Daisy & Baby

1 - Hey My Dick Is Small, But My Truck Is Big

I knew what was happening even as I closed the door. It was a moment of realization, a split second after I acted. It was oh my God NO, followed by well crap.

The door slammed shut and I looked helplessly at my purse sitting on the driver's seat. I checked my pockets, just in case, but everything that mattered was locked in my piece of crap Honda Civic. I kicked a bald tire in frustration. It was the perfect end to a hard day, like a sarcastic slow clap.

Snow came down wet and heavy and I could feel my hair getting frizzier by the second, so I pulled the hood of my jacket up and looked around the parking lot to see if one of my friends had arrived.

Not a chance.

A giant big blue truck pulled into the space in next to me. It was one of those obnoxious things, higher than it needs to be, big tires with black wheels, loud just like the jerks who drive them. The man didn't waste any time before climbing out and shutting the door. He glanced at me, took a step toward the bar, then turned back.

"You all right?" he asked.

I gestured toward my car and he looked down at it.

"Need a jump start?"

"I locked my purse inside!" I snapped.

He leaned down and looked in the passenger side window then straightened and pulled a phone out of his pocket. "Here, go ahead and call someone." He leaned over the hood of my car and handed me his phone.

I softened a little, feeling guilty for snapping at him when my purse and keys weren't his problem. "Yeah. Thanks," I said, offering him a small peace smile. He stood around and smoked a cigarette while I dialed the only number I knew by heart. My roommate didn't answer. I tried to punch in a couple of other numbers by memory, but none of them looked right. "Nevermind, can I use your 4G to get the number for a cab or something? I'll have to go get my spare key."

"Sure, or I could just take you."

"Nah, you're probably meeting someone."

"Ain't here yet."

I glanced up at him, my thumb hovering over the button to turn his 4G on. He was maybe ten years my senior and big all over, big enough to hold me down if he wanted. His cigarette sat pinched between his lips as he took his baseball hat off and snugged it back down over soft brown hair. For a minute he watched me watching him. He had a patient sort of look, like he was the kind of person who didn't feel a strong need to get places on time.

"Maybe I'll just wait until my friends get here."

"Tell you what, if you change your mind just send a text to one of your friends from my phone, give them my name and everything, then if you disappear they'll know who to look for." He opened his truck door and pulled a card out of the side pocket then held it out to me.

I read it in the dim light from the parking lot lamps: Daniel Reed, Mobile Equipment Repair. There was a number and an address on the bottom.

Could be a trap.

I texted my roommate the information on the card anyway, then nodded.

"All right, I'm just a few miles away."

"Hang on to the phone, in case someone calls you back."

I put his phone and card in my pocket then walked around the back of my car. That's when I saw a big NRA sticker on his bumper. I had a friend who was obsessed with mass shootings. She was convinced that our city was due for one any time, so whenever she was in public, she liked to pick out the guys who might have a concealed handgun. She kept tabs on them, like you would an exit row on a plane, just in case she needed to hide behind someone when all hell broke lose.