Chapter 13

Deputy Evans and Sheriff Maggee tore down Route 4 heading west.

"How far do you think he's got?" Evans asked.

"Hell if I know, Ed. Might have got turned around again. For all we know." The sheriff spit out of the open window.

"I wish you wouldn't do that Sheriff."

"What's that?"

"It just ends up on the side of the car."

The deputy kept his foot down, the siren wailing.

"What was that?" the Sheriff said, looking towards Evans.

"What's what?"

"When we just passed that break in the median, I saw it, I saw the truck."

"Oh, hell," Evans said, turning the car onto the left shoulder. He quickly turned the car around, now driving against traffic in the median. "I don't like this!" he said.

"We're fine," the Sheriff said.

Evans turned the car onto the AUTHORIZED VEHICLES ONLY road and turned onto the shoulder.

"Come on, let's get on this," Maggee said.

"All right," Evans replied and got the car to speed, merged into the left lane. "Should we leave the siren on?"

"We got to. Only way anyone will clear out."

Moving at 90 miles an hour the squad car made quick progress over traffic.

"I can't believe this guy. Turned around on us again!"

"There it is!" Evans said and up in the center lane by a few hundred yards was the orange truck.

"Okay let's get in there," the Sheriff said.

Evans maneuvered the car in behind the truck.

"Son of a bitch," Maggee said.

The truck slowed, pulled to the right lane and eventually the shoulder.

"I'll get this one," the Sheriff said climbing out of the car. He took his revolver from the holster, pointed at the truck.

"Get out of the car!" he said. "Put your hands where I can see them and get out of the car."

Evans was standing at the passenger's side of the vehicle, his gun drawn.

Denny slowly climbed from the car, keeping his hands high above his head. "Okay, okay!" he said.

"Put your hands behind your head and turn around," the sheriff called. "Now back up towards me. Evans!" Deputy Evans held his gun at Denny, Maggee drew his handcuffs. "Get down on the ground, now put your hands behind your back." The sheriff put the handcuffs on Denny.

"What the hell you doing, boy?" Maggee asked.

"It's my truck," Denny said.

"Like hell," said Maggee. He reached for Denny's wallet. "Your license in here?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. The registration is,"

"Did I ask you where your registration was?" He handed the license to Denny. "Give Sandy a call," he said.

"Now you hold tight," Maggee said walking to the truck. He opened the glove box, found the registration beneath a warm bottle of beer and unfolded it. "Huh," he said.

"You want to tell me how you got your truck back?" Maggee asked.

"We got a call from our friend, he works at the Tops and said he saw someone in my truck. Said he asked for directions to Route 4 west so my brother and I we got on the highway and got him to pull over and took the truck and left him on the side of the road."

"You left him there?"

"Yeah we left him there."

"Why didn't you call us?"

"Didn't want to let him get any further away," Denny said.

"So this guy is just standing on the shoulder of Route 4, walking to the next exit?"

"I don't know," Denny said. "I think he's got a broken collar bone."

* * *

Pepper was walking West along the shoulder of Route 4. He was moving slowly, walking backwards, facing traffic with his thumb held out. The sky was beginning to turn yellow, a few cars were wearing headlights.

"Somebody please just pick my ass up," Pepper said out loud. "Any old body will do." Pepper heard gravel turning behind him, a car had stopped. He walked over and looked into the cabin through the passenger window. The window slid down.

"You need a ride?" a woman's voice called from inside.

"Yes, ma'am!" he said and reached for the handle. He cried out in pain, feeling the fracture of his collar bone, and opened the door with the other hand. He climbed into the car, "Thank you very much," he said shutting the door.

"Where are you heading?" the woman asked. Pepper looked at the woman, his mouth parted. She looked back at Pepper.

"Uh, just to the next exit's all I need," he said.

"All right," she said, putting the car into gear.

They drove in silence, the only sound coming from the engine and shifting gears. "What happened to your shoulder?" she asked.

"Oh, I just got a little beat up, that's all," Pepper said looking out the window.

"What a shame," she said. "What was the fight about?"

"Well I took, I borrowed my friend's car. I guess he needed it or something. So he was pretty mad about it and hit me."

