Un-Connected Read online

  They might have kids. I didn’t but could still ask about theirs. One thing we did have in common is travel. Talking about different cities is something we could do. Well—it was a start. That would be two things I could discuss with them. That was all I could think of at the time. And then I realize there were three things. Usually there is a mate involved when there are kids. I could talk to them about being married. I was scaring myself. How could I miss something so obvious? I really wasn’t together.

  I decided to stop at the next truck stop to see if I could hide the car. I wanted to hang out and listen to some truckers to see what I could learn. Since it was daytime, I felt better about being off the road and out of the car.

  Once I was in the diner, the Cast Iron Skillet, I took a seat close to a bunch of truckers. When they looked me over, I was afraid they might pick me out as the guy on TV, but I didn’t think it would help to scream and run out. I stuck to the plan. Besides, I was asking myself what would a rich guy from Virginia be doing dressed like that in a truck stop? I hoped I was right, but I doubted myself. I tried to keep my hands from shaking.

  For the most part, they talked about stuff I could relate to. They talked about their families and how they’d be glad to get home. One driver by the name of Hank had a dog with him, an old blue-tick hound, so they talked a lot about pets. It sounded like it wasn’t unusual for a trucker to have a dog with him on the road, but it did surprise me to see it in the diner. No one seemed to mind or really pay attention.

  Another driver, John, talked about a problem with a load. When he delivered, the receiving people said some things were missing. The people who loaded him swore there was nothing missing. So they were implying John lost something. John’s dispatcher wasn’t going to pay him for that load until it was straightened out. The dispatcher hadn’t told him to verify the load but now it was his problem.

  Another driver Jerry told how he’d gotten shorted on his pay. The broker had said the shipper hadn’t paid the contract amount, and the shipper had said he’d paid the agreed amount to the broker. “So how was a trucker supposed to get that straightened out?”

  “Did you get any paperwork so you can sort it out?” another trucker asked.

  “Yeah, but now I have to get in the middle of all that and get faxes while I’m on the road. Then I have to figure out who did what, like it was easier for me to do it than people in an office. Lazy butts.”

  “I know, right?” another driver said.

  One guy stated he was glad he was a company driver and didn’t have to mess with all the stuff those owner operators had to deal with.

  “But how much do you make a week?” One of the truckers asked.

  “How much headache can you put up with for the difference?” He retorted.

  “You can be an owner operator if you lease out through the union and they take care of all of that.”

  “Yeah, but how much are your dues?”

  “I don’t have to fool with my own taxes,” another one said.

  “I got a good dispatcher who takes care of all the stuff you’re talking about, and she is cheaper than dues and probably gets me better loads.”

  “But you don’t get any contract loads either! I know on Monday what my loads will be all week. From the time I leave home until the time I get back, my loads are already booked.”

  Now the accounting part was something I understood, but I intended to stick to my decision and not talk about it. OK, so I am starting to understand a little.

  Several argued about whether it was better to be an owner operator or to drive for a company.

  All of that was easy enough to follow, but when they started talking about Coming, Detroit, and Cat Engines, I was lost. I got scared when I couldn’t understand what they were talking about. I was starting to get nauseated and dizzy so I headed to the bathroom.

  On my way out someone said, “Man you don’t look so good. You look green.” I guess I was more nervous than I thought. I had dry heaves.

  I was about to be dead if I didn’t figure something out and being in a truck was the only thing I could think of. I was no quitter, and saying I had a lot on the line was an understatement. I decided to check on the car and see if anyone had noticed it. It seemed no one had, but I didn’t get too close or act interested. It looked out of place to me with all the midsized and full-sized cars and trucks. But if they didn’t care, I sure didn’t. And the car wasn’t the only thing that looked out of place.

  As I was headed back inside to get another lesson about truckers, a woman stepped out in front of me going in the same direction, so I followed her into the restaurant. It was always interesting to walk behind a woman. It normally would have been inspiring, but I was naturally a bit distracted and couldn’t get interested. I sat down where I had been before.

  The other truckers started to pick on her. She looked good and wore tight jeans she filled well. Her blouse was unbuttoned enough to be interesting but not risqué. Beautiful hair showed she’d took care to get a cut with some style. Her complexion was beautiful and clear. She was a doll for sure.

  She must have wanted the attention, or she was trolling to fill a vacancy in her life. Some of the comments were humorous and some were flirtatious. Jerry sounded like he was willing to fill her vacancy and the cook, Danny, even moved ahead of the waitress to wipe down her spot and called her by name—Deb. Her seat was two down from mine at the bar with no one between us and she reached over to grab the creamer as the waitress served her a coffee. When she did, she looked at me and smiled but didn’t say anything.

  Some of the guys made some crude remarks, and most of the drivers offered to let her drive their trucks. It was interesting how the different truckers treated her – some like she was just one of the guys, but several of them were hitting on her hard. I was surprised how she could take care of herself. She was unflappable.

