Chapter Five is All Up In Your Business

Friday, June Tenth, 3:00 a.m.

Alex’s capacity for driving calmly had been exceeded thirty minutes earlier, and he was now barreling along the freeway at the highest speed he felt the Impala he was driving could handle.  The Impala had seen better days, and was in just good enough shape to be easily ignored rather than noticed.  It’s suspension was in dire need of an overhaul, and the steering was vague, to put it kindly.

As such, Alex was doing his best to not exceed ninety five miles per hour.

There were very few other cars on the road with him.  Generally speaking, he’d see a set of taillights ahead of him, pass them, and find he had the road to himself again for ten minutes before he’d see another set of taillights.

Since he didn’t feel like he really had to pay too much attention to traffic, he didn’t notice the state trooper parked in the median.  Seconds later he saw flashing lights in the distance in his rear view mirror, gaining on him.  He glanced down at the speedometer, thought shit, and let off the gas.  Slamming on the brakes wasn’t going to do him any favors at this point.  He hoped that, perhaps, the lights belonged to an ambulance or a fire truck.

That hope was squashed, however, when the flashing lights came up directly behind him and did not pass.

Shit, shit, shit, Alex thought.  He was perfectly aware that he had a terrible poker face.  If the cop asked him anything about what he’d been doing, it would be immediately obvious that he was lying.

Alex hoped that the trooper would just give him a speeding ticket and let him continue on his way.

He pulled over into the break down lane and stopped.  He shut off the engine, then grabbed the proof of insurance from the top side of the visor, and dug his driver’s license out.

It seemed like ten minutes before the trooper approached his car.  Alex wasn’t able to see the trooper’s face, due to the flashlight he was shining at Alex.

“Good evening sir, do you know why I pulled you over tonight?” the trooper said.

“Well, when I saw your lights come on, I noticed I was going a little fast,” Alex said.

“Yes, sir, you were going ninety seven miles per hour when you passed me.  I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but the speed limit along here is seventy miles per hour,” the trooper said.

“Oh wow,” Alex said.  He thought, ninety seven?  Wow, that’s faster than I thought this thing could go.

Alex said, “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t realize I was going that fast.”

“I’m going to need to see your license and proof of insurance, sir,” the trooper said to Alex.

“Sure,” Alex said, and handed them to him.

The trooper walked back to his car, and Alex waited.  On the one hand, he was extremely worried that he’d just gotten himself busted for entering (he was fairly sure he hadn’t “Broken and entered,” just entered) and larceny.  On the other hand, he was definitely enjoying the rush of adrenaline.  He’d been getting a little sleepy during the drive, but he was wide awake now.

Alex’s “thrill issues,” as he liked to call them, were what made him uniquely suited to his new career.  In situations where most people would start panicking, Alex tended to yell “wahoo!” and have the time of his life.

It seemed like the state trooper been gone for twenty minutes when he approached Alex’s window again.

“Is this your car, Mr. Minor,” the state trooper asked.

“Uh, no, it belongs to the company I work for,” Alex said.  What the hell kind of a question was that? Alex wondered.

“Would you mind telling me who you work for?” the state trooper said.

“Sure, Darcy Custom Brokers,” Alex said.

“Got it.  Company car, huh?” the state trooper said.

“Yes, sir,” Alex said.

“I get to deal with one of those myself,” the state trooper said, and chuckled.

Alex laughed along with him.

 “So what are you doing driving a company car close to one hundred miles per hour at three in the morning?” the state trooper said.

Alex felt another rush of adrenaline, and felt his face get hot.  He hoped he hadn’t just turned bright red.

“Trying to get home, sir,” Alex said.

“Late night at work?” the state trooper said.

“It seems like they all are,” Alex said.  He wasn’t sure how many more vague answers he was going to be able to come up with before he had to start making up lies to explain what he was up to, and lying was not his strong suit.

“I hear you,” the state trooper said.  “Have you been drinking tonight, Mr. Minor?”

“No sir,” Alex said, relieved that he’d been asked a question he could give an honest answer to.

“Good, I’m glad to hear that,” the state trooper said.  He paused for a moment, then said, “Well, Mr. Minor, I just want to remind you again that the speed limit along here is seventy miles per hour.  It sounds to me like you just want to get home after a late night, and there’s so little traffic along this stretch of road at this time of night, I know it’s easy to keep speeding up without realizing it, so I’m going to just give you a verbal warning tonight.  If I catch you again, though, I’m going to have to give you a ticket, do you understand?”

He handed the insurance and Alex’s license back to Alex.

“Oh thank god,” Alex said before he realized it.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Minor?” the state trooper said.

“Uh, I said, thank you sir.  I understand, and I’ll be more careful,” Alex said.  I can’t believe I’m getting away with this, he thought.

“I appreciate that, Mr. Minor.  Get home safely, now,” the state trooper said.

Alex took a deep breath and exhaled after the trooper had walked away and Alex had rolled his window back up. 

That could have turned ugly, Alex thought.  He resolved to drive slowly the rest of the way home.  He then thought, I hope the cruise control in this thing works.

After starting the car back up, and making sure he wasn’t going to pull into the path of a speeding big rig, Alex got back out on to the freeway.  He saw the state trooper’s overhead lights turn off in his mirrors.

The state trooper kept pace with Alex for the next few miles, until there was a turnout where he made a u-turn and went back to his original spot (or so Alex guessed).