"And made you walk home?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

The woman turned the car for the exit ramp.

"Left or right?" she asked.

"Uh," he said looking at a sign listing gas stations. "To the right, it'd great if you could take me to that Stop n' Fill."

"Okay," she said and turned the wheel.

"I really can't thank you enough," Pepper said. "So thanks a lot."

"No problem. Anything else I can do?"

"No ma'am," he said unbuckling his seat belt. "Well wait. I'm out of money, do you happen to have a few dollars?"

She was reaching for something under the seat. "Sure," she said holding out a five dollar bill. "I hope your night gets a little better," she said.

"Thanks, I'm glad that someone is looking out for old Pepper."

"Pepper?"

"Yeah, that's me," he said stepping out of the car.

"I'm Monica."

"Well Monica you just about made my night."

"So long," she said and drove off.

There were a few cars parked in front of the Stop n' Fill, a large Tater Thins truck was stopped along the side. A man in a canvas uniform was wheeling crates of potato chips into the store.

Pepper opened the door and looked at the clerk. "You all got any hot dogs?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. Right over there," he said pointing to a case. "Help yourself."

"Thanks," Pepper said walking over. He took a plate and a bun from the counter, opened a rotating rack and picked out two dogs with a pair of tongs. Ketchup, mustard, relish, chopped onions and a few jalapeno peppers. He took a few napkins and walked over to one of the booths along the front window.

"How much do I owe you?" he said, his mouth full.

"Let's see," the clerk said. "That's a be 88 cents."

"Can you break a five?" Pepper asked chewing. He took a large bite of the double stacked hot dog and let out a long sigh. Holding the hot dog in one hand he used the other to pick up some pieces of fallen onions and relish. He put them back onto the hot dog.

Pepper looked outside, over the flattened cigarette packages on the asphalt, a discarded straw. Night had fallen, and the red circular Stop n' Fill sign reflected in a pool of water from a leaking air conditioner. He watched as a car pulled up to the pumps. A man climbed out, so tall that it took more than a moment for him to straighten himself. He was dressed in black, large boots and a belt with shining attachments.

"Oh god dang," Pepper said, onions falling. He quickly stood up, dug the five dollar bill and dropped it on the table. "There's the five dollars," he said to the clerk, quickly. "This place got a back door?"

"Yeah. It's in the back," the clerk said.

"Thanks," Pepper said. He moved quickly down an aisle of magazines, squeezed past the uniformed man as he loaded the shelf with chips. "Sorry, man," Pepper said. The uniformed man grunted as he placed a bag of cheese curls on the shelf.

"Evening, officer," the clerk said as the tall man walked in. The officer nodded and walked over to the coffee counter. He poured himself a cup, leaned against the counter and took a sip.

The potato chip man wheeled his dolly towards the back of the store.

"What do I owe you for the coffee?" the officer asked.

"Ah," the clerk said. "It's on us."

"Why thank you," the officer said. "Slow night?"

"Yeah. I guess you could say that," the clerk said adjusting his apron. "What about on your end?"

"About the same."

"Hey!" a voice came from the back of the store. "HEY!" the voice came again.

The officer jolted up as the potato chip man came scurrying back into the shop.

"That guy's got my truck!" he yelled.

Chapter 12

Pepper held tight to the wheel staring down the strip in the afternoon sun. He sang to himself, "I'm gonna run til the runnin's done, I'm gonna run if there ain't no sun, gonna run, Anyway I can, gonna run, man oh man." He spit out the open window. "Now that could have been a hit. Wouldn't need any money after that one. 'Next on the charts it's Peter Gray with Wanted Man. Stay tuned for the Tar Heel Coffee hour, I'm Bill Lindsey, it's Three O'Clock.'"

A large gray pick up truck skidded into the gas station parking lot, it stopped slanted across three parking spaces in front of the shop. The silent man was behind the counter looking to the door. Two young men climbed down from the cab, they were dressed alike in faded jeans and worn flannel shirts, their hair was long and flat. They walked quickly to the door, the driver of the truck flung the door open.

"So what the hell is it?" he said.

The man behind the counter folded his arms. "Hi, Denny. He just came in and asked for directions."

