Edited by Michael-Leonard
This is the story of a lady trucker and the teenaged boy she rescues. But who really rescues whom?
*
Chapter 1
The low rumble of the engine increased in pitch, and then momentarily ceased, only to start over as the driver shifted into a higher gear. This occurred time and time again as the truck increased its speed, until it was comfortably cruising down the New Jersey Turnpike at sixty miles per hour. At four o'clock in the morning the traffic was pretty thin, just a few other trucks on the road heading south. It was still dark; probably two hours before dawn, she thought.
Gail Brown was a trucker. She had been a trucker for almost half of her life. Her Dad had been a trucker. It was he who had taught her how to drive an eighteen-wheeler. In fact, this was her truck; the tractor, that is. She worked as a long-haul trucker for an oak furniture manufacturer located in Phoenix, Arizona. Each week she would drive her Kenworth cab from her home in the desert south of Phoenix to the company warehouse, pick up a loaded trailer, and drive to the east coast distribution center located in New Jersey. She would drop the trailer at the loading dock, then drive her cab around to the other side of the terminal and attach to a trailer loaded with oak boards brought in from North Carolina. After an overnight layover, she would begin the three and a half day trip back to Arizona.
Her father had first started with the company in the fifties and had helped set the route and the logistics for the company. Gail began coming along for the ride during the summer when she turned sixteen. It was a way for her to stay close with her Dad and to put as much distance as she could between her and her abusive mother.
She thought about that as she approached the exit for the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Her Dad had married her Mom when they were both a year out of high school. Her Dad was a big man, about six three, with dark hair and eyes. Her Mom, on the other hand, was a petite natural blonde with blue eyes. They made a very attractive couple; in fact it was their looks and the sex that went with it, that was the basis for their marriage. They had very little else in common. Dad was a go-getter; while not highly intelligent, he was very street-smart, with a sharp business mind. Her Mom had made it through life on her looks. She was to put it bluntly, a dumb blond.
Gail Brown was a combination of the two. Unfortunately, she didn't get the best of her parents; her genes were all scrambled together. She resembled her father in looks, and had her mother's brain when it came to school work. She did, however, inherit her father's keen business and common sense. Physically she was impressive. She stood six-feet-two and weighted one hundred eighty pounds. She was broad shouldered and had thick arms, a twenty-four inch waist and slim hips, with a tight butt. Her breasts were not large, but sat high on her forty-two inch chest. She was not an ugly woman; she just looked and acted more like a man. That was what her mother resented the most. She had wanted a pretty daughter to be her girlfriend; what she got was a tomboy who could care less about boys, pretty dresses and girl talk. She wanted to be strong like her father, and she was willing to compete with the boys at all levels. They were constantly at each other's throats.
When Gail was seventeen, just before the beginning of her senior year, she and her father came home from one of the cross-country runs to find the house all but empty. Mom had taken all her clothes and anything else that she liked and walked out. A note was left on the table basically telling them both to kiss off; she was leaving to live with her new boyfriend.
Her Dad was devastated; Gail could have cared less. She took care of him for a week, and then insisted that he go back to work, that she would be fine by herself. She would finish her senior year and graduate. They both knew that she would not be going to college, but when she announced that she wanted to be a trucker just like him, her Dad refused. At dinner that night, she explained that if she learned to drive the truck, they could cut at least a day out of each leg of the trip and that they could spend more time together at home. He saw the logic in that, so he agreed to teach her how to drive the big rig.
She qualified to drive the truck a month later, got her operator's license and soon was taking the night shifts, allowing her Dad to sleep in the berth behind the cab. Her Dad showed her how he exercised each morning and night. He had attached two hooks to the front bumper of the cab. He would attach long rubber exercise bands and do curls, bench presses; military presses and would shadow box with his back to the truck extending each arm as if throwing punches. Gail would copy each movement until she reached her limit. Soon, they were doing the same amount of each exercise. It was clear that she was his daughter.
In fact that was her CB handle: Daddy's Little Girl. If only the truckers out there knew what she looked like, they'd have cleaned up their chatter over the radio when she was driving.
Life was good for the both of them. In fact, because they had longer periods of time being home, Dad was able to go out again. He met a recently divorced woman and began to date again. Gail had not seen her Dad this happy in years.
