The Courier Series
Episode 1:
Call for Obstruction
WJ Howard
Smashwords Edition
© WJ Howard 2012
Published by Vamplit Publishing at Smashwords
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or shared using any form of technology available now or invented in the future. This book my not be printed or shared in any way without the permission of the publisher. This book is sold subject to conditions that lending or sharing in any form is not allowed. This book may not be reproduced in any part, shared, distributed or copied without the permission of the publisher.
All characters in this book are fictional and totally invented from the author’s imagination. None of the events or characters in this book has ever existed outside the author’s imagination or the content of this novel.
~~~~~
1
Barry’s truck screeched to a halt in the far right lane, but not in time. The corner of his bumper nicked the rear end of a red courier van as it merged into traffic and made a sudden weave to get off the highway.
“Why today, why today, why?” Barry chanted while he pounded his forehead against the steering wheel.
Barry had just lost another job. He’d been working in customer service at a cable TV company in Downtown Denver, but the entire department had been laid-off and their jobs outsourced to India or some other country where they’d work for peanuts. The manager who announced it wore a dark suit and a sympathetic smile, after-all he still had a job. This was the fourth position Barry had lost in a year and all he wanted now was to get home, down a few shots, play a few hours of Halo and then sleep until noon the following day.
In Barry’s opinion the blonde in a German hybrid, tapping out a text message with neon-red fingernails, was the true cause of the accident, but she was long gone. He doubted the driver of the van parked in front of him or a traffic cop would consider his excuse anyway.
While he got out of his truck, Barry took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. He hoped the other driver was of a meek disposition or, better yet, a frail old man with poor eyesight.
At nearly six-feet-five, Barry might be tall but he was thin as a rail and, from previous experience, he knew he was not at all intimidating. Outside and in, he was quintessentially a computer geek. He stood permanently hunched over with his messy overgrown hair almost covering the horned rimmed glasses he thought a notable fashion statement. Even the shortest of men would stand up to him and he would invariably back down from any confrontation.
Barry paused when he noticed a sign-painted advertisement on the back of the van. Drivers Wanted bulged out from the surface paint-job like a 3D movie. Barry bobbed his head like a pigeon and opened his eyes wide to adjust his focus. All at once the lettering fixed and flattened. Considering it was the hottest day in June for the past fifty years, he dismissed it as heat-haze rising off the asphalt. What seemed more bizarre to him was the fact that he’d run into a job opportunity, literally.
Barry gave it a moment or two, but still no one emerged from the van so he approached the driver’s door. The cab was empty. As he walked around the van he looked for someone, anyone, on foot even, but not a single person besides himself stood on the side of the highway.
Leaving felt wrong, not to mention illegal and being out of work was enough trouble for now. Barry returned to his truck to find his phone, he remembered seeing it on the dash, but it wasn’t there. The hard slam on the brakes must have sent it airborne in a cloud of dust along with a cracked CD case, a few pennies and a half dozen receipts from Microcenter. Not until it chimed Tool’s ‘Useful Idiot’ did the phone give away its location. He found it on the passenger seat, beside a mini-box of fruity cereal, which was the remainder of his breakfast.
The display told Barry his mom was on the other end. “Shit,” he said out loud, then clenched his squared-off jaw. It was the fifth time in the past hour she’d tried to reach him and she was the last person he wanted to talk to. Moving back in with her, unless he found a job in the next couple weeks, might be his only option.
Barry ignored the call and counted to ten in his head. She always called twice and as expected, the phone announced another incoming call from his mother. He hit the ignore option repeatedly, thinking ‘Leave me alone!’ each time he did.
After a few deep breaths, Barry’s thumb stretched to punch the 800 number from the back of the van into the keypad, but he stopped short when he realized the phone had already dialed through. He heard a faint voice through the receiver.
“OTG Courier.”
Barry hesitated then pressed the receiver to his ear.
“How may I help you, Barry?” said a voice.
