Bootleg Freight

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

  1. MUSTANGGT

    MUSTANGGT Road Train Member

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    “Come on, Billy. You always wanted to drive that Ford coupe, so now’s your chance,” Isaac told his driver, handing him a set of keys. “I need to get something out of the house. I’ll meet you up here.”

    Isaac first walked out to the stables where Samson was tending to the horses, his favorite activity. It seemed to Isaac that his brother felt comfortable around the large creatures in part because their size made him feel less out of place then he did around people.

    “Baby brother, I’m going on an errand and taking Billy Banks with me. We may not be back before sunrise tomorrow so don’t worry over us. I’m leaving you in charge.”
    The last statement brought a rare smile, albeit small, from Samson.

    “Okay Brother Isaac. Be careful. I love you.”

    Isaac went through the back door of the house to meet Billy out front, stopping in his bedroom for two firearms; a polished .44 Magnum Colt with a seven inch barrel and a cut down Remington 12 gauge with pistol grip.

    Billy was idling the black coupe where the Sheriff was parked barely minutes earlier after bringing the car up from the garage.

    “Whoa, boss, are we going off to war?” Billy asked, upon seeing the armaments Isaac brought into the vehicle.

    “We’re just going to get a truck, providing it’s not too shot up to drive back. They got the drop on poor old Jud but I guarantee them son of a ####### ain’t getting the drop on us. You need not come with me if you’re not prepared for what might happen. I’ll not hold it against you if that’s your choice.”

    “There ain’t no choice but to go, boss. Jud was my friend. Something else and I hope I ain’t speaking out of line but I could smell the horse #### coming off the sheriff’s story.”

    “I could smell it too, Billy. I lied to the sheriff about not knowing anything about Jud. The man was a certified hero. He earned a Silver Star, two Bronze Stars, and a Purple Heart when that shrapnel blew his eyeball out and he refused to come home. He’s credited with seventy-six confirmed kills, North Korean and Red Chinese troops both, some with a bayonet or his bare hands when he ran out of ammo.

    “Now what’s that tell you? It tells me he wasn’t dumb enough to do something as stupid as what they claimed he did. And I know no two-bit Tennessee cops would last two seconds against that man in a firefight. I’ll never prove it but he was ambushed pure and simple.”

    Billy was in awe of Jud’s war record. In spite of their friendship, Jud had never shared this information. Isaac only discovered it by accident when Jud asked him to sign a letter from the Veterans Administration concerning employment when he was applying for medical benefits.

    “I think we should bring him back and bury him proper at the Veterans cemetery. I don’t think he has any family, none I know about anyway.”

    “We can do that, Billy. He would be proud to know what kind of friend you were for him.”

    Billy set his jaw and narrowed his eyes as he revved the motor, preparing to take off, then looked over at Isaac for approval.

    “Go ahead son. Drive it like you own it, just get us to Knoxville in one piece.”

    The V-8 Ford engine was bored out to accommodate oversized pistons and dual four barrel carburetors nestled beneath the air cleaner. The transmission was a rare four speed unit with a floor mounted shifter. The gun metal gray paint was believed to be stealthier than black for night time running for it reflected less ambient light.

    Isaac bought the car from an associate in Black Mountain, North Carolina. The old moonshiner hated to part with it but he feared it was becoming too familiar in the area and turned his old friend loose.

    Billy nearly got the car sideways as he accelerated on the blacktop. Embarrassed, he kept a lighter foot on the throttle as he familiarized himself with power he had never at his disposal. He soon found his stride and set sail down US Highway 25 south, passing everything in sight, the Ford’s large diameter exhaust pipes echoing their sweet song against the mountain walls.

    It took just under two hours to cover over a hundred miles of two lane mountain roads, including a stop for gas in Jellico, Tennessee.

    *
     
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  3. luddybuddy

    luddybuddy Light Load Member

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    First off I want to thank you MustangGt for that story.
     