"That's it?" the other man said. "Just stopped in real quick?"

"Yep," said the quiet man.

"Did you call the police?" Denny asked.

"No, Denny. Thought you two could handle it better than they could."

"You're right about that," Denny replied. "Don't want to leave this one for a regular Jonathan Law."

"Well what's this guy look like?"

"Normal, man in his early thirties I guess. He was wearing work clothes."

"That's not much, Chris," the other man said.

"Denny's truck is orange, that'll make it easy."

"What else did he say?" Denny asked.

"He asked for directions to Route 4 west."

"That's where we're going, then," Denny said.

"He's got a twenty minute head start," Chris said.

"Well lucky for us my brother Carl here is a real fine driver," Denny said.

"Sure am. My middle name is Driving Dangerously," Carl said.

"Your middle name is Dean," Denny said.

"Shut up and let's get out of here," Carl said. They climbed into the car, Carl floored it for Route 4.

* * *

Deputy Ed Evans sat at the wheel of his patrol car heading west on Smithson Avenue, Sheriff Maggee sat in the passenger seat.

"Fine way to spend an afternoon, huh Tom?" the deputy asked.

"Yeah, real fine," the sheriff said looking at a stack of papers in his lap. "It doesn't make a bit of sense, Ed. Seems like he was driving around in circles. 11:15 orange truck headed west on Shirley Street, 11:23 orange truck seen headed north on McGinty, 11:30 orange truck spotted heading south on McGinty street, 11:42 orange truck seen on Highway 3 heading north. Twelve o'clock, truck is on Tidewater going East, 12:13 truck is heading south on Rowers."

"Maybe it was two trucks," Ed said.

"No, I don't think so, Ed. Sounds like the bastard was lost."

The radio cracked with static. "Sheriff Maggee?" a young woman's voice came from the speaker. The sheriff took the receiver.

"Yeah, Sandy."

"A man just called from the Getrol station off 209. He said that a man in an orange truck came in and asked for directions at about noon."

"Where'd he ask for directions to?" the sheriff asked.

"He was trying to get to Route 4 heading west."

"Good work, Sandy," the sheriff said placing the receiver down.

Deputy Ed Evans flicked the siren and slammed the gas.

* * *

"Jesus Christ, Carl," Denny said gripping the handle in the truck's door. The truck weaved in an out of traffic, curling over on the shoulder. Denny held tightly to the door, shaking in his seat as the car passed from the shoulder and back into the left lane. He looked out of the window, a car full of vacationing college girls looked up at the truck with fright. The driver of the car, a young girl with large sunglasses, kept her eyes on the road as she began to cry.

"We're gonna get him," Carl said. "We're gonna get this guy!" he screamed.

"Let's try to stay alive, Carl," Denny said. "What's the use of the truck if there's no one left to drive it."

"Calm down, Denny. We're in fine shape. This isn't anything. Barely anyone on the road," Carl said shifting gears.

"How far down do you think he is?"

"He was ahead of us by twenty minutes."

"My guess is that he isn't speeding. Trying to act casual."

"In a truck like that?"

"Maybe he's color blind."

"Maybe he's dumb."

"Bet he's both."

"You're on."

Carl hit the horn of the car in a rapid staccato. "Move it!" he yelled, breaking the truck.

"What are we gonna do when we get him?" Denny asked.

"That's up to you, big brother. We could stomp him good. Real good."

"You still got that extra tire iron?"

"In the back, yep. Some chain, a can of spray paint. Whatever, man."

"Lots of possibilities," Denny said. "What a piece of work. Steals my car in an oil change."

"Why didn't you just change it yourself?"

"I keep asking myself the same thing. I was treating myself, you know?"

"Just shows you," Carl said. "It's a luxury you can live without, paying for something you can do yourself."

"Carl!" Denny shouted. He straightened up in the seat.

Carl jammed the accelerator, ahead on the highway was an orange pick up going steady in the right lane. It disappeared over the crest of a hill.

"Goddamn, goddamn," Carl said. He crossed the truck from the left lane to the right shoulder, taking the car up to 90 miles an hour. When the crossed over the hill they saw the truck again.