Barry at once registered the tone was gruff, but female with a pronounced New York City accent. He didn’t recognize the voice and he had a restricted number, so who the hell was she? Barry checked the phone display, as if that would explain how she knew his name. Not finding an answer, he put the cell back to his ear. “Did you just call me Barry?”
“What, honey? Barry? Is that your name?” Phlegm gurgled in her throat, giving away a three-pack-a-day habit.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Well, Barry, how can I help you?”
“Help me? Didn’t you just call me?”
“Honey, why would I call you?”
For a moment, he contemplated hanging up and calling the police instead.
“Hello?” she said. “You still there?”
“I hit one of your vans and I can’t find the driver.”
A deep hacking cough drowned out Barry’s voice. “Sorry, honey, I’ve got the emphysema. Did you say you’re calling about a job?”
Barry frowned, and then yelled into the phone, “No, I hit one of your vans.”
“I’m not deaf, honey.”
“Sorry... Ma’am.”
There was an awkward silence as he struggled to keep up his end of this weird conversation and give her the necessary information for the insurance company.
“You got a valid driver’s license?” she finally said.
“Sure.”
“How about aversion to heat?”
Distracted by her question, Barry studied the red van still in front of him and puzzled over what kind of packages they transported.
“Can you tolerate heat?” Her tone was slow and irritated this time.
“Yeah, but what does that have to do with me hitting your van.”
“Have you killed anyone?”
Barry huffed. “What? I said I can’t find the driver, not I killed the driver.”
“Don’t worry about that one,” she said. “You speak Latin?”
Is she senile? Barry wondered.
“Can you come down to the warehouse and sign some paperwork? We can start you tomorrow morning. Will fifty an hour be enough.”
“Listen lady, I’m not calling about a job. I’m calling to tell you I hit one of your vans on the highway and I can’t find the driver.”
“So you don’t need a job.”
Barry mind blanked for a moment.
“Honey? You still there?”
“You really want to hire someone who just smashed into one of your vans?”
“I need ten new drivers by tomorrow. If you need a job, I’m hiring.”
Maybe it was fate; maybe it wasn’t, but if he needed a job and she was offering…
“I’m in the Tech Center, approaching Arapahoe. How do I get there?”
“You’re close,” she said. “Get off at the next exit. We’re in a red warehouse off of Arapahoe and Revere.”
“I can be there in ten minutes.”
“Ask for Margery. I’m always here, in the office.”
~~~~~
2
Up ahead, Barry spied a red warehouse off to the right, just as Margery had described in her directions. A huge OTG Courier Service’s logo covered half the building so it was obvious, even to Barry, he was in the right place.
Three car carriers, with half a dozen OTG vans on the trailers, blocked the parking lot behind the warehouse. The vans they’d already removed were parked willy-nilly across the lot, so Barry had to park on a side street. He got out of the truck and zigzagged his way on foot through the mayhem to the office entrance.
When he walked through the door, he found himself alone. He had expected the place to look similar to a post office or an overnight delivery drop-off, but instead, it was as if he had walked through a time warp into a kitchen during the nineteen seventies. It was reminiscent of his grandmother’s basement, decorated with dark brown paneling on windowless walls. The place seemed dimly lit, despite the overhead florescent lighting. Off to the right there were dark brown cabinets, topped with gold counters interspersed with avocado appliances. Beside them was an oblong oak table, papers scattered across the surface and four silver chairs with red vinyl covered seats surrounding it. Smoke rose from a lit cigarette resting in an ashtray on top of the papers, which explained the stale stench and the dirty atmosphere of the room.
Shoes clicked on linoleum to the left and Barry turned to meet a woman he guessed could only be Margery.
“Barry. You made it.”
Barry knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help himself. Before him was a hunchbacked crone with flaming red and orange streaked hair, combed upwards similar to a troll doll, and it was speaking to him. The hair added a few inches, bringing her height up to nearly five feet. Like the décor, the woman’s taste in fashion was lost somewhere in the seventies. She wore shiny blue spandex pants and was engulfed by an oversized green sweatshirt, probably a man’s extra-extra-large size.
