Longest time out on the road

Great story mustang, took me 1hr and a half to read it LOL.

I drive for John Deere tour show this year, and left april 8th 2010 and wont get home untill July 4th when i fly home for 4 days from st louis. Show wont be over untill july 31st.
So if u see a pretty john deere trk across the eastern and mid west. THATS ME

OH also I'm a newlywed too hehe only been married 7 months.

 

Married 7 months,.. but dealt with married life for 5hours

....
Im not as long driver as you guys but up at 0500, worked till 1900(as it was my last day in that state); took load at 1930 to go to another state where I am now living;; arrived at 0600... started for same company (Different state) at 0730.. and went home at 2100...

 

god #### mustanggt. you are absolutly awesome. that will make an amazing book and i hope it gets published. best wishes to you in your future endeavors and try to keep us somewhwat posted on how htings are going....

 

Great story. I read all 16 pages. lol.

 

it will be a month after it is all said and done with. since i had a 14 month breaking between driving i had to ride with a trainer for 20,000 miles. but i am pretty much back in the swing of things and hope i can get out of this early to get my own truck and see my son.

 

Great story mustanggt i'll be looking out for your next one

 

Hey everybody, just thought I'd take time to share a little something. This is from the actual manuscript that I will be submitting. Despite what I said earlier, I have since decided to go with this story, and put Johnny Ray on the shelf for the time being.
Though alluded to, this was never in the TR version. I hope you enjoy it.
Sorry about the underlining. That's the way it transferred from my Wordperfect program. There may be a way to prevent that, but I obviously haven't figured it out.




The last sign Darlene saw before being ordered into the sleeper compartment read Horizon City 2 and underneath that, EL Paso 17.
"Don’t make me tell you again." he growled. "Now get your ### in the back. And stay back there until I say you can come out. Keep the curtain closed, and I don’t want to hear a peep out of you."
Darlene complied wordlessly, knowing to protest was futile. To do so would only spark another of his outbursts, which had become increasingly violent. It was almost a relief to escape his menacing glare, but this was a new twist. He obviously didn’t want her to see where they where going. Or perhaps he didn’t want her to be seen.
She had never felt so scared and alone in her life. And there was no one to blame but herself. How could she have been so stupid? She should have told Daisy of her plans, so someone would at least have an idea where she was or who she was with. But she didn’t trust Daisy not to blab to Betty, who most likely would have tried to talk her out of going, which in hindsight, would have the sensible decision. She was sure Ricky had seen her in Alabama, but he didn’t even acknowledge her, and who could blame him.
She felt the truck slowing and gently pull off to the right on what must have been an exit ramp. After coming to a stop, the rig accelerated as it turned to the left. The CB speaker was alive with the chatter she associated with being in the proximity of a large truck stop. If there was one near, he didn’t pull in, for the truck continued to gain speed and the voices on the radio began to fade. Darlene couldn’t judge the speed at which they were traveling, but it felt to be considerably slower than the pace on the interstate.
The pitch of the engine changed as the driver went to a lower gear, then another. Having grown up in the country, she knew immediately they were now on unpaved road from the sound of gravel being slung underneath the vehicle by the tires. Somehow this seemed ominous, bad going to worse.
After what felt like several miles, the big truck slowed to a crawl, then stopped. Perhaps a minute later, the driver opened his door and stepped out. Whoever had approached the truck was speaking a foreign language, which she supposed was Spanish. She heard the word "solo" spoken by the other man repeatedly, with her driver saying "si". She also heard him say "dinero, si".
Then came a clanking sound, followed by a creaking noise. She figured a gate was being opened. The truck began rolling again, staying in a lower gear. Darlene rightly assumed they were in desert sand, for she felt the big tires lose traction more than once as the rig seem to be making a series of close quarters maneuvers, backing and pulling up repeatedly.
After finally stopping, the driver killed the engine and said in a harsh whisper, "Remember, not a peep, and don’t you so much as touch that curtain."
Complete silence. And darkness, in the four by eight foot box. Alone with her thoughts, and her fears as well, which had just grown exponentially.

