Commercial Company

We ride along in silence, the only noise being the sound of the wipers beating out their tempo.

As the sign for the Broadway exit looms up out of the gloomy drizzle, I turn on the turn signal, and slow down as I exit the highway. “Left or right?” I say.

“Huh? Oh, left,” she says. “I’m sorry, I was thinking.”

“S’ okay.”

The light turns green, and I make a left onto Broadway. I go under the interstate, and about five or six blocks. 

“See that mini-mart at the next light?” Jennifer asks. “Over there on the left? You can drop me off there, I need to get a few things, and it’s only a couple of blocks to my house.”

I make the left at the light, and pull the truck over to the curb. “Listen, I… I really enjoyed myself tonight, and I had a great time. I get through her about twice a month or so, and I’d love to see you again. Nothing serious, maybe just friends, and I’d like to see you from time to time. Would that be alright?” I ask. “Do you have a phone number I can call you at when I know I’ll be back this way?”

“Not really,” she says. “The cell phone is his, and he checks the caller ID to see who’s calling me. My cell phone, and my home phone both got cut off.”

“Anyway I can get in touch with you?” I inquire. “Girlfriend, mom, sister, someone I can leave a message with?”

“No,” she says. “I should be back at work at J.T.’s after the baby is born. I’ll probably be at the truck stop once or twice a week, just listen for me on the CB. Don’t forget – ‘Lexus’”.

“Alright, I’ll do that. Remember me – ‘Seadog’, Randy from Reno. I’ll remind you of the night it rained hard, and we came hard, okay?” I say.

“Okay,” she says as she opens the door. “You take care of yourself, and drive safe. I hope I’ll see you again.”

“Bye, Jennifer.”

As she climbs down out of the truck our eyes meet for a split-second, and a spark of something arcs between us. Before I can say anything, she’s on the ground and closes the door. I watch her as she crosses the street and heads to the mini-mart.

“Please come back,” I think to myself. “Please come back and tell me it just wasn’t about the money, that we had something real - if only for a moment. Tell me we didn’t just fuck, that we made love. Come back and…” 

She walks in the store without looking back.

“Bye, Jennifer,” I say half-aloud as a single tear rolls down my cheek. “I’ll always remember you.” 

I ease the Fruitliner into gear and head back toward the interstate. No sense in going back to the truck stop, the drop lot is only a couple of miles away and I can sleep in the truck there.

A sad smile crosses my face as I think of Jennifer. I felt close to her, and I wish it hadn’t ended this way. I wanted more, and I wish she’d been able to give it to me. I know it’ll never happen, but I wish I could see her again. “Not half as bad as she’ll be wanting to see me!” I laugh out loud.

You see, on my computer at home I have a scanner, and a color laser printer. It’s amazing what a good photo-imaging program, and a little work can accomplish. Those $50’s I gave her were as real as Pamela Sue’s silicone-filled boobs – a fact that Jennifer will be dismayed to learn the moment she tries to spend one.

I pull into the drop lot, and the guard opens up the door to his shack as I roll down the window. 

“How was dinner?” he asks.

“Not bad,” I say. “The meatloaf was alright, but dessert was really good!”

“Dessert’s always the best part!” he says, as he smiles and waves me through the gate.

I park the truck, fold up the come-stained bedspread, and throw it in the laundry basket. I pull a blanket out of the closet, and tuck it in. It’s been a long day, it’s time for this old dog to get some sleep.

I notice that the “Incoming Message” light on the satellite unit is on, who knows for how long. “Pickup tomorrow off of the drop lot,” it says. “Deliver in Plano, Texas anytime Friday before midnight.” Almost 1000 miles in two and a half days – piece of cake.

“Plano,” I think to myself, as I drift off to sleep. “I wonder if the ‘putas’ are still working over on Harry Hines Boulevard by 635?” 

I may have to go check that out…

CHAPTER TWO

Six months had gone by, the snow had come and gone, and it was beginning to warm up again. The company gave me a new truck, my hair has gotten longer, and I’ve grown a goatee – it came in gray, old age I guess – but not much has changed. I pulled into the familiar truck stop, and found a spot on the back row. Easily maneuvering the large tractor-trailer into the slot, I set the brakes, and began filling out the requisite daily paperwork. “10:34,” as I glance at the digital clock. “Time to call it a day,” I think.

Suddenly, a voice comes over the CB; “Anyone looking for some company, go to channel 31, Lexus on three-one.”