    MUSTANGGT Thanks this.
  4. MUSTANGGT

    MUSTANGGT Road Train Member

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    Chapter 6 continued
    Anybody following along should have figured out this chapter is more background on Isaac Hill. I'm having fun with it and thinking it would make a nice story on its own but everything will tie in later on. Although I don't mention the years, it should be evident by now that these events occurred many years ago. The intent is to cause the reader to wonder just how old this guy can be and maybe how human he can be. Enjoy.


    The Knox County Sheriff’s Office was located on the eastern edge of the Knoxville city limits, just two miles from the truckstop where Jud was gunned down.

    “I didn’t expect to see you this soon. We just sent a telegram to Sheriff Tinsley in Corbin a few hours ago,” Ben Tobler, the Knox County Sheriff told Isaac. Tobler was in the front office chatting with the desk sergeant when he heard the powerful Ford rumble to a stop in front of the forties era block building.

    “Well, I’m here, Sheriff, and I appreciate you seeing me. Sheriff Tinsley said I would be able to pick up my truck. I have notarized proof of ownership,” Isaac responded.

    “That won’t be a problem, Mr. Hill. That will save me the trouble of having to dispose of it, although the county could certainly use the revenue gained at an auction,” Tobler said without a bit of humor.

    “I’m sure you will make up for it with the cargo you have surely unloaded from the trailer,” Isaac shot back, his tone bitter.

    Color crept from beneath the sheriff’s collar as he spoke, clearly annoyed, taking on an air of indignation.

    “Let me assure you, sir, that there is no profit to be made by this department or this county from the confiscation of ill gotten goods. In these cases we make every effort to see them returned to the rightful owner.”

    I’m sure you do, Sheriff, Isaac thought, keeping that comment to himself. He had no fear of Tobler, but wanted to conclude his business with as little friction as possible, not wanting a bad start to get any worse.

    “I’d like to bring my man home as well, give him a proper burial in the Veterans Cemetery in Lexington. He has no known family and I feel it’s my responsibility as his employer,” Isaac told the sheriff.

    “I don’t have a problem with that. I’ll show you to the coroner’s office. There will be some expenses involved of course.”

    “Of course,” Isaac intoned, managing to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

    “I’m just a mite curious about that automobile you have there. It doesn’t look like something a man like you would be driving,” Tobler said, trying unsuccessfully to keep his tone neutral, an accusatory note slipping through.

    “Is that so? And just to be clear, how would you define ‘a man like me’?”

    “Sheriff Tinsley assured me you were a respected business man around Corbin, which is why I have extended these courtesies in regards to this grave matter.

    “I bet if I was to raise the hood of that car I would find a motor more suited to the racetrack up at Bristol than the public highways. And if I was to crawl underneath I’d most likely find some heavy duty two ton springs and oversized brake drums.”

    Billy stood stone faced, as was expected of a hired hand, enjoying the encounter taking place before him, pleased that his boss was taking no #### from the peckerwood law man, the ####### most likely responsible for the cowardly slaying of his friend. He only hoped Isaac remembered the high caliber firearms, not so well concealed in the car, should Tobler lose his cool and invent an excuse to start snooping around.

    “You could very well find these things, Sheriff, and I would have no idea of their import. As Sheriff Tinsley related to you, I am a man of business, not acquainted with the intricacies of automobiles. I spotted this car in a man’s front yard in North Carolina while traveling on business. It had a for sale sign on the windshield. The owner told me it would be a powerful and reliable car for travelling, especially in the mountains. I have a title and a bill of sale. It can all be verified.

    “And I do appreciate the courtesies you have extended to me thus far.”

    Sheriff Tobler gazed over the top of Isaac’s car, working a wooden match stick from one side of his mouth to the other, either deep in thought or trying to send that impression.

    After a long minute he spoke. “It’s a ###### moonshine car and we both know it. Make that all three of us.” He said it with the air of a man unwilling to concede an argument or even agree to a tentative compromise.

    “Be that as it may, I’m not sticking my nose into the affairs of a man from another state who hasn’t broken any laws here, that I know of anyway. In just a short while you will be on your way back to Kentucky and I will get on with the affairs of this county.

