Love and Death on I‐80 West by Connor Mays
6 – MAGIC RV RIDE A large woman in tight blue jeans covering holdonandfuckme hips steps out the side door of the RV onto the freeway. “Hey, folks, you okay?” Do we look okay, I want to respond, but Janey cuts me off. “We’ve had better days.” “Guess so.” She’s having second thoughts. We looked okay from the rear, I bet, but she sees we’ve been in a war. We’re smeared with dirt, and Janey’s pants are torn in one leg, her skin unscratched. I took a tumble down the bank under the bridge and am holding a sock to my bleeding temple. Whoever put rocks under an overpass needs to have them shoved up his ass. As bad as we are, Janey’s Honda is worse. Wood from a lumberyard destroyed the front and back windshields, and a thick board speared the engine block on the driver’s side. For the first time in our time together, she was bawling like a baby. Maybe it’s stress from almost getting raped and murdered and seeing a dead body. The car was an excuse to cut loose. Women. The lady with the wide hips gets my big polite Wop smile that’s opened a thousand pussies. “Ma’am, if you can get us down the road, we’d be most grateful. A drink of water would go a mile if you’re worried.” She bites on my smile and good manners. “No problem…” “Hall, ma’am. Pete Hall. Appreciate it.” We’re close enough for me to end her and take the RV, but if the driver’s smart, he’s pointing something at us through the screen door. From the size of the RV, there could be half a dozen people inside. Gotta play it
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Love and Death on I‐80 West by Connor Mays
cool. Besides, I’ve got to stop murdering people in cold blood. It’s a bad thing. Or so they tell me. She opens the door, gesturing inside. “I’m Laurie. Jasper’s at the wheel. He doesn’t talk much, being deaf and all, so ignore his growl.” Janey walks up to her and kisses her cheek. “Thank you, ma’am.” The girl’s a mimic, copying my accent. We’re two Arkansas shitkickers. Laurie rubs her cheek where Janey kissed her. “Ain’t you the sweetest? Get on up and sit down.” We throw our bags in and enter a fucking palace. Everything is leather and shiny, and the metal is gold and gilded. If Elvis were alive, he’d be sitting in the overstuffed Barcalounger behind the driver. Laurie takes a seat while slapping the driver’s shoulder twice. Janey and I fall onto a couch as the motor revs and puts us in motion. Jasper’s a skinny little shit who does growl as he looks over his shoulder. A hundred years ago, he’d be leading a mule into the hills looking for the big bonanza. Laurie’s got three weight classes on him, maybe five. She levers herself out of the chair. “Where’s my manners? Let me get you a bottle of water. Pete, what do you need?” She gestures at my bleeding forehead as she waddles by. “A clean paper towel and a BandAid will be fine, ma’am.” “If you’re sure.” She whips one off a roll and hands it over before she opens a nearfullsize fridge to get us cold bottles of water. Janey twists the cap on mine and, damn, it’s the best thing I’ve tasted in days, aside from Janey.
