Bootleg Freight

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

  1. MUSTANGGT

    MUSTANGGT Road Train Member

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    Have you ever known anyone who blamed all of their problems on everybody else? The type of person that never took a good hard look in the mirror? Well Buddy is one of those folks. Things just seem to be piling up on him and he might just want to accept a little responsibility.

    Now an offer of easy money has fallen into his lap. He thinks $10,000 will make all of his problems disappear and is willing to do the wrong thing to get it. He doesn't realize what is truly at stake here and it will be too late before he discovers the reality of his situation. As they say, the Devil is in the details.

    This sordid little tale will be spread out in several installments, so be patient, and as always-Enjoy!


    0NE

    Buddy Hinton eased into a parking space at the old Mountain Top truckstop near Dexter, Tennessee. After spending four hours getting loaded at a nearby distillery he was ready for a decent meal before starting on his trip to Brooklyn, New York, where he was sure some thirsty folks awaited his liquid bounty. And maybe getting out of the truck for a bit would be a distraction for his son who was getting increasingly cranky from the tedium of so much inactivity of sitting and waiting. Hopefully getting the little lad’s belly full would trigger a long nap once the wheels got rolling.



    Buddy was beginning to question the wisdom of taking his son along on these extended summer trips. He told himself that the time spent bonding with his seven year old son was an important, if not invaluable, aspect of the child’s development into a well rounded adult. He kept the truth buried in one of the small, dark recesses of his conscience; he only took the boy along to annoy his ex-wife, to exercise his parental rights. She would have him arrested if she knew he wasn’t allowed to have a passenger in the truck under any conditions and he put his job in jeopardy by doing so. To make matters worse, the company wouldn’t be liable for any harm incurred upon her son in the event of an accident.



    The driver of the truck parked next to Buddy’s waited patiently for Buddy to exit his truck, climbing down from his own at the same time. He was an odd looking little man. His jeans were neatly pressed, as was his denim shirt which was buttoned at the cuffs, as well as the collar. His black, flat brimmed hat could best be described as one worn by a Quaker. At first glance one would possibly think he was an old country preacher, but one look into his face, his eyes in particular, served to dispel that notion.



    The clean shaven face and neatly trimmed hair complemented the almost military attire. His eyebrows were dark and abundant, but like everything else about the man, neat and orderly. He smiled as he spoke to Buddy, revealing gleaming white teeth. Buddy would recall later that the canines were unusually pointed.


    As Buddy was helping his son down from the passenger seat of the big rig the small man with the black hat stepped around the hood of Buddy’s truck. “Need some help there, podna?”

    Far from being a sociable person, Buddy’s first inclination was to tell the little creep to buzz off and mind his own business, but one look into the man’s hawk like eyes quelled that notion. Having been in his share of bar room brawls, Buddy knew a menacing glare when he saw one, the look that telegraphed imminent danger. This was something else. This was akin to the look of a Marine drill instructor commanding obedience, offering no alternative. There was also the indication of some secret knowledge that would be best left unrevealed.



    “I got it, but appreciate the offer,” Buddy said, surprising himself with his own politeness.


    “My name is Isaac,” the stranger said with a smile that didn’t extend to his eyes, offering his hand.


    Buddy accepted the hand shake, at once surprised at the strength of a hand that small, and frightened by its coldness. “I’m Buddy and this here is my son, Matt.”



    “You’re fortunate to be able to spend time with your son. I have children that I’m rarely able to see,” Isaac said. He spoke with an accent Buddy couldn’t place. He thought it was Appalachian, but maybe from another time, which made no sense considering he’d never heard anyone from another time speak except in movies. There was also something refined in the way each syllable was enunciated, as if this truck driver had a formal education.


    “Actually, I’m sneaking him along. We’re not allowed to have passengers,” Buddy replied, shocked at his own admission. He would never reveal that sort of information, especially to a total stranger.



    “It’s a shame isn’t it?” Isaac responded. “A travesty that these companies work us like dogs and not allow us time with our own kin. I’m sure the Lord frowns upon the practice.”


    “You got that right,” Buddy answered, instantly liking the man. “I never thought of it like that, but you hit the nail on the head.”


    “I am merely a man making an observation. May I treat you and Matt to dinner? It would be a pleasure to break bread with fellow travelers,” Isaac asked, almost humbly.


    Buddy accepted the offer without hesitating, forgetting the icy handshake and evil glare for the moment. Truth be told, he was nearly broke and wondered how he would feed two mouths for the rest of the week, having taken the maximum allowable pay advance for the week already. He conveniently dismissed what he had spent on lottery tickets and cigarettes this week.

