After the Rain

by Philip Cox

  ‘What was all that about?’ asked Craig. ‘Looks like a trip to the diner, folks. Are you telling the whole town?’

  ‘Sort of. Something’s not right. It’s more or less what Sanchez and that waitress told us, but still doesn’t sit right with me.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Don’t know. Can’t put my finger on it. But how likely does it seem to you that a girl, late teens, early twenties gets stood up by her boyfriend, then she attaches herself to four total strangers and takes a twenty or so mile trip to some bar, then picks up a total stranger. And how does she get home?’

  ‘Good point,’ said Craig. ‘Hold on a moment.’

  Craig left the car and went back into the workshop. He came out after a minute.

  ‘What happened then?’ asked Ben as Craig got back into the car.

  ‘I asked that guy – Billy – how they all got from the diner.’

  ‘And how did they?’

  ‘All in one of the guys’ car.’

  ‘Five of them would fit in a normal car.’

  ‘I know. I just wanted to make sure.’

  ‘How did he react? When you asked him?’

  ‘When I asked him? As soon as he saw me come back in, if looks could kill...’ Craig said.

  ‘How did he take the question?’ asked Ben.

  ‘He reacted the same way as he did outside. He just stared at me while he answered. Weird.’

  Ben put the car into Drive. ‘Well that answers how they all got here. It wouldn’t do any harm going to the diner. I just wanted him to know we were going there, you know; so he knew we were going to verify what he told us.’

  ‘Like you said, wouldn’t hurt. So it’s back to the 27, then north,’ said Craig.

  Ben drove the car out of the forecourt, turned right onto Third Street and headed towards the highway.

  As they turned onto Third, Billy Loomis came out of the workshop. He watched them drive away, took a cell phone out of a pocket and speed dialled a number.

  Chapter Ten

  CRAIG LOOKED AT his watch. ‘Just gone two,’ he said, ‘Might as well go up to the diner now: we could get something to eat and ask around.’

  ‘Why not?’ Ben waited for a gap in traffic, made a U turn, and headed back to the 27 highway.

  The main highway was elevated most of the way to their exit; they drove down the ramp, and the green road sign clearly marked the direction they should take. Once they were on the Seminole County Road, it was just a case of following the long straight road.

  ‘Can’t really take a wrong turn,’ Ben muttered as he selected cruise control.

  In contrast to the elevated concrete of the interstate, this was a much older road; straight as a die, it seemed to follow the edge of bushed and swamp land. Ten minutes had passed before they saw another vehicle, a gas tanker driving in the other direction.

  ‘No,’ answered Craig as he stared out of his window at the yellow brown bushes. He glanced at his phone. ‘I wouldn’t want to break down here. No signal.’

  ‘Swell.’

  A couple of miles later the road opened up both sides as they passed a rest area. It had seen better days: in fact it looked as if it had not been used for the purpose for which it was intended for some time. There were two old picnic tables, and a hut which in a former life must have been a filling station or at least a restroom.

  Ben slowed down slightly to check out the area. ‘Jesus! Look at that!’ he said, quickly pointing over to the side of the hut.

  Craig glanced over his shoulder, just in time to see the tail of an alligator disappearing into the swamp. ‘The alligator?’

  ‘Yes. Didn’t you see it?’

  ‘Ben. We are in Florida. You get alligators here.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose you do. Just a bit surprised to see one.’

  ‘I don’t think you see them on every street corner.’

  ‘What are you supposed to do if you come face to face with one?’

  ‘I think the best thing is not to come face to face with one. But I’ve heard they are surprisingly docile.’

  ‘Not on the Animal Planet channel, they’re not.’

  ‘I remember reading they normally avoid contact with humans. If they see one, they will hiss a bit and back away. Unless their young are about, then they can be aggressive. So like I say, surprisingly docile.’

  ‘Do they know that?’

  ‘Does who know what?’

  ‘Do the alligators know they are surprisingly docile?’

  ‘Let’s not put it to the test. What does that sign say?’

  ‘Entering Seminole County. Good. We must be nearly there.’

