Bootleg Freight

Discussion in 'Road Stories' started by MUSTANGGT, Mar 16, 2014.

  1. MUSTANGGT

    MUSTANGGT Road Train Member

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    A work in progress. I'm only posting complete chapters though, so what you see here is pretty much the final product. I'm submitting it to Yahoo when complete; or depending on the length, to Amazon Kindle.
     
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  3. MUSTANGGT

    MUSTANGGT Road Train Member

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  4. MUSTANGGT

    MUSTANGGT Road Train Member

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    THREE

    “Daddy, where are we going to eat tonight?” Matt asked his father as they rolled into the Shenandoah Mountains of Virginia.



    “I figured you’d still be full from that fine meal that fella bought us today,” Buddy answered, knowing how lame it sounded even as the words came out of his mouth. That meal was eight hours ago and his son knew it was his habit to stop for a light meal later in the evening, but what his son didn’t know was how little cash there was on board. Buddy stopped for fuel while Matt was napping. Besides fueling he bought a large Snickers bar, a Mountain Dew, a pack of Marlboro Red 100s, and five Powerball tickets (it would have been foolish not to with a $290 million jackpot) leaving him a grand total of twenty dollars and change and it was only Tuesday.



    “Sure, Dad, it was great, but I was hoping we could at least get a little snack or something. I’m gettin’ sorta hungry.”



    Maybe Lorna is right. I’m just a sack of #### who has no business calling myself a father. But I’ll be ###### if I let my own son feel that way about me.



    For just a second he thought of calling her, asking her to send him some money via Western Union. He could come up with some excuse, but no, she would see right through it. In the end she would call him a loser and forbid him from ever seeing Matt again. He was lucky to get him for this trip as it was, and he suspected she relented only to have a free week with her new boyfriend. The smug ####### with his Corvette and lake house. Guys like that made him sick, probably had everything handed to him without ever having to earn anything like he did.



    Buddy only had a vague idea of a plan as he pulled into the rest area shortly after sunset, thinking he could figure it out as he went along. He eased through the center drive of the truck parking area where the big rigs parked in diagonal spaces, over fifty slots on either side. To his right, the side facing away from the interstate and the convenience center, he noticed a trucker on his knees beside the cab of his truck. He held a flashlight and there seemed to be tools scattered about on the pavement, along with what appeared to be the battery box cover. The man was obviously having a problem. Buddy found an unoccupied space just three slots down from there. After walking with Matt to the restroom he told him to wait in the truck for just a few minutes and they would be soon stopping for some cheeseburgers and fries, cheering the boy up considerably.



    “Howdy there driver,” Buddy said as he approached the driver of the apparently disabled truck.
    “Anything I can help you with? “



    “I got a connection problem here,” the driver answered. “I believe I could fix it myself if I had the proper sized wrench. I just can’t get a good fit on this bolt with this dang adjustable wrench or these pliers.” Just as he said that his wrench slipped resulting in a loud crackle accompanied by a shower of sparks causing both men to jump back.



    “Watch out there driver. You don’t want to short something out. Hang on and I’ll look in my tool box. I believe I got the right size wrench you need for that,” Buddy told him as he headed back to his truck.



    You can do this you can do this you can do this. He’s a little guy half your size. Just a solid whack behind the ear puts him out cold. Not too much. Don’t want to kill him. That would be wrong and you’re not a bad guy. Just need to feed your kid is all.



    Buddy rummaged around in his tool box until he found the half inch wrench that would fit the battery cable clamps, slipping it into his pants pocket. He touched the bat hesitantly, as if it would strike out at him like an angry wildcat. Just pick it up. This will only take a minute and you will be on your way. The bat was an miniature version of an authentic Louisville Slugger, made from premium hardwood, purchased at a souvenir shop in Kentucky. It was eighteen inches long and as effective as a police officer’s night stick.



    Rather than wait for Buddy to return with the proper tool, the unsuspecting driver continued to work on his truck, however ineptly. Buddy eased silently around the hood of the rig to find his prey bent over the battery box, conveniently facing away from him as he raised the bat to shoulder height, preparing for swift, solid, sidearm swing. Just do it just do it.