    ***


    “So, you are hauling a load of Lynchburg’s finest I presume?” Isaac asked after the trio was seated in a booth.


    “So, what of it?” Isaac answered, looking at his new acquaintance with suspicion.


    “It’s okay my friend, I didn’t mean to sound like a hijacker. I just thought I saw you arriving at the docks as I was leaving. Now allow me to ask you something else, just for the sake of conversation. How much will you earn for hauling this load?”


    Instead of telling Isaac to go to hell for asking him such a personal question, Buddy acquiesced, as he did in the parking lot. “Up to New York, two, maybe three hundred bucks.”


    Isaac smiled sadly as he shook his head slowly from side to side. “Two or three hundred dollars.” He spoke the words slowly, with a disdain one reserved for the vilest of sins. “You have devoted your day to this load. You will drive tonight and tomorrow. You will deal with nightmarish traffic driving through New York City and you will deal with rude and ungrateful people at your destination. You risk your job to spend time with your own flesh and blood. You have less than forty bucks in your pocket and you deal with all this madness for two or three hundred dollars. Do you have the slightest idea how much money your greedy, sinful company collects for this shipment? I can see in your eyes that you don’t.”


    Without waiting for an affirmation, Isaac continued. “Two or three thousand dollars, Buddy. Perhaps even more than that. And you represent only one of a hundred loads hauled today, one of thousands each month!”


    The conversation, as one sided as it was, ended as abruptly as it began when the server returned with the meals, but Isaac had planted his seed.

    The talk turned to lighter topics during the meal, which, at Isaac’s insistence, was preceded by a brief prayer.


    Maybe this guy isn’t so bad after all, Buddy thought as he saw Matt’s face light up with glee as Isaac regaled him with humorous tales of his childhood spent on a farm in Kentucky. The story of the blind donkey and the monkey had the boy laughing uncontrollably.


    “It has been great meeting you, Isaac,” Buddy said, surprised with himself that he actually meant it. “But I’ve got a hard ride ahead and really have to get going.”


    “Indeed you must,” Isaac replied, making no move to rise from his seat. “But I want to leave you with this thought. “No matter what Lorna says, you are a good man, a hard working man who deserves better than what he earns from the heathens he toils for.”


    “Look, Isaac,” Buddy interrupted, “If this is about bringing in the Union or something like that, I really don’t want to get involved with anything that will cost me my job, as crappy as it is.”


    “Oh, no, my friend, nothing like that, not at all. No no, this is much more rewarding, I assure you,” Isaac intoned as he slid a business card across the table.


    Buddy had a look of consternation as he studied the card. There was simply a phone number printed upon the card. Underneath the number, printed neatly in blue ink was the figure 10,000.


    “What does this mean?” Buddy almost whispered.


    “You can earn that in one day, brother, doing exactly what you are doing now. You deserve every penny of it. Just something to think about, no pressure. Whenever you think you are ready, call that number,” Isaac said as he rose from the booth.


    Isaac scooped the ticket from the table as Buddy led Matt to the mens room. When they returned, Isaac was gone and the server was already wiping down the table. Buddy looked out the big front window to see an empty space beside his truck. The old gray truck Isaac arrived in was gone and Buddy realized he had never noticed the name on it.


    “Dad,” Matt said as they walked across the parking lot, “How did he know Mom’s name?”


    “What?”


    “Lorna. He called her Lorna and you never told him that.”


    He seems to know a lot of things,
    Buddy thought, recalling the accurate remark about the amount of money in his pocket, but his only response was to shake his head.

    ***


    As predicted, Matt was asleep within minutes as Buddy pointed the semi toward Chattanooga and his thoughts turned inward. Although he hadn’t formally decided to make the call, he was already spending the ten thousand dollars in his head. He had no illusions about being asked to do anything legal to obtain a sum of that size; nor did he believe for a second Isaac was the religious man he portrayed himself to be. A man of God or not, Isaac was right about one thing; Buddy deserved more than what life was handing him.


    His last job paid him nearly twice the money for less work and the only reason he was working for these cut throats was because he lost the gravy job over an undeserved DUI. Everybody leaving that concert was drunk or high. What did they expect at a Kid Rock show? He was driving fine and the only reason the black cop stopped him was because of the Confederate flag on the back window of his pickup truck. It was discrimination, plain and simple.


