the parking lot.
I’d driven rigs a few times over the
years when I’d had too, so knew where everything pretty much was, but it took a
good few minutes of adjusting the seat and scanning the instrument panel,
before I sparked the meaty engine into life and crawled my way across the open
space towards the exit sign with a self-satisfied smile plastered across my
face.
Just as I pulled onto the feeder road I
glanced in the side-mirror and saw Jed come running out of the cafe too, like a
madman on fire. I stared at him and yanked the cord on the air-horn, which
sounded like an express train, then laughed my head off at his dumb expression
as he neared the rear bumper.
Seeing him about to grab hold, I
increased my speed to put some distance between us, then pulled out onto the
highway as effortlessly as if I’d been trucking all my life, gave him another
blast on the horn for luck, then glanced back a final time to see him kneeling
in the snow, now poetically freed of both of his loads.
I’d find my way to the Twin Cities easy
enough I mused, not that I cared in that moment. Jed had said himself that we
just kept on heading south towards Duluth until we hit Route Thirty-Five, which
would then pretty much take us all the way to Minneapolis. It all sounded
reasonably straightforward.
Now that the border crossing was out of
the way, there shouldn’t be any more problems unless I got pulled up for
speeding, and that wasn’t going to happen if I took it steady. I didn’t have to
put up with Jed’s macho posturing either for the rest of the trip, which was a
bonus. And he was hardly going to blag to the authorities since he’d been
complicit in people-smuggling only a few hours before...
I switched on the radio hoping it would
clear my mind, trying to enjoy the moment of driving a big rig along a spacious
highway in the snow. As if on cue some old Stone’s track came on air, the words
‘playing with fire’ echoing out ruefully in the cab.
I hoped it wasn’t some sort of
otherworldly message warning me that I was about to get seriously burnt if I
continued, that I should just turn around while I still had the chance, because
even if I did find the girl alive and well at the end of the trail, there
wasn’t the remotest chance I’d find any personal redemption...
Chapter Seven
‘the fight’
Outskirts of Minneapolis,
Minnesota. Early hours.
T here were four of them. Guys that was. Plus a girl sitting
on a Harley, chewing gum with her mouth open. I hated that…the way she was sat
on the bike as if she had no respect for it.
I stared at the shadowy figure in the
diner, holding the manager up by the throat as another raided the till. A third
looked to be helping himself to a burger on the hot plate, while a fourth, a
shorty dumpy guy with long hair, was standing by the door cosh in hand, in case
any late-night passers-by fancied being a hero. And it was late. Around three
in the morning by now I reckoned, a time when I should be enjoying my beauty
sleep...
I’d been woken up by their bikes circling
the truck-stop around two, then dragged out of Jed’s manky sleeping bag a short
time after, when a tirade of wild shouting sounded out close-by.
I’d lain there for quite a while fighting
the temptation to get involved, until I thought about the lone Somalian who’d
served me some much needed food upon arrival. That annoyed me too. He had
seemed a decent enough guy. He’d told me a bit about gang culture in
Minneapolis and how rival Somali groups were always shooting each other up. Not
him, he said. He was trying to raise a family, trying to raise enough cash to
bring his sister over from Africa. The way it was looking now, she would only
be coming over for his funeral...
I scrambled down into the driver’s seat
and edged closer to the icy windscreen, staring in disbelief at the unravelling
scene opposite. The Somalian was out of sight now, probably lying unconscious
in a pool of blood
I’d driven rigs a few times over the
years when I’d had too, so knew where everything pretty much was, but it took a
good few minutes of adjusting the seat and scanning the instrument panel,
before I sparked the meaty engine into life and crawled my way across the open
space towards the exit sign with a self-satisfied smile plastered across my
face.
Just as I pulled onto the feeder road I
glanced in the side-mirror and saw Jed come running out of the cafe too, like a
madman on fire. I stared at him and yanked the cord on the air-horn, which
sounded like an express train, then laughed my head off at his dumb expression
as he neared the rear bumper.
Seeing him about to grab hold, I
increased my speed to put some distance between us, then pulled out onto the
highway as effortlessly as if I’d been trucking all my life, gave him another
blast on the horn for luck, then glanced back a final time to see him kneeling
in the snow, now poetically freed of both of his loads.
I’d find my way to the Twin Cities easy
enough I mused, not that I cared in that moment. Jed had said himself that we
just kept on heading south towards Duluth until we hit Route Thirty-Five, which
would then pretty much take us all the way to Minneapolis. It all sounded
reasonably straightforward.
Now that the border crossing was out of
the way, there shouldn’t be any more problems unless I got pulled up for
speeding, and that wasn’t going to happen if I took it steady. I didn’t have to
put up with Jed’s macho posturing either for the rest of the trip, which was a
bonus. And he was hardly going to blag to the authorities since he’d been
complicit in people-smuggling only a few hours before...
I switched on the radio hoping it would
clear my mind, trying to enjoy the moment of driving a big rig along a spacious
highway in the snow. As if on cue some old Stone’s track came on air, the words
‘playing with fire’ echoing out ruefully in the cab.
I hoped it wasn’t some sort of
otherworldly message warning me that I was about to get seriously burnt if I
continued, that I should just turn around while I still had the chance, because
even if I did find the girl alive and well at the end of the trail, there
wasn’t the remotest chance I’d find any personal redemption...
Chapter Seven
‘the fight’
Outskirts of Minneapolis,
Minnesota. Early hours.
T here were four of them. Guys that was. Plus a girl sitting
on a Harley, chewing gum with her mouth open. I hated that…the way she was sat
on the bike as if she had no respect for it.
I stared at the shadowy figure in the
diner, holding the manager up by the throat as another raided the till. A third
looked to be helping himself to a burger on the hot plate, while a fourth, a
shorty dumpy guy with long hair, was standing by the door cosh in hand, in case
any late-night passers-by fancied being a hero. And it was late. Around three
in the morning by now I reckoned, a time when I should be enjoying my beauty
sleep...
I’d been woken up by their bikes circling
the truck-stop around two, then dragged out of Jed’s manky sleeping bag a short
time after, when a tirade of wild shouting sounded out close-by.
I’d lain there for quite a while fighting
the temptation to get involved, until I thought about the lone Somalian who’d
served me some much needed food upon arrival. That annoyed me too. He had
seemed a decent enough guy. He’d told me a bit about gang culture in
Minneapolis and how rival Somali groups were always shooting each other up. Not
him, he said. He was trying to raise a family, trying to raise enough cash to
bring his sister over from Africa. The way it was looking now, she would only
be coming over for his funeral...
I scrambled down into the driver’s seat
and edged closer to the icy windscreen, staring in disbelief at the unravelling
scene opposite. The Somalian was out of sight now, probably lying unconscious
in a pool of blood
Similar Books
