OK, to preface this, if you haven't read part 1...go back and do it now! Or you won't understand...
The Truck in Front, part 2
The crosswinds had picked up and the green tarp was blown off like an old lady’s hat. If the driver of the flatbed noticed, he didn’t care. He just kept rolling along at a steady 55 miles per hour.
In the twilight Niyah could see that the tarp had been covering a huge wooden crate, a perfect cube of fresh pine planks with thick sisal rope wrapped around every side. There was writing stamped in bold black letters, but it wasn’t English and she couldn’t recognize a single character. What language was that?
She had been driving with only her parking lights on, but the ever darkening sky suggested headlights. She flicked them on and noticed a bright flash from the crate for a few seconds. Then it was gone! Peering intently, she wondered what could have reflected the beams. There was nothing shiny anywhere, only wood and rope.
Whatever that flash was, it still wasn’t as brilliant as the gleam in sweet Jeremiah’s eyes.
“Monica, just who is this Manny?” the police officer had asked, Detective Pikken his card said. “Did you say he’s the boy’s uncle?”
“No, I didn’t say that! SHE said it!” shouted Jeremiah’s mother. She jabbed her finger in Niyah’s general direction. “He was my ex-husband’s friend. I don’t know how he would have anything to do with this!”
“Jeremiah called him Uncle Manny,” offered Niyah quietly.
“Well if he won’t come here, I’ll have to go to him,” said Pikken. He pressed the button on the mic attached to his collar and told dispatch his intentions. Then he looked kindly at Monica and asked, “Would you like to ride with me?”
Monica nodded and dripped a few tears onto her blouse.
Niyah pulled a clean tissue from her purse and gave it to her. Then she asked, “May I go too?”
Adam said, “Niyah, why don’t you—”
“I have to!” she interrupted.
Detective Pikken cleared his throat and said, “It’s fine. Let’s just get rolling. We’re wasting time.” He gave some general instructions to another detective who was managing the scene and then he, Jeremiah’s mother, and Niyah climbed into his patrol car and sped away, lights flashing.
Manny’s place on the edge of town was small and old, a house forgotten by the decades. Yet it was surprisingly well kept. The crabgrass was mowed short and even. The cracked walkway was swept. Even the maroon Cadillac parked on the lawn, though older, was glossy and gleaming in the sun.
Niyah and the detective followed Monica as she stormed up to the front doorway and rapped loudly on the door. While they waited, they could hear a loud television inside, mixed with voices of laughter. Presently, a teenage boy opened the door and just stared at them through a screen.
“Is Manny here?” demanded Monica.
The teenager looked over his shoulder and yelled, “Manny!” Then he resumed his stare until Manny arrived.
The same smiling dark-skinned man wearing an orange jersey waddled over to the door, holding a bottle in one hand and a remote control in the other. However, it was a far different man who spoke to them.
“Monica! It’s been a while,” said Manny. Sweat glistened on his forehead and amid his spiky black hair, but he kept smiling broadly.
“Not long enough. Where is Jeremiah?” she retorted.
“Wait!” said Niyah. She grasped Detective Pikken’s arm and said, “He didn’t speak English before!”
The detective looked at Manny. He reached into his pocket and produced a notebook and pencil and asked, “Sir, were you at Church of the Spirit today? About twenty minutes ago?”
Manny chuckled deeply as though he had just heard a joke. Then he looked confused. He said, “No. No sir. I have been here, with my cousins. Watching the game. Right, Ollie?”
The teenage boy at the edge of the screen nodded, then turned and disappeared into the dark interior.
“What?!” said Niyah. “That’s him! That’s Manny! He took Jeremiah! Where is the boy?”
She grasped the screen door handle but before she could pull it open, Detective Pikken held her wrist. He said, “Hold on, there.” Then to Manny, “Sir, may we come in and have a look around?”
“Well, we been having a party, you know, so maybe…maybe if you come back later I can clean up first?” said Manny.