    Lorna was a cool chick when he married her but she sure did change after a couple of years, always on his back about something, usually money. He couldn’t walk in the house with a twelve-pack without getting the stinkeye. Did she think he was supposed to quit drinking over a stupid DUI? It wasn’t like he was an alcoholic or something. And she gave him grief over buying a few lottery tickets. What’s twenty bucks when it could make you a millionaire? How did she think people got rich? It sure didn’t happen working some dead end job.


    Buddy couldn’t guess what Isaac wanted him to do for the ten grand, but he planned to do whatever it took to make a good impression in hopes of being offered more jobs for maybe even more money.
     
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  3. Gearjammin' Penguin

    Gearjammin' Penguin "Ride Fast-Truck Safe"

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    An old saying is, "The Devil made me do it."

    That's never been true. The Devil can make some pretty good arguments, but the final decision is always yours. Buddy's about to make the wrong one.
     
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  4. OldHasBeen

    OldHasBeen Road Train Member

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    No, the Devil never makes you do it, yet he sure knows how to temp us.
     
  5. MUSTANGGT

    MUSTANGGT Road Train Member

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    It has been said that children will recognize the evil among us before we do, perhaps by virtue of their own innocence. Matt saw something in Isaac, perhaps not evil, but something, that his father, in his greed and selfishness, didn't.

    If Buddy had an inkling of who (or what) he was dealing with, he would have ran the other way and never looked back. Isaac had no interest in a stolen load of whiskey other than as a gateway to a much larger prize and Buddy would pay with his very soul.

    This chapter gives us some insight on Isaac, the embodiment of pure evil.


    TWO

    Jeremiah Hill was an Old Testament preacher; the epitome of Fire & Brimstone, a believer of an angry, wrathful God. As the founder of the Full Gospel Pentecostal Church of Alda, Kentucky, Jeremiah incorporated snake handling into each and every service. That included the Sunday morning and evening services, the Wednesday night Prayer Meeting, and practically any other time he opened a Bible and spoke before a group of people needing to hear the word of God.


    It is safe to say Jeremiah handled the deadly serpents a few hundred times per year and was bitten at least half of those times. It had become so routine over the years that nobody kept count anymore. Both sides of his forearms had scars on top of scars from the elbows to the wrists. Some would say he had merely developed an immunity to the venom but anyone who dared to express that sentiment within earshot of the Reverend Hill would be severely chastised for such blasphemy.

    Jeremiah fathered three sons; his wife, Athena, died giving birth to the third, and largest of the boys, whom he named Samson.

    The elder son was named Paul. Paul became a reverend himself, although of a milder variety. Though he didn’t allow it to show on the surface, Jeremiah was proud of his son being the pastor of a medium sized Methodist church in Lexington, Kentucky. There were whispers the boy wanted to get far away from his father, knowing he would never travel that far to visit, especially to such a large, and most assuredly sinful, city such as Lexington.

    Samson was a disappointment to say the least. Dumb as an ox and as stubborn as a mule his father would say. The boy’s biggest sin in his father’s eyes was his refusal to read. How could he ever study the word of God if he didn’t learn to read? The boy had to be spiteful for the Lord would never create a living creature this defective.

    After nearly twelve years of scolding and screaming, praying and beating, the old man gave up on his son having any mental, emotional, or spiritual value. At the age of eleven Samson was nearly six feet tall with another foot to grow.

    Jeremiah came to see the wisdom of God’s plan and cursed his own stupidity for not seeing it earlier. He prayed nearly nonstop for days, begging God’s forgiveness and offering any penance required of him. When a white dove appeared on his window sill on the third morning of his praying and fasting, Jeremiah knew all was forgiven.

    Samson was pulled from school, something Jeremiah now understood the Lord wanted him to do years earlier and began leasing the boy out for labor, a somewhat common practice in those days, albeit not with kids so young. But age notwithstanding, Samson’s physical abilities were impressive. He worked tirelessly and without complaint, as one indoctrinated by a father not known for sparing the rod. Loading the 300 pound casks of whiskey onto wagons and trucks was child’s play for him, as was hanging thousands of pounds of tobacco per day in the curing barns. Jeremiah felt the Lord was pleased with this arrangement and donated a portion of the boy’s earnings to the church. The rest he kept for himself.