    “I’ll lead you boys down to the truckstop and personally tell the deputy there that the rig is being released to you. When y’all get done, just come on back up this way. The county morgue is the next block up on the left, old gray block building with a flat roof. I can’t let you take him ‘less he’s in a box, so I reckon y’all can just load him up in the semi.”

    “We’ll follow you to the truckstop now,” was all Isaac said as he motioned Billy to the car.

    “The gall of that son of a #####,” Billy said as he fired up the black coupe. “I #### sure wouldn’t turn my back on him, would you boss?”

    “No, I wouldn’t Billy, not by a long shot,” Isaac said as Billy released the clutch pedal sharply, unmindful of the dust and gravel he slung up behind them as he tore out of the parking lot.

    The familiar red Diamond Reo was parked at an odd angle to the back of the building; parked the way a man would park who was just running in for a quick cup of coffee and a slice of pie.

    Isaac bought that truck especially for Jud to operate. It had the latest turbocharged diesel engine and a four by four, twin stick transmission, designed to pull the steep mountain grades and have more than ample top speed on flat ground.

    Now it sat in a dusty windblown parking lot, its driver’s blood sprayed over the three bullet holes in the door, the side glass shattered by gunfire.

    But what offended him most was the fat deputy sporting a wrinkled uniform sitting on the truck’s step eating a Moon Pie. He was talking with his mouth full to an equally slovenly deputy who stood before him rolling himself a cigarette, loose tobacco spilling upon his shirt.

    “A real crack outfit they got here,” Billy said with disgust. “Them boys ain’t fit to polish Jud’s boots. I’m half a mind to knock lard ### off that truck.”

    “Don’t worry son, they’ll get theirs soon enough,” Isaac told him.

    “All yours, Mr. Hill. Nobody’s tampered with it, I promise you that,” Tobler said as he handed Isaac the key to the rig after shooing his two men away.

    “And once you’ve met with the coroner, I’m thinkin’ your business will be done here.” A not so subtle suggestion to get out of town and not let the screen door hit you on the ### on the way out, Isaac surmised.

    “And you’d be thinking right, Sheriff. Our business will be concluded indeed,” Isaac responded with a smile.

    As Tobler got into his patrol car Billy Banks raised the hood on the Diamond Reo to check the oil and water levels before starting the engine. As he did so, Isaac heard a woman’s voice speaking in a loud whisper from somewhere behind him.

    He turned slowly to discover an attractive woman waving frantically from an open window, motioning for him to please walk over.

    “Yes, ma’am?” he asked as he came closer. The woman was clearly upset, if not afraid.

    “Are you a friend of Jud’s?” she asked. It was then he realized she had been crying.

    “I was his employer, but yes, he was my friend. He was a good man.” This simple statement brought on fresh tears.

    “I am so glad to hear that, to hear somebody say something good about him.”

    “I’m only speaking the truth,” he told her. “My name is Isaac Hill. And you are?”

    “Oh, I’m sorry, please forgive my rudeness. I’m Karen Owens. Jud was a good customer, a real nice fella and I’m thinkin’ we was starting to maybe get kinda close and all of a sudden this happens…look, I can’t be seen talking to y’all but there’s some things you have to know. There’s a bus depot a mile and a half east of here. There’s room to park the truck around back. Meet me there in two hours.”

    She had barely completed the sentence when Isaac heard a gruff male voice from within the building calling out her name, demanding she hurry up with whatever task she had been sent on. Isaac quickly returned to Billy’s side, not wanting to cause the woman anymore grief from her boss should he look out the window and suspect she was talking to him.

    “What was that about, boss?” Billy asked him.

    “Good question. Said her name was Karen Owens and sounds like she was sweet on Jud. Seemed mighty broken up about what happened back here and knows more than we’ve been told thus far,” Isaac told him.

    “That sure ain’t no surprise considering what anybody has told us.”

    “Indeed, son. See that door? What does that tell you?”

    “Not sure what you mean boss.”

    “Those bullet holes are coming from the outside. That means he was trying to get in the truck, not come out blazing. It means his back was turned while he was being fired upon. I’d be interested to know how he managed to get one of the ######## before he died.

