Pick Up the Pieces

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2I’d killed a man.

Were the cops looking for me? Did every cop car that went past have a picture of me on the dashboard?

I had to get away, get out of Florida.

I was afraid to turn any tricks in case I was recognized, and the twenty-eight dollars didn’t last very long. By the time I reached the truck stop off I-95 in Jacksonville later that week, I was down to a couple of bucks.

I ordered a small bowl of soup, which was all I could afford, and as many packets of crackers as my puppy dog eyes and the sad story I’d spun about a sick grandma could persuade the waitress to give me. I was lucky there were thick pieces of ham in the soup.

As I ate my soup, I kept my ears open and my mouth shut and listened while the truckers talked and joked. None of them were going in the right direction; they were either heading south or west across the Florida panhandle.

A trucker walked in, and I paused in my eating and watched him. His walk was limber. He was good-looking, younger than Franky, and a little taller than average height. A baseball cap sat back on his dark hair, and work boots were on his feet.

“Hey there, Shane.” The waitress grinned at him and sashayed to the table he’d taken, just across from me. “How you doing, sugar?”

“Doing good, Belle.”

“Glad to hear it.” She fluttered her lashes at him, but it was as if this was routine for them, nothing serious.

“Where you headed this time, Shane?” one of the truckers asked, and I could have kissed him. It was what I wanted to know.

“Up to DC.”

“Another one of your mystery runs?”

He grinned but didn’t answer.

“What can I get for you, sugar? Some pea soup like this young man is having, or some pot roast like Abe, or…”

“I’ve only got time for a cup of joe and a slice of your fabulous key lime pie, angel eyes. I need my thermos filled up too.” He handed it to her.

“You got it, handsome.”

“Belle, if you’re thinking Shane is handsome, you better get yourself some glasses, honey,” one of the other truckers called out. Everyone laughed, and again it was as if this was routine for them, as if they’d done it so often they could do it by rote.

Shane snorted and started to say something to him. His gaze fell on me, and he saw me looking at him. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I haven’t seen you here before.”

“No, sir.” I gave him a little smile, then dropped my gaze and went back to spooning the thick pea soup into my mouth. When I thought enough time had passed, I peeked at him from under my lashes.

“You looking for a ride, boy?”

“Yes, sir.” One thing I’d gotten good at was being able to tell if my advances would be accepted. That and being able to spot a cop at twenty paces.

“Where’s your family?”

“At home.”

“Where’s home?”

“Oh.” I waved my hand vaguely. “South.”

“South, hmm? And what’re you doing here, all by yourself?”

“I’m on my way north to see my granny.”

“I suppose your granny is doing poorly, and that’s why you have to get to her.”

“How did you know?” I gave him the big eyes that usually got me an extra ten bucks, especially if my lips were around some john’s d**k when I gazed up at him. “She lives up in Philly.”

I’d never been much good at geography, the extent of my knowledge being that New York City was north and Los Angeles was west and Las Vegas somewhere in between, but I’d heard one of the truckers talk about coming from Philadelphia on the run he was just finishing.

“How do you expect to get there?”

“I was supposed to take the bus, but I lost my money,” I lied easily. I’d gotten good at lying since I’d lived with Franky. “Poppa finally thought I was mature enough to go by myself, and if he finds out I was that careless, he won’t let me go again.”

“Yeah?” He stared pointedly at the side of my face which still bore a fading bruise, and then at the jacket sleeves that didn’t cover my wrists, which had been all I’d been able to scrounge in the used clothing bin. He lowered his voice. “I know a runaway when I see one. Your father do this to you?”

“Oh, no! I swear Poppa never…. My father didn’t hit me.”

“I’m not….” He fell silent when Belle brought him his pie and a big mug of coffee, then continued once she left. “I’m not supposed to pick up hitchhikers, you know. Especially not when I’m hauling…. Well, I’m not.”

“No, sir.” It was the rainy season now, and if I didn’t cadge a ride from him, I could look forward to getting drenched.

“I’m going to DC.”

I nodded. “I could really use the ride.”

“How do I know you wouldn’t stick a knife in my ribs?”

I felt myself turn cold. It took me a moment to force an innocent smile to my lips. “You could search me if you like.”

From his expression I could see we were imagining the same thing: him running his hands from my armpits down my sides, hips, legs, maybe gently cupping my crotch. At least I hoped it would be gently.

“Well, unless you’ve got a knife up your ass, I’d say you weren’t carrying anything,” he’d say. His hand would still be on me, rubbing lightly….

Color rose in his cheeks. He looked down at the pie, almost as if he was wondering how it had gotten there, then shook his head and began digging into it.

“I’m not gay, boy,” he said, his voice very low. He meant it.

“No, sir.” But I didn’t believe I’d been off in my reading of him.

“Why did your family throw you out?”

“They didn’t. I told you, I’m going up to Philadelphia to see my granny—”

“Boy…”

I bit my lip, then decided to take a chance. “I’m gay. But I’m still going to see my granny.”

Shane’s mouth tightened and I was afraid he was going to get up and hit me. The bruise he had seen hadn’t been from Franky, for a change, but from a john who hated the fact he used male prostitutes. Shane glanced down at his hands and sighed.

I sighed too and pushed away from my table.

“Where are you going?”