Then tragedy struck. One evening while they were home between runs, her Dad suffered a massive stroke and died. Gail was twenty-two years old and for all intents was an orphan. Her Dad's life insurance from the company paid for funeral expenses and left her with enough money to live on for a while if she chose to give up truck driving. The day after the funeral, however, she walked in to the company and spoke with the owner. She assured him that she could continue doing the job that her father had done. She explained that she had shared the driving duties with her father for the last four years and was more than capable of handling the job. Because of his long friendship with her father, he hired her on the spot.
"Thank you, Mr. McGuire, I won't let you down."
That was five years ago.
Chapter 2
"That little squirt is worth half a million dollars. That money should be ours and I want it. According to the trust agreement set up by your grandfather, if anything happens to that kid before he turns twenty- one, the trust is terminated and the money is yours. All we have to do is kill him, make it look like an accident, and we're half a million dollars richer."
"I don't know Dave, he's my little brother."
"Karen, who cares, you never liked him anyway. That old man screwed you by only leaving you a thousand bucks out of his estate. As the oldest child you should have gotten the money, not him. We'll kill the kid, stick his body in the car, drive him out to the desert and then put him behind the wheel and let the car drive off the road into an arroyo, and set the car on fire. The only way they will be able to identify the kid is from his dental records."
Billy had heard enough; he had to get out of there that night before his sister and that crazy boyfriend of hers could kill him. But where would he go. He had just turned eighteen; he had no money and had no proof of what he had heard. He had come here to live with his sister after his Mom had died. He didn't know why his grandfather had left all his money to him. He could only assume that his sister must have done something pretty bad to tick him off that much.
That night, after his sister was asleep, he snuck out to the kitchen with a duffle bag full of his clothes, took whatever money he had along with any money he could find in the grocery food jar and left. By four a.m. he had walked about ten miles. His goal was to get as far away as possible, stand by the on-ramp for Interstate 17 and catch a ride anywhere. As he was walking along a deserted road, he could see a small house in the middle of nowhere. On the side of the house was a large truck. Suddenly, the truck roared to life. The driver jumped out of the truck and walked back into the house.
"Here's my chance," he thought, and ran to the truck, peered in, saw the entrance into the sleeping berth and climbed in and hid himself as best he could. He held his breath as the driver got back in a few minutes later and drove off. They only drove for what seemed like about fifteen minutes or so when he felt the truck pull off the road. The driver maneuvered the truck backward until he felt a bump and a loud bang; then the driver got out of the cab again. Billy peeked through the curtain that separated the berth from the driver's compartment. They were in some sort of warehouse parking lot. He could see several trailers parked in the lot.
'He must be picking up a trailer,' Billy thought.
Suddenly, he heard the door begin to open. He was able to close the curtain just before the driver climbed back into the cab. Then, with a toot of the air horn, the truck started out of the lot and onto the road. Billy had no idea where they were headed; all he knew was that it couldn't be far enough from his sister Karen and Dave. He had enough space on the driver's side of the cab, to look around the curtain. When he saw that they were heading on to Interstate 17, he settled himself down to rest.
He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew they were pulling off the highway and into a truck stop. The driver got out, started the diesel pump, and headed to the store. Billy looked out of the cab, and watched him as he walked away. There was something odd about his walk, Billy noticed, but he couldn't figure out what it was. He settled back into the berth, waiting for the driver to return. He heard the driver top off the tanks, replace the nozzle, and get back into the cab. With a roar, the truck started, and headed back to the Interstate. After an hour or so of driving, Billy started to panic. He had to pee. He fought down the urge, but knew that at some point he'd have to get out of the truck to take a leak. As he twisted his body, trying to get comfortable, he kicked something at the foot of the berth. It fell over with a loud bang.
"What the fuck was that?" he heard from the driver's seat. It was a low, husky voice, but was definitely a woman's voice. That's what was different about the walk he thought. Then he felt the truck pull to the side off the road and stop. He was trapped. Suddenly the curtain flew back.
"Who the fuck are you and how did you get into my truck?" she said as she grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him out of the berth and into the passenger seat. He looked through the window, contemplating whether or not to try to run. They were in the middle of nowhere, there wasn't a structure to be seen anywhere.
"Please they're going to kill me; I had to run. I climbed into the cab when you got out by your house. Please don't hurt me."
"I'm not going to hurt you. Tell me your name."
"Billy, Billy Young."
"OK Billy, who is trying to kill you?"
"My sister and her boyfriend."
"Why?"
"For the money in my trust fund; I have to get away."
"Why not go to the police."
"I have no proof; it would just be my word against theirs."