He reached out to shake her hand and an electrical shock crackled and surged up his arm, forcing him backward a few steps. He clutched his vibrating knuckles and glared down at her.
She winked at him. A crooked smile turned up one side of her puckered mouth and revealed dark nicotine and coffee stained teeth. “You find the warehouse okay?”
He nodded his head and peered deep into her yellowish, bloodshot eyes, lined with charcoal and smeared up to the eyebrow with a bright green, greasy-looking eye-shadow. There was nothing at all appealing about her appearance, but he couldn’t seem to break the stare.
She left him standing in the middle of the room, as she walked toward the kitchen and pointed at the table. A half-foot stack of paper, which hadn’t been there a minute ago, now sat with a pen on top.
“Over here, honey.” She pulled out a chair and waved him over. Then she took a seat across the table.
The remnants of the still smoldering cigarette butt had fallen into the ashtray. Margery picked it up like it was a joint, placed it between pursed lips and inhaled deeply. The bright orange tip cracked and snapped until it fired against her index finger and thumb. The aroma of tobacco mixed with burning flesh hovered over the table. Only when there was no more smoke to draw in did she drop the butt into the ashtray and tamp her thumb down on the red-hot tip.
“Before you can work for us, you’ll have to agree to a few employment terms and sign our standard contract,” she said, then paused and licked ash off her blackened fingertips with a long, thin tongue similar to a serpent’s. “All our drivers sign ‘em.”
Bile rose to the back of Barry’s throat. He swallowed hard. “That’s the contract?” his voice rose in pitch as he pointed at the tall stack of paper.
“What else would it be?” She sighed, then fell back in her chair and laced her fingers together over her stomach.
“It seems excessive. What sort of employment agreement?”
“Standard stuff for salary, liability and such.” She took a drag from a newly lit cigarette that appeared out of nowhere. “Top copy’s for salary, fifty an hour and time-and-a-half overtime.”
Fifty an hour just to drive a van! He’d never earned that much testing software and he had a Master’s Degree in Computer Science. Something seemed off. Plus, signing so much paperwork just to drive a van made him nervous, so he had to ask, “What sort of liabilities?”
“Nothing to worry about honey. We just want to make sure things are taken care of in case something happens.”
“You mean accidents?”
“Driving for us can be dangerous, among other things.”
“So these are like insurance forms?”
“Sure, honey. Like insurance forms.” A smile curled up one side of her mouth again and the cigarette hung off the other.
“So, if anything happens to me, I’ll be taken care of?”
“Oh Yeah.” She picked up the pen and held it out. “We’ll take care of you.”
He hesitated to take it at first, worried about the potential risks that came along with driving for OTG. On the other hand, Barry would sell his soul to the Devil rather than move back in with his mother.
She impatiently waved the pen back and forth. “Right there at the bottom, honey, sign your name.”
He couldn’t reach for the pen or even move. His eyes focused on the nib as it continued to sway left and right like a pendulum. Slowly it inched forward while in the background Margery doubled, then tripled, then quadrupled as if Barry were peeping through the hole of a kaleidoscope. The more she multiplied, the blurrier his vision got, until all the color merged into a hollow blackness.
~~~~~
3
All at once, the room came back into focus.
“All done,” Margery said as she pulled the tall stack of papers to her side of the table.
“I signed?” Barry let out a loud, wet and smoky belch from deep down within his gullet. It felt like the build-up to a bad case of heartburn. He jumped to his feet, knocking the chair backward to the floor. “What did you do to me?”
Margery stood and picked up the contract. “Be here tomorrow morning at six o’clock sharp.”
“I don’t think so,” Barry said coughing-up more smoke.
“We’ll see about that.” Margery dashed through a nearby door and slammed it shut behind her.