  Suddenly I realized I wasn’t hearing anything. The place had gone silent. I opened my eyes and looked up to find everyone staring my way.

  “You don’t look so good, son,” John said.

  “Yeah, you’re really pale,” the waitress said.

  “I’m all right.” There was a moment of hesitation, but when I turned back to my coffee, everyone else gradually did the same. My head was swimming, and my heart pounded a mile a minute. I got up and walked around in the isles that had trucker stuff by the place they called the fuel desk so I could think. Did I want to try to connect with one of these drivers and get a ride? Or should I move on to the next place with what I had learned and try to learn more? I was afraid to get back in my car.

  There were three people I judged to be possible new best friends. One was Jerry. He was a big guy. He was almost my height, six three, and heavier and joked a lot. I liked most of his jokes. Some I didn’t understand. Others were a little dirty for my taste. But he might do. John was another possibility, but he talked a lot. Everyone there was his friend, and it seemed he only had to hear someone’s name once to remember and be their friend. That was pretty amazing. He might do, but he sure talked a lot. In the end John might drive me crazy.

  The last option was Deb. She was the real puzzle of the three. She was pretty and seemed to have more class than any of the other truckers. She dressed with style and was well spoken. Deb took care of her skin and figure. She was obviously smarter than most of them. But she didn’t have an attitude toward them which was encouraging to me. She got along with them. She would undoubtedly think I was hitting on her if I tried to talk to her. I’m sure Deb got an offer every day from someone who wanted a ride. The way she defended herself made it obvious she was shrewd enough to kick me to the curb in a heartbeat. But she might have the most tender heart of the three and might give me a chance. She was quiet and maybe a little sad but very classy and sharp. She seemed out of place with the truckers but she fit in.

  If I could just get a few hundred miles from my car and live long enough to grow some hair and color some more, then I might have a chanc
e. I didn’t know what to do and was afraid to do anything. I was also afraid to do nothing. They would find my car before long.

  I headed back to the diner. I was still talking to myself about moving on to another truck stop, but I wanted to have one more look. Jerry was gone. John was still talking and had three new friends over in a booth. Deb was still there, eating a bowl of oatmeal. I went back to the same seat, and the waitress refilled my coffee. A few more truckers had gone, and a few more came in. I checked out all the new arrival to see if one of them might be my ride. None of the new ones seemed as friendly, so it was hard to tell if they’d help.

  The conversations were about the same. One of them was cussing about the guy at the weigh station in Marion, Illinois. He said the guy in the southbound side was a real butt. Not exactly his words. Some of the others agreed they had trouble with the same guy. After a while I decided I wasn’t learning anything new, and I didn’t feel time was on my side. Maybe I should move on down the road.

  I got up and walked back to the fuel desk. I tried to look as if I was shopping for something. I decided John wasn’t for me. I was afraid anything he learned he’d tell somewhere, and he seemed like a risk even if he would give me a ride. Also, I didn’t want to have to choose between being in jail the rest of my life, being talked to death, or being caught by the killers in the black SUV because John ran his mouth.

  So Deb was the only one left, but I was afraid to try to talk to her. It was that or drive on in the daytime to the next truck stop, so I asked the guy behind the checkout counter, “How far to the next truck stop?”

  “Which way are you going?”

  “South.”

  “The next thing going that direction is a little Mexico kind of tourist place, but a lot of truckers avoid the place. It’s mainly for families. Beyond that a ways are a couple of big truck stops, but it might be a hundred miles.”

  I didn’t want to drive in the daytime and especially two hours. I decided to hang out for a bit to see if I could figure something out. I sat back down and Deb leaned my way.

  “Are you OK? You look as if you lost your best friend in the whole world,” she asked in a low kind voice.

  She had no idea. My eyes teared up, and I was really struggling to keep some kind of composure. She had nailed me immediately. I held up one finger to say I was going to answer.

  Once I got a little control, I said, “Things are a bit tough right now. I just needed to get away from the Northeast and get some breathing room.”

  “And you want to ride with me.” I know I must have looked surprised since she simply stared at me while my jaw dropped. “You are good. I have been hit on by the best, but a man who cries? Impressive.”

  I still couldn’t answer.

  She took a couple of bites, chewing them slowly, not really looking at me. Then she turned. “Well, isn’t that what you’re working on?”

  “I’m not acting,” I said, almost whispering. “I have had a really rough time the last few days, and I didn’t know it was all showing on my face.”

  I couldn’t say anything further right away. She had nailed me on several accounts.

  “What are you running from? Are you in trouble with the law? Did you rip off a drug dealer or kill somebody?”

  I couldn’t breathe. Was she reading something off my forehead? How did she suspect I was running? Where was she getting those questions?

  She was moving way faster than I could.

  I paused for a long time.

  “I’m in trouble with the law, but I’m not guilty and just want a chance to clear myself. I’m a CPA, an accountant, a bookkeeper. I’m not a dangerous person. Look, if you know of anyone who can help me… I am in a real tough spot right now. I wouldn’t wish this mess on my worst enemy.”