Detective Pikken went stiff. He said, “Sir, I have to inform you that this is regarding a missing child. An Amber Alert has been issued and I can have a search warrant here within minutes. If you make me do that, this place will be torn apart. Or you can let us in now. Your choice.”
Manny looked over his shoulder. Then he turned back with his big smile, unlatched the screen, and said, “Sure! Come on in. Don’t mind the mess!”
They entered the house and suddenly realized how loud it was. The TV was blaring play by play commentary. A group of about five or six men, all Hispanic, were gathered around on whatever surface they could find to sit; various crumbs, wrappers, and bottles littered their area like bright leaves around an October aspen. Their laughter or jeers filled in the gaps left by the football announcers.
“Excuse me!” yelled Detective Pikken. They paid him no heed, so he turned to Manny and yelled, “Can you get them to quiet down? I can’t think!”
Manny’s smile faded and he hesitated. He cocked his head ever so slightly, as though he were trying to hear something.
Niyah’d had enough. Enough of these delays! She put her fingers to her mouth and whistled. Loudly. Instantly the laughter silenced and a second later the TV was muted. And then she heard it.
An engine starting.
Niyah looked back toward the screen door just as the engine fired to life. A stream of blue exhaust blew out the tail pipe of the Cadillac in the front yard. Its engine raced. Gears ground. Tires spun and threw chunks of lawn. Then it whipped backwards into the street.
Niyah beat the detective back out the screen door, barely. They both ran towards the car as more gears ground but they were too slow. The car sped away.
But not before Niyah saw the shape of a child curled on the back seat.
She turned to the detective and threw her arms up in frustration. That must have been Jeremiah! And no license plates on the car!
Monica came out the door but got no further than the stoop because Manny was clutching at her sleeve. Gone was his trademark smile. Instead his face was the picture of terror as he shouted, “No! No! El Diablo! La Chupacabra! La Chupacabra! No!”
That was yesterday. Today, Niyah felt no closer to redeeming herself. She was supposed to be the great hero. She was supposed to be the key yet here she was, stuck following this stupid, slow truck, all because she was too scared to pass! She made a fist and punched the passenger seat. Then she hit it again and again until her arm was tired. She sighed and looked back at the road.
There it was again—the flash from the crate.
For the next ten minutes Niyah tried to recreate the flash. The truck in front probably thought she was falling asleep as she sped up, slowed down, and swerved left to right. The beams panned over wood, rope, and…what was that? A black hole in the lower right where a board was broken…was that where the flash had come from? Had that been there before?
She couldn’t remember. She tried to keep her lights shining at that hole but the wind continued to gain strength and made it nearly impossible to maintain a steady course. Even though the road remained straight as it traversed this high plateau, both she and the truck were lane wandering. After nearly running onto the shoulder for the second time, Niyah gave up and concentrated on driving.
Settling back into her seat she flipped the radio on, partly for company, partly for a weather report. Static dominated all the FM frequencies, so she flipped over to AM. She scanned the AM band until she found a news report predicting gusty winds in early evening. She rolled her eyes and thought, “Oh, really. I couldn’t tell.”
A creepy feeling unexpectedly came over Niyah. Whether it was the moonlit sagebrush landscape, the deep monotone voice on the radio, or the unknown into which she drove, the night suddenly seemed oppressive. She turned the radio off and cracked her window. She looked once more at the black hole on the crate.
And the crate jumped.
No, the truck must’ve hit a bump. Niyah didn’t remember her car bumping, though. And she was following right behind. She shook her head, thinking maybe she should have stopped for coffee after all.
The Truck in Front, part 2
The crosswinds had picked up and the green tarp was blown off like an old lady’s hat. If the driver of the flatbed noticed, he didn’t care. He just kept rolling along at a steady 55 miles per hour.