It couldn’t be, could it? Not after all this time…

I flip the channel selector to 31, and hear a female voice say, “Did anyone make it?”

“Yeah,” as I key the microphone, “I’m here.”

“Who’s this?” the voice asks.

“John,” I reply. “Who’s this?”

“They call me Lexus,” the voice responds. “Are you looking for some company?”

“What do you look like?” I ask.

“Brown hair, big tits, loose lips, and swivel hips. Interested?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Very!”

“Where ya’ at?” the voice asks.

“Back row, white house, far end.”

“Blink your lights.” I do, and the voice says, “Okay, I see you. Unlock the passenger door, and I’ll be over.”

I do so, and anxiously wait. A dark figure, moving fast appears out of nowhere along the right side, opens the passenger door and climbs in.

“Oh my God!” I exclaim to myself. “It’s her!”

“Shit!” she says. “Cops!”

I look over to the left, and a police cruiser is slowly coming down the row, its searchlight shining over the ground and the parked trucks.

“Duck down, and hide in the bunk,” I tell her. “Quick!”

She does, as the police cruiser pulls to a stop in front of my truck. The officer gets out, shines his flashlight around my truck and the trucks on either side of me, and walks toward me.

“Evening, Officer,” I say, as I roll down the window. “What’s going on?”

“We had a report of a prostitute working the premises, and we’re trying to locate her. You didn’t see her, did you?”

“No Officer, I didn’t, but I just got here. Thought I’d do a little paperwork before I go to sleep. You know how that paperwork is,” I say, smiling at him.

“Yes, I do.” he replies. “Always some forms to be filled out.”

“Yes sir, always some paperwork to do.” “Well,” I say, yawning noticeably, “I guess I’ll call it a day. It’s been a long drive from Minneapolis.”

“Have a good evening driver,” he says. “Be careful.”

“You too, Officer. Good night!”

I stand up and begin to pull the front curtains closed, blocking off the view of the interior of the truck. I put my atlas over the right lower door window, and now no one can see in.

“That was close!” she says. “I don’t need to go back to jail.” 

I sit back down in the driver’s seat and turn to face her. A glimmer of recognition sparkles in her eyes, and she says “I know you from somewhere…”

“Yes, you do.” I reply. “It rained hard, and we came hard.”

Her eyes grow wide as she recognizes me, and her voice trembles with rage, “YOU BASTARD! YOU MISERABLE LOWLIFE MOTHERFUCKER! GODDAMN YOU, YOU FUCKIN’ PIECE OF SHIT!”

Jennifer’s up on her feet now, swinging at me with all her might. A wallop to the head, a punch to the chest, a kick to the shins. Whap, bap, bam, blow after blow as fast as she can throw them. I try to block her assault as best as I can, but the blows keep coming.

“COCKSUCKER!” she screams. “MOTHERFUCKER! I HATE YOU! ASSHOLE!” Smack, bam, whack.

“PIECE OF SHIT BASTARD!” Slap. “SON-OF-A-BITCH!” Thump. “I HATE YOU!”

I push her back on to the bunk, and sit on her. She tries to buck me off, but I outweigh her by a good seventy pounds, so I’m not budging. She keeps swinging at me, until I grab her wrists. She tries to bite my hands, but I pull her arms down alongside her body.

She tries to headbutt me, but since she can’t sit up that far, she resorts to spitting in my face. “MOTHERFUCKER!” “YOU SHITEATER, I SHOULD KILL YOU!” she screams.

I pin her left arm underneath my right leg, and place my right hand over her mouth. “Shhhhhhh…” I say. “We’ll both go to jail if you keep screaming.”

Growling like a rabid dog, she bites the fleshy part of my palm as hard as she can, while her eyes burn with hatred. If I don’t do something quick, she’s going to bite off a chunk of my hand!

I pin her right arm underneath my other leg, place my left hand on her face, and squeeze the thumb and middle finger against her jaw to force her mouth open. She may bite my fingers off, but she’ll leave two holes in her cheeks doing it.

I pull my hand out of her mouth and quickly look at the damage. No blood, but some deep bite marks, and I’ll probably have a hell of a bruise.

“Ur urtink ee,” she growls. “Et ee ko!”

“Only if you promise to stop screaming,” I say. “We’ll both end up in jail if you keep screaming. I’m not going to harm you, I just want to talk. Okay?”

“O A,” she grunts.