  “Do you have a lot of enemies?”

  I surprised myself by how quickly I answered the question. “I don’t have any enemies that I know of…or didn’t before a few days ago.”

  She looked me over from my eyes to the soles of my feet and then back to my eyes. “Nice shoes.”

  After a long pause, she raised her eyebrows and looked me right in the eye. “You need help with your wardrobe.”

  “I need help with a lot of things.”

  She took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “OK, I will help you, but the first time you try to put a finger on me or lie to me, I am done helping you, and I might break that finger. And I will either kill you myself or call the cops on your sorry self. Or I might find out who is looking for you and get paid to make their day. Are we really clear on that?”

  I quickly answered in the affirmative. And told her I would be forever grateful. The thought of her turning me over to anyone—cops or killers—made me nearly freak out right there. And why did she suspect there was someone besides the police looking for me?

  “Yeah, I know you’ll make it up to me.” She said.

  We sat silently while she was eating.

  “You’re an accountant? Huh!” She said under her breath. “And another thing, sooner or later you’re going to have to tell me the whole truth. If you lie to me then, your future is in my hands. We clear on that, too?”

  “Yes ma’am!”

  “Follow me!” She said and paid for her meal and my coffee.

  Once we were by ourselves, she began to ask more questions. “How much money do you have? How did you get here? Where do you want to go?”

  She was trying to figure out if she could get any money out of helping me and how long it would be until she could dump me. She was probably trying to figure if she would be in trouble for helping me.

  “I have a couple of thousand I would guess, but I don’t know for sure.”

  “I’m Deborah, and my friends call me Deb, so please call me Deb. What’s your name?”

  I swallowed hard. “Sam.”

  Deb paused. “It wasn’t very convincing, Sam.”

  ”I am very upset and almost could not remember my own name,” I stammered. It was true. She let it go but didn’t seem convinced.

  “What are they looking for? A guy in a suit and tie, for example? Are they looking for a particular car?”

  “I usually wear a suit and tie but was wearing a white shirt and slacks when I left, and I’ve changed since then. I have a car out back.”

  “What kind?”

  “A Porsche.”

  “A Porsche?” She asked in a loud surprised whisper. “You did fall down a long hill didn’t you?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Oh, I do. I have fallen pretty far myself a few times. They will be looking for that car for sure. If they spot it, they will probably hang back and watch for you to get in it. You better not get close to it again. I’ll go look at it.”

  We walked toward the car. A couple of guys stood looking at it from a distance but they did not look as if they were really concerned with the car or would be a problem to me. They seemed to be vaguely looking at it while talking about something else.

  “Looks like you are okay for now. Think about what you have in the car—anything you need to keep? I am sure you don’t have clothes in there.”

  After a few seconds I told her I couldn’t think of anything in there I wanted. “I guess nothing.” Then I remembered. “I have some hair color, a hat, a tee shirt and my cell phone charger. I can’t think of anything else. If there is something just get whatever you find.”

  “Are you okay with me getting rid of the car?”

  I was amazed at how thoughtful she was and how perceptive. She could have said she was going to get rid of the car without asking, and there would have been nothing I could or would do.

  “Yes, I’d be relieved to not see it again.”

  “Ok, give me your keys and go back to the TV room and wait for me. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “Where is the TV room?”

  Then she shook her head slightly as if she was saying to herself, “What am I getting myself into?”

  “Go
back in the door we came out of. Go clear to the other side where the sign says Showers and head that way. Soon you’ll see the TV room.”

  It seemed an eternity as I waited and my fears multiplied. Was Deb calling the police? Was she driving off and leaving me there? What could take so long? Was she talking to the killers and dickering for how much she could get for turning me over to them?

  I was afraid to stay there, and I was afraid to move. It was half dark in the TV room, and it was a good place to wait unless someone was coming into the room to get you. There was only one way in or out. But no one was paying any attention to me, and the chairs were comfortable. Very few people would be able to tell it was me with the way I looked.

  After I nearly died of fright at least three times, Deb came in and sat down beside me. “Are you ready? Do you need anything before we get started?”

  “No,” I stammered.

  “Come on.”

  I followed her out. We went to a clean truck, and under her breath she said go to the other side and get in. Deb hit a remote, which unlocked the doors. It seemed few truckers had that.

  Once inside she showed me where she had a gun under the steering wheel. “This is just one of them, and so help me if you make me regret this I will leave you on the side of the road with holes in you leaking badly.”

  “You will have no trouble out of me,” I assured her.

  About thirty minutes down the road, I couldn’t stand it any longer and said, “I’m sorry but I need to go to the bathroom.”

  “Can you do it on the side of the road?”

  “Yes.”

  I nearly died while she took a terribly long time to slow down and pull off on the shoulder, but I got out and with great relief got back in.