Driver

Driver - Chapter 11

Stranded in the middle of the road Danny looked at his car which was now totaled thanks to the collision he had just orchestrated to get rid of the guy following him around. For a moment he felt like a bird without its feathers, a king without his throne, a driver without his ride.

The pickup truck that he saw idling in the bottom of the on ramp earlier had by now made its way towards the crash site. A man got out of it armed with an aluminum baseball bat.

"What I am guessing is that you must have a very good reason to ram your car into that fella. Figure you shouldn't be here when highway patrol comes around," he said as he approached Danny. "I know more than a little thing about that myself. Get in the car with me. I'll drop you off someplace away from here."

Danny climbed aboard the van to hitch a ride so that he could return back to the city. A mile or so down the road they got talking. "Name's Robert," he said rolled his over sleeve to reveal a jailhouse tattoo of a bat that looked more like a mainsail of a boat on his large bicep.

"Where're we headed?" asked Danny.

"Depends on how hungry I am. Town not far up the road has a decent enough Diner. You hungry by any chance?"

"I could eat."

They pulled over the diner. It was a classic small town noontime buffet, tray piled high with pieces of meat loaves, shrimps, hot wings, fries, and roast beef. Sides offered not much in the name of anything other than salad and pudding. The clientele was a mix of blue-collared workers, men and women from nearby offices and some old ladies who had come in their tank-like cars with their heads barely reaching over their steering wheel. Everyone knew to get off the street when they pulled in.

Chomping down on the meat he was eating he asked Bob," You don't have any work to attend this afternoon do you?"

"Nope, time's my own. Have the army to thank for that.  I was brought in for armed robbery you see. The judge offered me a choice, either I enlist for the armed services or he packs me off back to prison again. The first time I spent my time locked up I couldn't care lesser for the things I saw around me. Second time around though I knew I couldn't return to that place again. So I sign up for the basic training and ship out to the middle-eastern desert during the war. About three months in I am setting down for my usual breakfast beers when a sniper takes me down. Spilled my whole can, the prick." Bob continued, "They airlift me to Saigon, take out half of my lung and ship me back to stateside for a transplant. Been getting disability checks since I checked out of the hospital. It's enough to get by on, as long as I don't develop a taste for anything better than a hamburger and cheap beer."

He finished his remaining coffee and asked Danny, "Seeing you in action back there I figured you must have seen some action yourself."

Danny shook his head.

"Must definitely be prison then. You've definitely been inside. Cause no average bloke can pull off a mean stunt like the one you pulled back there."

"Not yet."

"And here I could have sworn," he tried to take another sip of his coffee only to find it empty, "What the hell do I know anyway?"

"How's the rest of your day look?" asked Danny.

"Like I said, time's my own," came the reply back from Rob.

They drove back to Bob's house. It was a trailer parked in the back towards the drive through for a place called Paradise Park. Abandoned refrigerators, stacks of worn out tires, and decaying vehicles sat everywhere around Paradise Park. The image created by these things didn't quite live up to the place's name. Half a dozen dogs barked and snarled nonstop in the empty compound. Inside the trailer the few dishes that Bob had were all lying in the sink. If he had any more they would in all probability be lying dirty in the sink as well. The burners on his gas accumulated grease and looked like they had never been cleaned since the day the stove was bought.

Bob turned on the television and pointed Danny towards one of two couches kept in front of it. He walked towards the sink, rinsed a couple of glasses and filled them out with some cheap bourbon that his disability checks allowed him to buy. A dog made its way from the back of the trailer to greet them, then exhausted by the effort, collapsed at their feet.   

Both of them sat down watching an old movie steadily drowning bourbon. They did this for three hours but Bob was well asleep thirty minutes into the movie. During that time Danny's attention went to his early morning encounter. Taking some time off from the city and wandering around with this complete stranger seemed like a nice break from all the events he was involved in since he took his last job. Now the only option to escape it all was to go right for the two guys who seemed to be pulling every string from the beginning. But he needed a vehicle to make his way back to the city. Bob's raggedy pickup seemed as good and inconspicuous ride as any. He left a note and a stack of fifty dollar bills for Bob on the table. He picked up the keys and closed the door behind him on his way out.

Bob's former ride was a Ford F-150, graceless as a wheelbarrow, dependable as taxes, and indestructible as a tank. Brakes that could stop an avalanche cold in its path and an engine powerful enough to tow glaciers into place. If a bomb fell and wiped out civilization as we know it two things would emerge from the ashes: roaches and Ford F-150s. Thing handled like an ox-cart, left its passengers sore in every part of their body but was a survivor nonetheless.  Got the job done, whatever, the job was.

Like him.