I release the C-clamp grip I’ve had on her face, slowly move off of her and sit on the edge of the passenger seat, all the while watching for another round of punches. She slowly sits up on the edge of the bunk, her dark eyes glowing like coals.

“Hello, Jennifer,” I say. “How’ve you been?”

“Fuck you! That’s how I’ve been, asshole!”

“I can tell you’re pissed off at me, and I don’t blame you.”

“Pissed off? Well, duhhhhh… ya’ think?”

“I see you’re not pregnant anymore, how’s the baby? I ask.

SMACK! A wickedly fast left-hook slaps across the right side of my face.

“YOU BASTARD!” she shrieks, as I push her back. “YOU KILLED IT!”

“What do you mean?” I say. “Don’t bullshit me.”

“You killed my baby, you motherfucker, and I should kill you!”

“Bullshit! Get the fuck outta here, I didn’t kill your baby.”

“Yes you did,” she says, suddenly quiet. 

“How did ‘I’ kill your baby?” I ask.

“Remember the night you dropped me off at the market?” she hisses. “I went in to buy a twelve-pack of beer and some cigarettes for Anthony before I went home.”

“Anthony?” 

“The baby’s father, the guy that lived with me,” she says, calm again. “I got the beer and cigarettes and went to pay for it. All I had was that fake money you gave me, but I didn’t know it was fake and I gave it to the cashier. He took out his pen, you know, the one they use to check for phony bills, and marked it. He told me it was counterfeit, and I gave him the other fifty. He marked it and told me it was also counterfeit. I realized then what you’d done to me, and I left the store.”

“So how’d I kill your baby?” 

“Shut up, I’m getting there,” she says. “I went home and Anthony wanted to know where his beer was. I told him that someone had given me fake money, and I got caught trying to spend it at the mini-mart. He told me I was a liar. I said ‘I don’t lie’, and he said if I wasn’t lying, then I was the stupidest whore on the face of the planet. He threw a $20 at me and told me to go get his beer and cigarettes. I told him to go fuck himself - it was raining and I was going to bed! He slapped me, and I told him to get the fuck out of my apartment!”

“Yeah, and then…?”

“We got into a big fight. He yelled and screamed at me, and I yelled and screamed back at him. He made me so mad, that I threw his video game at him, and just missed his head. He came after me, and I took off running out the front door. As I was going down the steps, I slipped because of the rain, and fell about six feet to the ground.”

“And…?”

“The cops had just shown up. Someone called them, I guess because we were making so much noise fighting. They saw me fall, and Anthony chasing me down the stairs. I was unconscious and bleeding, so they called the EMT’s, who took me to the hospital. I had a miscarriage later that night…” as she began to sniffle.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry…”

“The cops arrested Anthony, because the law here is when they get called for a domestic disturbance, someone goes to jail. When they looked inside the apartment, they found some crack, some pot, and some stolen guns that Anthony had. He got eight years for that.”

“So… then what?”

“While I was in the hospital, two detectives came to see me. They arrested me for the drugs and guns, and also for passing counterfeit money. Seems that the mini-mart had reported that someone was passing funny money, and they got my picture off of the videotape they have. After I got out of the hospital, I went to jail. Since I didn’t have any money, I couldn’t make bail. I sat in jail until just this afternoon.”

“How’d you get out?” I ask.

“The public defender went to the judge and told him my story. The prosecuting attorney agreed to drop the drug and gun charges, since my fingerprints weren’t on the guns, and because I passed a piss test they knew I didn’t do drugs. The judge said I probably wasn’t aware that the money was counterfeit, but considering how I got it, he sentenced me to time served.”

“You just got out of jail today? I ask.

“Yep, not four hours ago,” Jennifer replies. “That’s why I was so jumpy when I saw the cop, I don’t want to go back. County’s just over there,” she says, pointing. “So I came here to make some quick money before I went home.”

”So how’d I kill your baby?” I say. “I didn’t make you fall down the stairs.”

“No, you didn’t,” she replies. “But you started it all.”

“How?”

“By what you did, dumb ass! If you wouldn’t have given me that fake money, I would have had Anthony’s beer when I came home and we wouldn’t have got in a fight, and I wouldn’t have run out of the apartment and fallen and lost my baby,” she bawls, as she bursts into tears. “It’s your fault!” she wails. “It’s all your fault!”

Silently I hand her a clean washcloth and sit back down. The enormity of what I’ve done hits me like a bullet to the heart. “She’s right,” I think to myself, “It is all my fault.”