Cottontail and The Roadrunner

                                        COTTONTAIL AND THE ROADRUNNER

         Have you ever sat in traffic as you inched your way across the TZ Bridge?  And has it ever happened to you that there was a truck in the next lane?  One so big that as you sat there you were looking up at its tires?  Barkley Tibbet drove one of those highway behemoths for a living.  Barkley was a very average guy; age thirty-two, married, two kids, cat, dog, mortgage.  You’d like him.

         Sandra Weeks was an average person, too; age thirty, stay home mother of two preschoolers, homemaker.  She and Barkley had one thing in common.  They both liked to while away lonely hours talking on the CB; he in his big rig, and she at her kitchen base station.  They both enjoyed conversations with the faceless, anonymous voices that came across the channels.  That’s how they met.

         All Barkley knew about Sandy was that she must live somewhere in the New Brunswick area because that’s where he was when he had conversations with her.  He liked talking with her.  He liked her voice.  Sandy had one of those purring silky, sexy voices and while he had no idea what she looked like he could fantasize that the woman matched her voice.  Understand this; Barkley was head over heels in love with his wife, Wendy.  He wouldn't cheat on Wendy in a million years, but he was a guy after all, and that voice -- you know what I mean.

         So it was that when his route took him through New Jersey that day that he grabbed his mike and said, “Yo, Cottontail?  You got your ears on? Come on.”  To his delight that sexy voice came back “Road Runner!  Great to hear from you.  Where you been?”

         “All over.  Haven’t been back in NJ for a few months, Miss me?”

         The sexy voice purred, “I missed you.  I wondered where you’d got to.”

         “How’s it going with you?”  He just wanted her to talk some more.

         “Not that good.  I got problems here, Roadrunner.  Don’t know what to do.”
         
         The voice was sad with a hint of tears.  Barkley came back, “Sorry to hear that.” He was about to ask if he could do anything, but instead he said, “Are you going to be all right?”
         
         There was more than a hint of tears this time.  “Charley’s in jail.”
         
         She had never mentioned Charley before.  “Who is Charley?”
         
         “My husband.”  Whoa, she had never mentioned a husband before, either.
         
         “Your husband is in jail?”
         
         “Yes.  I finally had to call the cops on him, but he’s going to be getting out.  I’m scared, Roadrunner!  I can’t be here when he gets out.”
         
         “He hurt you?”
         
         “Yes, and this time pretty bad.  I’m scared!”
         
         “Can you go to one of those safe house places?”
         
         “I could, but they only let you stay ninety days.  Then what?  He said if he ever spent a night in jail on account of me he’d kill me.  He means it! I have to get away from here.  Far away.”
         
         Barkley was at an interchange.  He said, “I’m in T right now. I’ll call you back when I get to the straightaway.”  By the time he was back talking to her he had an idea.  “Now look, Cottontail.  I just picked up cargo that’s going to Ok City town.  That far enough?”
         
         “I think it might be.  At least for a while.  You’d take me there?”
         
         “I got a crew cabin.  Tell me where to find you.”
         
         “I’ll meet you at the Shell station on route 22, north of Milltown.”
         
         “Yeah, I know that place.  When?”
         
         “It’ll take me a couple of hours to get there.”
         
         “Me, too. Look for a green rig, Massachusetts plates. Says Boston Movers on it.”
         
         “Ten four,” she said.
                                                            ------------------------

         Charley hugged his wife.  “You did great, San!  The crying act was perfect.  When you get to the Shell station remember what to do.”
         
         “I remember.  Stop worrying!  This will work.”
         
         “He fell for it.”
         
         “He’s a schmuck,” she replied. 
         
         “Now look.  By the time you get to route 33 you ask for a bathroom stop.”
         
         “I know! I know, you told me a hundred times.”
         
         “We’ll be there.  You just stay out of the way.”
         
         “I -- I wish you weren’t going to have to kill him.”



721 words

2nd Place - January 2011

ID: 1269187   (Rated: 13+) Twisted Tales Contest  A monthly contest for stories with a twist. Get 500 GPs for entering! May round open! by arakun the twisted raccoon