  ‘Let’s keep our eyes peeled for the diner.’

  ‘What is a Seminole?’ asked Ben.

  ‘I think it’s something to do with Red Indians,’ answered Craig. ‘Look: Diner - 5 miles.’

  They drove past a dilapidated sign indicating they would soon be at the diner. In keeping with the run down and neglected feel of the road, sun bleached light blue paint was peeling off the post. The neon sign was smashed in several places, not appearing to have been lit in a long time. ‘Five miles to go then,’ said Ben.

  They drove under an elevated section of highway and the road took a smooth left bend, the first they had encountered since they left the interstate. Another underpass, not a highway this time as a freight train thundered overhead, two black and orange diesel locomotives slowly pulling a train of container wagons.

  A brief bend to the right, and they came across a diner. It was something from the fifties, but had been well looked after: the ribbed chrome sides gleamed in the sun. It was clearly a popular place: two trucks and eight or nine cars, Ben estimated; as one car pulled out, another turned in, coming from the right.

  ‘Busy place,’ said Craig. ‘Not what I was expecting.’

  ‘No, nor me. Perhaps it means the food’s good.’

  ‘Let’s eat first, and then we can see who the best person to ask is,’ said Craig as they climbed up the two short steps to the diner doors.

  The diner did not seem as busy as the number of vehicles outside seemed to suggest: Ben and Craig easily found a booth table by the window, giving them an uninterrupted view of the still very quiet Seminole County Road.

  The diner could seat around fifty people when full; that afternoon it held about twenty-five. Two waiters were servicing the tables; four men, looking like truck drivers, were sitting at the counter eating. A chubby red faced Hispanic was behind the counter, dressed in white overalls, cooking.

  They ordered their food: Ben chose a barbeque pork burger with fries washed down with a coke; Craig had a chicken salad with Gatorade. Five minutes after ordering a waiter brought the food over. He looked to be of Native American ancestry.

  The diner’s remote location seemed not to be an obstacle to business: during the ninety minutes or so Ben and Craig took to eat their unhurried late lunch there was a regular but not rushed procession of customers. The diner was never really busy - there were always free seats, but it seemed that once one customer left or one car or truck drove away, a replacement arrived.

  ‘Popular place,’ mumbled Ben, through a mouthful of barbequed pork.

  Craig nodded as he drank some Gatorade. ‘It must have a good reputation in the area. The food’s bloody good. And not expensive.’

  They declined dessert, but accepted the offer of coffee. By the time they were saying yes to their second refill, it was starting to get quieter. The sun was beginning to drop, and the shadows outside were getting longer.

  ‘Anything else I can get you?’ the waiter asked, as he poured out their coffees.

  ‘No, thanks, just the check, please,’ said Craig.

  A few moments later the waiter brought a till slip over. ‘I’ll take care of that.’ Craig took, it, briefly checked it, and gave the waiter a twenty dollar bill. ‘No change,’ he said.

  Thanking them, the waiter began to clear the dirty plates from one of the neighbouring ta
ble. Craig leaned over to him. ‘Not so busy now?’

  The waiter turned round, and glanced at the clock. ‘It’ll be quieter now, till about seven. Then it’ll be really busy.’

  ‘How long are you open for?’ Ben enquired.

  ‘We’re open 24 hours,’ the waiter said, stacking the plates up, ‘but we get busy periods and quieter ones.’

  ‘I don’t know if you could help us,’ Craig asked. He had taken a couple of bills from his wallet and was thumbing them.

  The waiter glanced around and sat down at the empty table next to theirs.

  ‘We’re trying to trace a friend of ours,’ Ben continued, ‘and we think he might have been with a few friends up here one evening.’

  ‘What was your friend like?’ the waiter asked, facing Ben, but looking at the bills Craig was fingering.

  ‘Well, we have been told somebody he was with – a girl – was up here two weeks back. She came here on her own, but met up with a group of five or six, and left with them.’

  The waiter thought for a minute. ‘No, don’t reckon so. What was she like?’

