Strawberries

Up until his conversation with Reggie, Harry had been avoiding his thoughts of retirement. Like many men, he was consumed with his job. It was his identity. Despite the stress and the danger, he loved it. He felt most of his colleagues did as well, although they never admitted it to one another. He thought about Reggie out by the golf course, drinking his Scotch every day. Would that be him? Maybe he would open up a private detective agency like so many of his counterparts did.

Harry steered his thoughts away from what was becoming a depressing look into the future and tried to focus on the case at hand. The lives that were forever altered by a single event and the chain reaction that led to the gas station in Tulare. The deputy whose life was spared by random luck. How many nights will he have nightmares of the bullet slamming into the wall inches from his head. Of shooting blindly. Will he think about how he could have hit the state trooper? The guilt that would have ensued.

The trooper took a life that day. His first. Harry has taken two in twenty-eight years. It never goes away. You tell yourself they were scum and they had it coming. But it never goes away.

Harry found Alberto's house easy enough and was glad to have a task that would get him out of his own head. Maybe that was why he preferred to stay busy. As at Reggie's house, the door opened as he approached it.

"You must be Detective Benson" Alberto said. A statement, not a question. There was no hostility. No warmth either.

"Yes, sir, I am." Harry answered, displaying his badge. "What gave me away?"

"You have that look. Besides, I figured you would show up eventually."

"I came to tell you that you can use your phone now. Nobody is listening anymore. I know you must be concerned about your daughter."

"How generous of you. Am I supposed to thank you now?"

"Maybe I should thank you. I know Manuel had some encouragement. As for Joey, you have to understand my position. She was in possession of a stolen vehicle and she was refusing to cooperate with the police. She appeared to be fleeing. None of that looks good."

"No it doesn't." Alberto agreed. "And now you have a sudden change of heart?"

"Officially, everyone involved is still a potential suspect until the case is closed. Unofficially, I no longer consider Joey a person of interest and the car owner is not interested in pressing charges."

"Ah, I see. In other words, you have made an arrest."

Harry just shrugged.

"Why are you here, detective? I know it is not in the nature of the police to apologize for anything, but that is what you seem to be doing. Can you at least tell me who was arrested?"

"A woman in Bakersfield. An Anglo with dark hair."

"Ah. Let me guess. She is spilling her guts."

"You seem to know a little about these things, Alberto."

"I'm sure you have checked me out as well, detective."

Harry shrugged again.

Unlike Alberto, Harry's daughter had been grown by the time he lost his wife. But he still felt a kinship with the man. Albeit one that would go unspoken. Harry was a white cop. Alberto was a Latino ex gangbanger. But those were superficial things. It ran deeper than that. Why couldn't men talk about these things, Harry wondered for the millionth time. No wonder so many cops ate their guns.

"You will never tell me what she is doing, but believe it or not, I was concerned. I wish her well, Alberto." Harry said as he turned and began walking to his car.

"Detective, wait." Alberto shouted from the porch as Harry reached for his door handle.

"Joey is a smart kid. A hard worker." Alberto said as he approached Harry. "She was earning her degree at Cal state. Money was getting tight, and she wisely didn't want to sink into debt. A trusted family member on the east coast offered her a wonderful job opportunity and she can finish her education there also. I urged her to take a bus, but she insisted on going by car. Said she would need one there anyway. Made sense. It just so happened my no good nephew heard of this. I had a feeling something was wrong when I saw the paperwork. I should have intervened, detective, but I let my daughter have her way. Perhaps you understand."

"Yes, I understand. You want your daughter to be happy. I hope she does well, Alberto." Harry said as he got in his car. Just a little nod and a wave as he drove away.

He believed the story. He had to hear it for himself before he fully took Joey off his list. He didn't miss the fact that Alberto carefully omitted Joey's destination. Trust only went so far. That was ok. Harry couldn't blame him for being protective. Now it was time to call Tulare. He would offer whatever help was required to run down this Jake.

 

"None of my business, but who is that? In general terms, that is." Joey asked.

