The Highwayman

Chapter 2: Nissan Frontier

Chapter 2: Nissan Frontier

7:51 P.M.

The highway was dusty and unpredictable, just the way I liked it. The temperature in the evening was slightly below eighty, hot for June, but I didn't mind. A rainstorm was approaching; the meteorologists had nailed the forecast. I walked slowly along the Interstate in hopes that a cop wouldn’t see me, since it was illegal to hitch a ride from a passing vehicle. My nature entailed risk taking, though. The truth was I enjoyed living on the edge. Half of me wanted the law to get in the way just so I could find a way of getting myself out of the s**t. It was a gamble, of course, to be on the Interstate. But what the hell, I was a gambling man who sometimes looked for trouble, and discovered it at freewill.

No matter how much I lived on the edge of life, the Interstate was no place to be regarding my history. If a cop picked me up I could land in a lot of trouble, but only if I were fingerprinted. My history wasn’t clean and I had accomplished some very nasty s**t in my past. Then again, I was ready to give a cop a good time, rough him up, and make him have a bad day. Isn’t that what cops were around for?

I planned to be on Interstate 80 for no more than twenty-five miles and closer to Ohio. To my advantage a Nissan Frontier pulled over on the side of the Interstate approximately sixty feet in front of me. The truck was dark blue and looked and had a fresh wax. Behind its wheel was a young man around nineteen-years-old with flaming red hair and freckles. He looked tall and thin with some muscle on his frame. His personalized license plate read COWBOY 1. The truck had white-rimmed tires and didn’t look dented or scratched.

Like a good traveling man I walked up to the passenger window, leaned over, shared a handsome smile, and said, “How you doing, guy?”

“I’m doing mighty fine today. You need a ride?” he asked. How many times in the last year had I heard that question? Too many to count if the truth be shared. “Where you headin’?”

“Ohio. Need to visit some relatives.” It was a lie, of course, but a handy one that I had used almost all the time. “Can I ride with you?”

“I’m headin’ that way for ten miles. Door’s open if you want to get in.”

Ten miles were better than no miles. “Sounds fine. I appreciate it.” I removed the sack from my back and held it in my left hand by a strap. The door opened with ease and I hunched inside, placing the sack between my legs.

Before I knew it we were heading west toward Ohio and I was hungry and tired. Nothing would have tasted better than a cold beer. The kid was clearly too young and we couldn’t stop off at a bar. Yeah, he could’ve dropped me off at a Sal’s Pub or The Beer Place, but what fun was it hanging by myself?