center of the lot.
As he approached the terminal Speedy could see it more clearly. The building had definitely seen better days, appearing to have originally been painted a cheerful sky blue. But after decades worth of diesel soot, and given all the dead neon currently crawling across its surface, it was difficult to be sure exactly what color the walls were now.
A neutral zone seemed to exist around the terminal for a radius of maybe twenty-five yards; no trucks parked or drove within that limit. That was just about optimum pistol range, whether coincidence or not.
People were milling about the double-door entrance as he strolled up. The sign by the entrance read: ‘We Never Close.’ Truckers of all shapes and sizes were coming and going, but lots of ‘civilians’ were lurking about too; people Speedy had a hard time imagining behind the wheel of a semi.
He relaxed a little at seeing fellow outlaws. Maybe this was the year of Orwell, but here was one more confirmation that too many black holes and under-the-radar spots still existed in this world for Big Brother to ever succeed in holding full sway. These sketchy people’s presence meant that there was advantage to be sought and won here on a survival level. Once Speedy got a handle on things he could impose himself as much as he needed to on the local food chain before moving down the line.
Most of the women appeared to be on the stroll, calling out discretely to the truckers as the drivers entered or exited the terminal. Speedy saw more than one trucker stop to talk, and more than one hooker and john pair up to walk back to the trucker’s sleeper cab and conduct their business. Not all the hookers were female, either – and the boy toys were as forward and aggressive as the women.
As he came up to the doors all the riff-raff stationed there gave him the cold fish-eye as they assessed Speedy for any weakness in his game. He showed none, he hoped.
He pushed open the double doors and stopped just within to look around. Inside the entrance was a generic convenience store, typical of any gas station or Mom ‘n’ Pop: racks of chips, coolers of beer, smokes behind the counter, et cetera, ad fuckin infinitum.
A dank entrance into the further depths of the building had a hand-penciled sign over it: ‘Showers $2.50.’ Another door on the left led into what smelled and sounded like a greasy spoon diner, and Speedy’s stomach clenched in dismal reminder that he hadn’t eaten since his bite of pastrami sandwich the day before.
He remembered the loot he’d appropriated from Buck and smiled as he took a step toward the diner door.
“Don’t even think about it,” a reedy voice spoke from behind him.
Speedy glanced back to see a short brown-skinned man of indeterminate race, in filthy clothes. The man resembled an ethnic John Lennon despite his slovenly attire, right down to the Beatles mop top that needed a major manicure, and the little round granny glasses.
The look John Lennon shot over his glasses was not unfriendly and Speedy turned to face him fully with a politic expression on his own face.
“The diner’s only for truckers, man, not lizards,” ‘John Lennon’ explained. “Go ahead and try it if you don’t believe me.”
Speedy discretely studied the Citizen behind the register, whom he assumed was the proprietor: an obese tub of a man wearing a pearl-buttoned western shirt and a string tie. The proprietor had a pretty crazy trough-shaped dent in the side of his forehead. To Speedy it appeared like someone had once nailed him good there with a lead pipe or some other kind of blunt instrument. Apparently the pipe hadn’t quite done the job but the crater had never filled in. The guy was missing part of an ear too.
As Speedy watched, indecisive about testing John Lennon’s advice, the counter-man finished taking money from a trucker (for a stroke mag and a six-pack, Speedy noted). The counter-man noticed Speedy looking at him. His fat face wound up in a doughy knot and he put one hand beneath the counter as his beady eyes bored a gimlet gaze into Speedy.
Speedy felt the hint was a little overly subtle, but he sure got it. Maybe the counter-man just didn’t like people staring at that crater in his head. Speedy figured he’d be a little self-conscious about it his own self.
He returned his attention to his newfound ‘friend.’ “What’s a lizard?” Speedy asked.
“Like, a lot lizard, man. Not a trucker, just one of us as lives off of them. Catering to all the needs of the brotherhood of the road as it were.”
Speedy winced as his unrelentingly empty belly spasmed again in hunger. “So how do we eat?”
“Anything out here in the store we can buy. We just can’t sit down inside the diner with the truckers, and we can’t use the showers. No fraternizing.”
Speedy glanced once more at the less than congenial counter-man and then walked amongst the store aisles with ‘John Lennon’ discretely in tow. Speedy picked out some jerky, some barbecue chips, and an individual packet of multi-vitamins. He briefly considered getting a six-pack of beer like the trucker he’d seen before, but thought better of alcohol given the current unknowns, settling on a liter bottle of Coke.