  ‘Er, early twenties, I think, about five feet six, shoulder length dark hair –’

  ‘Wearing black leather trousers and jacket,’ Craig cut in.

  The waiter shook his head. ‘No, sorry. That could be anybody. Most of the kids who come in here dress like that. Must be some kinda uniform if you gotta bike.’

  ‘No, she didn’t have a bike,’ said Craig. She left with those others in their car.’

  Ben had a thought. ‘Did anybody leave a bike here?’

  ‘Don’t think so. Hold on, I’ll ask Raoul.’

  He looked up to the counter and called out ‘Raoul!’

  The chef looked up. ‘¿Qué pasa?’

  ‘¡No hay problema! ¡Acá!’

  Raoul muttered something under his breath, and came round the counter over to the table. ‘¿Qué?’

  ‘Inglés,’ said the waiter. ‘These gentlemen want to ask you something. Dinero.’

  Raoul glanced down at Craig’s hand. ‘Yes, gentlemen?’

  ‘A couple of weeks ago,’ Ben began, ‘did you see a girl, mid-twenties, dark hair, black leather jacket and trousers, come in here on her own, meet up with five or so others, and leave with them?’

  Raoul shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sorry, señor, as you can see, it gets very very busy in here. We get lots of young people with bikes here. I can’t remember every single one.’

  Craig pulled out one of the photos he had of Adam and showed it to Raoul and then to the waiter. ‘Do you remember seeing him?’

  They both shook their heads. ‘Sorry, no.’ Raoul shrugged again.

  ‘No problem,’ said Craig. ‘But if he or that girl come in again, and you do recognize them – either of you – can you call me on this number?’ He wrote down his cell phone number on a napkin and gave it to Raoul, with a five dollar bill.

  Raoul looked at the number and put the napkin into his breast pocket. Craig gave the waiter a napkin with his number as well as a five.

  ‘Sure thing, señor,’ Raoul said, and walked back to behind the counter.

  ‘Sure thing, sure thing,’ the waiter repeated, and carried on clearing away crockery.

  ‘I don’t think there’s much more we can do here,’ said Craig, checking his watch. ‘Let’s get back to the apartment. By the time we get back, it’ll be half seven, eight o’clock, and I can give my father a call.’

  It was almost dark when they pulled away, this time with Craig in the driving seat. The drive up had seemed eerie in the sunlight; now it was dark, pitch dark, almost creepy. All they could see in front of them was the beam from their headlights; insects flew past Craig’s line of vision: some met their end splattered on the windscreen, others escaped.

  ‘What’s that?’ Craig squinted as he could see two red pinpricks in the black distance. As they got closer they could see the two tail lights: they were going past the abandoned picnic area and a vehicle was parked there.

  ‘Just stopped for a quick one, I expect,’ Craig said.

  ‘I guess so. Not much chance of being disturbed.’ Ben turned round in his seat to look back at the lights, now two white pinpricks. ‘Can’t see the lights bouncing up and down, though.’

  They both laughed as Ben turned round to face forwards again.

  Had Ben turned round two seconds later, he would have seen the two white pinpricks move slightly to the left as if to join the carriageway. They carried on back down the Seminole County Road, unaware of the two white lights, which were now more than pinpricks.

  Craig glanced briefly into the rear view mirror. ‘You must be joking,’ he said.

  Ben swung round again. ‘What the –’

  The two white lights were rapidly becoming larger and larger, and in the red glow from the Fusion’s tail lights, Ben could just make out the image of a larger vehicle, not a truck, but certainly a bigger car than theirs.

  ‘Just overtake, for Christ’s sake,’ Craig said impatiently.

  But the other vehicle seemed to have no intention of overtaking; now it was about two feet behind them. Ben could make out the outline of the car, he thought he could see a Ford badge on the front, but could not be sure. It was too dark to see through the windscreen and who was driving. He could, however, make out the chrome bars on the front of the car.

  Sixty, sixty-five, seventy, seventy-five: no matter how fast Craig drove, their pursuer was still locked onto them. Lucky the road’s dead straight, Ben thought.