“It’s a long walk. I’d better get started.”

“Hold on a minute. I didn’t say I wouldn’t take you.”

“But—”

“I’ll take you as far as I go.”

Would that be far enough? I wasn’t going to question my good fortune. “Thank you.”

Belle came over to us. “Anything else I can get for you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Just my thermos, Belle. It’s gonna be a long haul to DC. There’s a tropical depression out in the Atlantic, and they’ve predicted rain the whole way.”

“Well, it’s only fair someone else gets some of what we’ve been having.” She put my check down on my table and handed another to Shane. “When’re you gonna take me away from all this, sugar?”

“Ah, honey, these good old boys’d have my hide if I tried to carry you off. You’re the best darned waitress this side of the Georgia border.”

Again there was laughter. Belle went to the kitchen to get his thermos.

“My rig is the black-and-red one out by the diesel pumps,” he said softly. “I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”

I stuffed the last two packets of crackers into my jacket pocket, got to my feet, and walked to the cash register. A bored cashier sat listening to the transistor radio on the counter behind her, next to bags of potato chips, pretzels, and Cheez Doodles.

I handed her my last two dollars just as Belle came out of the kitchen with Shane’s thermos.

She paused and asked, “How was your soup, sugar?”

“It was very good, thank you.”

“I’m real sorry to hear about your grandma, and I hope she gets better soon.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, you come and see us again on your way back home and let us know how she’s doing.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I’d never be back this way again. “Thank you for being so kind to me.” I smiled and gave her the change as a tip.

“Oh, baby….”

Shane came up to pay his own check, and Belle forgot about me. I saw her nostrils twitch. He did smell good. She gave him the thermos.

“Thanks, Belle.”

I walked out, sure no one was paying much attention to me.

I hovered in the shadows by the eighteen-wheeler, turning my collar up against the rain, but before I could start worrying that maybe Shane was calling the cops, he sauntered out of the restaurant holding his thermos and a bag of chips. He opened the cab’s passenger door.

“In you go.”

It was a big step up, and I made more out of it than it really was. As I’d hoped, he gave me a boost with one broad palm on my butt.

He went around the front of the cab and climbed in, nodding in approval when he saw I’d already buckled my seat belt.

“Two rules, boy.” He grimaced. “I can’t keep calling you ‘boy.’ It makes you sound like Tarzan’s kid.”

“Frank.” I blurted out the first name I could think of. “My name’s Frank.”

“Good enough, Frank.” He turned on the ignition, switched on the windshield wipers, and put the truck in gear. “Now, as I was saying. Two rules. You don’t ask me what I’m hauling, and you don’t play with the radio. I like country music. If you don’t—”

“Country’s fine, sir.”

“Call me Shane.”

“I really appreciate the lift, Shane. Thank you.”

A woman singer came on, begging some girl named Jolene not to take her man.

“That Dolly Parton sure does have a nice set of…pipes, doesn’t she?”

“Shane, I’ll do anything you like. I won’t ask what you’re hauling, I won’t complain about the music you listen to, I’ll even give you a blow job.” I gave him a little smile so he could think I was kidding if he wanted. “Just please don’t make me talk about Dolly Parton’s…pipes.”

He burst out laughing. “Fair enough, Frank.”

* * * *

Shane was a decent guy. He shared his coffee and the chips, and woke me from a nightmare about blood and knives without asking me what it was about.

I offered him a blow job as we pulled into an all-night greasy spoon just south of the DC/Virginia border. “You’ve been really nice to me, Shane, and it’s the least I can do to repay you.”

“I’m not gay, Frank.”

“No, but a d**k doesn’t much care what it shoves itself into.”

“Damn, you’re so young.”

“I’m older than I look.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen. As soon as I get up to my granny’s, I’m going to get my driver’s license. Maybe then people will believe me.” I gave him the big eyes and the smile again.

He chewed on his lip, then nodded and followed me into the men’s room.

Afterward, it took a few minutes before his eyes seemed to regain their focus. “Wow! That’s one amazing way you have of paying a body back.”

“My pleasure, Shane.” I smiled at him.

He blinked again. “Come on. I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Thanks.” I wasn’t too proud to accept a last meal from him. I was flat broke, and I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to eat again. I went to the sink to wash my hands.

“Why don’t you tell me what really happened in Florida?”

“I told you—”

“I’d like the truth.

I guessed I wasn’t as good a liar as I’d thought.

“I…uh…I had a fight with my boyfriend.” That sounds a lot better than, “This guy I knew tried to sell me.”

I got it now. Franky had never been my boyfriend; he was my pimp. We hadn’t been making love—he’d been teaching me the tricks of the trade. He didn’t love me or need me or care about me. He only cared about money and drugs and s*x.

“Yeah? What about?”

“He ha—” Just in time I caught myself. The last thing I wanted was for Shane to realize he’d been traveling with a murderer. “—has a drug problem.” And a temper.

“Too bad.”

“Yeah. So I left.” I shivered. After I killed him.

“Sucks, kid.” He squeezed the back of my neck.

Tell me about it. But I just shrugged.

“And you’re really eighteen?”

“Would I lie?”

“Hmm.” Fortunately, he let it go. We entered the diner, and he ordered meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and broccoli for both of us. “And you’ll eat all your vegetables, young man.”