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Love and Death on I‐80 West by Connor Mays
Jasper grunts and makes some motions with his hands. Laurie waves back and asks, “Old man wants to hear how far we’re going with you.” “Malcom, ma’am, if you don’t mind. It’s up the road a bit. We hear there’s jobs at the meat processing plant.” Laurie nods as she does some sign language at Jasper, who’s still watching in the rear mirror. He grunts and gives a couple of signs back. “He says we’re ninety minutes away. Highway 63, right?” “Yes, ma’am. Good guess.” “Ain’t nothing. He used to truck through here when he was a commercial hauler.” She’s digging through a first aid kit and gives me a BandAid. “Hey, you and your daughter want something to eat?” Janey jumps in before I say something stupid. “Anything, ma’am. Daddy and I haven’t eaten since Joliet.” Her stomach growls on cue, and we laugh. “You poor thing. Come here, and let’s make some sandwiches for the men.” Daddy, huh? I want to slap her ass as she walks by, and she makes it worse by wiggling it as the two stand at the counter, spreading mayo on bread. Jasper has to be watching her wiggle in his rearview mirror, so I lean back and close my eyes. “Here you go...Daddy.” She puts the sandwich almost under my nose, meaning she’s leaning over and giving me a view down her Tshirt. I take the plate, eyes closed. I’m only human and can’t do stupid in front of witnesses. We need to disappear from their memories as quick as possible. Janey gets the hint and sits on the far end of the couch, and the women talk about tornadoes. Jasper decided last night they’d wait in the RV lot until the worst rolled
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Love and Death on I‐80 West by Connor Mays
through, Laurie says. The freeway was a mess, and they got through it because the old man had been driving these roads longer than most people been alive. The setting sun breaks through the clouds and lights up the RV’s interior as we continue west. Funny how things are. The morning started with me making plans to kill someone, then Hell broke loose, and we were holding onto dirt and each other for dear life. Now we’re driving along at seventy miles an hour in padded comfort and luxury. A month ago, I was in transition housing courtesy of the Illinois Department of Corrections. It’s night when Jasper stops outside a tin building in Malcom, Iowa. It’s not nine o’clock, and many of the houses are dark already. Laurie is dubious. “You sure?” “It’s fine, ma’am.” I’m gathering our bags as we stand. “My cousin’s down the road a bit.” The tin building has a dozen pickups in front, it being a bar, of course. “We’d be honored if you let us buy you a drink for your troubles.” She waves me off. “Oh no, we don’t. Baptists. You pay it forward, and the Good Lord will consider it even.” Jasper is grunting and waving his hands at her. “Mister Impatient wants to get to Des Moines before we lose our reservation.” Janey kisses them on the cheek. “God bless you both. Thank you. You saved our lives.” She opens and hops through the door before Laurie can say anything. She looks at me. “Your little girl’s a sweet thing, isn’t she? Bundle of energy.” You have no idea, lady. “Thank you, again. God bless.” I drop my backpack and her duffels at Janey’s feet as we watch the RV disappear into the darkness. I give her ass the slap she’s been asking for. “‘Daddy’?”
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Love and Death on I‐80 West by Connor Mays
She bounces on her feet and laughs. “You’re too mean and old to be my husband.” “Behave, or Daddy will spank.” She puts her arms around my neck and gives me a quick peck. “Yes, Daddy.” “Stop. We gotta find a ride.” “A ride?” “Unless you want to walk thirty miles in the dark.” I wander through the lot and see a couple of trucks that might work. “We stealing one of these?” “No, Stupid. We’re traveling under the radar, remember? Boosting a pickup around here is like stealing a horse in a Western. They’ll hang us before they electrocute us. No, this is what we need.” She reads the door under the street light. “Oska...Oskawhat?” “Oskaloosa, Iowa. Right in the middle of farm country and home to Cooper’s Veterinary.” The bar door opens, and country music fills the night as a redneck stumbles to the dark side of the building. We can hear his piss bouncing off the tin wall. “Okay, no need to fake it here...” God, I’m an idiot. “What’s your name? Your last name.” Janey giggles. “I was wondering when you were going to ask.” “Well?” “Robinson.” We shake on it, feeling ridiculous, but she’s thinking she’s safer because she’s becoming a person in my mind. I won’t bother to convince her I wasn’t going to kill her,
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Love and Death on I‐80 West by Connor Mays
and I don’t say hurting her is the last thing I want to do now. A lot can change in twenty four hours. “Cool it with the ‘Daddy’ shit.” We go in, and it’s a dark dive with watereddown drinks, bad cigarettes, and women who look fine after five or six whiskeys, though all are twice Janey’s age, including the waitress. The guys wear plaid shirts, ball caps, big guts, and the glazed look of workers who spent too much time doing mindless works. I was the same way working the docks in Houston after Leavenworth. The good old days. A loud voice snaps me back to reality. “She can’t come in here. Twentyone or older!” Janey snorts as she passes her ID to the old coot behind the bar. He’s ancient, from the six or seven white hairs growing out of his ears, past the stained election sweater from the Nixon years, to the brown liver spots on the back of his arms. This is the barflies’ evening entertainment, united in watching him find his glasses and reading the plastic in his hand. He hands it back. “You don’t look twentyfive. When was you born?” “February 22.” “What year?” She hops and wiggles her body. “Every year!” He cackles. “Yeah, like I ain’t heard it before. Okay, whatever. What can I get you folks?” I pull out my wallet. “Sir, we’ll take whatever’s on tap, and I’d like to buy a round for everyone in exchange for a favor.”