    “We will be meeting Karen later. Perhaps she can fill in the blanks for us. Now let’s go get Jud.”

    The Diamond Reo fired right up, belching smoke black as coal from the chromed exhaust stack, then settling into a rumbling lope like a mechanical steed anxious for the track. Billy was envious of Jud being assigned this truck, but would rather have his friend back than any ###### old truck, or anything else for that matter.

    Isaac pulled his car up close to the passenger side of the idling rig, the side of the truck not facing the building. After a thorough look around for prying eyes, he passed the cut down Remington up to Billy followed by a box of shells.

    “Both barrels are loaded. Just flip that thumb lever and she’s ready to release hell. Keep it at arm’s reach.”
     
  5. MUSTANGGT

    MUSTANGGT Road Train Member

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    Billy parked the rig in an abandoned gas station across the street from the county morgue while Isaac pulled into a parking slot designated for visitors in front of the unwelcoming gray structure that had an unmistakable aura of death about it.

    Isaac was overcome with the absurd feeling he was in the middle of an old western movie as he told Billy to remain outside and keep watch. But being more than just a modest business man as some folks believed, he had a sixth sense about these matters and alarms were going off in his head.

    The .44 Magnum was too large to conceal under his business suit but the .25 semi automatic rested comfortably in his shoulder holster. Not his weapon of choice, but would have to do for the time being.

    He was greeted in the reception area by a dour faced woman of indeterminate age behind a cheap metal government issue desk. She had the air about her of a lifetime civil servant who felt some degree of superiority over the common folk forced to earn a living in the private sector.

    The threadbare beige carpet was the perfect shade to camouflage the ground in grit that had become impervious to vacuuming. The room had the stagnant odor of an unventilated, abandoned house with dead rodents stashed here and there.

    “May I help you, sir?” the woman asked imperiously. The phrase was uttered as more of a command than a question.

    “I’m here to meet with the coroner. I was sent by Sheriff Tobler,” Isaac told her. As if you didn’t already know that.

    “And you are?” she asked, almost spitefully.

    “I think you know who I am. Could you please summon the coroner,” Isaac retorted, in no mood for her attitude.

    Her response was more of a snort than a word as she stood abruptly, sending her wheeled chair backwards into a small set of shelves behind her, toppling a cheap ceramic flower vase containing even cheaper artificial flowers. The descending vase was accompanied by a threesome of photographs in metal frames with glass encasements, presumably of family members, and an oversized quartz ashtray in the shape of Arkansas creating a minor cacophony as the assortment of items crashed to the floor.

    It was no longer necessary to summon the coroner for he dashed in from the adjoining office to investigate the disturbance in the normally quiet building, with him and his receptionist generally being the only live people present.

    “What in the world is going on out here?” he asked of nobody in particular.

    “He, he, he…” the receptionist stammered as she pointed an accusatory finger at Isaac before storming across the room to a door labeled PRIVATE, snatching it open and slamming it behind her.

    “Seems to be a mite high strung,” Isaac said as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. “I’m Isaac Hill, here to get Jud Kowoski. I imagine Sheriff Tobler told you I was coming.”

    “Yes, he did. I’m Terry McClean,” he said, extending his hand distractedly, bewildered at the scene that had so quickly come and gone, the only evidence being the debris on the floor behind her desk. Nobody had ever ruffled Rachael Madigan’s feathers like that before.

    “I imagine you want to make a positive identification before signing for the… uh, before signing any papers.”

    “You were going to say ‘signing for the body’. That’s okay, I’m not that squeamish. And yes, we should be certain I leave with the correct corpse.” Isaac said this with a twinkle in his eye which McClean, who had perhaps the most morbid job imaginable, found disturbing.

    Although not air conditioned per se, the sliding cooler compartments that lined an entire wall made it feel as if it was. The coroner unlatched door number six and glanced at the tag wired to Jud’s big toe before sliding out the stainless steel tray.