    And there was the middle son, Isaac. If Samson was a giant, Isaac was almost a dwarf, barely topping five feet by the time he was an adult. His full, slightly overhanging brow and sharp, knifelike nose gave him the appearance of an animal, though it could be argued whether he most resembled a rodent or a fowl. Despite his diminutive stature and odd appearance, Isaac was never physically bullied or verbally assaulted by the other boys, which was an oddity itself. Alda was in the heart of Appalachia, where Harlan was considered a major metropolis. Unless they were highly motivated to alter the course of their lives, or just plain lucky, most males were destined for a brutal, and somewhat short life in the coal mines. The more entrepreneurial types might try a less demanding career in the moonshine business and risk a shortened life by a revenuer’s bullet rather than black lung disease.

    These were the type of kids who normally didn’t shy away from passing out a beat down to an odd looking boy simply for entertainment. It was the natural order of things. But they never messed with Isaac. They not only spared him any butt kickings, they gave him a wide berth, almost treating him with a reluctant reverence. Some say it was because he was the preacher’s son, but that had never earned anyone special treatment in the past; in fact, it may have provided extra incentive.

    Most agree it was his eyes, his dark piercing stare, that deterred his potential attackers from any contact. And his serious demeanor. Isaac appeared to be in deep thought, about what, nobody could fathom, but he was enigmatic enough to stir apprehension amongst the bravest of his would be enemies.

    Unlike Samson, Isaac was not only literate, he was something of a prodigy, able to quote Bible verses effortlessly. He was a constant source of irritation to his brother Paul, who studied the scriptures relentlessly in an effort to please their demanding father. Isaac felt that if Paul was meant to be a preacher, it would come naturally to him and he wouldn’t have to work so #### hard at it. But then, Isaac underestimated his own gifts.

    Isaac developed a powerful hatred for his father. It stemmed mostly from his treatment of his brother Samson. Isaac kept his own counsel however, not anxious to bring down beatings upon himself. When his father let Samson out like a slave for hire, Isaac decided that was his breaking point. By then Isaac and learned the mind was a far more powerful tool than the body. He had watched the moonshiners risk their lives to sell their poison in the very county they lived. When somebody died from drinking the vile brew, his relatives, if they cared enough, went after the maker of the product or they sent the law to his front door. Isaac saw this as a dumb way to do business, especially since nobody became wealthy doing it, and was amazed at how the fruitless cycle continued.

    Well, he had plans of his own. He had done the math and worked out the logistics in his head. His plans involved the labor and risks of others and the profit for himself. The first step of his plan was to get the hell out of this place, something he wouldn’t do without first safeguarding the welfare of his baby brother, the only human Isaac ever harbored any compassion for.
    ***
    It was Easter Sunday and Reverend Jeremiah Hill had planned more fire and brimstone than usual, sending home the message of the painful sacrifice made by God’s only son. He even had a special snake in the basket beneath the podium. With some of the extra cash derived from Samson’s labors, he ordered a new poisonous monster just for this occasion. A man in a sleek, black sedan delivered the big Timber Rattler all the way from West Virginia just before daybreak this very morning. It was as beautiful and menacing as promised. He knew his congregation would be impressed, and more importantly would be his Lord God.

    What is he doing here? Isaac quit attending services a few years ago at the age of fifteen when his father finally saw something in the boy’s eyes that made him not want to push the issue anymore. Though he would never admit fearing his own son, he accepted the fact that the boy had chose, surely under Satan’s advisement, to no longer obey him. He had done his best to bring his son to God and now the matter was out of his hands, or so he tried to convince himself.

    It was startling enough to see his son here, but the fact that he was in the center of the first pew was particularly unsettling. He never sat up front before. And he never smiled either.

    After getting over the shock of seeing Isaac, Jeremiah finally noticed his other son, Samson, seated next to him. He never allowed that big oaf to sit up front blocking everyone else’s view of the pulpit and Isaac knows this as he sits there with his mocking little grin. How dare he!


    It was eleven sharp and the Reverend Hill never began a late sermon. Never! He would not allow his service to be delayed, especially on Easter. His flock looked at him expectantly as the hand stood straight up on the big wall clock. He raised his worn Bible above his head, and with eyes closed, tilted his head back and began the opening prayer, building up to a crescendo before exhaling a mighty AMEN!

    Jeremiah couldn’t seem to hit his stride. Even avoiding looking at his sons, his awareness of their presence in the church nagged at the edge of his consciousness. The crowd didn’t seem to notice. Their enthusiasm rocked the old building as hands went into the air and feet stomped the wood plank floor.

    Twenty minutes in, Jeremiah began quoting Mark 16:17-18 and as improbable as it seemed, the volume of the worshippers increased to a deafening level, for they knew what happened next, even before the preacher reached for one of the burlap sacks by his feet.