~~~~~
4
The clock read 4:40 a.m., but for the last forty minutes Barry had been staring up at a crack in the ceiling, unable to drop back off into dreamland. Then, all at once, an overwhelming urge to take a leak forced Barry out of bed. Slumped over, he rubbed crust out of his eyes and shuffled down the hall to the bathroom.
After taking a long piss, he scratched his protruding ribs, turned away from the toilet and headed for the kitchen to fix a bowl of fruit flavored cereal. Five steps later, he collapsed down on his rock hard couch, a graduation gift from his mother when he’d earned his Master’s degree. She called it a divan and it was uncomfortable for a reason, as in ‘Don’t get too settled in your apartment, son. Your place is with me.’
Barry put down the cereal bowl and the glass top coffee table clinked. He reached over an empty pizza carton and his game controllers for the TV remote. It rang and vibrated in his hand. Startled, he jumped and dropped it, then realized he’d been holding his cell phone, not the TV remote.
It was Margery. ‘She’s wasting her time,’ he thought. He had no intention of working for her, or driving one of those damn red vans.
Barry’s body grew more rigid with each subsequent ring. By the forth ring the voicemail should have picked up, but it kept ringing. Not until the seventh or eighth ring did it stop. He breathed out a sigh of relief.
“Barry.” It was Margery, calling him through the unanswered phone.
He jumped backward on the couch, kicked up one foot and whacked his shin on the corner of the glass table. “Shit,” he said audibly, then cussed some more in his head, worried she might have somehow heard him.
He rubbed at the painful spot, his eyes transfixed on the brightly lit cell, hoping she would just go away.
“Honey, I can hear you breathing.” Her voice turned baritone and slowed, like a vinyl record played backward. “Get your ass to work.”
He picked up his phone, but remained quiet.
“Pick me up a coffee on your way, Coffee Hut, a block before Revere. Tell ‘em you’re picking up for Margery.”
‘Who is this woman?’ he thought then blurted out all he could think to say, “I’m sick.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry to hear that. What’s wrong? Got the flu?”
“Yeah. The flu.” All at once his stomach churned and gurgled and he placed his palm against it and wondered if his body was reacting to what he’d just said.
“Tell me it’s not the diarrhea? I hate the diarrhea.”
“Been up all night with it.” Again his stomach gurgled, making a sound similar to a growling Rottweiler. He groaned as a burning sensation rolled through his guts and sharp gas-pains stabbed at his bowel.
“Well, honey, I tell you what. Come on down to the warehouse and I bet your flu goes away in a hurry.”
“I don’t know. I’m feeling pretty bad.” He leaned to one side and passed a long audible wave of gas which ominously turned damp.
“I guarantee it, honey. Besides, I know where you live and if I have to send someone after you, it’ll be much worse than a little Montezuma’s Revenge.” Margery sniggered.
At that moment, his bowels loosened out of control and he jumped to his feet still clutching the phone as he ran for the bathroom.
The last thing Margery said before the phone went silent was, “Don’t forget my coffee.”
~~~~~
5
Sleigh bells over the door of the Coffee Hut and a loud creaking from the hinges announced Barry’s entrance. The place was deserted, except for the clerk behind the counter. The pungent aroma of dark roast turned Barry’s stomach. His natural morning preference being an energy drink, but this morning he didn’t think he could face even that.
The guy dropped a rag onto the butcher-block counter and dried his hands on the dirty apron which hung below his Metallica t-shirt. Sporting a nose ring, earlobe plugs and arms covered in black and white tattoos, the guy looked more like he belonged in his mother’s garage or basement playing guitar with his buddies.
The clerk leaned over the counter and smirked. “Can I get you something?”
“Picking up for Margery?” Still uncertain he was in the right place, Barry’s tone wavered and his eyes shifted around the room.
The guy jerked, like a whip had been cracked across his back. He skipped to the end of the counter, grabbed a tall capped-off cup and rushed back. “Five twenty-five.”