It turned out that the cruise control in the Impala worked just fine, and so Alex crept along at a lazy seventy miles per hour.  Once the adrenaline had died down again, he realized that he was both very sleepy, and ridiculously hungry.

After a couple of miles, Alex saw a billboard for a truck stop.  Apparently it had a twenty four hour McDonald’s.  Seemed like it might be a good place to stop.  He was sure to find some decent coffee and something edible at a truck stop.

A few minutes later, Alex rolled the Impala to a stop at the truck stop.  The entire area was bathed in artificial light.  When Alex got out of his car, the first thing he heard was the sound of fifty (or more) idling diesel engines.  They were all lined up on the other side of the parking lot, with their lights off and engines running.  Alex guessed there was probably someone sleeping in every one of those trucks.

He stretched, and started walking towards the entrance that had a McDonald’s sign.  A woman wearing a very short leopard print skirt, tall black furry boots, and a knee length, sheer, red duster came out of the restaurant and walked towards him.

As she passed, she made eye contact with Alex, and said, without much interest, “Are you looking for a date?”

“Not tonight, thanks,” Alex said, and kept walking. 

“Your loss,” she said.

He kept walking.  Arguing with aggressive saleswomen, he’d accidentally learned, could lead to very uncomfortable discussions with their well-armed male business associates.

Anyway, he needed a large coffee and a double quarter pounder with cheese.

Inside, Alex was able to order with minimal hassle, and before long was lethargically eating his burger and fries (the coffee was still too hot to even look at directly without burning the roof of his mouth) at the least dirty table.  He was surprised, in a sleepy way, by how dirty the tables were.  His experience had been that most truck stops were spotlessly clean.  After all, they wanted the truckers who stopped in to come back the next time they passed by.  Maybe the employees slack off at three in the morning, he thought.

The burger and fries were fine, and after fifteen minutes or so, he was able to drink the coffee without burning himself too badly.

After another fifteen minutes, he’d had enough coffee and was feeling human enough that he thought it would be a good time to get back out on the road and get this night finished already.

He was dismayed, then, when he heard someone shout “Everyone on the floor!”  Looking around, he saw two young white men in very baggy clothes with bandannas covering most of their faces brandishing guns over in front of the display of Hostess baked treats close to the cash registers.

Damn it, Alex thought.  I just want to get out of here and get home.  And, now, maybe some Twinkies.

No one else seemed to be in a very big hurry to hit the floor, so Alex stayed sitting at his table.  He hoped everything would play out quickly and quietly, and that he’d be able to get on his way.  Alex figured that this place had a “give them whatever the hell they want” policy, and a multitude of cameras capturing everything so they’d have plenty of evidence to give the police.

He was very surprised then, when one of the employees behind the cash registers was suddenly brandishing a shotgun.  She was all of five feet tall, with dyed black hair and the coldest stare Alex had ever seen.

For the record, Alex had seen some pretty cold stares during his career.

“I suggest you boys get the fuck out of here and go home to play some video games in your mom’s basement,” the cashier said.

Holy shit, Alex thought.  He wasn’t sure if he was freaked out or turned on at the moment.

“I suggest you get on the floor like we said,” one of the two thugs said, with all the brashness he could muster.

The cashier racked the slide and pointed the shotgun directly at them.

“You know, I’m not exactly sure how far the shot in this gun will spread at this range,” the cashier said.  “It’s double aught buck shot, so it might not spread much at all.  I’m pretty certain that I can wreck at least one of your pretty little faces, though.  And I notice there’s no one behind you.  Maybe you should take a hike like I suggested.”

The less brash of the thugs said, “Uh, brah…  I really want to go home.”

Alex noticed several other truck stop employees carrying an assortment of weapons circling in on the two young men who’d been trying to rob the place.

Holy crap, what kind of truck stop is this? Alex thought.  Since when are all the employees in these places heavily armed?

“Dude, pull up your pants and remember why we’re here,” the other thug said.

To the cashier he said, “Doll, put that thing away and give me all the cash in the register like a good girl.”

Alex was pretty sure he should look away at this point, but he was transfixed by the scene unfolding in front of him.

“Oh, honey, you are in a world of hurt now,” the cashier said.

The thug laughed, and said, “How’s that, there’s two of us, and one of you?”

“No, sweetiekins, there are twelve of us, and two of you,” the cashier said.

“This was a bad idea, Tom,” the thug who’d wanted to go home said.

“Jesus, man, don’t use my name,” is what the other thug would have said, had he not just taken a thick oak billy club to the back of the head.

Instead, what he said was, “Uff,” and fell to the floor.

“Oh fuck,” the other thug said.  He looked around and saw the other employees closing in.  “I, I just want to go home.”

“It’s a little too late for that, bud,” the cashier said.  “But don’t worry, we’ve got a nice storage closet for you and your mouthy friend to wait for the police in.  Oh, by the way, drop your gun.”

The thug that was still standing looked around and saw 7 firearms in a variety of calibers, three clubs, and a couple of knives, all held by people who looked more than willing to put them to work.

“You got it,” he said, and set his gun down.  He took a couple of steps away from it for good measure.

“Good boy,” the cashier said.

The employee with the oak billy club hit the thug upside the head, dropping him to the floor as well.

The cashier lowered her shotgun, and said, “Damn it, John, was that really necessary?”

“I’m afraid it was,” John said.

Wow, Alex thought.  I’ve really got to tell Mr. Darcy about these folks.  Seems like they might be real good fits for the organization.