Ryan was on his own, now. From where he stood, all of his careful plans seemed to have gone to shit. Fucking Lucy. She had bailed on him. She could have come along just fine. Her new baby would have been safe, but she didn't think so. Now he had to do everything by himself, and he cursed her name and called her a whore, but mostly because he was afraid for his life.
The unspeakable cargo rode in three big ice chests in the back of his station wagon. They were the kind of ice chests you packed with beer when you wanted a lifetime supply all in one box. Big enough to fit a whole person in, if you had a mind to. Which was funny, because that's what his were full of. Three pairs of closed eyes, stoic faces, blue lips. Lotta meat on dem bones.
And the boys in Texarkana would pay by the pound. They'd be getting their money's worth, since the stiffs were de-boned in the finest crooked mortuary in California. What the guys in Texarkana wanted with human meat, Ryan couldn't say. All he could think about was Lucy bailing out after the EPT came up positive. She stayed behind to sort things out with her boyfriend, leaving him to do this run all by his lonesome. He had two guns in the car, his and hers. He'd have to carry both.
Carrying two belts with a gun on each hip was a romantic notion to him, and it partially steeled his confidence. He was like a spaghetti western hero now. Two belts crisscrossed around his waist, packing two mean irons. But in truth, he was 23, scared shitless, and very aware of the fact that his partner in crime had abandoned him.
Sis was 25. A very street smart babe who dressed to kill and wasn't afraid to. She had been alongside him through their drug runner days, their car boosting days, their home invasion days. They had gone off on their own when they were 15 and 17, leaving Ohio for greener pastures. Everybody they had grown up with hated rural Ohio, but they had been the only ones who had the balls to run for the hills. To escape while there was still time. Beat small town inertia with a vengeance.
He had gone through Abilene without incident, and Dallas loomed ahead. Luckily, rush hour wasn't due for another hour or two, so he figured he could slip through without any holdups. When he had asked his contact what time they should meet, he just said, "Give me a ring when you get here. I'll meet you at the Denny's off of I-30 just inside town and we'll go from there."
There was almost no traffic through Dallas. All of it moved quickly over the huge overpasses layered one on top of another on top of another. Once he reached the edge of the city, he unconsciously began to speed up. He felt himself accelerating, but somehow what he was doing didn't register in his mind. Twelve miles outside of the city limits he saw flashing lights in his rearview, then heard the siren.
Optimistically, he pulled into the next lane to let the cop go by, but the cop moved over behind him. His nerves already sizzling and his stomach tied in sailor's knots, he pulled over to the side taking deep breaths to relax. All he managed to do was give himself a headrush. He felt dizzy now, and he was stopped on the soft shoulder of the highway.
The cop ambled up to the window, taking his time, and this was highly reassuring. He was just a local yokel. Probably just a guy who cruised around writing tickets. The front of the car said "repoorT etatS" or State Trooper if you were reading it in your rearview mirror. He was just a ticketer, Ryan told himself.
"Afternoon, son", the guy said. He was 40something with big, yellowing teeth and a handlebar mustache that gave him a rural peace officer quality.
"Do you know how fast you were going?", he asked.
"No, officer. But I'm really sorry. I just lost track of my speed, I guess", he replied, fighting his jitters to keep a straight face.
"The radar gun clocked you at 84. Limit's 60. Can I see your license and registration, please?"
"Sure", and he began digging in the console for his wallet and the registration card that was probably expired.
Ryan gave him the license while he continued to dig for the registration.
"Hm, what're you doing out this way? You live in California?"
"Just on a road trip, man. I've always wanted to explore out this way. Before the other day all I'd ever seen was Ohio and California. I really liked Dallas."
What a peculiar lie to tell, Ryan thought, getting nervous again. How many guys went on long, cross-country drives by themselves for days at a time just for fun? Just the ones trafficking illegal substances, he thought.
The officer laughed, though, "I did that when I was 15. Back in the 70s when people would meet a strange kid and invite him to stay for a while. That's how I ended up here. I just found a good place and stuck. I'm a Georgia boy, myself."
"Here", Ryan said, handing over the nearly expired registration.
The officer just glanced at the date and handed both back, "You're all current. That's good enough for me. Just take it easy, okay? I'm going to write you a warning. I'd sure hate to ruin your trip."
