Mark Tufo - 'Til Death Do Us Part

“Forgive me, Ted,” I said, alluding to the Great One, Ted Williams, as I pulled the damn thing over my head. Odds were, if I looked hard enough, Bucky ‘Fucking’ Dent probably signed it. The only thing that saved the whole thing was his boots; I could finally rid myself of Stephanie-the-Amazonian woman’s shoes. He had boots that, while a little bigger than I needed at ten-and-a-half, would still suit me nicely.

“Here goes nothing,” I said as I stepped out from behind the dumpster. A big man easily double my size was heading my way, his clothes would have made it look like I was swimming in them. It still would have been preferable. He did not look at me as he walked past, that’s a traditional male custom, if we are within a few moments of grasping our members we do not make eye contact with males of our species. Not entirely sure why; maybe it has something to do with a small dose of homophobia or, more than likely, it’s just an intimate moment of sweet release that we do not wish to share with others.

I rounded the corner of the gas station and realized that I’d never had need to worry. There were so many truckers that it was easy to get lost in the crowd. Now what genius? I berated myself. I was there for some reason. I just had no clue what for. I circled around, catching snippets of conversations, but never really joining any of them.

“...then she said that it smelled like shit on Astroturf and I....”

“...hauling nuclear waste and dumping it on the south side of the Grand C...”

“...some eyeliner and panty hose it feels great...”

What? The guy looked like a professional wrestler and he was telling a group of five other men. I must have missed a fair amount of that conversation. I was glad I had slowed down enough to listen a little bit to the Randy Savage lookalike. I had changed direction just enough until I came upon what had to be Horatio’s rig. I’d love to say that it was because of my extraordinary detective skills, but the giant, red rig had Horatio’s Highway Haulers emblazoned in two-foot high lettering across the entire trailer—even I couldn’t have missed it. I walked up to it as if I owned it, which according to the keys that were jabbing me through my front pocket only confirmed that suspicion.

“What are the odds his last name, MY last name is Hornblower?” I asked. It was worse: Heimerdinger. “You’re kidding right?” I asked as I ran my hand over the pin striping. Horatio ‘Slight’ Heimerdinger. How many times can a kid get beat up? I hoped he didn’t have a riding partner as I stepped up on to the running board and opened the door. Well, I had to give it to ‘Slight’, he ran a tidy ship. I looked around the entire cab. It was gorgeous, then it dawned on me that I really should take it…Horatio would want me to.

“Who are you?” a voice asked tremulously, I almost fell backwards out the door.

“Department of Transportation,” I said, recovering quickly. “Doing a vehicle inspection, I’ll only be a moment.”

“Where’s Slight?” the female voice asked.

“Umm cursory dumpster inspection,” I answered. It was all I could think of on short notice.

“Why are you wearing his clothes?”

I was starting to get a little flustered that I had been so blatantly caught. I did the only thing I knew how to do, I went on the offensive. I was turning towards the sleeper portion of the cab as I was talking. “Is there a reason why you feel the need to ask so many damn questions?” Then I gasped. A young woman, more like a girl was handcuffed to a handhold. “Shit…are you alright?” I asked going back towards her. I stopped when she flinched.

“Who are you?” She asked.

“I guess I’m the guy that’s coming to save you. Do you know where the key is for those things?” I asked, pointing to her restrictive jewelry.

She was eyeing me distrustfully. “How do I know that?”

“Do you think I would be willingly wearing clothes that were three full sizes too small?”

“The cuff key is on his key ring,” she told me.

“This key ring?” I said as I tried to fish them out of my pocket, but the pants were so tight that I couldn’t even fit two fingers in to try and pull them out.

“You might want to hurry.”

“I’m trying, it’s like they’re super glued in place.”

“Horatio is on his way back.”

“Are you precognitive?” I asked.

“What? No.” She thrust her chin towards the front windshield. Horatio was surrounded by three or four other truckers. He was trying to talk, but his shattered jaw was making it difficult. However, his slender legs seemed to work just fine as a growing throng was heading our way.

“Turn away,” I told the girl, she again eyed me suspiciously but did as I asked. I undid my belt and rolled the top of my pants down so that I could get to the pocket. I ripped the pocket completely free and the keys plopped into my hand. I quickly rolled the pants back up as best I could and fumbled around until I got her cuffs off.

She rubbed her raw wrists. I saw her looking at the passenger door.

“I won’t stop you. Would you have a chance out there?”

She shook her head ‘no’. “You a trucker?” she asked.

“I’ve driven before.”

“On a scale of one to ten, ten meaning you could qualify as an Ice Road Trucker and one meaning you like to pull on the horn, how would you rate your skill level?”

“Six maybe seven,” I stretched.

She looked at me long and hard.

“Four.”

“Really?”

“Three and a half.”

“Move over,” she told me.

“What are you like fifteen?”

“Twenty and I’ve had my CDL for two years.”

I moved over.

Horatio and his growing throng started moving a little quicker when they noticed the twin stacks on his rig begin to blow smoke as my new traveling partner started the engine. I had no clue how she was going to get the truck out of the massive parking lot. I would have had a hard time with my jeep. There were people, gear, and trucks all over the place. She really didn’t care as she turned the big wheel and began to navigate us out of there taking out the occasional cooler or grill, a tent or two and maybe a few small cars, it was too difficult to tell as I kept my hand over my face a fair amount of the time.

“Well I could have done that,” I told her as she smashed a small Geo against the front of one of the trucks.

She gave me the finger.

I heard a shot or two and ducked down accordingly. My driver never did.

“Warning shots,” she sneered. “They wouldn’t dare shoot me.”

“And me?” I asked.

“You’d probably be better off ducking.”

“Who are you?”

“I don’t think you want to know.”

“Are you an IRS agent?” I asked her.

“What? What’s the matter with you?” she asked. The cab was bouncing around with the truck hitting its fair share of things as we approached the exit.

“Are they going to chase us?” I asked as I looked in the side mirror.

“Oh, I would imagine to the ends of the earth.”

I turned to look at her.

“Glad you got involved?” she asked, looking over quickly and smiling.

I smiled back weakly.

“Oh they’ll chase me, mister.”

“Mike,” I told her.

She paused for a moment and stole a quick glance at me before she spoke again. “Okay, Mike, they’ll chase me…but not yet. You’re safe for the moment. I’ll drop you off when it’s safe and you can go about your merry little way.”

“Who will chase you exactly?” I asked, a pit of suspicion beginning to form in my stomach.

“Listen, the less you know, the better off you are,” she said to me.

“Wow, that’s usually my line.”