    Jeremiah unwittingly made eye contact with Isaac as he bent for the sack. Isaac lipped synced something to the old man through smiling lips. What? Jeremiah’s mind screamed as he reached for the sack, fumbling it and almost releasing the snake onto the stage. Cursing his own clumsiness, he pulled the sack up with a tight grip, not trusting himself to look away from it as he reached inside.

    He planned to save the monster from West Virginia for his grand finale. He would start with a local rattler he had used before, then blow their minds with his latest acquisition. And as if this hadn’t been a strange enough day already, it just got weirder.

    The snake, though docile enough, had no movement as he pulled it from the sack. What the hell? The #### thing was dead! Isaac was now smiling broadly as he clapped his hands above his head, joining the congregation in their fervor. Jeremiah began speaking in tongues as he shook the deceased reptile with anger, as if it had brought its fate upon itself before tossing it into a corner. Isaac never knew for sure if that was a ruse to cover his confusion or if the Holy Spirit actually stepped in at that moment. In any case, the spectators seemed not to notice, nor care.

    Jeremiah uncharacteristically paused to take some deep breaths, allowing the bewildered crowd to quieten. Without making eye contact with anyone, he spoke of an evil presence amongst them, a messenger of Satan right here in this sacred service! This brought about oohs and ahs and shouts of anger. A perfect opening for what remained in the second burlap sack below.

    There were looks of unabashed awe as he withdrew the monstrous Timber Rattler followed by a screeching HALLEJEAUH! from the back row. The mighty serpent wrapped itself from Jeremiah’s wrist to his upper arm with several feet left over, dangling toward the floor. The old preacher fell into his practiced rhythm, not intimidated by the additional size. He moved the snake from arm to arm and later draped it around his neck, delivering his sermon and never breaking stride.


    As if by magnetic pull, he turned to Isaac, who was mouthing words to him again. And once again he couldn’t decipher them.

    Jeremiah had been bitten hundreds of times, but never in the face. The Timber Rattler turned slowly, almost gracefully, to face his handler before striking, slamming, into the man’s face. The predator’s fangs were an inch and a half long. In a tenth of a second they had penetrated the soft flesh of Jeremiah’s left eyelid before inserting themselves into the eyeball. The fraction of a second was all that was required for the deadly venom to enter the brain cavity through the soft membrane. The preacher reflexively yanked back on the serpent’s head, feeling the moist eyeball land on his cheek as he did so. All sound seemed to evaporate from the room as he turned again to Isaac. He still couldn’t read his son’s lips, but there was no need. The words in his ears were soft but distinct, as if Isaac’s mouth was an inch away. It’s time to die.

    The rattler fell to the floor, causing mayhem as it went through the congregation, eyeball still attached to a fang. Women and men alike fainted and others erupted into tongues, certain this was an omen of the most serious nature. The big snake, who never asked to be here, almost made it to the door when a man withdrew a long barreled .44 Magnum from his work boot and shot it through the head.

    Within a few days the dark rumors circulated in earnest. A deacon reportedly observed Isaac talking to the snakes before the service began. Not just talking at them, but seriously speaking to them as if they were actually communicating. It was never ascertained if this actually occurred but Isaac was soon known as a minion of the Devil himself.


    The big rattler was dead on the spot but the old preacher survived that fateful Easter Sunday, though he never preached another sermon, nor did he ever speak another coherent sentence. He spent the remainder of his days mumbling to himself at the State Hospital for the Insane in Lexington, where his son Paul was his only visitor.​
    Isaac was never seen or heard from again in the town of Alda. He walked away, virtually disappearing, amidst the confusion that afternoon, hand in hand with his brother Samson. Some say he was whisked away by the Devil himself. An old woman claims he dropped into the old dry well behind the chapel, surely a direct route to hell.​



     
  6. daf105paccar

    daf105paccar Road Train Member

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    A great read.
    I hope to be continued....................
     
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  7. fortycalglock

    fortycalglock Road Train Member

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    Very interesting.
     
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  8. MUSTANGGT

    MUSTANGGT Road Train Member

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    Thank-you and it will be, but I got this job that kinda gets in the way at times.
     
  9. daf105paccar

    daf105paccar Road Train Member

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    No rush.
    All good things come to those that can wait.:yes2557:
     
  10. fortycalglock

    fortycalglock Road Train Member

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    Is this a complete story, at least outline wise, or is it off the cuff? There's nothing worse than starting a serial only for it to be abandoned. Great start though
     
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  11. FLATBED

    FLATBED Road Train Member

    Interesting read , looking forward to next chapter
     
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