#
Ben had been coming into Betty Boop’s for a year or so, on a regular basis. He visited as often as Ricky did, a few times a month. If they had ever been in there at the same time, Darlene couldn’t be sure. If he was, he may have been sitting in another section, and she was too preoccupied with Ricky to notice. He was Ricky’s height and build, just under six feet and slender. He had dark, almost black hair with deep blue eyes, as opposed to Ricky’s sandy locks and brown eyes.
Just a couple of months ago, Ben began making small talk with Darlene, appearing nervous, which she found endearing. During a late evening lull in business, she sat at his table and chatted for a while, charmed by his looks and his manner. He had a sophistication about him she had yet to see in another trucker.
The talk led to New Year’s Eve and what each of them had planned. Darlene mentioned the party in Darlington out by the speedway. If it wasn’t inconvenient, could he maybe stop by? Sure, he said. He lived in Camden, less then an hour away. Might be able to come by for a bit. Had she not been peeved at Ricky not calling all day, she was sure she wouldn’t have issued the invitation. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to talk to the guy.
She was delighted to find him at the party. He was just as polite as the day before and not the least bit pushy. She asked if he knew Ricky. They drove nearly matching trucks after all. At the mention of the other trucker, his face clouded over and his demeanor changed. Yes, he did, since high school as a matter of fact. Did she know much about him? Like he quit school when he was sixteen because he got his thirteen year old girlfriend pregnant. Registering her shock, he explained that "those hill folk" didn’t find that the least bit unusual.
And did she know she went on to have three more offspring? And that poor woman stays out in that cabin, never goes in to town, is what he heard. #### shame, he said, looking truly sorry.
IRS will get him one day too. Being self employed, he never reports any income, so she qualifies to draw a welfare check every month. Kids are probably living on beans and cornbread while he’s out here eating steak every night.
After sufficiently depressing Darlene, he deftly changed gears, delivering his rosy resume. I guess you noticed that two year old Corvette outside. Yeah, that’s mine. USC graduate. Go Gamecocks. Just trucking for a few years to get a feel for the business, before he starts his own company. His family has the funding, but doesn’t want to jump in before learning the business from the ground up.
He shyly asked for her phone number, only to be told she didn’t have one, but there was a pay phone down at the store. Her neighbor would let her use his phone, but she tried not to be a pest about it. He nodded sympathetically, as he understood the woes of the underclass. He then deftly slipped her a business card which read "McTeen Investments, Ben McTeen, Vice President." The phone number was inked out and another handwritten in. My dad’s company, just an honorary title, he explained. Rarely get by the office anymore, but that’s my home number. He said she could call him the next day, if she wished, no pressure.
The hour flew by and Daisy was at her elbow, saying it was time to head over to her parents’ before it got any later.

#
Darlene was shaken from her reverie by a familiar sound in unfamiliar surroundings. The irregular thump, thump of a Harley-Davidson announced it’s presence. She figured it was probably fifty feet away, possibly the gate they came through. Her neighbor’s had the same sound when he stopped at the entrance of the trailer park to check his mail. She must have been correct, for now she faintly heard the chain under the rumble of the bike.
For one crazy moment she had a fantasy that it was her neighbor, Scooter Mike, he of the phone, coming to rescue her from this nightmare. The thumping grew louder as it approached the truck and the vibrations could be felt in the cab. It was at that crazy moment that she drew back the curtain. The biker glimpsed the movement as he idled past the truck, stopping immediately. Not bothering to switch it off, he dismounted the bike, leaving it on the sidestand. Darlene felt the movement of the truck as he climbed up on the step. No use to close the curtain. He knew someone was here. Scrambling into a corner in an attempt to hide would be equally useless, so she simply sat there on the edge of the bed as the man stared through her with coal black eyes.
With the long black hair and heavy moustache, he could have passed for Mexican at first glance. But closer inspection revealed him to be anglo, with burnt leathery skin, no doubt from years of riding in the sand blown desert with a relentless sun. She expected him to bang on the glass and demand she open the door. But he didn’t. He got back on his bike and idled away. Knowing her cover was blown anyway, she leaned forward and risked a look into the passenger side, rear view mirror. Sixty feet behind the trailer sat a structure, which appeared to be an old farm house. A black Mercedes-Benz and three more Harleys were parked near the front porch. The gate was directly in front of the truck. All the twisting and turning must have been to get pointed back out, for the road they came in on came to a dead end here. The proverbial end of the line.
#

 

Here's one more before I call it a night. This one came out different. I don't know what happened before. Anyway, enjoy.