    It was him alright, Isaac confirmed. Jud’s face was intact; however his head was gone from an inch or so above the eyebrows. McClean had taken the liberty of placing an old straw hat, the type a farmer might wear, over the opening.

    “I hope you don’t mind I did that,” he said.

    “I don’t mind at all. It was the Christian thing to do.” Isaac imagined the hat came in on another dead guy whose head was intact and didn’t need it as bad as Jud did.

    “Can you tell where the head shot came from, what direction?” Isaac asked him.

    “No, sir. To be honest, there isn’t enough there to work with.”

    “What about these other wounds, the right leg and the left arm? What is your opinion on those?”

    McClean suddenly appeared agitated. “Look mister, we shouldn’t even be having this conversation. I’m a coroner, not a crime scene investigator. I’m not required nor expected to make any judgment calls.”

    “So that would be the job of the homicide detective?”

    “We don’t have one. In Knox county that falls on the Sheriff himself or whomever he appoints. The only exception is when the State Investigators are called in and in this case they weren’t.”

    “I see,” Isaac said softly. “Terry, look me in the eyes.”

    Before he could object Isaac had locked eyes with him. He tried pulling away and found he didn’t want to; he enjoyed the warmth that spread across his forehead and the tingle that ran down his spine. It was almost sensual.

    “Now talk to me like a man. You’re the professional here, not that buffoon of a sheriff that doesn’t know a thing about what you do. Tell me about these wounds.”

    “Certainly,” McClean began, as smooth and confident as professor lecturing a class room of freshmen medical students. “The holes in the victims legs are rear entry wounds. It was my understanding he was on the truck steps elevated two feet from the ground. The rounds entered at a slight downward angle, meaning the shooter was standing erect, maybe thirty feet away.

    “The weapon used to shoot him in the elbow was a higher caliber, possibly a rifle. It entered from the rear as well, only at an upward angle, meaning he too was on the ground and the victim was elevated, possibly had his arm outstretched reaching for something.”

    “Very good, Terry. Now what about the head shot?”

    “I had a piece of skull to work with from the left coronal suture region. That was the entry point which is further evident by the greater amount of missing bone and brain matter from the right side of the head as the exit of a bullet generally disperses far more material than the entry.

    “I surmise our victim was in a kneeling position and the large caliber round, certainly from a rifle, was fired from a short distance at a sharp downward angle.”

    “Execution style,” Isaac said.

    “Exactly.”

    Isaac broke eye contact with the coroner by turning to one side, then continued speaking. “I believe there was some mention of a box to bring my friend home in?”

    Terry McClean felt the floor move beneath his feet accompanied by another tingle coursing through his spine. His world seemed to be refocusing as he realized Isaac had just asked him a question.

    “Pardon? What was that about a box?” McClean asked, embarrassed that he was caught not paying attention to the conversation, or so he thought.

    “Sheriff Tobler mentioned a charge for a coffin. I’ll need something to get him home in.”

    “Oh yes, of course. The basic pine box is $27. Now you realize he hasn’t been embalmed and once we remove him from this cooler he won’t last long. It goes downhill pretty fast.”

    “I imagine it does,” Isaac interjected.

    “You can have him embalmed at the funeral parlor. He could be ready about this time tomorrow.”

    “No, that won’t be convenient, not at all.”

    “I thought you might say that. In that case, we can add dry ice to the coffin. I suggest two blocks. There would be a charge, of course.”

    “Of course. You mentioned a pine box for $27. That sounds like something you would use for an indigent or a pauper. Am I correct?”

    “Yes, sir, you are. I can get you a light oak unit for $84. Not top of the line, but quite nice for the price. The dry ice is another five bucks.”

    “How fast can you make this happen?” Isaac asked as he handed Terry three fifty dollar bills. “I’m not expecting any change,” he added.

    “Have your man bring your truck to the curb in one hour. It may be even sooner. I’ll have the light oak box sent down here and get some trusties from the jail to load it up for you after I have prepared your friend for his trip home.” Although it went unmentioned, the fact that his brother owned the funeral parlor sped up the process greatly. And the sheriff would be more than happy to spare a couple of inmates if it meant closing this matter that much quicker. And what amounted to a month’s pay going into his pocket was more than enough incentive to accommodate his new friend’s wishes.