  Then white lights from something travelling north sped past them; this made no difference to the car behind.

  ‘We must be near the main highway soon,’ said Ben.

  ‘Yeah, that means slowing down for the turn,’ replied Craig grimly, ‘and that guy’s gonna be right into us.’

  It happened before they got to the interstate. The car behind had narrowed the small gap. There was an almighty bang from the rear of the Fusion, and the car shook as if it was a child’s toy and the child had thrown it across the room.

  ‘Fuck!’ they both cried out in unison, Ben holding onto the door handle with one hand and the dashboard with the other, Craig tightly gripping the steering wheel, fighting to keep the car on the highway. It swerved slightly, but he was able to control the wheels enough to stop the car going off the road.

  Ben turned round again: the other car had dropped behind slightly, and was about ten feet away. ‘The bastard’s pulling back for another go!’ he called out. They braced themselves for the second impact.

  It came, harder than the first: Craig’s knuckles were white as he clenched tightly onto the steering wheel. The car veered slightly to the right; they could feel the rougher ride on the nearside wheels as they partially left the road, and the shriek from the brakes as he fought to maintain control of the Fusion. Still clutching, he turned the wheel slightly and got back onto the blacktop.

  ‘And again!’ Ben called out, turning round once more. The other car dropped back twenty, maybe thirty feet. ‘Here he comes again!’

  Through the closed windows and the noise of their engine, they could hear the screech of the other car’s wheels as it lunged forward.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE INTERIOR OF the Fusion was brightly lit from the headlamps, now on full beam, of the vehicle behind, as it rapidly narrowed the gap between them. Craig was now doing almost eighty, but this made no difference. They braced themselves again for a third impact. Ben momentarily glanced at the rear view mirror which was now filled with light, and they both prepared for the blow.

  It never came. Two feet or so away from their tail, with a scream of brakes the other car veered to the left and shot past them, the driver keeping his hand down on the horn as the two cars drove parallel. The two red tail lights grew smaller and smaller, and shortly disappeared altogether. Craig dropped down to sixty; the other car must have been doing a hundred at least.

  ‘I need to pull over,’ Craig said quietly, as he moved the car
so it was slightly over the grass verge and stopped. He looked at his hands: they were shaking.

  ‘What the hell was that about?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Did you see the driver?’

  ‘No, it was too dark. And I think the windscreen was tinted.’

  ‘That was deliberate,’ said Craig. ‘He was trying to drive us off the road. Into that fucking swamp.’ He rested his forehead on the steering wheel.

  Ben rubbed the back of his neck: it ached slightly. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘What you mean, you don’t think so? He accidentally ran into us, did he? Two, three times?’

  ‘No, I don’t mean it was an accident. It was deliberate all right. But I caught a glimpse of the front of it: it was a bloody big car, or a small truck or something. It had those steel bar things on the front.’

  ‘Yeah? So what?’

  ‘So a car or whatever that size could have easily run us off the road if it wanted. Unless it had a really crap driver. Which is unlikely.’

  Craig sat back in his seat and looked at Ben. ‘So what are you saying?’

  ‘I think, yes, it was deliberate. You remember, we first saw the lights when we drove past that old picnic area? As soon as we got past, it pulled into the road. Like whoever was driving, was waiting for us.’

  ‘Why, though?’

  ‘I think it was a warning. Like I said, a car that size could easily knock us off, especially at the speeds we were going at. I think somebody was trying to send us a message.’

  ‘Well, we certainly got the message,’ said Craig. ‘Only thing is, we don’t know what the message is.’

  ‘I think it’s obvious,’ Ben said.

  ‘Go on, I’m listening.’

  ‘We’ve been here, what – a day and a half? This is our first full day.’

  ‘Nearly our last.’ Craig said sardonically.

  Ben shook his head. ‘No, no, you’re wrong. We’ve spent all day talking to the police, the guys at Shots, the biker guy – Billy Loomis – and up at the diner. We’ve looked at the CCTV tapes from that evening.’

  ‘So you think we’re being warned off?’