Hot After Midnight

Chapter Two - Drifting

If you asked, Ryder Hart would be the first to tell you that he came from nowhere and was headed anywhere but wherever he currently was. And it'd been that way for him for years. From one town to another. One life to another. Burger King in Atlanta, GA to a road crew in east Texas to a peach orchard in southern California--he'd worked the blue collar circuit nation wide. But never for long. Not for long anywhere. No how. A guy couldn't sit still for too long or life would catch up with him. A highway rebel, born to ramble. Truckers and trains had been his mainstay for transportation ever since his Chevy bit the big one near Gainsville eighteen months back. But a set of keys were really nothing more but a tiny anchor keeping you securely fastened to the grid--auto-insurance scams and cops making quotas even though they all denied it was happening and the mechanis with their shoddy worksmanship. It was all too much of a headache that Ryder could live without.

Somehow he'd ended up landing in Clearwater, OK. From the looks of the downtown area and the rundown city hall building it was your everyday run-of-themill American backwater town. Ryder had discovered that you could accurately predict the size of a town based on the size and condition of its city hall building and the ratio of fast food joints to bar-and-grill restaurants. So far, he'd counted two Burger Kings and a Wendy's just on his walk into town after being dropped off by Ralf Gullens, a middle-aged friendly trucker that'd given him a lift from Pineview, Arkansas. And not a single Applebees or Chilis or Outback -- there was, however, a Mama Bees and a Joe's Chili & Burgers. Idly, he wondered if they offered turkey chili but from the looks of this place they probably didn't even realize you could eat anything other than red meat.

He sat on the curb near the rundown city hall and a cross section with a dinky traffic light strung haphazardly across the lane. And he lit a cigarette he took from a black metal case. Others had taken to vaping but Ryder considered himself an old soul. He'd take Salem over Spacejam anyday. If you're gonna be bad might as well go the whole nine yards.

The downtown area was comfortably quiet save for the occasional ringa-ding of storefront bells as a prson entered or exited, but those were far and in between. The soothing sound of the All-American backwater town was finally interrupted by a shuffling noise from down the street. A middle-aged balding man with silver puffs of stubborn hair clinging above either ear was waddling down the street. As he came he was ripping posted signs off the pinewood lamp post while muttering to himself.

This caused Ryder to raise a brow. He stamped the Salem's butt out with a heavy combat boot before getting to his feet. He walked over to the nearest lamp post and just in time to because the waddling man was now almost tripping over himself to get at the posters.

Ryder gently peeled the poster from the post.

The Preacox -- EVERY FRIDAY - SATURDAY

OUTSKIRTS OF TOWN NEAR THE OLD LUMBER YARD

OPEN 9PM - 6AM

YOU WILL BE CARDED!

"Good day, young lady," the waddling man said.

Ryder gave him a casual smile.

"I said 'young lady' cause that long hair makes you look like a girl. You oughta get it cut. You'd look a lot better, I know it."

Ryder looked at the page in his hand.

"A buncha sinful people put these blasted things up all over town. The way they prey on the young folks of this town makes me wonder if we're nearing the end times. Awful Satanic discos and boys wanting to be girls." The man gave Ryder a knowing look lips taut.

"I agree, sir," Ryder said with a smart smile. "But the speck of sawdust in their eyes is nothing compared to the plank in yours." Ryder pressed the paper in his hand to the man's chest, rubbing it so the double-sided tape with stick good to his shirt.

He still had a few hours to kill before nine. Maybe he'd grab a bowl of chili and just not smoke anymore for the remainder of the night.