    “Very good. Very good indeed, Mr. McClean,” Isaac said, offering a handshake. “It has been pleasant doing business with you.”

    “Likewise, Mr. Hill. Allow me to escort you to the door and I will get the ball rolling on this matter immediately.”

    If looks could kill, Rachael Madigan’s glare at Isaac, as the two men walked through the front office, could have wiped out a squad of heavily armed infantry.

    After exchanging brief pleasantries with Isaac outside on the steps, Terry returned to the reception area to find Rachael standing before her desk with her fists on her hips, scowling at him like a mother would an unruly offspring.

    “I just cannot believe you were being friendly with that boor of a man after the way he treated me. Word is he’s a gangster for God’s sake. I’m a good mind to call the sheriff right now and…” was as far as she got.

    “Rachael, shut up. For once in your miserable life just shut the hell up,” Terry McClean told her calmly as he walked into his office and closed the door behind him, leaving her opened mouthed and speechless. He’d been saving that up for sixteen years.

    *





     
    Last edited: Jul 7, 2014
  6. MUSTANGGT

    MUSTANGGT Road Train Member

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    “Just stay with me, but don’t tailgate. We are going to be model citizens leaving here,” Isaac instructed Billy as he climbed into the cab.

    Looking over the roof of his car he returned a good-bye wave from Terry. He smiled inwardly at the sight of Rachael Madigan scowling from behind a front window, knowing that he had changed two people’s lives forever.

    Isaac was ninety percent sure of what had befallen Jud Kowoski; Terry McClean nailed down the other ten percent for him. He had the what, now he wanted the who. He was hoping Karen Owens had the answers he sought.

    Isaac felt a bit of relief leaving Knox county a mile beyond the truckstop, but not much. He knew county lines, or state lines for that matter, meant little or nothing to rogue officers of the law. In fact, they often tended to be even more ruthless outside of their jurisdictions. Isaac accepted that as a matter of course and knew the rule of war was that there are no rules.

    In the days before the K-Town Truck Plaza the Clement County Depot was where truckers stopped for rest breaks and fueled right alongside the big busses bringing passengers from New York City and New England to Nashville, Tennessee and points west.

    The old diner was still in operation but not the busy spot it once was with more folks travelling by automobile and most truckers going down to the K-Town where showers and a bunk house were available.

    The thought occurred to Isaac that Karen could be setting him up, or being coerced into it. He was almost a hundred percent she was being straight with him but he wasn’t gambling his life on almost.

    He pulled off the main road into the depot lot, circling around the main building in search of an area where the big rig would be the least conspicuous, if not entirely hidden from view from the highway. As luck would have it there was an unused shop building where tire repair and mechanical work was once performed for truckers in need of repairs.

    Motioning Billy to follow, they parked the vehicles on the far side wall of the old shop. Isaac stepped to the rear of his Ford and retrieved a leather suitcase from the trunk. Inside, among other items, were two tan colored coats constructed of a coarse, denim-like material.

    The coats were obviously well worn; worn by men who did things such working on oil rigs or locomotives, judging by the rips and stains. There was what appeared to be the crimson shade of blood imbedded into the sleeve of one of the coats.

    They were slightly oversized, with a deep inner pocket on each side. The pockets were secured with heavy thread that was double stitched, enabling to manage the weight of something substantial. Something like a double barreled Remington cut-down or a large caliber revolver.

    The coats also served to change the men’s appearance substantially. Without close inspection, no one would suspect this rough neck to be the well dressed business man they saw in town just an hour ago. People tend to notice the obvious, neglecting the finer details.

    Isaac kept his .25 in the shoulder holster under his suit jacket while dropping the big .44 in one of the inner pockets of the rough hewn coat which he wore over his suit.

    Billy’s red plaid shirt with the pearl snaps was likewise disguised by the other coat, the shotgun nestled inside one pocket and a handful of spare shells in the other. An old leather snap brim hat, also from the suitcase, covered most of his sandy blond hair.