"Thanks a lot. You don't know how much of a relief that is. I don't have a lot of money, really."
He smiled, printing a warning ticket from his clipboard/mini printer machine.
"Here you go, son. Watch out. There's a speed trap from hell between here and Texarkana, if you end up going that way. Have a good day."
"Thanks again", Ryan replied, feeling strange hearing his exact destination come from the cop's mouth.
He drove off and waved, feeling cleansed somehow. What a terribly weird trip this had been. He'd had to drain and re-ice the chests three times since he had departed from California. What an awkward ritual. He bought around 15 pounds of ice each time, found a quiet and unwatched place and had to pull each one out onto the ground, opening the drain and flushing out all the water. The bodies were sealed up in plastic, so he didn't actually have to touch them, but he had to see them all. Fucking clear bags.
He hit Greenville, then Mount Pleasant. Lots of hilly areas and open spaces. If he wasn't scared to death, this trip would have been quite awesome. Truthfully, he didn't know anything about his contact or anyone who might be with the contact. All Ryan knew was that Johnny had vouched for the guy. He said Frith was a good old guy. A bit different, him and the old dude he worked for, but they were good fellas, to be trusted beyond the shadow of a doubt.
After Mount Pleasant and almost an hour, he saw "Welcome to Texarkana" and was wondering where the Denny's was for only a few moments when he saw it up in a cluster of pine trees. The place was set up a little bit off the highway, and had a woodsy theme, like a lodge or a log cabin or something. But everything else was normal Denny's fare.
He pulled into the far end of the lot, parking next to a van with nobody else anywhere near. Ryan dialed the contact who answered on the first ring like he always did.
"Okay, be there in five", said the guy.
And before Ryan could say any more, the contact hung up. With nothing else to do, Ryan locked his doors and waited. They knew what he was driving. Big station wagon, California plates, chock full of ice chests packed with bodies. Pretty hard to get that one mixed up out here in the sticks.
A minivan pulled in next to him after three minutes, and Ryan got anxious. What a good idea, a minivan. Looks harmless, but has enough cargo capacity for all the ice chests in the world. He eyes the driver and the passenger when they climbed out. Two beautiful women in green smocks. Ryan's mind boggled over such gorgeous women working in body trafficking for a moment before he realized that they were RNs going inside to eat. So, he relaxed again and picked at the underside of his steering wheel.
Tiny bits of rubber were falling loose onto the crotch of his pants, and he was staring at the blue glazing at the top of his windshield when he heard an amiable tapping at the window. He yelped and his skin went up in hackles. A well-traveled face looked in at him, waving politely.
Without hesitation, Ryan opened his door and turned sideways in the seat.
"Welcome to Texarkana, Ryan. My name is Rex. Rex Frith."
"Pleased to meet you Mr. Frith."
"I'm glad you made it safely. We were worried when you called early."
"No, everything's fine. I didn't stop driving. It's been a day and a half."
"Where's your sister? I heard you'd be accompanied by a sibling."
Ryan swallowed as discreetly as he could, "She bailed on me. She's pregnant."
"Oh, well tell her congratulations for me."
Silence overtook the conversation. Ryan found it hard to make eye contact, and he could feel the eyes of his host burning into the side of his head. He held his breath until he couldn't any longer.
"So, uh, what do you want to do with the coolers?"
"Just follow us. No sense in arousing suspicion here at the eatery. Are you ready to go on, or did you want to stretch your legs for a minute?"
Something about his voice gave Ryan the feeling that this man was a Cannibal. They were all cannibals around here. He almost said, "I wanna go home", but of course he didn't. And he hated his sister and her unborn baby a little more for making him go it alone.
Instead of saying that he wanted to go home, he felt himself say, "Let's just get this over with", in a really composed voice. The words didn't feel like his own. It was as if the butterflies in his stomach were manipulating him.
He shook Frith's hand and waited for him to pull out into the street, then did the same, giving him only about 10 yards between their cars. In spite of how intimidating the old man was, he was the only person Ryan knew in this part of the world. He had a sort of magnetism, and briefly Ryan wanted to be him. They drove on into the darkness, headed to one of the most sinister places Ryan would ever go. |
Submission Name: The Texarkana Body Harvest