    Rinnnggg…rinnnggg…rinnnggg. Buddy’s cell phone, ringer set on high volume, and in his front pocket, abruptly broke the silence and startled both men; the driver with the broken truck dropped his pliers across a battery terminal creating another shower of sparks as Buddy dropped his Louisville Slugger, sending it rolling beneath a neighboring truck.



    The driver spun around as Buddy withdrew the phone from his pocket, looking at it as if were an alien from outer space. Answer it! Don’t just stand there like a dummy.



    “Uh, hello?” he said hesitantly.



    “Hello indeed. How are you doing Buddy? Doing a good deed are you?” Isaac intoned, his voice at once comforting and chilling.



    “Well, actually yes. I was helping out another trucker.” How the hell did he know?



    “That’s good, Buddy, very good. That’s what you should be doing, helping folks, not harming them. It would be a terrible shame if you were to do something that caused you to be taken away. Then what would become of Matt? He is surely a precious little boy and it is your duty to safeguard him. A duty in which you have been sorely lax.”



    “I know. I’m sorry,” Buddy said, not understanding why he had become subservient to this stranger and not questioning it either.



    “No time to feel sorry for yourself, Lord knows you have been doing enough of that already. Now go to the Travelers Rest Truckstop on I-81. You are only twelve miles from it. Go to the Western Union counter and identify yourself. Tell them you have five hundred dollars waiting for you. It has all been arranged. Now go.” The call abruptly ended.



    Buddy looked at his phone, dumbfounded, unable to process what just happened. The other driver spoke up, breaking his reverie. “Hey, mister? You alright? And what the hell was that all about?” he said, pointing toward the broken bat. The truck it had rolled under had since left, snapping the bat in half as it did. Buddy never even noticed.



    Buddy made no attempt to explain anything. He merely handed the man the half inch wrench. “That oughta be what you need. I gotta go. Good luck.”
     
    Last edited: Mar 25, 2014
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  5. MUSTANGGT

    MUSTANGGT Road Train Member

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    Buddy approached the Western Union counter hesitantly, still believing this unexpected windfall too good to be true. His apprehension quickly dissolved as the clerk counted out five crisp hundred dollar bills into his palm.

    “There you go, Mr. Hinton,” she cheerfully told him. “The service charge has been pre-paid by the sender. Have a wonderful evening!”

    It wasn’t until he was filling his plate on his second trip at the buffet counter when he wondered how Isaac knew his last name. Surely at least that much information was required to wire money?

    Matt was playing a video game on his iPad when his father’s cell phone rang. Thinking it might be Mom, he answered it without looking at the incoming number.

    “Hello?” he said.

    “Hello, Matt. How are you this evening? I trust you had an enjoyable meal?”

    “Yes, sir, I sure did. Is this Mr. Isaac?”

    “Indeed it is, and just call me Isaac. Did you have some vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup on top?”

    “You bet I did and it was yummy! How did you know that anyway?”

    “Oh, just a wild guess. Where is your father?”

    “Back in the sleeper with the curtain zipped up. I’m pretty sure he’s watching some dumb movie on his laptop with sound turned down. He does that sometimes.”

    “That’s too bad. I bet you wish you had company sometime, don’t you?”

    “Yes, sir, I do,” Matt answered with a touch of sadness.

    “How about when your home with Mom? Is it better then?” Isaac asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

    “Well, sometimes it is,” he answered uncertainly.

    “What do you mean by that, Matt?”

    “Mom goes out with Gary a lot. I don’t really like him. He’s nice to me I guess, but he acts like he’s real important or something.”

    “Like he’s better than you?” Isaac prompted.

    “Yeah, like that. And I have to stay at my dumb cousin’s house whenever they’re gone and I hate it. I wish I had a real family.”

    “I understand, Matt. I really do. I have a feeling things will get better for you, sooner than you realize.”