    It was understood that if there was a violent confrontation, everything would be hammer down, full tilt boogie. Show no mercy and expect none. If they made it back to this spot, that would be fine, but the primary goal was to take down those back shooting ######## if they presented themselves, although Isaac doubted they would make a play here.

    They walked to the diner with the forlorn gait of two men just relieved of a grueling twelve hour shift performing tedious labor. Billy kept his head down, staring at the ground as if searching for an alternative to his lot in life. Isaac moved his head about as if afflicted with a nervous condition, but in reality was surveilling the area, watching for watchers.

    There seemed to be no one observing them from the outside and they would just have to take their chances on the inside, but they would go down hard if need be.

    Karen was seated in a corner booth. He was pleased that she had chosen a seat with a good view of the highway and the bus depot. He was also pleased that their impromptu disguises worked so well, for she showed not a hint of recognition as they entered the diner, unless she was that good of an actress. He would soon find out.

    Karen looked startled as the would be strangers approached her booth. Confusion turned to recognition as she made eye contact with Isaac.

    “I didn’t recognize y’all for a second there, but I can’t say as I blame you for wanting to lay low. From what I’m hearing, y’all ain’t real popular around Knoxville right now among certain folk,” Karen told them.

    Before she had a chance to offer them a seat a large man, apparently the cook, approached the group from behind the dining counter, a butcher knife in one hand, hanging to his side.

    “Everything alright here, Karen?” he asked, eyes locked on Isaac.

    “Yeah, Bo, everything’s okay. These are the two fellers I told you about. I trust them good enough.” Only then did Bo notice that both of the strangers had slipped a hand inside their respective coats.

    “Alright, then. Holler if you need anything.”

    “How about bringing them out some coffee and something to eat if they want it. It’s on me,” Karen said.

    “It’s on me if they’re friends of yours,” Bo answered.

    “Just coffee will be fine,” Isaac said. “And we are appreciative, sir.”

    “Y’all sit down, please. That’s my brother, Bo. He’s kinda protective of me and he’s not the biggest fans of that bunch y’all have been dealing with today. They gunned down our first cousin a couple years ago right along side of the road one night. They said he was running shine but he wasn’t, not that night anyway. Not a #### thing in his trunk but a spare tire. And if he had of been on a run he #### sure wouldn’t have pulled over and got out of the car, unarmed at that. They never would have caught that old Plymouth Hemi of his if he didn’t want them to.”

    “I’m terribly sorry about your cousin, Karen. It may not be much solace to you now, but their kind often get their own payback in the end,” Isaac told her.

    “You’re right. It’s not so helpful to hear that after they seem to be getting away with it over and over again. And when I find out my own employer is in cahoots with them, it’s just too much. I really liked Jud. I don’t know what all he was up to but he seemed like a decent man to me, maybe more than decent. He was always dressed nicely and very polite. He didn’t use vulgar language and sit around telling filthy jokes like them other truck drivers. He was a good tipper too and never tried to grab my ###.

    “And I’ll tell you what I liked most; he would tell me about the bluegrass in Kentucky and the nice horse ranches y’all have up there. He told me about looking out over the Atlantic ocean from the Georgia coast and all them places I’ve never been to. Hell, I ain’t never been no further than Chattanooga in my whole life. I was sorta hopping he would offer to take me someplace one day and probably would have if they hadn’t blowed his head off right before my very eyes.”

    Karen’s face was red with anger, her voice raw with emotion. She wasn’t crying but the redness of her eyes suggested she had been doing so very recently, or perhaps she wasn’t sleeping.

    “So tell me what happened, Karen. Tell me everything,” Isaac said, quietly yet firmly.

    After a brief hesitation she described the incident in detail, nonstop, a trancelike quality to her delivery.

    “There was an odd feeling in the air that day, to me anyway. This cop car was sitting out front off and on all day. It was backed in so it was facing the highway so I never saw their faces. They just sat out there smoking cigarettes and watching every truck come and go. Every now and then Bernard, he’s the boss, would take them out cups of coffee. Don’t that beat all, I thought. He won’t lift a finger for a customer but here he is performing curb service.