"Ah, the Southern Gentleman has returned." said the man behind the desk, in perfect, albeit accented English. "Please, sit." motioning to a leather sofa.
Ben laid a thick white envelope on the man’s desk as he made his way to the sofa, which was against a wall to one side of the desk. A matching sofa sat against the opposing wall, and was occupied by two bikers. The larger of the pair appeared to weigh in slightly upwards of two fifty, with no visible flab. Not the muscle one obtains in a gym. Not much definition, just a big, solid man, with absolutely no expression on his bearded face.
The other fellow looked to be seventy pounds lighter and his face was anything but expressionless. His mouth seemed to locked in combination of a grin and a sneer. As if there was a joke being told that only he could hear. He wore a ## manchu moustache and his dark hair was just below his collar. Though smaller and less powerful looking, he looked to be the more volatile of the two. Both appeared to be Mexican.
"So business must be good, senor." the man behind the desk said, thumbing through the hundred dollar bills in the envelope. "I see you are doubling your order."
The man could best be described as oily. He had an olive complexion and thick, black, oiled hair slicked back from his forehead. He wore a well fitting black suit over his medium frame, with a maroon shirt and no tie. His teeth were perfect, as were his manicured nails.
The man didn’t know Ben’s name. He only knew him by his CB handle, Southern Gentleman. Ben didn’t know the man’s name either. He only knew him as "the man" and addressed him as "sir" whenever they met.
As Ben began to answer, the door opened and a third biker entered the room, no doubt the one who had just ridden into the compound.

 

This is the remainder of the chapter. For those of you that read the TR version, this was covered in a short paragraph when Ricky bumped into Darlene at the truckstop in Eloy.
Btw, Animal is now Southern Gentleman.


