Willobee's World

by Wendell Vanderbilt Fountain

  Trent got behind the wheel of the truck, and spun it violently around until it was pointing into the direction from which they had travelled and stopped abruptly.

  “Hey, Donnie-boy, I ought ta take my two Benjamins back, but if this truck gits me to Las Cruces, I guess that’s a fair deal. I’ll make shor ya can locate this thing without too much trouble. Ya liable to catch cold runnin’ ’round without britches and shoes. Before I forgit, my name’s Willobee. If any of ya fellas wanna look me up some time, I live in Oatman, Arizona!” He yelled, spraying dirt and gravel high into the air as the pickup fishtailed down the road.

  The four of them walked a little way, began whining about stepping on rocks, cussed the name of Willobee over and over again, and stopped to tend to their tender feet.

  “The rest of you guys can just write this off as a rotten deal gone bad, but I ain’t gonna forget the name Willobee or Oatman, Arizona. At some point, that sonofabitch’s gonna pay. I’ll even the score with Mister Willobee,” Donnie said resolutely.

  As Trent made his way back to the main highway, he concentrated on finding Interstate 10 which would take him to Las Cruces. He knew he knew it was a circuitous route, but he believed, from past experiences, that Las Cruces would have a Greyhound Bus Station with robust scheduling where he could get a ticket to Phoenix and then on to Kingman, Arizona. Trent took an exit off I-10 about mid-town. He stopped at a convenience store, got change for a pay phone, a cup of coffee, and asked about the bus station. He was directed to Thorpe Road where he found the Greyhound Bus Station and purchased a one-way ticket. He was familiar with Liberty Truck Stop in Phoenix where he might be able to hitch a ride with a fellow trucker as far as Kingman. He wasn’t too concerned about the authorities, because how were those four losers going to explain their intentions for taking him into the isolated area in which he took the pickup? He left the truck in front of the building, and went to find a pay phone from which to call Haylee. He dialed her number. When she picked up, he was thrilled at the sound of her voice.

  “Haylee-Girl, it’s really good to hear ya.”

  “Trent, I’ve been worried sick!”

  “Don’t go ta frettin’ none. I’m okay, I gotta bus ticket to Phoenix, and I should be home in a coupla days.”

  “Why’s it takin’ so long?” She asked.

  “It’s a purdy involved story. I’ll tell ya all ’bout it when I git back.”

  “It seems like ya’ve been gone forever.”

  “I know, it does ta me, too, but another forty-hours not that bad.”

  “I guess not, but it’ll still seem like an eternity to me,” she said.

  “We got lots ta talk about and plans to make. How’s Kit doin’?”

  “Mom’s fine, but she’s been worried ’bout ya.”

  “Sorry ta worry ’er,” he said, feeding the phone more quarters, “the good Lord willin’, I won’t have ta do that much longer. Mah bus don’t leave for another two hours.”

  “Where are ya anyway?” Haylee asked.

  “Las Cruces, New Mexico.”

  “I’m not even gonna ask how’d ya get there,” she said.

  “Good, ’cause that’s ’nother long story.

  “Just want ya to know, I love ya, Trent.”

  “That’s somethin’s that’s kept me goin’ over the past few weeks. ’Cause, sweetheart, I love you, too. I better be hangin’ up for now. Gotta git some chow in mah gnawin’ gut before the hound heads down the track.”

  “Okay… I know you’re hungry… I can’t imagine what our grocery bills are goin’ to be like, but be careful, Trent, see ya soon, sweetheart.”

  After they ended their conversation, Trent did visit a fast-food joint next door. As he ate, he doubted that Donnie and the boys had made it back to civilization. He figured it should take them at least four hours to get help, and that should give him plenty of time to be on his way to Phoenix. Besides, since Donnie Gardner was no stranger to the law, he couldn’t imagine them coming to his rescue with any enthusiasm or exuberance.

  A few minutes after returning to the station, Trent boarded the bus and stretched out for a nap. He had not even dosed off before being startled by an out of control child who had left his irresponsible parent and decided he wanted to pull Trent’s hair. Trent quickly sat up in his seat.

  “Hey, kid, get the hell back ta ya momma!” Trent said in a nasty tone.