    “Then about ten minutes before Jud got here two more cops showed up, except they were in plain clothes. I knew they were cops by the way they talked to the uniformed guys outside and by the way Bernard acted around them, like he was kissing their ###. He ain’t like that around anybody I ever seen. I’ll never forget them as long as I live, especially the one with the red hair. It was thick and curly and the color of an old rusty nail, burnt looking. The other one was nearly bald and had a moustache.

    “Them two hid back in the kitchen. They pulled me aside and said don’t make no small talk with Jud, like they knew he would be sitting in my area. Just take his order and keep my mouth shut they said.

    “Jud came in like usual. He always parked in the back. He never said it but I always figured he didn’t want nobody parking too close to that pretty red truck. He had on some new pointy toed cowboy boots on he said were made in Mexico.

    “Anyway, he said he only had time for some pie, apple was his favorite, and he had black coffee. I thought it was odd his buddy wasn’t with him.”

    Isaac interrupted her to ask, “What buddy would that be?”

    “This other trucker he’d been sharing a booth with off and on for the last five months or so. Always joking and carrying on like they were the best of friends. I learned different pretty quick that day.”

    Isaac was curious about that statement but let her continue at her own pace.

    “When Jud paid his tab I walked away just like they said but I knew something was terribly wrong. I couldn’t stand it no more and I turned to warn him as he headed for the door. The bald cop grabbed my arm and snatched me back into the kitchen. I tried to run back to Jud but he blocked my way. He drew back to hit me so I ran the other way, back to the store room and locked myself in. I raised the window in there, planning to climb out but that would have been suicide.”

    Karen began crying as she continued.

    “I saw his buddy running up behind him and he started shooting at him with a pistol. I tried to yell out but I couldn’t. I was in disbelief, or shock, like this couldn’t be happening. Then I heard a louder gun go off from my left. I looked over and it was the rusty headed cop with a rifle.

    “Jud was able to get his own gun out of his truck to defend himself but he was in the open and had no where to find cover.

    “But he managed to gut shoot that double dealing ####### of a friend. Must have pumped half a dozen rounds into that boy before red shot him down like a dog with that deer rifle.”

    She stopped talking then and brought her hands to her face as if trying to push the tears back in that wouldn’t stop flowing.

    Isaac waited several minutes before speaking. “What about you, Karen? I worry about you going back there. They will know you talked to me. I’ve seen two of their cars circle the lot since we sat down. I figure they saw the truck behind the old shop by now.”

    “I never planned on going back anyway. Today was my last day. I figured it wouldn’t take them long to figure out I was in that store room. I could deny I looked out the window but it wouldn’t matter. They’d kill me just to be on the safe side.

    “I’ll be safe out here. They won’t come over the mountain where my people are. That’d be like a mouse going into a rattlesnake den. The Feds give up looking for stills back there twenty years ago if that tells you anything.”

    “Indeed it does Miss Karen. I think you’re a strong person and a lovely lady. How may I contact you in the future, should the need arise?”

    “You’re a different kind of fella yourself, Mr. Isaac. If you ever get the notion to correspond with me, just send it right here and Bo will get it to me.”







     
    Last edited: Jul 7, 2014
  7. teddy_bear6506

    teddy_bear6506 I'm Vintage

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    You got me pulled right in to the story again, Dear. The read goes by way too fast. I want more, but the anticipation makes it more worth the wait.
     
    MUSTANGGT Thanks this.
  8. road dust

    road dust Road Train Member

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    It sure does!
     
    allniter Thanks this.
  9. daf105paccar

    daf105paccar Road Train Member

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    Couldn't have said it better.
     
    allniter Thanks this.
  10. teddy_bear6506

    teddy_bear6506 I'm Vintage

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    Mustang is the BEST!!!
     
    allniter Thanks this.
  11. road dust

    road dust Road Train Member

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    Yes, he is.
     
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