"That's it," Denny said. "That's my truck. That's my goddamn truck."

Carl pulled the car over to the left lane, a white two door skidded off to a stop on the shoulder. A horn blared.

Pepper looked into the rearview of the truck. "Oh, man," he said looking up. He could see the gray truck weaving in traffic, the driver pumping the horn. He let up on the gas. "This guy can go on ahead, man." Pepper let the speed down to 50 miles an hour.

Carl was gaining on the truck. "He's slowing down," Carl said. "Making this easy on us." The trucks were side by side. Denny rolled the window down and looked over at Pepper.

"PULL OVER" he screamed over the wind and engines. Pepper gave a confused look. Denny screamed again, motioning to the shoulder with his thumb. "PULL OVER," he screamed again. Pepper slowed the car, it rumbled off the road into the shoulder. The gray truck pulled in behind it, Denny and Carl quickly scrambled out.

"Get out of the car!" Carl screamed. "Get out of there."

Pepper opened the door and climbed out slowly. "Okay, okay, man. Whatever you say."

"Do you know whose truck this is?" Denny asked. Pepper's mouth fell open, stunned. He took as step backward into the open truck door.

"Do you?" Denny asked.

"Yours, sir?"

"Yes. It's mine. This is my goddamn truck!"

"Oh, man. I had no idea. I'm sorry man."

"Yeah, I'll bet. I'll bet you'll be real sorry in a minute here," Carl said. He took an axe handle from the back of his jeans.

"Listen guys, I'm in a bit of trouble myself. I'm just trying to get out of town. You can have your truck back. You can take it. I'm just trying to stay a step ahead."

"What you running from?" Denny asked.

"Screw him, Denny!" Carl said.

"Hold on, hold on. What you running from, man?"

"I'm just in a bit of trouble."

"What kind?" Denny asked.

"Now I don't want to say anything. The less you know the less you'll be responsible. You just get your truck back and I go on walking down this interstate."

"I'm gonna break your arms," Carl said.

Pepper's face went white.

"I'm gonna break your elbow in," Carl said walking towards Pepper.

"Stop, Carl," Denny yelled. "Let's just take the trucks and get the hell out of here. We don't need trouble, we just need to get the hell out of here."

"Give me one good goddamn reason not to break your arms," Carl said.

Pepper stammered. "I don't know, I don't know mang. I just needed the car. I just took it."

Carl advanced on Pepper, raising the axe handle.

"Carl!" Denny yelled.

He swung the handle hard, landing on Pepper's shoulder. Pepper yelled.

"Ah! Ah!" he grabbed it with his hand. Carl raised the handle again.

"You piece," Carl said but stopped as Denny grabbed the wooden club.

"Let's leave it at that, Carl."

Carl stood still, breathing heavily. He looked at Pepper, standing with his hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, guys. I'm real sorry. I didn't mean no offense. Just need the wheels."

"Give me your wallet," Carl said.

"Oh, no, man. No, man," Pepper said leaning against the open door of the truck.

"Give me your damn waller!" Carl screamed. He grabbed Pepper by the shirt and turned him around. He reached into his back pocket and took the wallet.

"Jesus," Carl said unfolding the stuffed wallet. He took the stack of bills and threw the wallet at Pepper. "Thanks for the trouble," he said.

Denny walked to his truck and pushed Pepper out of the way. Carl walked back to his truck and started the engine, revved it. "See you at home," he called from the window. Denny put his hand out the window, giving his brother a thumbs up.

Denny pulled onto the highway. Carl hit his horn at Pepper, who looked up and staggered into the brush off the shoulder. The gray truck passed him, accelerated and turned onto the highway. Pepper fell onto his knees in the tall grass and watched the trucks disappear in the distance.

Chapter 11

Sheriff Thomas Maggee wiped the back of his neck with a rag, looking over an open file folder at his desk. An oscillating fan sat at its edge, curling the corners of paper as it passed back and forth. "Sandra!" he called out and wiped his neck again.

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."

Chapter 10

Dawn broke over the highway, crossed the asphalt flat and glanced Pepper's side mirror. He squinted in the sharp light and snapped his head, fighting exhaustion.

