Bootleg Freight

After shifting the Diamond Reo into the highest gear he planned on using for awhile, Billy Banks unwrapped the big roast beef sandwich that was given to him by Bo as he climbed into the rig along with two glass bottles of Coca-Cola. He did the same for Isaac.

He intuited the men passed up lunch in the diner more as a time consideration than a lack of hunger. He couldn’t blame them, for if he were in their shoes he too would want to be out of the Volunteer state before sundown if at all possible.

Bo looked forward to any correspondence his sister might receive from Isaac in the hopes that it contained a detailed account of the slow, tortuous demise of certain officers of Knox county for he surmised him to be just the man with the mindset and ability to make it happen without the slightest hint of remorse or fear of consequence.

Isaac did want as much daylight travel time as possible, but not out of fear of reprisal but for tactical reasons. If he was in open view, so were his would be predators. Predators whom he intended to become prey. He stationed Billy and the Diamond Reo in the lead position, enabling himself to run interference, if necessary, in the more nimble Ford coupe.

The long grade between Knoxville and Lake City was as straight as could be enabling a northbound driver to see the valley two miles behind him in his rear view mirror.

Isaac was now certain the baby blue Buick Electra with the distinctive wrap around front fins was the same one he saw trolling through the bus depot. He saw it again parked in front of a general store ten miles back. Two men in suits and fedoras were propped against the trunk lid smoking cigarettes. They not so casually turned their backs as Billy came around the curve in the semi. They already had the doors open, climbing in the Buick as Isaac passed by. Very subtle, you incompetent clowns Isaac said to himself.

Billy was forced to slow down to crawl as he came up behind a heavily laden coal truck belching clouds of smoke as the driver steadily downshifted as he climbed the steep grade. A passing lane was a quarter of a mile ahead, but for now there was no choice but to slow down and wait with the steady stream of oncoming traffic.

The Buick had been maintaining what would have been a discreet distance to the untrained eye but Isaac picked them up a few miles back when they were holding an eighth of a mile. Now that traffic was bunching up at fifteen miles per hour in the single travel lane the Buick’s driver had no choice but to close the gap. Now, at nine vehicle lengths back, the blue behemoth of a car stood out like a whale on land to Isaac.

Isaac moved to right side of the road giving Billy a clear view from his left mirror at the line of cars behind him, hoping he too would pick up on the tail.

When they reached the passing lane Billy fell out, easily overtaking the coal truck, with the black Ford in tow. Seven automobiles and a Colonial Bread van passed the coal truck after Billy and Isaac did but no sign of the blue Buick as they started down the north side of the grade.

Isaac reckoned his pursuers had stayed behind the coal truck in order to build up another gap between them, perhaps thinking they hadn’t been made. No matter because Jelico lay ahead, the Lake City grade a mere bump in the road in comparison. Invariably, heavy trucks would have traffic strung out this time of day, car drivers anxiously awaiting the intermittently spaced passing lanes so they can move around the big rigs.

Isaac hoped for as many slow trucks as possible. The Diamond Reo was hot to trot compared to most trucks on the road and pulling a virtually empty trailer it was downright fast.

The southern side of Jelico mountain was a twenty mile climb broken up by a series of nearly level stretches giving the uninitiated traveler the false impression of reaching the plateau on each of these areas only to find another pull steeper than the last.

The uphill lanes had the occasional wide spots to accommodate overheating vehicles while the downhill side had pullout areas for trucks to cool their brakes. The area Isaac was waiting for was at the crest of the pass, before the shorter, but steeper, five mile downhill grade that bottomed out at the Kentucky state line.

The stretch of gravel was perhaps a hundred yards long and wide enough for two big rigs to clear each other. A copse of trees a dozen feet deep separated the lot from the asphalt highway, provided truckers a little shade for a daytime nap and a buffer zone from moving traffic. On the right side was a rocky slope that angled sharply into a sheer drop-off ending a thousand yards in the gorge below.

Isaac caught the occasional glimpse of the Buick Electra, and although the sightings were fewer and farther between, the last one being twenty minutes earlier, he knew they were back there. The hunters would soon become the hunted.

 

That's awesome, man. I love it.

I still have the column shift on my '70 F100. I have rebuilt the mechanism twice over the years in an effort to keep it as original as possible by not cutting a hole in the floor.

 

I just picked the '60 Buick at random but had an uncle with a '65 Riviera. Had a 425CI with dual 4BBL carbs. Had four bucket seats and the console ran all the way back. Kinda goofy picturing it now but I thought I was a cool cat when he let me drive it when I was 15.