  The little boy began crying and ran down the aisle to his mother, and she rattled off something in Spanish, while giving Trent the evil eye. He thought to himself, if I ever have a kid, it’ll know better’n ta bother strangers. After the little boy left, Trent attempted again to get a little shuteye, but he found that to be impossible, because the driver was always announcing each stop. First they stopped in Deming, then Lordsburg, and finally Tucson before nearing the station in Phoenix. A young man sitting quietly by the window addressed Trent.

  “Sorry you couldn’t get any sleep. I’ve been on these buses since Rapid City, South Dakota, and I’m worn out from all the noise,” he said.

  “Yeah, I oughtta know better’n ta try ta git rest on one of these hounds,” Trent said, “Rapid City home for ya?”

  “Yes, it is, I grew up there. I’m just visiting my aunt and uncle in Phoenix,” he said.

  “Mah name’s Trent Willobee,” he said, extending his hand, “I still got a ways to go.”

  “I’m Katon Quill,” Katon reciprocated.

  “I know I’m sposed to not talk politics, but I got some strong feelin’s “bout this here upcomin’ presidential election. You look like one of them smart millenniums, and I keep hearin’ that young folks like you’re gonna be votin’ for the Clinton woman,” Trent said.

  “Mr. Willobee, I can’t speak for others my age, but I’m gonna vote for Donald Trump, because we need a successful businessman to run the country. From the history I’ve been readin’, it’s politicians that put us in the mess we’re in, and Mr. Trump isn’t a politician.”

  “Katon, what ya think ’bout this upcomin’ first debate?”

  “I’m not sure… Mr. Trump has said all of the moderators, including this first one, are out to get him,” Katon replied, “but from what I’ve been readin’ online, there’s gonna be a lotta voter fraud by the Democrats.”

  “Ya must be a college boy ’cause ya seem ta know a plenty,” Trent said.

  “No, sir, I’m not a college student at the moment, but there’s a lot of history around Mount Rushmore and the whole Black Hills area. So, I guess we seem to be a little more in touch with the country.”

  “How old are ya anyways, if ya don’t mind me askin’?”

  “Twenty and countin’.”

  “Sounds like me, I’m thirty-nine and holdin,’ Trent chuckled, “and I been holdin’ for a while.”

  “Well, I see we’ve arrived, Mr. Willobee,” Katon said, looking out the window.

  “Ya makin’ me feel old with that mister stuff,” Trent smiled, “Trent works for me.”

  “Hope the rest of your trip is good, Trent,” Katon said, smiling as he filed down the aisle.

  “Have a good time with them relatives,” Trent retorted, standing to disembark.

  The first thing he did upon arrival at the Phoenix station was to catch a cab to the Liberty Truck Stop. He knew a lot of the help and quite a few drivers, so he decided to sit at the counter and drink coffee with the hopes someone going his way would come in. Thirty-minutes passed, then an hour, still no one. He was about to leave and hail a cab to take him back to the bus station, when an old acquaintance, a ghost from the past, Serile Lutz, whom he hadn’t seen in years, came strolling in. He was a happy sort and somewhat carefree. Soon as he saw Trent sitting at the counter, he came over and slapped him on the back.

  “Good grief, man, where’n the hell ya been?” Serile asked.

  “On the road, mostly,�
� Trent replied with a smile, “Let me buy ya a cup a coffee.”

  “Not necessary, gotta get somethin’ to eat. Mind if I hold this here counter down with ya?”

  “No, no, sit down. Serile, it’s really been a long time. How ya been doin’?” Trent asked.

  “I was doin’ good until last year, ’til my wife up and left me.”

  “I’m real sorry ta hear that, ’cause you two were married a long time even back when we first met,” Trent responded.

  “Yeah, we were hitched for nearly twenty-seven years.”

  “Do ya know what went wrong?” Trent asked.

  “Yep, I do. Trent, I screwed up. Ya see there’s this young thing I got tied up with at a truck stop between here and Kingman. She’s one of them women that usually takes care of us truckers, if ya know what I mean. Well, Kathy found out ’bout her on my iphone, and all hell broke loose. By the time I made my run and got back home, everything I owned was just scattered all over in the front yard.”