"An old acquaintance, kinda sorta. Her name is Jennifer. That pretty much sums it up. In general terms, that is."

"Ah, I see. Again, none of my my business, but are there a bunch of kinda sorta girlfriends running around out here?"

"Not as many as one might think."

"Uh huh, I see."

Ricky keyed up the mic as he saw another pair of headlights rolling up behind the Mississippi Queen. He used that as an opportunity to fill an uncomfortable silence. "What's happening back there Jen?"

"Just another truck joining in the festivities, it appears."

"Ah, the more the merrier, although I doubt anyones' sanity who chooses to follow us."

"Indeed." answered the gravelly voice from the rear of the little convoy. "I doubt my own sanity on a daily basis. I heard yall talking back yonder. Took me a few miles to catch up. They call me Hot Rod. I gotta be in Spartanburg by ten AM. Not as bad as you, but I aint got a lot to play with either."

"Is that where you're from?" Ricky asked.

"Nah, I'm from up in the hills, near Jellico, Tennessee. The Kentucky line runs through my backyard."

"Bet that makes things interesting at tax time." Ricky said.

"You bet. It's only about twenty square feet and I never even walk on it. Hell, I even offered to give it to the state of Kentucky. But they won't take it and insist on charging me property tax. We finally reached a compromise and I mail them twenty dollars a year. That seems to keep them happy, although I'm not allowed to vote in both states. I reckon because my mailbox is in Tennessee."

"How did that all come about anyway?" Jennifer asked.

"Hell if I know. The property has been in the family since before the civil war. I reckon they was lucky to hang on to it at all. I figure it was so far in the hills, the Yankees never found it."

And so the conversations went. Mindless chatter to pass the miles. Every day, across the nations highways, truckers solved the worlds problems, made friends, blew off steam, recieved advice, gave advice, told jokes and found the occasional lover.

"You ever had a girlfriend? I mean like a real girlfiend. Somebody you always wanted to be with?" Joey asked quietly.

"Yeah, a couple." Ricky answered.

"What happened?"

"Usual stuff, I suppose. Three years with the last one. I still think about her. Still lives down the road from me. We used to talk occasionally. Now I just wave if I see her in the yard. She has a little dog business. Grooming and boarding. It can be a 24 hour commitment when folks leave their dogs over."

"Sounds nice. The business. Her too. I love dogs myself. So what was the problem?"

"Me. Being gone so much. She wanted me to work local. I love this too much to consider it. I suppose that makes me selfish, but I can't help my nature. She didn't understand. I wanted her to go with me, but impossible with the dog business. We never really fought about it. We just kinda drifted apart. I still like her, but it hurts to be around her. So now I just wave."

"You said there were a couple. What about the other one?"

"Pretty much the same thing. I chose the road over a good woman. Pretty dumb, huh?"

"No, country boy. I don't think it is dumb at all." Joey said softly and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

 

The kiss made Ricky feel happy and sad at the same time. Happy he was bringing some joy to Joey and sad that some time in the not so distant future she would most likely be gone from his life.
He could envision no scenario where she would benefit from any long term relationship with him. She was bright and ambitious, with a future ahead that shouldn't involve a man of his station.
He could picture her a few years from now after getting her degree and learning the ropes at Hector's ad agency. Driving her new BMW and leasing a nice condo near the beach. Maybe dating a doctor. A lawyer perhaps.
The last thing she needed was some trucker with an incurable case of wanderlust.

Jennifer and Hot Rod had became involved in their own conversation. Joey was cruising the internet on the Blackberry and Ricky was time travelling.

The talk of ex-girlfriends brought back a vision of the last time he saw Darla, the dog lady. She hated to be called that, but Ricky never meant it to be hurtful.
About a month ago he was bobtailing past her house as she was walking out to the mailbox. She threw up her arm in a friendly wave as Ricky opened the valve slighty on his locomotive horns, emitting a low bellow, causing her to laugh with delight.
He grinned and wave as he passed, fighting the urge to stop. Oh sure, she would ask him how he has been. Maybe even give him a hug. But in the end, he knew it could never be what it once was. It was broken now, and no amount of wishful thinking would ever make it whole.

