Henry Morgan - The drivers

"Don't you worry 'bout me," she warned him. "You want to worry about yourself if you're going to mess with Lincoln and his mates."

She tapped the old ash from a joint into an empty lager can then held out the smouldering cone and motioned for him to take it. Peter ignored her actions, went across, moved away some magazines and sat on an old dry stain of a long forgotten drink. Once again she offered the cannabis cone and this time he took it. The smell of the burning weed was not unfamiliar. He'd taken more than the odd tote during his college days though he had long since given up tobacco. The dry vapour almost fetched a cough much to Melanie's delight. Peter's next pull was more pleasant and he experienced the same relaxed feelings which had so often accompanied the evenings spent with old college friends.

Satisfied, he returned the joint to her.

"You know, you don't look like the type of man who would mix with the likes of Lincoln." Her voice was soft, almost concerned. "What do you really want with him?"

Peter reached for a bottle off the stub burned coffee table.

"He's got something of mine. I want it back."

She took a tote, rubbed smoke from her eye and handed him the joint. On the record player, the distant sound of crashing waves and the splatter of rain signalled the start of Riders On The Storm.

"It's your woman, isn't it?"

Peter took a mouthful of cider and nodded.

"Yes, I believe she's with him"

Melanie took the bottle from him.

"How long?" she asked.

"Two months. She phoned her sister to say she'd run off with some bloke but I heard he'd left her with this man, Lincoln"

Jim Morrison's lyrics floated across. 'Into this house we're born. Into this world we're thrown.'

"I just want her back with me," said Peter tearfully. "With me! Back with me!"

'There's a killer on the road,' continued Jim. 'His brain is squirming like a toad.'

"They won't let her back," Melanie whispered.

Peter looked down at the girl who was now resting her head in his lap.

"What do you mean?"

She held up her arms. Around both her wrists were two thick red scars, like crimson bracelets.

"That's what I mean."

'If you give this man a ride,' sung Jim. 'Sweet memory will die. Killer on the road'

A look of horror swept across Peter's face.

"Lincoln? He did that to you?"

She picked up the smouldering joint from the top of the empty can, then went and sat on the threadbare carpet in front of the fire to stare at the flames.

"Him and his brother." Her voice was detached and calm, as if she was trying to put distance between her and the memory of the events. "I haven't always lived like this. I was a good girl, happy. Had a tidy place near town. Away from the docks."

Her voice fell silent as she recalled memories of a more respectable existence, the job she once held in Woolworths and the dreams of blissful domesticity. Peter said nothing to disturb her, waiting until she had regained herself.

"He took it all from me, everything. Him and his sodding brother."

Feeling uncomfortable, and desperate to do something, Peter carried across another bottle and joined her on the floor. He gave her the drink then reached over to the coffee table and the other reefer, lighting it himself before handing it to her as a replacement for the one just finished.

"How did you get those marks?"

"He'd just bought his first big truck, I don't know what sort but it had lots of room in it. Room for a bunk and space for tools and other stuff. I'd met Neil, that's Lincoln, in a club, we knew each other from school and started seeing each other occasionally. Nothing serious like, just on and off. Then he told me he'd bought this wagon and asked if I wanted to go on the first run with him. I thought it would be fun."

She took a fortifying gulp of cider.

"He didn't have any offices then so he had to come and pick me up. I remember feeling so excited when this huge lorry pulled up in the street. Everyone came out on the doorstep to see what was going on. Then I climbed in the cab and his brother Colin was there which put me on a bit of a downer, but I went anyway. We'd made the first drop and I was feeling really good up there in the air looking down on all the other cars and things. Then I felt Colin's hand."

She paused and swallowed hard.

"Can you pass me a tissue?"

Peter found the box empty except for a few crumpled dried up sheets.

"Use this," he said.

She took his handkerchief to wrap around her knuckles, then supported her head with her hand, the cloth ready in case she needed it later.

"At first I thought he'd just brushed my leg by accident. But he got more persistent and daring. I didn't know what to do. We were miles from home and I was jammed between the two of them. If I said anything I'd make a scene and if I didn't I'd be egging him on. It was getting late by now and I asked when we would be setting back for home.

"Didn't I say? Lincoln laughed. We'll be on the road for a few days.

"When I looked at their faces they were looking at me and grinning their heads off, and I knew then they had planned it all. You didn't have to be a rocket scientist to work out what they had in mind, but I told them I was having none of it. Not with the two of them. I mean, I'm not that green that I didn't think me and Lincoln would probably end up doing it, that's why I was disappointed to see his brother. But I told them, I said, I'm not like that.

"They took no notice. I like it here, Colin said, and Lincoln agreed. What about me? I said. I don't fancy sleeping in a lorry."

She rubbed her eyes for the first time as her voice began to crack and Peter reached out a reassuring hand, placing it gently on her shoulder.

"There's no need to say any more."

Melanie's gaze remained firmly on the fire.

"I want to," she said. "I need to show you the type of people you're dealing with." There was a pause as she searched for the right words and phrases, those sentences which would convey the terror of her ordeal yet allow her some dignity and respect.

"Lincoln just pointed to the bunk and told me to get in there. Don't worry about Colin, he can kip down on the front seats. Tons of room on them, ain't there Col? Then he bundled me on to the bunk and got on next to me, pulling a sleeping bag over us. I thought perhaps it would be alright, covered up and everything, but he started touching me, my breasts and down below. At first I didn't mind because it was quite dark, then he told me to take my jeans down. When I said no, he told me to get them off or he would do it for me, and he meant it."

Melanie pulled desperately on the root of the joint until the smoke that swirled between her lips dimmed the memories. Without its calming effect she would be unable to recount the details.

"Did you do it?" asked Peter.

She nodded her head.

"I took them off. What else could I do? I was alone and frightened."

"Come on," eased Peter. "Don't say any more, don't torture yourself." But Melanie felt the relief of a heavy load unburdened, the urgency of a sinner in need of atonement.

"I took them off, under the quilt. And your knickers, he ordered, you can get them down as well. After I pulled them off he made a big play of unbuckling his trousers while I tried to keep the covers over me. I saw Colin looking. He wasn't saying anything, just looking and smirking, then Lincoln fell across me and I felt him nudging his way inside, pushing and fumbling until he was all the way up. While he was banging away on me he shoved my top up to get at my tits. It was so sordid, I just lay there looking at the roof of the cab with his brother grinning. A few strokes later he shot his load and climbed off to let Colin have a go. I said no but Lincoln was adamant. There was nothing I could do, I couldn't have stopped one of them let alone the two. Lincoln made me suck him off while his brother had me, then he did it again, only this time he told me what they were going to do to me. He said they were going to use me as the company pump, a slapper to pump full of spunk whenever they wanted.