Un-Connected (2 page)

Chapter 3

Getting Lost

One thing I knew for sure. I couldn’t clear
myself if I were locked up. And since they knew my car and were probably
looking for it, I had to find another way to travel. Nothing would do me any
good if those black SUV killers caught me. I wished I had an old four-door
sedan or better, a station wagon or minivan. I needed stuff that wasn’t
anything like me. Not look or sound like me. Not be traceable to me. I had no
clue how to do any of this, but I was sure my life depended on it. I’d better
learn fast. I could hardly think I was so scared and freezing cold.

OK, I was traveling. Could I stop somewhere?
No, not really. I hadn’t wanted to drive in the daytime, but now that I was, I
wanted to put some miles behind me. I looked too much like the guy on TV who
killed his wife. I just about started to cry and then pushed the emotion away.
No, I wanted to live, and I wasn’t going to feel sorry for myself. So I’m a
traveler for now. Not running, just traveling. Who did I think I was kidding?

Since I’d been an adult, I’d traveled well,
staying in nice hotels and eating in nice restaurants. Some said I lived large.
I couldn’t see it, but I didn’t care. Now I needed to be different and find
different wheels. This car was going to get me killed. I needed to move on the
cheap. Besides, I had no idea how long my money would hold out or how long they
would leave my bank accounts alone and let me use the credit cards. For now,
they probably would leave it alone, so they would have pointers to where I
bought stuff and they could track me. But I knew it wouldn’t last forever.

I was driving slowly down I-95, staying in
the right lane trying to stay hidden in a cluster of cars that were moving
together. Then the left lane opened up, and a semi tractor and trailer nearly
blew us all off the road.
That was it
. It was so different from me. I
had never been in a semi before. No one would even think about my being in one
of those.

OK, how could I talk someone into giving me a
ride? It didn’t sound easy. I’ve never talked to a trucker before. Could I talk
to one? How different were they? I had a college degree, and I bet few of them
did. I shouldn’t mention higher education. But they probably were married or
had been.

They might not think well of accountants, so
I’d better not mention my occupation. I didn’t do tax work for the public, but
I knew a lot about taxes as a CPA would. But to a trucker, a bookkeeper might
be someone always harassing them about paperwork or taxes. They wouldn’t like
someone who was always talking to them about how much money they owed. They
probably didn’t like the one they had to talk to when their paycheck wasn’t
right, especially if there was too much taken out. OK, I convinced myself bookkeeping
would not be part of the conversation.

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 chance. 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.