"Keep your floor to the, keep your foot on down there," he muttered, his voice dry and brittle.

In his weakness Pepper would let off the accelerator every few minutes before snapping his neck straight and plunging his foot again. Over the course of the night the odometer had turned 621 miles, the needle of his fuel gauge was pointing EMPTY. With his foot slipping again from the pedal Pepper's head drooped into the steering wheel. He corrected his posture at the sound of the car horn.

"All right," he said aloud. "All right."

He turned the car into the next exit ramp and followed a sign for the first motel. The familiar pattern of filling stations and diners led the way to the motel, Tasty Bites All Nite, gasoline and cigarettes.

Pepper caught a sign for The Rip Van Winkle Motor Inn ahead. Its marquee read WINKS: $6/night. A neon illustration of a sleeping Van Winkle appeared along the roof. He turned the car into the lot and stopped it at the office.

Through the window Pepper could see there was no one standing at the counter. A shrill drone poured from the small lobby as Pepper opened the door. There was a small man vacuuming the floor, old and bald, very thin in a navy work suit with short sleeves. Several feet of white extension cord bunched at his feet. He watched the base of machine as he pushed it back and forth. Pepper waved to the man, he was turned away from the door.

"Hey!" Pepper called. The man continued to push and pull the vacuum, holding the cord away from his body with one hand. Pepper walked up behind the man and tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped in surprised, dropping the cord and the handle to the vacuum, turning to Pepper.

"You scared me! Dammit!" he shouted over the machine.

"What?" Pepper yelled back.

The man bent over and switched the vacuum off.

"I said you damn near killed me, with fright."

"I'm sorry. I called but you didn't hear me."

"I guess not. I'm sorry for that. What can I do for you?"

"I'd like a room."

"Single bed or double?"

"Single."

"One bed or two?"

"One."

"All right."

"Could I get one on the back side of the motel? Away from the road?"

"Sure." The man walked behind the counter and without looking plucked a key from a ring of dozens without looking. He unlocked a cabinet filled with keys, hooks for every room. He handed a set to Pepper. "How's room 35 sound?"

"Just great," Pepper said, taking the key ring. "What's I owe you?"

"Well it's $6 per night."

"Like it says outside."

"Yessir."

"Okay, thanks."

"Yessir."

The room was small, it smelled of disinfectant. The floor was covered in a thick purple carpet and pushed against the wall was the promised single bed, a lamp, clock and a small dresser, at the back of the room were a shower stall and toilet. Pepper locked the door behind him, drew the curtains and fell, face down, onto the bed.

Dee and Bridgestone sat quietly in the office. The girl sat in a chair with her arms folded, leaning forward. Bridgestone has inserted himself behind his desk, he held his face in his hands and sighed.

"So that was it?" he asked.

"Yeah, just dropped me at the first pay phone we saw."

"And you called a taxi?"

"Uh huh. He said he worked on the car, that he was in trouble with the police."

"He is now."

"Has he been in trouble before?"

"Sure he has. But for drinking in public, being drunk in public. He stole some beer. Minor business."

"This could be the real deal."

"Who knows what he did to that car."

"And he stole yours."

"I'm not worried about that. I hardly use the thing. I'm not going to charge him with that."

"But he's running."

"He sure is. And he can't have a goddamn dime to his name."

"Are the police going to be back?"

"I'm sure. And if not we should call them. We can't hurt Pepper so much by telling them what we know. It's not much, we'll be able to keep clean with them."

"I guess so."

Bridgestone's chair let out a sharp creak as he leaned back. "Where's he going, now?"

"He didn't say. He only told me he was going to keep on driving."

"West?"

"Maybe so. Maybe not."

Bridgestone rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and looked to the ceiling of the office. He put his elbows on his desk and sighed heavily. Looking at the wall of the office he grunted.

"What?" Dee asked, sitting up slightly. She followed his gaze to the poster hanging next to the board, her eyes traced the length of the orange arch.

In room 35 of the Rip Van Winkle Pepper snored loudly. He was sprawled over the bed, his feet hanging over the end. A maid and her squeaking cart rolled to his door, the maid knocked. Pepper opened slowly opened his eyes, the knocking came again. The maid was turning the key in the door as Pepper sat up.