    “You really think so?” Matt asked, hopefully.

    “Like I said, my friend, just a feeling. I have to go now, so have a good night and sweet dreams.” Before Matt could respond the line had gone dead and by the time he woke up the next morning he wasn’t sure the phone call ever happened at all.
     
  6. MUSTANGGT

    MUSTANGGT Road Train Member

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    Buddy arrived on schedule for his Thursday morning delivery, despite horrendous traffic on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway and some near undecipherable directions. Even his dispatcher seemed mildly surprised, based on Buddy’s past performance.

    “Good job driver, and do I have a load for you,” the dispatcher said over the phone.

    “Lay it on me boss,” Buddy said, prepared for the worst, not accustomed to getting “good” loads very often.

    “We have a shipper right back across the river in Paterson, New Jersey who will load you anytime you can get there. It’s a light load of plastic containers and he says he can have you loaded in twenty minutes. The load is going to Louisville, Kentucky and delivers anytime we can get there. But if there is any way possible, we need to get it off before noon so we can load some liquor in Crittenden just down the road from Louisville.”

    Buddy found it amusing when his dispatcher used the phrase “we” whenever it was a hot load, as if he were actually in the truck helping out with the driving.

    “Where is the liquor load going?” Buddy asked.

    “Plano, Texas, and by getting loaded Friday you will have all weekend to be there by Monday and even catch up on some rest.”

    Which I will need after running all ###### night tonight, Buddy thought, but only said, “Will do, boss. Just give me an address and a pick-up number and I will be on my way.”

    Buddy experienced his usual feeling of relief and a mission accomplished upon taking the Cross Bronx Expressway out to the George Washington Bridge, putting New York City in his rear view mirrors. God only knew how much he hated that place.

    The two upcoming loads would make for a good payday next week but that was chicken feed as far as Buddy was concerned. His mind was on the ten grand and how soon before he could get his fingers on it. Just having the few hundred bucks currently in his pocket made him feel like more of a man and the thought of the thick stack of hundreds awaiting him brought him pleasure he had never before known.

    The load in Paterson did prove to be a breeze. The warehouse was mere blocks from the interstate exit and the nice guy on the forklift loaded him up in fifteen minutes allowing Buddy to be riding south by southwest well before noon.

    The Angel on his left shoulder whispered to him. Things are going pretty good lately. Easy loads. Good miles, good paycheck on the way. Are you sure you want to screw up a good thing for a short term gain? You know you will get caught like your ####### always does. Except this time you will lose more than your job. You’ll go to prison and even if you don’t get shanked to death you will probably never see your son again.

    As he usually did, Buddy ignored any worthwhile advice, regardless of its source, Heavenly or not.
     
  7. MUSTANGGT

    MUSTANGGT Road Train Member

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    FOUR



    The meal at the old Pennsylvania Dutch restaurant on the outskirts of Allentown was as good as it gets, frequented by tourists, truckers, and locals alike. Matt was especially enamored with his dessert; Dutch apple pie, a genuine treat on its own, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream melting on top and a dash of caramel on top.

    Buddy nearly forgot his own pie watching his son eat. The boy seemed happy lately and Buddy was convinced it was of his own doing. He was a good father, just a little short on cash is all. And things were about to get a whole lot better. Even Lorna didn’t bust his ### over the phone today after talking to Matt. She said the boy sounded like he was doing well, a first for her. Maybe she was finally coming to the realization that he wasn’t such an ogre after all.

    By the time they were heading back down through northern Virginia on I-81 Matt had been asleep for an hour or more, satiated from the fine meal, the ear bud connected to the the new iPod his father bought him that day in New Jersey still in his ear.

    Buddy was in a rare, satisfied mood himself. The cool night air gave a little extra pep to the big diesel power plant. The full moon sat high in the sky, casting an ethereal glow upon the majestic Appalachian mountains. The hills seemed to unroll beneath the truck rather than the truck having to climb them.

