Driving
Joe Mitchell was living the dream. He was driving west with clear open road ahead of him, sitting at the wheel of a fine customised automobile he’d picked up two weeks earlier in Buffalo, New York. Since then he’d covered 2,352 miles and had many wonderful moments, all of which brought him to his present location; CA state road 190 passing through Inyo County, heading for the foothills of the Sequoia national forest.
It was 7:35 and soon the evening sun would be lost behind the vast range ahead of him. He looked forward to a pleasant night’s rest somewhere in the higher landscape…anywhere, really. He didn’t need a motel; he was driving the new Sagan Cruise Star. ‘Your home on the road’ was what the advertising had promised and it had proven true, a deluxe compact motor home ideal for two adults. Deluxe…what a nice word, but that barely did it justice, it was palatial, and for $185,000 it ought to be.
But what was $185,000 to Joe Mitchell? 3 years ago – in his late twenties – it was an inconceivable amount of money. Now, however, it was a drop in his large bucket which runneth over.
One great idea can change everything, a man’s whole life can become unrecognisable when the right idea is put to the right people and that’s what happened when he thought up “Premiere League Sniper”, a violent and twisted video game combining two popular genres and the runaway hit of the previous year. It was predicted to be a hit and a million-seller, but had far exceeded everyone’s expectations and consequently, Joseph Edwin Mitchell now had an obscene amount of money to his name, which, having grown up poor in the north of England made him mildly uncomfortable at times. But, if he wasn’t the proverbial fool, he need never work again and that helped him deal with it.
He had thought little of the asking price for his current mode of transport, the futuristic Cruise Star. The appeal was instant. It had at first made him think of ‘The Mystery Machine’ and when he saw what the interior had to offer there was no looking back; the plush seats, the dashboard that resembled a plane cockpit, the voice operated features, the fold away beds in the back, cooking facilities, entertainment system, solar panels for the auxiliary power storage and a devilish security system that appealed to his warped sense of humour. He of course hoped he would never have to use it for real but the demonstration at the dealership had impressed him and amused him very much and the salesman, Kenny, was a real character
“Now this is the shit!” Kenny said as he handed over the ‘smart fob’. “Fuck the keys it’s this thing you gotta look after. Don’t keep it in your pocket, put it somewhere safe like in your shoe or…shove it up your asshole if you have to but, don’t ever lose it.”
The only aspect he wasn’t in love with was the colour, a blast from the past lime green but, being the last model available, he’d taken it anyway. He could afford a re-spray if it bugged him that much!
The time had come for a rest stop; a last stretch of the legs and 5 minute break before the darkness came on. Half a mile ahead he found one and barely noticed the dirty, sky blue coloured hunk o’ junk parked in there ahead of him. Joe brought the Cruise Star to a smooth stop and sat for a moment enjoying the comfort. It even smelled luxurious!
He stepped out and gave a sigh as he stretched; it was a quiet area and not the usual route from Nevada to California but, usual had never been his style and besides, ‘There probably isn’t a sunset like that on Highway 15’ he thought.
It was quiet and seemed like it might be safe enough for an al fresco urine purge, so he stepped into the bushes and took care of that. As he finished he heard a voice; one side of a conversation and the person sounded a little agitated. Emerging from the bushes, Joe saw a young man standing beside the car he’d barely noticed earlier. He was having a difficult time talking with someone on the phone, ‘Poor signal, no doubt’ Joe thought.
“No, I said the car is dead, fuckin’ dead…it ain’t goin’ no further!”
He looked to be in his mid to late twenties, average height and dressed in casual but not very smart clothes; a ragged T shirt with ripped sleeves that revealed his portfolio of tattoos and a pair of jeans that looked about a month past due for the laundry basket. His language didn’t endear him, either; indeed there was something about him that was unpalatable. Joe wasn’t sure what it was but, something put him off being a Good Samaritan and actually offering any help.
“I can’t hear you,” the man said to the person at the other end, “it’s breaking up…no… hey, I don’t need this buffalo shit from you on top of everything else”
Joe Mitchell approached the door of his Cruise Star. He knew what was coming.
“Hey, fella. Hey, excuse me…can I catch a ride with you? My car’s had it!”
Joe looked at him blankly for a couple of seconds before turning away and grimacing. He didn’t want to do this but, he hadn’t offered – the guy had asked – and, as he knew next to nothing about fixing cars, he felt obliged to help him the only way he could.
“Yeah, okay…get in.”
The young man grabbed a bag from the back seat of the broken down car, locked it and gave it a kick. He shook his head in disgust as he made his way back.
They got in the Cruise Star and before moving out Joe had a few questions.
“How far are you going?”
“As far as I can get…Montana is where I’m headed.” the man answered.