He came into the room with a sense of urgency. The man raised his eyebrows as if to ask "What's the problem?", and motioned him to the desk with a slight movement of the head. The agitated biker approached the desk, and stepped around beside his boss, whispering into his ear.
Upon receiving the message, the oily man's mood darkened perceptively. His eyes shot daggers at Ben, who was making a gallant effort to remain impassive.
"Southern Gentleman" the man said with a cold edge to his voice. "Please stand."
Ben did as he was told.
"This won't hurt a bit." said the biker in a Texas drawl as he approached. The big man on the sofa remained stoic, but the other's sneer erupted into a wide, goofy grin, as if he found this development delightful.
The biker expertly frisked Ben, as if this was his second job. "Only this, boss." the man said as he laid a switchblade knife and Ben's wallet on oily man's desk.
Giving the items only a cursory glance, oily man returned his gaze to Ben. "Now hand my associate the key to your truck. Then you may sit back down, senor."
#
Darlene pulled the curtain closed when the biker left, hoping against hope that he wouldn't say anything to anybody. Maybe he was an outside visitor, not involved with whatever went on here. Perhaps he was only curious and decided it was none of his business, and Ben would return, none the wiser. But this was not to be. The click of the door lock announced the arrival of a visitor.
"Heeeere's Johhny." announced the biker in a fair Jack Nicholson impersonation. Naturally, he followed that up with, "Come out, come out, wherever you are."
Darlene pulled back the curtain and remained sitting cross legged on the bed. She appeared calmer than the situation warranted. Having passed through several stages of fear, she was now resigned to her fate, whatever that may be.
"Well, would ya just lookee here. Ain't you a purty thang. I always figured that Southern Gentleman to be a slick talker. I'm convinced of it now, cause there ain't no way a scumbag like him deserves to be with a classy lookin chick like you.
"Now the first thing I have to do is look around and make sure there ain't a gun or a badge stashed somewhere. Now are you going to be nice? You planning on putting me at ease and then whipping a derringer out of your bra?"
"No, sir. I won't be no trouble, and as far as I know, there ain't no gun in here." Darlene answered.
After satisfying himself with a thorough search of the cab, including Darlene's hand bag and the storage compartments beneath the bunk, the biker produced two items from the pockets of his leather jacket.
"Say cheese for daddy." he said as he aimed the camera at Darlene. After taking two snapshots, he explained, "Just a little something for our records. Can't be too careful nowadays. And I hope you don't mind, but I took an extra for myself. You just so dang purty, I can't stand it."
The second item from his jacket was a small tape recorder.
"So, Miss Darlene Duke, from Darlington, South Carolina," he began, reading from her license, " I need to ask you some questions. Now, I want you to speak clearly into this here recording device. Never know when this stuff could come in handy. Are you a police officer, or any way affiliated with law enforcement?"
"No, sir." she answered.
"How about that scumbag pretty boy you're riding with?"
"No sir. Been knowing him over a year now, not all that well, or I wouldn't be here, and as far as I know, he's just a truck driver."
The answer made the biker laugh out loud. "Not all that well, huh? Well, now you know more than you wanted to."
Then his mood turned serious. "If it were up to me, I would put a bullet in his head and take his worthless carcass out there in the desert. No need to bury anything out in these parts. That's what we have coyotes for. Then I'd keep you for myself. Tattoo your cute little ### to seal the deal. That's how things work in my world. But for now, I'm going back inside and you're staying out here. The boss doesn't want you to see his face, on the outside chance we let yall ride out of here. I know you ain't thinkin about scampering nowhere. You ain't gotta worry about that fella out there at the gate. It's me you gotta think about."
#
"Ah, my investigator has returned. The only gringo on my staff." oily man said, throwing a wink towards Ben. "I find him quite useful in these situations. These two on the couch are excellent soldiers, but I'm afraid they are sorely lacking in communications skills.
"So, enlighten me with your findings, intrepid Anglo warrior."
"She's just a dumb little hillbilly." said the biker as he laid the camera and recorder on his boss's desk.
"Pisses me off that this nimrod even has such a hot chick in his company. But as far as we are concerned, I don't see a problem."
Oily man had already covertly photographed Ben on his first visit and today asked him the same questions asked of Darlene and recorded the answers, hoping to never need them. But his lawyer told him information was power, and he had a good track record involving entrapment cases. Yes, one could never be too cautious.
"Ben McTeen," oily man said sternly, as if addressing an unruly child. "When we began our relationship, you were informed of three very simple rules. Be here at the arranged time, have cash money, and be alone. Very simple. What part of that did you not understand? Do you see any women her? Of course you don't, because we don't mix business with pleasure."
Oily man paused, rose from his chair, leaned forward placing his palms flat on his desk. His voice lowered to a fearsome growl as he continued.
"Experience tells me that I should kill you now, to avoid future problems. Only one thing prevents me from doing just that. You would provide a meal for the vultures and coyotes, but disposing of that large truck would be a major inconvenience. So consider this the luckiest day of your miserable life. Now take your product and get the hell out of here before I change my mind." oily man concluded, as he flung a heavy packet, hitting Ben in the chest.
As the big rig drove through the gate, oily man noticed the questioning expressions on the faces of his crew. He explained to them why he even gave Ben the dope, rather than just sending him away empty handed as punishment.
"It is like this gentlemen. I had the upper hand. Rather than humiliate him any more than I already had, I allowed him the tiniest of victories. If I didn't give him something, I would have had to kill him, for had he left here empty handed, his anger would have led him to run his mouth. He may have lost some dignity, but he has his dope. And he left with the shred of hope that he may be permitted to deal with us in the future, which of course will never happen. People can be so simple."

 

I like the changes. Calling "Animal" Southern Gentleman, and giving more information on his and Darlene's backgrounds adds quite a bit of complexity to the story. Making him more human, though still a villain in the story.

Keep up the good work.