A young girl came to the doorway, a few pieces of frizzed brown hair, wet with perspiration, stuck to her forehead. "Yes, Sheriff Maggee?"
"The coffee ready?" he said still looking at his files.
"I just took it off the burner, it should be in a few minutes," she said folding her hands.
"Thank you, Sandy."
"I'm going to go back to my desk now, Sheriff Maggee." As she turned a deputy approached.
"Morning, Sandy," he said.
"Hi, Deputy Evans."
They crossed awkwardly in entering and exiting.
"Tom," he said walking up to the desk.
"Hi, Ed."
"Tom, I just got word from Roger down at Evergreen that a car's been stolen."
The sheriff snapped his head up. "Yeah, when?"
"Just now. Said a guy came in looking for work, hired him on the spot. They asked him to do an oil change and as soon as he got into the car he just tore off," the deputy said. He dabbed his mustache with a handkerchief.
"How does he know the man?"
"He doesn't."
"And he's stolen a customer's car?"
"Yes."
"Do we have a number for the plate?"
"Yes."
"Well let's get an APB out."
"Already did."
"What make?"
"It's an orange pick up, standard pick up truck."
"Probably just some transient."
"Roger said he was driving like he had someplace to go."
"Or someplace to leave," the sheriff said standing. He was tall, thin, with a pair of suspenders holding his trousers a few inches above his ankles. His hair was matted to his scalp in a mix of sweat and grease, he dabbed it with his rag.
"Sandra!" he called. A pair of shoes scuttled on the hallway carpet.
"It's ready," she called form outside the door. She passed a paper cup to Maggee.
"How do you drink that lukewarm sludge, Tom?" Ed asked.
Maggee had the cup slung back, gulping the contents quickly.
"Because, Ed," he said slamming the empty cup to his desk. "Sometimes you gotta drink your coffee quick," he put his keys into his pocket. "It's too goddamn hot for coffee anyhow. Let's git."
* * *
Pepper eased the speed of the truck now a few miles from the Evergreen Service Station. He took the truck at the speed limit, craning his neck around the cabin wildly, trying to read every street sign he passed. "West, west, west," he said to himself, seeing only a series of interstate and byway numbers. "Dang the streets!" he said slamming his fist on the steering wheel.
An orange and yellow GETROL sign caught Pepper's eye, he turned the car into the parking lot. He left the engine idling and ran inside.
"You got any road atlasees?" he said as the door swung open.
"Atlasees?" the clerk said.
"Atlases."
"Well now that you're speaking American," the employee said. "Yeah, we got some," he pointed to a rack beside an empty, rotating soft pretzel warmer.
"Thank you," Pepper said. He grabbed an atlas, tossed it on the counter. "Can you tell me to get on a highway west outta here?"
"Outta the county?"
"Yeah."
"Well where you heading?"
"Just west."
"Just west," the clerk said, totaling the sale. "Dollar and a quarter," he said. Pepper handed him some change. "Just west, well you go outta here, go down, uh, two lights. You make a left when you see the Johnson's, that's the knife outlet, make a left there and then you go down to where the road kinda bends around, take the first fork, there's three forks and that'll put you out to Colonial Valley, you take that just a lick and you'll see signs out for Route 4. Then you take that West."
Pepper had been standing in the doorway, propping one of the doors with his back, listening to the directions. "Thanks," he called and jumped back into the truck. "Damn clerk!" he said throwing the car into gear. "The hell did that guy say?" he said as the truck entered the street. He passed the first traffic light, looking back and forth at the opposite sides of the road. "Ain't a taco stand," he said. "Dang, mang. God dang." The truck rolled on almost past the turn, "Knives!" Pepper said, turning the wheel hard. He kept on driving as before, glancing at everything along the way. "Oh, mang!" Pepper said, spotting the forks in the road head. He began stammering as the distance shortened. "Ah, ah, ah," he said, turning the truck down the second split in the road.
It was an exit ramp, Pepper held the wheel at a sharp angle as the truck looped with the asphalt. "What the hell is this?" Pepper said as the road straightened. "Goddamn!" the acceleration lane was a short one, he glanced at his mirrors frantically and merged. He had turned onto a four-lane interstate, in the confusion of merging he had missed a few signs having seen them but not read them. The truck kept in the right lane, Pepper took the first exit he could. At the intersection he followed the sign pointing towards the most fill stations. He turned into the first and again left the car idling and ran inside.
A set of bells rang as he opened the door. "Hi," Pepper said. "You know how I can get to Route 4 west?" he said. The man behind the counter stared at Pepper, his eyes nearly obstructed by a long black bowl cut. His mouth twitched under a heavy mustache. "Well, can you?" Pepper said staring at the man. The man at the counter continued to stare straight at Pepper as he stood rigid with anticipation. "Please?" Pepper blurted. The man kept his eyes on Pepper.
A creaking came from the back of the store followed by a set of footsteps. Pepper looked around the shop, paper cut outs of sweating bottle of beer, a few brightly colored piñatas hung from the tiled ceiling. The man emerged carrying a massive bag of potato chips, rubbing his hand on the leg of his pants. He looked at the man behind the counter, then followed his gaze to Pepper.
"Hi," Pepper said.
"Hello, there," the man with the chips said.
"Can you tell me how to get to Route 4 west?"
"Yes."
"Thank god," Pepper said.
"You go out of here, make a left onto the road here. You get on 33 heading towards Salt Street. Then you take the exit for McCrea North. You're going to go through three lights, at the third you make a left onto Braughman, there'll be a Knuckle's on the left, that's the deli. So you'll be on Braugham and you take that down to 217, which is a right turn. From 217 a left onto Parcette Boulevard. The road then will kind of bend around and you take the first fork. That's the first out of three but you take the first you can. That'll put you onto McGinty and from McGinty you'll get signs for Route 4. You can take it west or east for that matter." The man dug his hand to the bottom of the bag of chips.
"Thanks," Pepper said, and ran back to the truck. He started to drive out of the lot then turned the vehicle around and parked it back in front of the shop. Pepper ran inside, the man with the chips had disappeared. The staring man stood glaring from behind the counter.
"Hello?" Pepper called out, walking past the counter. He saw the man with the chips down the aisle, he turned to Pepper. "Hey you think you could write those directions down right quick?"
The man nodded, his mouth chewing. He walked to the counter and wiped his hands on a napkin. He then took a pen from his pocket and wrote the instructions on the same napkin. "There you are," he said handing the napkin to Pepper.
"Thanks again, thanks a whole lot!" he said passing through the door. In the truck Pepper read the directions over a few times. "Okay, a left out of here," he said turning the car onto the road. Now, back on that highway, Salt Street."
The silent man watched Pepper turn out of the parking lot. Reaching under the counter he lifted a telephone onto the counter. Holding the receiver to his ear with one hand he turned the dial with a stiff finger from the other. He waited, leaning against the counter with his free hand.
"Yeah, Denny?" he said. "It's Chris. I'm fine, yeah. A guy just came by the shop. He was driving your truck."
No comments:
Post a Comment