“Well, I’m not going there but I can get you part of the way. What’s your name?”
“Whitey.”
“Okay…Whitey, I’m Joe.” he said, extending a hand which was shook strongly by the passenger.
“Joe.” Whitey said with a nod of his head in acknowledgement, “You’re from overseas, England…that right?”
“That’s right, a little town you probably won’t have heard of and I–”
“Try me!” Whitey interrupted.
“Okay…Castleton, have you heard of it?” Joe asked.
Whitey paused for a few seconds, deep in thought, “No, you were right, never heard of it.”
“I didn’t think so. Anyway, I’m going as far as the foothills tonight and that’s as far as I can take you, sorry.”
“Ah hell, I ain’t worried about it. I’ll get where I’m goin’ by hook or by crook or by sharp object.” Whitey said with a smile that made Joe a little uneasy.
Joe reached behind his seat and pulled two cold drinks from the cooler.
“Take your pick” he said, offering his guest the choice of cola or lemonade.
“Thanks” Whitey said and took the lemonade, annoying Joe because it was his last one and he’d looked forward to it himself.
They got going and after a couple of minutes silence Whitey spoke up, “So you over hear on vacation?”
“Yeah” Joe replied “taking a few months off to do some travelling.”
Immediately he cursed himself for his honest answer.
“Shit,” Whitey said with a snort of envy, “I wish I had a job that let me do that”
Joe braced himself for the next question, ready to lie.
“What is your job, man?” Whitey asked, staring at his face in anticipation of the answer.
“Oh…computer software, contract work mostly, so it’s several months of intense activity and then it can be a couple or a few months of nothing, which is why I had some time for a trip.”
Joe was quite happy with his effort at covering up the truth; it sounded convincing to him, anyway. Whitey continued to stare prompting an ‘add on’.
“And then it’s back home and back to it. How about you, Whitey, what do you do to earn a living?”
“I travel around buying and selling…mostly selling. What did this ride cost you, anyway?”
Again Joe felt a lie was the best option.
“It’s a rental, $99 per day including insurance. I think they cost about $185,000 to buy, way out of my price range!”
“It’s cool, like a spaceship or something!” Whitey said, looking around admiringly.
A red light came on in the middle dashboard panel. It began to flash and was joined by a ping sound before the voice started up, “Please provide a valid f –”
Joe complied, covertly using one of the sensors on the steering wheel.
“What the hell was that?” Whitey asked, agitated.
“Onboard computer, I think it needs a re-boot. I’ve been meaning to check the manual.”
“You got any music?” Whitey asked.
“Of course,” Joe replied, “what’s a road trip without music?”
He switched on the radio and found that the last station he’d listened to was now out of range. Auto search landed on K-OLD 99 right at the start of ‘Theme from Shaft’. It put a smile on Joe’s face. Whitey, however, was not impressed.
“You got any good music?” he asked with a frown.
Joe was taken aback. Each to his own, of course, but there was some venom in Whitey’s tone.
“Let me see” Joe said as he again pressed the auto tune, this time landing on K-NTR 99.9
’Welcome to the jungle’.
“All right…more like it!” Whitey said, nodding his head rhythmically as miles passed with more classic rock from the 80s and 90s.
Usually Joe didn’t mind silent passengers, but in this case the lack of conversation was disturbing. He made an effort.
“So, is Montana your home state?” Joe enquired.
“No, I’m from Oregon. But it’s where I live now.” Whitey replied, the first words he’d spoken for 15 minutes.
“Do you have family there?”
“My wife and kid and a cousin.” Whitey answered flatly.
“I’ve never been,” Joe informed him, “would you recommend it?”
“Depends on your outlook…you might like a visit.” Whitey turned around in his seat, “Can I get another soda?” he asked and before Joe had a chance to speak the passenger was reaching into the cooler and helping himself, “You want one?”
“No, thank you.” Joe replied and noticed for the first time, one of the tattoos on Whitey’s right arm – a swastika. It wasn’t one of those homemade, plain ink tattoos that you might think is a good idea when you’re 15 and then regret later, no, this was a swastika flag, properly drawn and professionally done, a neat black emblem in a white circle within the red background. It was a nice piece of work despite its associations.
“What’s this?” Whitey asked, producing a plastic container without a label. It had a snap on lid and was tapered, holding about 20 ounces of…something?
“Don’t open that!” Joe told him, “It’s my…medication! Put it back in the cooler, carefully.”
Whitey did so and then pulled out a can of lemonade which pissed off Joe all to hell; had he known there was one left he would have taken it. He seethed with anger as he heard the fizz of the can opening and his passenger gulping down half the contents in one go.
‘This trip has got improve’ he told himself.
“That’s an interesting tattoo you’ve got there…on your right arm,” Joe said, “the flag!”