  “Damn, sounds rough! I guess what I hear ya sayin’s, this woman’s… I hate to say it…a prostitute.”

  “Well, she started out that way ’til I came along, now she don’t do that kinda thing. She waits for me, and the fact is that’s where I’m headin’ now. I wanna surprise her. I’ll spend the night, and in the mornin’ go on to Barstow and pick up a load,” Serile said.

  “Then that means you’re gonna pass through Kingman,” Trent said.

  “More’n that, I got a delivery in Kingman.”

  “Could I hitch a ride with ya?” Trent asked.

  “Hitch a ride? Where’s your rig?”

  “It got totaled in New Mexico.”

  “Too bad, too damn bad, but if you wanna ride along, that’d be great!” Serile said.

  “It’s just I ain’t been back home to Oatman in quite a while. It’d be good to sleep in mah own bed again.”

  “Understand, especially since I don’t have one no more. When I’m done eatin’, will ya be ready?” Serile asked.

  “Shor, I’m in the mood for some hot apple pie mahself. You git whatever you want, “cause this check’s on me.” Trent said.

  “That’s mighty kind of ya, thanks.”

  “Mah pleasure, old friend, that’s the least I can do.”

  They ate and then piled into the cab and headed toward Kingman. As they traveled, swapping road stories, they had a lot of laughs. About 20 miles east of Kingman, a large illuminated sign in the distance, Trucker’s Roadside Stop, came into full view against the backdrop of a moonless night.

  “That’s where we goin’,” Serile said.

  “Sound’s good.”

  “Juanita, my girlfriend’s, gotta trailer in the back of the place. She’s really gonna get a kick outta seein’ me so soon,” Serile said with a big smile, “I’m not due back for another week.”

  “Will I git to meet ’er?” Trent asked.

  “Sure, but not right off. First, I’m gonna spend a little time with her. If ya don’t mind, ya can either stay in the truck or go into the Roadside. Fact is, ya can sleep in here tonight. It’ll save ya a dollar or two,” Serile said.

  “I ’preciate that, I need a good night’s sleep, but before I turn in, maybe I’ll spend a little time in the place,” Trent said.

  Serile headed for the back of the truck stop, and Trent went in and sat down at the counter and ordered a cup of coffee. There was a TV blaring, so he sat there viewing the news. It seemed to be wall to wall coverage about the 15th Anniversary of 9/11. The two candidates for president were present, Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton; however, Mrs. Clinton had to depart early, because she became ill. They kept showing her being physically supported by handlers. Just before a black SUV came to pick her up, her knees buckled, and she was literally dragged into the vehicle, and in the process, lost one of her shoes. Later, other film clips showed her waving to people, and the reporter said she had pneumonia and was fine now. Even though, her opponent had said time and again that she didn’t have the stamina or the strength to be president, the sycophant media continued to promulgate her prevarications.

  As Trent was finishing his second cup of coffee, he heard loud voices emanating from outside, so he quickly paid his ticket and went out to see what the commotion was all about. The lights of the truck stop revealed a half-naked man pointing a gun at Serile as Serile was backing away.

  “Mister, don’t be pointin’ that thing at mah friend, ’cause I’m gonna have to drop ya where ya stand,” Trent said, taking aim at the stranger.

  “This is none of your business, fella!” The man answered.

  “Let’s just say, I’m makin’ it mah business, ’cause a split-tail ain’t worth dyin’ for, besides, she’ll never wear that thing out, so drop the damn gun or I’ll drop you, now!”

  “All right!” he yelled and dropped the pistol.

  “Ya done the right thing, sport, ’cause I’d hated to have to shut ya lights out,” Trent said lowering his weapon, “let’s go, Serile.”

  Trent and Serile slowly backed away as the stranger returned to the trailer. They climbed into the truck’s cab, and Serile was visibly shaken. Trent noticed tears running down his face.

  “Sorry ’bout that, but these things happen,” Trent said, looking away, “let me drive the rest the way to Kingman, okay?”

  “Yeah, maybe ya better,” Serile replied and they changed places.

  “Trent pulled out on I-40 heading west. It was quiet in the cab, neither spoke another word for about 15 miles, then Serile broke the silence.