    He stumbled across a Nirvana song he liked on the radio, hell he loved it, turned it up some and turned off the CB. In the zone now, thinking how much a nice fat joint would hit the spot. If only he hadn’t been so broke when he left home that wouldn’t have been a problem. Well, it soon wouldn’t be a problem again, by God.



     
    Last edited: Apr 28, 2014
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  8. MUSTANGGT

    MUSTANGGT Road Train Member

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    Maybe buy a pound he thought. Hell, make that a few pounds. He had a friend in Grand Rapids who could be his distributor. Even after his cut Buddy figured he could easily triple his investment, thinking like a business man now. It takes money to make money and he just needed a little push start.

    Nirvana led to Green Day, followed by Radiohead and then came Pearl Jam as Buddy’s thoughts of his soon to be herbal empire flowed with his favorite music. After a few of these runs at ten grand a pop he would soon be parking this truck for good and telling his boss where to stick it.

    Sheryl Crow was extolling the virtues of a morning beer when Buddy’s cell phone brought his thoughts back to the present. A tingle ran from his spine to the base of his skull. He knew who the caller was before he looked at the screen that would inform him the call was from an unknown number.

    “Hello, Buddy. You’re enjoying the late evening air I suppose. I enjoy the night myself, so few interruptions,” Isaac said, not allowing Buddy an opportunity to speak first.

    “Uh, yeah, it’s a nice night for driving,” Buddy replied lamely, unable to explain his sudden apprehension. The big plans he was so recently concocting now seemed like foolish pipe dreams as he knew the reality of what would be demanded of him would soon reveal itself.

    It’s not too late to say no. Forget your lame brained plans which will land you in prison if you even survive what he expects from you. As usual, Buddy tried to exorcise the voice from his head and would have screamed out loud had Isaac not been on the phone.

    Perhaps even Angels know a lost cause when they see one. Okay, I won’t be bothering you again.

    “Indeed it is, young man. Indeed it is. You are on schedule I presume?”

    “Yes, sir, cruisin’ right on along.”

    “Excellent! The load you’re picking up at Crittenden couldn’t be more perfect for our needs.” Isaac sounded absolutely delighted and Buddy no longer wondered where the man got his information. Best not to question the freakiness of the whole situation as long as the payday is as promised.

    “The distillery at Crittenden bottles Knob Creek bourbon, top shelf stuff. Some of Kentucky’s finest product, or so I’m told. I’m an abstainer myself, being brought up in the church and all. I don’t begrudge a man a drink, no sir, but I would hate to show up at the gates of Heaven with alcohol on my breath, and you don’t know when He’s going to call for you.”

    “No, sir, you sure don’t,” was all Buddy could think to say, having no idea where this conversation was leading.

    “You’re a good man, Buddy. Just stay on course and you will be hearing from me tomorrow.”

    *
     
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  9. MUSTANGGT

    MUSTANGGT Road Train Member

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    Buddy made good time through the night despite the steep grades through West Virginia on I-64 thanks to the light cargo in the trailer. His only stop was in Grayson, Kentucky for fuel and a coffee to go. He envied Matt sleeping soundly in the bunk and longed for the day when he could sleep every night and keep his own schedule. Soon, he thought, soon.

    Upon delivering the load in Louisville Buddy received new instructions informing him that the Crittenden load could be picked up any time before midnight. As tired as he was from working over thirty hours without so much as a brief nap this was good news indeed.

    After securing a parking space in a small truckstop south of town, Buddy and Matt went inside for a fast food meal of roast beef sandwiches and potato cakes, Matt getting a large chocolate milk shake to take back to the truck.

    Buddy was so exhausted he didn’t bother to undress, but did manage to kick off his shoes before flopping onto the bed.

    Matt sat in the driver seat as he was prone to do when his father was in bed. He imagined he was piloting the big rig as he had imaginary conversations on the CB with his fellow drivers. He longed to tug on the cord for the air horn but knew that wouldn’t go over well at all.

    Buddy’s cell phone, left in the cup holder again, rand and Matt answered it quickly, lest it wake his dad.