"Hello?" he called.

A voice gasped on the other side of the door. "Room service" called a voice from the other side of the door.

"It's okay. My sheets are still clean."

There was no response. Pepper could hear the wheels of the cart squeaking away.

Pepper rubbed his face and let out a moan. By the clock beside the bed it was just after 2PM. Pepper opened the top drawer of the dresser, inside was a small bible and a local telephone directory. He took the phone book and began leafing through. Air conditioning, alterations, ammunition, astrologers, automobiles. He read through descriptions for dealerships giving particular attention to used lots. A few had sprung for large color advertisements with photographs of the lots, colored pennants, worn vehicles.

There was a photograph of a large car lot, superimposed was a portrait of the dealer himself. In large yellow text,

PETE GRIGSBY
MANY MAKES AND MODELS
AUTOMOBILES BOUGHT AND SOLD

There was an address and a phone number. Pepper tore the page from the phone book and shoved it into his pocket.

At the motel office a woman was seated at the desk.

"Hello," she said as Pepper walked in.

"Hi. I've got a room already, number 35."

"Okay."

"Well I'm hoping you can tell me how to get to Burgess St."

"Oh, sure. That's easy. You go out of the lot, here, and make a right. Go down three blocks, make a right onto Canal and Burgess is just a few blocks down. What's the address?"

"Um," Pepper said, reaching for the ad. He unfolded the page. "1406," he said. The woman frowned at the page from the defaced phone book.

"Make a left at the light."

"Thanks a lot," Pepper said leaving.

The lot was much bigger than the photograph in the phonebook let on. Pick up trucks, two-doors, four-doors, even a few semi trucks at the edge of the lot.

"Mr. Grigsby's got it all," Pepper said as he pulled his car in. He took a few passes through the lot, driving slowly as a browsed. "No particular place to go," he said to himself as he passed low rider.

Pepper entered the office, there were a few chairs along the windowed wall looking over the lot and an empty reception desk. He rang the bell. A familiar face appeared, he waved to Pepper as he approached, his mouth chewing.

"Hi there!" he said adjusting the waist of his pants.

"Hi, I'd like to sell you my car."

"Great!" he said, his mouth still partially full. He swallowed. "Which is it?"

"It's right outside, here. The white four-door."

"All right, all right, let's take a look."

The two went outside and walked around the perimeter of the car. "Looks good, how many miles does she have?"

"83,000," Pepper said.

"Okay, okay. And how's she run?"

"Great as far as I can tell."

"I see," he stood with both hands in his pockets, rocked back on the balls of his feet. "Well, how much you looking to get for it?"

"Oh, gee, I don't know," Pepper said. He scratched at his cow lick. "Three hundred?"

Grigsby nodded. "All right, all right. I'm going to take it into the garage, get our mechanic to take a look and we'll talk some more. How's that sound?"

"Fine. That's fine," Pepper said.

"Great."

In the office Pepper thumbed through a airline magazine. He started reading an article, Down Home In Denver, when Grigsby returned.

"We're all through. And everything looks fine."

"Oh, good news, then."

"Yes."

"What'd we say earlier?"

"I don't know."

"I think it was three hundred?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Well I'd like to make it four."

"Hundred?"

"Yes. Four hundred."

"Gee, that'd be great."

"Then there's just the matter of the title."

"Oh. About that. I don't have it with me."

"Well, I see. I see. It's very difficult for me to buy a car without a title."

"Oh, is it? There isn't anything you can do?"

"There is something, but I'm afraid it isn't a cheap adjustment."

"I just don't have a title for the car, that's all."

"Well I could buy it, but I'm afraid it'd have to be for a little less."

"How much less?"

"I can give you only the original three hundred."

"Well that sounds fair. For a vehicle like this. After all, it is three years old."

"That is it. That it is."

Pepper played with the keys in his pocket. Grigsby folded his arms and leaned back on his heels. "Can you take cash?"