“Yeah, my cousin’s the artist…does some good work.”
“Hope you’re not planning a trip to Germany.” Joe smiled.
“I might, why?”
“I think the swastika is outlawed there, no references to that old time National Socialism allowed.”
Whitey was astonished, “You’re shittin’ me...for real?!”
“Yeah, you can’t be going over there and saying ‘Heil Hitler’ and stomping around in jackboots giving those salutes. They lock people up for that stuff, these days.”
Whitey looked quite deflated as he finished his lemonade and out of the blue said “You’ve got a weird fuckin’ accent, man.”
Joe was unsure how to react.
“Thank you” he replied in a perplexed tone, “there are so many variations and dialects, you can literally go fifteen miles and find someone who t–”
He was cut off by the ring tone of Whitey’s phone.
“It might be the missus!” he said as he reached down into the bag beside his feet.
Joe turned down the radio, Def Leppard ‘Animal’.
‘Blast it,’ he thought ‘would have to be a song I really like, this dude is bad luck’.
“Hello.” Whitey said and then got an earful from the person at the other end.
“Now hold on, you stupid bitch, I’m in the mountains, ain’t had a signal since I don’t know when.”
Joe didn’t particularly want to listen, but was unable to ignore what he heard.
“The hell you say…well, that makes all the difference.”
A car passed going the other way, the first one for hours.
“I caught a ride with this English guy, I can be there in the morning…what…yeah from England, where the fuck else would he be from, dipshit?!”
‘The morning,’ Joe wondered, ‘how’s that going to happen?’
“Fuckin’ A, count on it, see ya!” and Whitey hung up.
“Hey, sorry about that, man. I’ve got some bad news for you!” Whitey said as he reached down and put the phone in the bag, “I need to be back home by morning.”
Joe felt an uneasy wave in his stomach. “I can’t drive you there, sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” Whitey said “I can drive myself.”
He brought his hand out of the bag holding a long sharp blade and quickly positioned the point at the side of Joe’s stomach. Joe felt it like a needle ready to do the worst and as he glanced down for a second, saw its evil glint in the dashboard lights.
“World War 2, Waffen SS bayonet…are these outlawed in Germany too?” Whitey laughed.
Joe thought about the 9 millimetre Beretta just out of easy reach. He knew his liver would be sliced before he laid a finger on it.
“What now?” Joe asked, trying to keep calm and not let his voice waver. He wasn’t as scared as he’d imagined he would be, in fact, he realised he was angry, and despite the situation, was in quite a good position as long as things didn’t get out of hand.
“Well, first you’re gonna pull this nice vehicle over and then you’re gonna get out and let Whitey drive it home.” the passenger informed him.
“Okay, where, just up ahead?” Joe asked calmly.
Whitey shook his head and the blade poked harder into Joe’s side, making him wince.
“Oh no, not here, next turn, right or left it don’t matter. Take the next turn and keep going a ways till we can stop somewhere quiet and I’ll relieve you of your luxury machine.”
Less than a mile down the road there was a left turn. Joe didn’t have time to notice what the sign had said. He checked his mirrors and made an easy left. A mile and a half further on Whitey told him, “That’s far enough!”
They came to a gentle stop and he was still alive. So far, so good. Whitey gave his next command.
“Alright, Pard, any weapons on you?” He gave Joe a quick frisk and as Whitey’s hand moved down nearer the ankle, Joe’s heart skipped as he feared the discovery of the Smart fob; cunningly hidden under the tongue of his left Nike. “Okay, it looks like you’re safe. Now, slow and easy, open the door and step out. Try anything and I won’t think twice about adding your guts to this nice interior…go!”
Joe did as he was told and moved very slowly and easily, opening the door, then holding his hands in view and gently shoving it all the way open with his left leg.
“Easy now!” Whitey said, as he too moved slowly, keeping the bayonet on Joe’s lower ribs and sliding into the driver’s seat as the ‘one careful owner’ got out.
“Now back up!” Whitey snarled.
Joe did so.
“Well, it’s been a pleasure riding with you.” Whitey said with a smile. He reached around behind the seat and then threw something at Joe. “One for the road, ha ha!”
Whitey made a quick turn and an even quicker exit as the can of cola hit Joe on the chest. He fumbled the catch and it fell to the ground, spraying a high pressure jet which Joe casually stopped by pressing his index finger over the tiny hole. He took a breath of clean air and cracked open the can, drinking most of it down in one go and then letting out a loud belch; alarmingly so in the desolate quiet.
He reached down and got the Smart fob from its secure Velcro strap.
“I’ll give him five minutes.” Joe said with a slight smile.
He finished his drink, flattened the can and put it in his pocket. He was ready to reclaim his property – and ready to teach young Whitey a lesson.