    “Hello, Matt,” Isaac said, as if they were old friends by now.

    “Oh, hi Isaac!” Matt replied, happy to have company.

    “What are you doing besides enjoying that big old chocolate shake?”

    “Not much. Just pretending like I’m drivin’ and listening to my new iPod.”

    “You call that ‘not much’? When I was your age we didn’t have those nice things to occupy ourselves with so you know what we did?”

    “No, what?” Matt answered, hoping for another story from the farm, and he wasn’t disappointed.

    “Well, sometimes we would play cowboy on the pigs.”

    “Now how would you do that?” Matt asked, clearly intrigued.

    “Easy. We just climbed on and rode ‘em like horses. Sometimes we would have our own little rodeos. My cousin even made a saddle for his favorite pig.”

    “Wow, Isaac! That sounds like a whole lotta fun. Did you ever get hurt on them pigs?”

    “That’s a right fair question, Matt. The only time any of us ever got hurt was for coming home with our clothes all muddy from when them pigs would throw us off like buckin’ broncos and we’d land smack in the mud. We’d get our bottoms wore out for that. One time my Daddy told me if I wanted to act like a pig I could live like one and made me spend the whole night in the pig sty.”

    Matt squealed with delight imagining such a scene. “That sounds awesome. I wish I could’ve grown up in a place like that.”

    “It’s not too late, Matt.”

    “What do you mean by that?”

    “I mean you could visit a place like that, maybe spend the summer. How does that sound to you?”

    “Oh man, that would be the best ever!”

    “I was hoping you would say that. Just don’t say anything to your father yet. Give me a chance to talk to him first, okay?”

    “I promise I won’t. Geez, Isaac, I won’t be able to think about anything else now.”

    “Don’t fret, young man. It will all happen sooner than you could imagine.”
     
  10. MUSTANGGT

    MUSTANGGT Road Train Member

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    Buddy slept hard for three hours, wanting more but knew he had to get the load picked up, exhibiting a sense of duty he rarely felt before. But ten thousand dollars was a motivation he never had before either.

    After a brief drive to the distillery the loading went smoothly, the entire time spent at the facility was less than an hour.

    Travelling south on the interstate, Buddy stared at his phone, willing it to ring, nervously checking to insure the battery was charged or to make sure the ringer hadn’t been inadvertently turned off.

    Paranoia set in and he wondered if this was all a ruse, just some cruel trick. But he tried to reassure himself that nobody in his right mind would have given him the five hundred just for kicks. Nobody would, that’s who. Unless Isaac was just some crazy old man who liked having fun with total strangers. Just stop it right now, he told himself, quit it. It will all work out.

    An hour down the road, nearing Elizabethtown, he had finally settled down, accepting the fact that it was probably too good to be true and he had no control over the situation at this point anyway.

    That’s when his phone rang. He picked it up as if it might bite him. The display read Unknown caller, but he knew. #### right he knew.

    “Good evening, Buddy. I trust all is well and you are prepared to do business?” Was there a sinister undertone? Buddy didn’t think he could trust his own sanity lately, much less detect a subtle nuance in one’s speech pattern.

    “All going as planned,” was all he said. That was enough he was sure.

    “I knew I could count on you. Now listen carefully and follow my instructions to the letter.” Without waiting for confirmation, Isaac continued speaking.
    “I want to take the exit coming up.” Before he could ask what exit that would be a sign appeared in his headlights, State Route 224 Hammonville and Millerstown. What the heck could be there he wondered?

    Isaac went silent, remaining on the line until Buddy was on the exit ramp. “Now I want you to turn left. As soon as you cross back over the interstate you will see a small shopping center on your right. Turn into it. There is a sign warning truckers not to park but don’t worry about that. Just drive over to the far east side of the lot by the big blue dumpster and you won’t be bothered. Have you got that so far?”

    “Yes, I see the dumpster now.”