  “Trent I appreciate what ya did back there.”

  “Nothin’ but what ya’d done for me.”

  “I had no idea you were armed,” Serile said.

  “Nobody needs ta know, ’til I have ta use mah weapon.”

  “I’m glad you had that gun, ’cause that sonofabitch might’ve shot me. When I used my key to get in, I didn’t hear nothin’ ’til he jumped outta bed wavin’ his pistol at me. That really shook me up.”

  “Anytime somebody surprises ya with a gun in ya face, ya got reason ta be rattled.”

  “I’m so disappointed in Juanita, it’s hard to talk about,” Serile said.

  “No need ta talk, you just sit back and clear ya mind.”

  Nothing else was said between them until they saw the first sign for Kingman as they began approaching a series of off ramps until Exit 53 came into view.

  “Take this one, Trent.”

  Serile directed him to pull in at a Flying J Truck Stop.

  “Need fuel?” Trent asked.

  “Yeah, better filler up for tomorrow.”

  They both got out of the cab, and before Serile started pumping gas, Trent asked him if he could use his cell phone, and Serile handed it to him. He called Haylee.

  “Hey there, Haylee-Girl, I’m in Kingman. I know it’s gittin’ late, but ya think ya could pick me up at the Flying J Truck Stop?”

  “Dear God, I’m so glad to hear your voice! Will I pick ya up?! I’m not that strong, but I’ll be there in less than an hour,” she giggled.

  “Hold on there, sweetheart, that’s a dark and windin’ mountain road. Ya don’t speed or take no chances.”

  “Don’t worry ’bout me, I’m on my way!” She exclaimed excitedly.

  Trent handed the phone back to Serile and suggested they have a cup of coffee while he waited for Haylee. After Serile topped off the tank, they two of them went into the truck stop.

  “I know how this kinda thing hurts, so I hope you stay in yor rig overnight before goin’ on ta Barstow. Ya know when yor drivin’ ya gotta keep ya wits ’bout ya.”

  “Yeah, gotta clear my head and put this stuff behind me. Hopefully, I’ll get some shuteye before mornin’,” Serile said.

  Trent did his best to keep him focused on other things than Juanita. They continued s
wapping road stories for about an hour when Trent checked the clock behind the counter.

  “Haylee shoulda been here by now. I’m gittin’ a little worried. I’ll be right back, think I’ll take a walk outside.” Trent said.

  Trent stood in the night air, wondering what he should do. He decided to wait another 15 minutes and then call the state police.

  “No sign of ’er, huh?” Serile asked, sipping his coffee.

  “She could’ve easily been here by now. I know she left as soon as we ended the call. She was excited ’bout seein’ me. I’m gonna call the cops in a bit if she ain’t showed up.”

  “Trent, I’m probably not gonna get much sleep tonight anyway, so why don’t we take a ride down old sixty-six and check to see if she might’ve had car trouble?” Serile asked.

  “I really don’t wanna put ya out none, but that’s mighty kind of ya.”

  “Heck, it won’t take long, and it’ll put your mind at ease.”

  “Okay, but I’m gonna tell Marcus behind the counter to be on the lookout for ’er.”

  “Good idea, and then let’s shove off,” Serile said.

  Minutes later Serile and Trent piled into the truck’s cab and headed for Route 66 between Kingman and Oatman.

  “Man, I haven’t driven this route in years, and this road is not fit for a semi,” Serile said, “besides, I don’t like two-lane highways,” taking his third hairpin turn.

  “Yeah, I know, but it’s the closest way for me to get to I-40,” Trent explained, “I just creep along, ’cause a lotta time it’s still dark when I leave home and top speed’s only ’bout thirty-five.”

  As they rounded another snake curve, in the distance red and blue lights flashed against the pitch of the night. They were only able to travel at about 20 miles per hour. It seemed to take forever to get to that location. Serile pulled over on the shoulder of the road and got out and placed flares around the truck. While he was busy with the flares, Trent was already trying to find out what happened. As soon as he saw the flipped over car, he knew it belonged to Haylee, and his heart sank. The vehicle was hanging precariously over a drop-off. There was no guard rail, just rocks and the cavern below. Trent approached one of the officers on the scene.