* * *


"Back in business," he said to himself. He reached for his wallet and cracked the fold open. He remembered Mr. Gerald Ford's wallet, swollen with bills. Pepper took the stack of money from the fold of leather and fanned it with his thumb a few times. "Talk about a chunk of change," he said.

Slowly, being sure to count each bill, sure that each bill was not stuck to the next, Pepper counted out his money. What had been spent from the original four hundred, added to the three hundred he'd received from selling Bridgestone's car. There was $642 in all.

"Almost six hundred and fifty dollars," Pepper said with his hands on his hips. He admired the grid of money laid out over the bed. "All of it's mine. Minus what I'm paying for this room," he said, counting the walls. He stacked the money into a single pile and put it back into his wallet. Pepper returned to the phone book, this time scanning for automotive repair shops.

It was a few easy blocks back to Canal Street. Pepper remembered passing the Evergreen Service Station on his trip to Pete Grigsby's. It has the same single-garage design of Bennett's and judging by the few cars out front seemed to have a steady clientele. Pepper walked onto the floor, from under the giant rolling door, and greeted the first person he saw.

"Hi," he said.

A man rolled out from underneath a red pick up. He was young, wearing a greasy baseball cap turned backwards.

"Can I help you?" he said.

"I'm looking for the man in charge."

"That would be Roger," he said wiping his hands. "Roger!"

A moment later a man emerged from a rear office. Roger was short and round, he wore a mustache, cramming his round nose and black eyes between heavy eyebrows. He wore a white dress shirt with short sleeves and a red tie. The man's blue trousers rode halfway up his round torso. "What's it?" he said pulling at his belt.

"This man here wants to talk to you."

"Is that so?" he asked, looking at Pepper.

"Yessir."

"What can we do you for?"

"Well I'm not here to have work done. I'm looking to do work."

"Come again?" the man said.

"Well I'm hoping you could give me a job."

"A job?"

"Yessir."

"I don't think we need any help at the moment."

"You sure about that?"

"Well what kind of spectacular services do you think you can provide the Evergreen Team?"

"I can change oil in 4 minutes."

"Flat?"

"Yessir. Sometimes less."

The man at the dolly laughed from under the car. Pepper cleared his throat.

"I'm not fooling," Pepper said.

"Well let's see it, then. Curtis, get out from under there," the man instructed.

"But I aint' through yet!"

"I said get out, come on."

Curtis wheeled out, wiped his hands on a rag before throwing it down.

"Let's see what you got, son," the man said.

Pepper got straight to work. With precision he raised the car with a jack and placed the jack stands, loosened the drain plug with a socket wrench, removed the oil filter, removed the oil filter cap and began adding oil. Under the car he replaced the drain plug, removed the drip pan, removed the jack stand and lowered the car. He stood up and dusted his hands.

"I'll be damned," Curtis said.

Roger shook his head. "I can't deny it. I'm impressed. You keep changing oil like than and we'll keep you around for a good long while."

"Oh that's great, sir," Pepper said smiling. "Really great. I knew I wouldn't let you down."

"When can you start?" Roger asked.

"Right away, sir."

"Great. There's a pick up outside, the orange one. Why don't you change the oil on that one, there?" he said. "Curtis will get you the keys."

"Sounds fine, sir."

Roger turned back to his office.

"Sir?" Pepper called out. "I don't think we got a formal introduction."

"Oh, that's right. Roger Vagts," he said holding out his hand.

"Stanley Sherman," Pepper said shaking.

"And that there's Curtis," Roger said pointing.

"And I'm here Curtis," he said pointing to himself with his thumb.

"A pleasure to meet the both of you."

Curtis handed Pepper the keys to the pick up.

"You got it from here?" Curtis asked.

"I guess I do," Pepper said walking towards the truck.

The driver's door was unlocked, Pepper climbed into the cabin. He took a deep breath and gripped the wheel tightly. From the truck he could see Curtis inside the garage, his legs poking out from under the vehicle. Pepper found the keys in his pocket, slid the right one into the ignition. He gave it a firm twist and pumped the gas.

"Here goes," he said, throwing the car into reverse. With a shriek of the tires, a black stain on the concrete, Pepper peeled out of the parking lot, onto Canal Street and slammed the accelerator for the freeway.