His mind drifted back to Nicki. A wild child if there ever was one. With her black leather jacket and matching boots, she looked right at home on the back of a Harley, or in the cab of a Peterbilt.
She always reminded him of Joan Jett, with her shaggy black hair and her confident smirk.
When she was twelve, her father died in a fiery crash when his truck left the road on a mountain pass in Colorado. Dry roads and good brakes. Speculation was he had a heart attack, or fell asleep.
She had bad dreams about it for several years before they eventually subsided. After her relationship with Ricky began, the dreams returned.
Only in the new dreams, it was Ricky, not her father going over the side of the mountain. She begged him to leave the coke alone.
To quit driving crazy miles nonstop. In the end, she walked out. Couldn't take the worry. Not wanting to lose him like she lost her father.

"Earth to Ricky...hello. Are you still with us?" Joey said, tapping him on the shoulder.

"Huh?" he said, as if coming out of a fog.

"You ok darlin? Your friends are trying to talk to you." she said, pointing at the CB radio.

 

Ricky looked at the CB as if it were a new invention imported from outer space before gathering his wits and grabbing the microphone.

"I'm here." he said. "Dang mic cord has been messing up on me lately. I need to get it checked out when I have time."

"Yeah, sure." Jennifer replied. "You oughta see his little sidekick up there, Hot Rod. I think he has been kidnapping fashion models out there in California. No wonder he never called me back."

"Don't listen to her." Ricky said. "Lies, trickery and deception. I gave her my heart and she trampled on it like a door mat."

"Oh, that is rich." Jennifer said. "But as we were saying, while you were pre-occupied, once we get through Birmingham, we were thinking about stopping for a cup, maybe Lincoln, or over the line in Tallapoosa."

"I just can't. I would love to, but I literally don't have a minute to spare." Ricky said, begging off. He hated having to say that, especially considering their history, but work came first and he could really use that bonus. Besides, maybe Jennifer and Hot Rod would hit it off. One never knew.

"Alright then. We were just trying to be sociable."

"I know sweetie, and I appreciate it, but I really am cutting it close here. Maybe next time."

"I understand, Mustang. You and that dang produce."

The little convoy broke up as Jennifer and Hot Rod said their farewells and turned off at the Raceway Diner in Talledega.

"That place looks pretty cool." Joey said.

"Yeah, they have a NASCAR souvenier shop in there."

"Wow, are we close to the track?"

"Yes, we are. Coming up on it now. Get some pics with my Blackberry if you like. One day, when they aren't tracking you like a felon, I will email them to you. Maybe we will have time to visit Daytona on the way to Miami."

"That would be too cool, country boy." That earned him another kiss.

 

Upon leaving Alberto's house, Harry decided to do another errand while he was out and about. A visit to Jesus Rangel, the wounded deputy was in order. It was just something cops did. And it never hurt to show some solidarity with another jurisdiction. Jesus had been transferred from the small emergency clinic in Tulare to Saint Marys General Hospital in Fresno, mainly for their superb opthamology department.

After showing his shield at the admissions desk, Harry was directed to the third level. Several uniformed cops were milling about in the hallway, accompanied by a plainclothes detective with a familiar face. Oh geez, not Abby, twice in one day.

Harry exchanged nods with the officers, recieving a pat on the shoulder from Abby, as he went into the room. He was surprised to see both of Jesus's eyes covered with gauze. Just a precaution, explained the deputy sitting by the bed. The good eye had sustained a large amount of grit and abrasive dust. Although it had been thoroughly cleaned and rinsed, the doctor thought it best to keep it covered to retain moisture in the area. It would be checked and recleaned in a few hours. Surgery was scheduled for the lacerated eyeball later that evening.

Harry shook hands and thanked him for his bravery, and for being instrumental in bringing down a wanted felon.

"Yeah, but face it, I missed the guy." Jesus said, feeling a little down on himself.