In the twilight Niyah could see that the tarp had been covering a huge wooden crate, a perfect cube of fresh pine planks with thick sisal rope wrapped around every side. There was writing stamped in bold black letters, but it wasn’t English and she couldn’t recognize a single character. What language was that?
She had been driving with only her parking lights on, but the ever darkening sky suggested headlights. She flicked them on and noticed a bright flash from the crate for a few seconds. Then it was gone! Peering intently, she wondered what could have reflected the beams. There was nothing shiny anywhere, only wood and rope.
Whatever that flash was, it still wasn’t as brilliant as the gleam in sweet Jeremiah’s eyes.
“Monica, just who is this Manny?” the police officer had asked, Detective Pikken his card said. “Did you say he’s the boy’s uncle?”
“No, I didn’t say that! SHE said it!” shouted Jeremiah’s mother. She jabbed her finger in Niyah’s general direction. “He was my ex-husband’s friend. I don’t know how he would have anything to do with this!”
“Jeremiah called him Uncle Manny,” offered Niyah quietly.
“Well if he won’t come here, I’ll have to go to him,” said Pikken. He pressed the button on the mic attached to his collar and told dispatch his intentions. Then he looked kindly at Monica and asked, “Would you like to ride with me?”
Monica nodded and dripped a few tears onto her blouse.
Niyah pulled a clean tissue from her purse and gave it to her. Then she asked, “May I go too?”
Adam said, “Niyah, why don’t you—”
“I have to!” she interrupted.
Detective Pikken cleared his throat and said, “It’s fine. Let’s just get rolling. We’re wasting time.” He gave some general instructions to another detective who was managing the scene and then he, Jeremiah’s mother, and Niyah climbed into his patrol car and sped away, lights flashing.
Manny’s place on the edge of town was small and old, a house forgotten by the decades. Yet it was surprisingly well kept. The crabgrass was mowed short and even. The cracked walkway was swept. Even the maroon Cadillac parked on the lawn, though older, was glossy and gleaming in the sun.
Niyah and the detective followed Monica as she stormed up to the front doorway and rapped loudly on the door. While they waited, they could hear a loud television inside, mixed with voices of laughter. Presently, a teenage boy opened the door and just stared at them through a screen.
“Is Manny here?” demanded Monica.
The teenager looked over his shoulder and yelled, “Manny!” Then he resumed his stare until Manny arrived.
The same smiling dark-skinned man wearing an orange jersey waddled over to the door, holding a bottle in one hand and a remote control in the other. However, it was a far different man who spoke to them.
“Monica! It’s been a while,” said Manny. Sweat glistened on his forehead and amid his spiky black hair, but he kept smiling broadly.
“Not long enough. Where is Jeremiah?” she retorted.
“Wait!” said Niyah. She grasped Detective Pikken’s arm and said, “He didn’t speak English before!”
The detective looked at Manny. He reached into his pocket and produced a notebook and pencil and asked, “Sir, were you at Church of the Spirit today? About twenty minutes ago?”
Manny chuckled deeply as though he had just heard a joke. Then he looked confused. He said, “No. No sir. I have been here, with my cousins. Watching the game. Right, Ollie?”
The teenage boy at the edge of the screen nodded, then turned and disappeared into the dark interior.
“What?!” said Niyah. “That’s him! That’s Manny! He took Jeremiah! Where is the boy?”
She grasped the screen door handle but before she could pull it open, Detective Pikken held her wrist. He said, “Hold on, there.” Then to Manny, “Sir, may we come in and have a look around?”
“Well, we been having a party, you know, so maybe…maybe if you come back later I can clean up first?” said Manny.
Detective Pikken went stiff. He said, “Sir, I have to inform you that this is regarding a missing child. An Amber Alert has been issued and I can have a search warrant here within minutes. If you make me do that, this place will be torn apart. Or you can let us in now. Your choice.”
Manny looked over his shoulder. Then he turned back with his big smile, unlatched the screen, and said, “Sure! Come on in. Don’t mind the mess!”