His mouth was watering as he carried his first non-prison meal in years to the register, ignoring the full weight of the counter-man’s flared-nostriled hostile scowl. Speedy put his armful of industrial ‘food’ products on the scratched and faded linoleum next to the cash register, then pulled out the wad of cash he’d appropriated from Buck.
The counter-man’s gaze grew a little less unfriendly at the sight of money but he still didn’t quite seem to be thinking about rainbows and butterflies as he rang it all up. He failed to bag Speedy’s purchases but Speedy didn’t push it.
Speedy snagged his munchies and left the building with ‘John Lennon’ following him. Speedy’s stomach was audibly growling as he ripped open the bag of chips. But then he hesitated as he thought about how ‘John Lennon’ had schooled him in there, maybe kept him from stepping on his dick. Speedy extended the bag, giving mannerly first dibs to the smaller man.
‘John Lennon’s’ eyes widened, and his grin widened too. “What’s your name, man?”
“Speedy.”
“Well, mine’s Pavel.”
Pavel took one chip off the top and munched it. “The breaking of the bread,” he said, looking at Speedy.
Speedy caught a weird vibe and he snuck a peek at all the Lizards lurking around the door, the ones that had been giving him hard looks before. They were hanging back now like they were knuckling under to Pavel, giving him room to operate.
“C’mon,” Pavel said, walking away without looking back to see if Speedy followed.
Speedy hustled along in the wake of the shorter man without hesitation, knowing this was the main chance without even having to think about it. He was hard put to keep up he was so weak with hunger, but he wasn’t about to snivel. With effort, Speedy pulled up next to Pavel so they could walk abreast – this little man could really roll despite his bandy legs.
Pavel spoke without looking at Speedy: “Me and some friends, we got us a jungle back in the brush where we crib up. You’re welcome to kick it with us if you like.”
Speedy was agreeable despite the time pressures urging him to move along. He felt semi-comfortable with this Pavel and he needed a place to hang out for a bit anyways; a place where he could get out of sight and lie low in case any rollers came into the truck stop hunting for him.
They walked through the midst of the thickest sprawl of trucks, Pavel seemingly unconcerned at the hostile indirect looks the two got from most of the truckers. If anything the tiny bantam of a man stuck out his chest and added a swagger to his walk, his ever-present grin growing even wider like he and Speedy were a two-man parade. Speedy halfway expected a brass band to fall in behind them to celebrate and announce their progress.
One trucker was beating his Freightliner’s tires with a billy-club, checking for leaks. As Speedy and Pavel passed the trucker he favored the two men with a glance as furtive as it was mean, drubbing on the tires like he wished it was Speedy and Pavel’s
heads.
The sleeper door on another cab popped open like an escape hatch to eject a tiny blond girl with her hair in a side ponytail, wearing hot pants and a ratty fur jacket. She hopped to the ground as they approached, tucking some bills into her loose ill-fitting halter top. The trucker behind her saw Speedy and Pavel, closed the sleeper door as quickly as a barnacle swinging shut.
The little blond was the first girl Speedy had seen up close since Raising. Even the smell of her was maddening though it was obvious she hadn’t bathed in a while; there was a background scent of ‘Eau de Trucker Love’ that didn’t exactly help the ambience either. Speedy admired her brow piercing, a cute little gold hoop. He found himself actually favoring her with a goofy perv of a grin until she flicked one wild glance at him, a look with all the warmth of an ice pick sliding home.
Then she saw Pavel and her skinny face twisted into a rictus of a smile. “Hi baby.”
“Hi Rachel,” Pavel said, not slowing a bit. Rachel fell into line abreast with them. She kept Pavel between her and Speedy but Speedy wasn’t offended – she didn’t know him from Adam after all.
They reached the ragged edge of the asphalt, the trucks and truckers left behind as the trio approached a belt of brush and stunted trees snuggled in at the base of the berm. What looked like miniature canyons and draws were semi-hidden behind the canopy of foliage; the bulldozers that had put the berm together had gotten sloppy here.
Pavel stopped and turned to scan the lot for a few seconds before leading the way into the bushes at an almost stealthy pace. Speedy looked back for a second himself before bringing up the rear.
Did Pavel really think no one knew about this place? The truck stop was a goldfish bowl. Just like inside, everyone could see everything everybody else did. There were no secrets here.
The sounds of the truck stop faded as they moved through the brush. Speedy became aware of a smell, getting stronger as they moved forward. A sour smell like rotting garbage; one that started that old silent alarum inside his brain.
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