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Love and Death on I‐80 West by Connor Mays
“Beer’s cheap. Favors cost more. Saying no is free. What do you need?” He puts a couple of mugs under the tap. I raise my voice. “A ride to Oskaloosa.” An older couple in the corner are dressed the same in small straw hats, blue denim vests, and fake cowboy boots, like square dancers out for a night on the town. When they look at each other, I bet they’ll be our ride. The bartender drops the mugs on the bar. “Who you meeting?” I try not to gag at the taste of “beer.” He’s got the booze watered down to almost nothing. “Family, sir. Brother and sisterinlaw.” Everyone’s fascinated because it’s obvious we’re city folks. The man in the straw hat speaks up. “Who they be, if you don’t mind?” “You heard of Susie Cooper?” He’s impressed. “Doc Cooper. Yeah, sure. You’re Sam’s brother from overseas?” This sets me back, but it makes sense. Easier than saying I’m doing hard time in prison for assault and battery on a peace officer. Well, two police officers. “Yes, sir. We lost our car in the storm down the road.” The woman is dubious. “I don’t remember seeing you at the wedding…” “I was the best man, ma’am. Full beard and a hundred pounds ago.” Prison weights and shitty food does a body good. “Oh, right. Wait…” Shit. She’s thinking of Sam punching me out at the reception, and I cut her off. “I’ve changed my ways, ma’am. Found the Lord and on a good road by His grace.”
Copyright © 2016 Connor Mays. Please note further copyright information on the last page.
Love and Death on I‐80 West by Connor Mays
Janey coughs into her hand, but the woman pays no mind. “Good to hear. Good to hear. We’ll take you down as soon as we finish here.” I put four of Branson Reed’s twenties on the bar next to the halffull mug. “We’ll wait outside. Thank you. God bless you all.” Janey leaves her untouched beer beside mine and follows me outside. The cool air clears my head. Aside from two helpings of prison moonshine four years ago, the beer was the most booze I’ve had in a long time, and it makes me sick. Funny thing, alcohol and sex were my life since I was fifteen, but I guess you gotta get old sometime. Janey’s eyeing me. “Your brother’s a vet?” “His wife. She got the place from her father. Sam helps around.” “Your family, huh? Gotta say I wasn’t expecting this.” “We need wheels, and they’re keeping my stuff. Two birds.” “What was the old lady going to say about you before you stopped her?” The door opens, and the couple comes out and heads for the old pickup we were looking at before. “Tell you later.” The truck is a single cab, so I sit in back between some boxes and old blankets as we head down Highway 63 South. Janey’s up front, and she’ll tell them next to nothing if she’s true to form. I’m in the same boat when knowing Janey Robinson. Guess fair’s fair since I haven’t been honest with her myself, but it’s still uncomfortable not being in complete control of the situation. On the other hand, she seems happy to be along for the ride. Too many questions. I need answers. I crave them.
Copyright © 2016 Connor Mays. Please note further copyright information on the last page.
Love and Death on I‐80 West by Connor Mays
Will it help me to know them?
Copyright © 2016 Connor Mays. Please note further copyright information on the last page.
Love and Death on I‐80 West by Connor Mays
This serial and book are solely owned by its creator, Connor Mays (a pseudonym). Copyright © 2016. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This creation of literary art was drafted and edited via public wifi networks. The owners, operators, and employees of these networks have no ownership claim in any form of this work or the residuals, if any. For more information and permission requests, the author may be contacted via email only: connormaysbooks at gmail dot com. Website: http://www.connormaysbooks.com
Copyright © 2016 Connor Mays. Please note further copyright information on the last page.