They entered the house and suddenly realized how loud it was. The TV was blaring play by play commentary. A group of about five or six men, all Hispanic, were gathered around on whatever surface they could find to sit; various crumbs, wrappers, and bottles littered their area like bright leaves around an October aspen. Their laughter or jeers filled in the gaps left by the football announcers.
“Excuse me!” yelled Detective Pikken. They paid him no heed, so he turned to Manny and yelled, “Can you get them to quiet down? I can’t think!”
Manny’s smile faded and he hesitated. He cocked his head ever so slightly, as though he were trying to hear something.
Niyah’d had enough. Enough of these delays! She put her fingers to her mouth and whistled. Loudly. Instantly the laughter silenced and a second later the TV was muted. And then she heard it.
An engine starting.
Niyah looked back toward the screen door just as the engine fired to life. A stream of blue exhaust blew out the tail pipe of the Cadillac in the front yard. Its engine raced. Gears ground. Tires spun and threw chunks of lawn. Then it whipped backwards into the street.
Niyah beat the detective back out the screen door, barely. They both ran towards the car as more gears ground but they were too slow. The car sped away.
But not before Niyah saw the shape of a child curled on the back seat.
She turned to the detective and threw her arms up in frustration. That must have been Jeremiah! And no license plates on the car!
Monica came out the door but got no further than the stoop because Manny was clutching at her sleeve. Gone was his trademark smile. Instead his face was the picture of terror as he shouted, “No! No! El Diablo! La Chupacabra! La Chupacabra! No!”
That was yesterday. Today, Niyah felt no closer to redeeming herself. She was supposed to be the great hero. She was supposed to be the key yet here she was, stuck following this stupid, slow truck, all because she was too scared to pass! She made a fist and punched the passenger seat. Then she hit it again and again until her arm was tired. She sighed and looked back at the road.
There it was again—the flash from the crate.
For the next ten minutes Niyah tried to recreate the flash. The truck in front probably thought she was falling asleep as she sped up, slowed down, and swerved left to right. The beams panned over wood, rope, and…what was that? A black hole in the lower right where a board was broken…was that where the flash had come from? Had that been there before?
She couldn’t remember. She tried to keep her lights shining at that hole but the wind continued to gain strength and made it nearly impossible to maintain a steady course. Even though the road remained straight as it traversed this high plateau, both she and the truck were lane wandering. After nearly running onto the shoulder for the second time, Niyah gave up and concentrated on driving.
Settling back into her seat she flipped the radio on, partly for company, partly for a weather report. Static dominated all the FM frequencies, so she flipped over to AM. She scanned the AM band until she found a news report predicting gusty winds in early evening. She rolled her eyes and thought, “Oh, really. I couldn’t tell.”
A creepy feeling unexpectedly came over Niyah. Whether it was the moonlit sagebrush landscape, the deep monotone voice on the radio, or the unknown into which she drove, the night suddenly seemed oppressive. She turned the radio off and cracked her window. She looked once more at the black hole on the crate.
And the crate jumped.
No, the truck must’ve hit a bump. Niyah didn’t remember her car bumping, though. And she was following right behind. She shook her head, thinking maybe she should have stopped for coffee after all.
You're hitting your stride in the story - especially the scene at Manny's with the screen door, and Det. Pikken grabbing Niyah's wrist. And the whistling over the noise of the television.
ReplyDeleteI would like to see more tension between Ollie and Niyah, however - I was expecting something but then Ollie just kind of disappeared. Check out Hemingway's "Hills Like White Elephants" for an example of tension between characters.
All together I think you've constructed a good scene with a great collection of characters. I love the perspective of the babysitter because it is different than what we normally get with a mother or father perspective. How long until part 3?
Part 3 should come out this weekend.
ReplyDeleteOllie might come back...I know I set up some intrigue and then kind of dropped it. I had plans for him, but then the story changed and I didn't want to pull him altogether.
We'll see.