Barry’s eyes widened. “She expects me to pay?”
“Five twenty-five,” he repeated, rolling his eyes as he placed the cup beside the cash register. “Trust me, you don’t want to show up without her coffee.”
For a moment Barry thought about leaving because he had five dollars cash to his name and no chance his credit cards would be accepted. What other choice did he have though? The diarrhea had finally subsided, but he was sure that pissing off Margery might bring it back. ‘The bitch better pay me back,’ he thought. So, instead of leaving empty-handed, he huffed and reached inside his back pocket for his wallet.
The unpleasant mix of ringing and creaking from the door broke the silence and announced another customer’s arrival. The guy behind the counter’s eyes popped-out and a flirtatious grin appeared on his face. Curious, Barry peered over his shoulder.
‘Too gorgeous to notice a guy like me,’ was the first thing Barry noticed about her. Messy though, bare sculpted legs stretched out from under a wrinkled mini-skirt, her blouse was only partly tucked-in and her long brown hair was untidily tousled up into a clip. It looked as if her boss had chased her around his desk before he sent her out for coffee.
He sure wouldn’t mind pursuing her around a desk himself, if only he had the nerve to catch her, he thought while staring at her out of the corner of his eye.
“Morning, Trisha. In for an espresso boost?”
‘What a dirt bag’, Barry thought. The guy was openly ogling her chest now.
“Not today, Harvey. Frozen cappuccino, like yesterday.”
Barry’s gaze dropped. He registered why the clerk stared. She bounced on the balls of her feet while she spoke and it was all he could do to keep his head from bouncing to the rhythm of her boobs. Luckily, for her, they distracted from the whiney, high-pitched tone of her voice which seemed to have failed to mature past the age of five.
“One minute,” Harvey said to her.
The guy turned up his palm, demanding payment from Barry, the smirk back in his expression.
Barry dug in his wallet, reaching in for a credit card, but instead pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. His forehead wrinkled. “That wasn’t there yesterday.”
Harvey reached over the counter and snatched the bill out of Barry’s hand. “You don’t know Margery, do you?” he said while he counted out change from the register.
“Margery?” Trisha said before he could answer.
She backed away from him, which, he had to admit, wasn’t an uncommon reaction from pretty women. This time he was certain it was not all him, even so he sent her a dirty look before reaching for the coffee and the change.
“Good luck,” she said and then time seemed to freeze momentarily before both she and Harvey burst out laughing.
Not wanting to be a part of their inside joke, Barry backed away and turned to leave.
She called after him, “Tell Margery, Trisha said ‘Hi.’”
Barry let the noisy door announce his departure.
~~~~~
6
After five pit stops at gas stations, convenience stores, and finally Margery’s favorite coffee shop, Barry arrived at the warehouse somewhat worse-for-wear. Just like Margery promised, the virus that had attacked his guts miraculously subsided the moment he jerked open the office door.
“I said no announcements!” Margery’s voice rumbled like thunder over the crowd. “Get the fuck on the road!”
A momentary hush descended on the room before everyone scurried off as if Margery had pressed the fast forward button on a remote control. Barry pivoted on one heel, watching all the new faces until the room was empty except for Margery, Barry and a fifty-something-year-old man with a bad comb-over. The stranger rested one hand in the pocket of his kaki-outrigger jacket, the other hand held a fat cigar stub, which emitted an almost pleasant aroma of cedar.
“Well. What are you waiting for?” Margery said from where she stood beside the table with her arms crossed.
Barry pointed at himself and raised his eyesbrows as if he was asking if she meant him.
“This the new kid?” The old guy sized Barry up while he combed greasy strips of black and gray hair over his clammy scalp with the hand holding the stogie. “How’s the diarrhea?”
Anger, along with the remnant irritation from his constant bathroom trips, burned within Barry, so he figured it was better to keep his mouth shut. It must have showed on his face though.