"Tillman would have never got off that shot without your cover fire. It could have ended differently." Harry said, not having to explain any further. Laying in that bed, Jesus had probably played out the other possible scenarios, none of them good, over and over in his mind, like a bad movie.

"Thanks for stopping by, detective." the other deputy in the room said, offering his hand. "And believe me, we will find his brother for you."

"I know you will. I appreciate you guys." Harry said. He turned to leave, remembering Abby was in the hallway and there would be no sneaking past him.

"Hey, Harry. They got some good burgers here in the cafeteria. Come on, let me get you lunch." Abby offered.

"You know what, I just had some lunch on the way over here." Harry lied.

"At least have a cup of coffee."

Harry relented, having no ready excuses to offer.

"You know that guy in the room, the one you were talking to?" Abby asked.

"Yeah, sure. What about him?"

"That guy is their designated sniper. He was at the scene, all ready to go. You know he was pissed not to get a shot. Those guys are freaks anyway."

"Why do you say that, Abby? Seemed like a decent enough guy to me."

"Aw, come on, Harry. If me or you have to use our gun, it's one thing. We do it out of necessity. But these guys look forward to it. They dream about it day and night. I think they get off on it."

"Abby, I think you are exaggerating. The guy couldn't be a cop if he was that unstable."

"You would think. But a true psycopath is good at hiding it, Harry. I had an uncle. He was a sniper in 'Nam. Been back over twenty years. Just like a normal guy, then one day he just snaps."

Harry started to argue. To explain being a sniper had nothing to do with it. It happens to all sorts of guys. Maybe the guy just went nuts and it had nothing to do with Viet Nam. But he suffered in silence, vowing to get up and leave when he finished his coffee.

 

Tractor trailers were parked along the side of Forest Parkway, lined up to the entrance to the market. The local police were tolerant of the trucks, knowing they would be filing in the gate well before the morning rush of traffic. Ricky rode past the snoozing truckers and pulled right up to the gate at four minutes before midnight.

"Well, well, if it ain't the ex jarhead from Savannah. I knowed it had to be somebody special. Aint too often they let a truck in this time of the night. Them boys is waiting for you on dock 2A, on the front row. But I aint gotta tell you where it is." said the security guard when Ricky passed his paperwork out the window to the elderly black man in the guard booth.

Ricky didn't know how old Mister Curtis was and would never ask. He was originally from Macon and claimed to have known Little Richard as a very young man. It was rumored that Mister Curtis would ride in a horse drawn wagon with his grandfather, a former slave, to the market to sell vegetables from the family farm during the depression. His hair was snow white in stark contrast to his ebony skin, and his remaining teeth were yellowed from the plug tobacco he favored. But his eyes still had a twinkle and his wit was razor sharp.

"That's right, Mister Curtis. If a dirty job needs doing, they call in the Marines. Everybody else is smart enough to run the other way." Ricky replied.

"I don't know about that, young man. The way I growed up, the man that wasn't scared to do the work, made the money. Now I do declare, that has to be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen you with, jarhead. You best treat her right. Lordy, lordy, you have sho nuff outdone yourself."

Joey was typically shy around stangers, but the old man's manner had put her at ease. "So Mister Curtis, is he in the habit of bringing a lot of different women in here?"

"Now, Miss, I aint saying that at all. No maam." he answered with a wink. "I'm just saying you be the prettiest one by far I ever seen him with. Now yall get on back to the dock so they can snatch off them berries."

The fact was, Ricky had never had a woman in his truck here before. Mister Curtis was just having fun with him and Joey seemed to understand, although she did give him a playful punch on the arm.

After backing up to the dock, Ricky walked back to speak to the foreman. "When is the next truck scheduled for this particular dock?" Ricky asked him.

"Not until eight o'clock. Load of apples from Michigan, why?"

"Because we need some sleep and I know there won't be any spots in any truck stops around here this time of the night." Ricky said, slipping the man two twenty dollar bills. "When yall get done, just slip the bills under the wiper blade and don't wake me up."

Ricky and Joey got undressed and slipped under the thick comforter. He pulled her close, kissing her deeply. They fell asleep in each others arms.