    “Excellent. A few hundred feet in front of you is the Dairy Freeze. It’s a fine establishment. I’ve been there myself many times. I want you and Matt to take a walk up there. Take your time. I know you could use a cup of coffee and I want you to get Matt a banana split. They are simply to die for. After you finish, return to your truck and we will take it from there.”

    “But what does this have to do with anything,” Buddy protested.

    “Just do it. I won’t ask again,” Isaac retorted in a tone that put ice in Buddy’s veins.

    Buddy’s truck was equipped with a device known as a Quallcom. It provided his company with precise, up to the minute information regarding the movements of the rig. They could find out with a keystroke not only the location of the truck, but whether or not the engine was running. If the truck was moving, they knew how fast it was going, what direction it was travelling and even what gear it was in.

    The Quallcom also served as a communications device used to send load assignments and any other pertinent information for the driver. Conversely, the driver could send information regarding the load; weight and quantity of product, destination, ETA, etc.

    Driver and dispatcher could send text messages back and forth just like with a cell phone as well. In short, it was the life blood of the operation.

    Matt and Buddy had seated themselves in the Dairy Freeze when the man appeared from behind the blue dumpster. Moving under the cover of darkness, this being the only area of the shopping center without overhead lighting, he was on the tractor deck plate in seconds. This was the platform between the back of the tractor and the front of the trailer.

    The Qualcomm unit was mounted on a bracket near the roof of the cab. A series of cables went from the unit, beneath the cab, and found their way to the control panel on the dash.

    The dark clad figure used a large set of electricians snips to cut neatly through the cluster of wires taking the truck out of the electronic loop, effectively making it the proverbial ship lost at sea.
     
    Last edited: May 2, 2014
  11. MUSTANGGT

    MUSTANGGT Road Train Member

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    Rather than return to his hideout behind the dumpster, the man walked casually to the center of the shopping center parking lot to an awaiting automobile.

    “Hey, buddy! Excuse me sir, you plan on leaving that rig out here overnight?” The questioner was the manager of the PayLess shoe store. Having just closed for the night he happened to notice the man walking away from the tractor trailer. He didn’t mind if the drivers stopped long enough to eat but knew from experience that once you started let them park overnight it wouldn’t take long before there would be a dozen out here one morning. The man ignored him and picked up his pace getting to his car.

    As he started the car the shoe store manager was writing down the tag number before the car sped away. He then had to ask himself why he bothered writing down the car tag number since the truck was sitting right there. Oh well, he was tired and ready to go home. He decided to let it go and if the truck was still there in the morning he would talk to the police then.

    Matt somehow sensed Isaac was behind the banana split without having to be told. The man just had a knack for knowing about the things he liked. Buddy wasn’t as pleased with the unexplained delay, the coffee turning to acid in his stomach as he realized how close he was to committing a felony. The little Angel, as promised, was not to be heard from.

    *

    Isaac instructed him to continue east on the state highway which soon became narrow and curvy. Twice he was startled by small groups of deer standing along the shoulder of the road. Buddy could have sworn they gave him foreboding looks as he passed by them.

    After fourteen miles of the dreary road Isaac had him turn south on another state highway which was somewhat hillier and curvier, but only for half the distance, where he found himself in the town of Hope.

    Despite the late hour, it was obvious that many of the businesses with the lights out were not simply closed for the night, but closed for good. Not exactly a ghost town but surely on the downhill side of thriving.

    The town of Hope came into being during the 1960s as a result of several major coal veins being discovered at that time in the surrounding mountains. The 1970s were the boom years followed by a leveling out during the next decade. The 1990s weren’t so bad until a series of seemingly unrelated events combined to have a crippling effect, like a man with a kidney infection tripping over a log and breaking his leg, only to be bitten by vampire bats while lying in the forest overnight, unable to summon help.

    New EPA regulations began eating away at profits while nervous lenders began calling in loans. The Union was demanding better pay and conditions while management was asking for concessions. The DOT, in a movement to collect more revenue from trucking violations, began cracking down on the coal trucks which had previously been allowed to operate with impunity. In short, everything just went to hell in a hand basket, as the old folks were fond of saying.
     
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