“Lighten up, honey. You’re not the first driver to fake an illness to get out of working for old Margery. Some of you idiots even try it a few times before you figure it out.” She tilted her head back and forced a barking laugh. Then, all at once, her mood shifted and with it came a wave of heat that spread across the room. “Why are you still here, Vern? Get the hell on the road.”
Barry backed away from Margery, sure she was responsible for the fiery feeling across his face. The woman gave new meaning to hot head, he thought.
“You,” Margery wiggled her long wrinkled fingers at Barry, begging for the cup he held, “bring me my coffee.”
He approached her holding the cup out and then, hoping to avoid another nasty shock from her touch or possible third-degree burns, he snapped his hand back when she took it.
“You learn quick.” She winked and her mouth fell into the now familiar crooked grin that Barry was certain was a tick rather than a sign of happiness.
Barry took a few casual steps backward, put his hands in his pockets and told Margery, “Some girl named Trisha says, ‘Hi.’”
Margery spat out her coffee with the force of a fire hose and the splatter landed on Barry’s face and shirt.
Vern froze just short of the exit, his hand rested on the door handle.
While he wiped his face, Barry took a few more cautious steps backward, his eyes never leaving Margery as he wondered what he’d said wrong.
The force of Margery’s stare burned a hole through Barry, almost literally. “What did you just say?” she demanded.
“I met her in the coffee shop.” Barry said nervously, his voice rising in pitch, not unlike a teenage boy going through puberty. “She said to tell you…”
“I heard you the first time.”
“Then why’d you ask?” Barry snapped. He couldn’t believe he had just said that.
Margery rushed toward Barry as if she was floating on air and poked her finger at his chest burning him with each word she said. “You stay away from her. You hear me.”
The pressure was greater than he expected and she forced him backward until he lost his footing and cracked his tail bone on the floor.
Margery looked down at him. “You get what I’m saying?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, lifting his arm up to protect his head. “I heard you.”
Then Margery kicked him while he was down and walked away.
~~~~~
7
“Well,” Margery called, “are you coming?”
Still on the floor rubbing his leg, Barry struggled to get up and limped along behind her as she scurried toward the hallway he remembered from the previous day. He was coughing up hot phlegm, but it didn’t seem to matter to Margery that he was hurting. She didn’t even turn to look at him.
“Let’s get you on the road,” she said cheerfully.
The woman’s mood changed at the drop of a hat. ‘She could use a little Prozac,’ Barry thought.
A bulletin board covered a wall that was at least ten feet long. Margery pulled the last set of keys and a clipboard off of the wall and threw them at Barry.
He shook so hard from trying to keep up with her that he missed catching the keys, but managed to catch the clipboard. When he leaned over and picked them up, he grunted from the pain in his leg, but bit his tongue, figuring she’d find some other way to torture him for complaining.
“You’re only driving to Trinidad and back,” she said, handing him a pen. “Oh, and of course you’ll stop at the warehouse down there to drop off the load.”
She tapped her finger on the clipboard and he could only suppose she meant for him to sign his name on the next line, below a bunch of other signatures. He did it and handed her back the pen, but she shook her head. He guessed she wanted him to keep it.
Margery rushed off and opened then held the door while Barry skipped and limped to catch up. They exited through a cloud of Vern’s cigar smoke and Barry coughed. It was like an invitation to Vern, and he blew more smoke in their faces, mostly to piss off Margery.
Margery growled, but continued at a fast pace toward the parking lot. She yelled back at Vern, “I’m not paying you overtime.”
When they reached the van, Margery opened the driver’s side door and waved Barry to get in. “Go ahead and start it up.”
Barry hopped up behind the wheel, taking in the aroma of ‘new car’ from the interior. He turned the key and the motor purred.
“All the training you need’s on the CD in the player, honey, and the GPS will get you to the warehouse down in Trinidad.” Then she turned and left.
Is she kidding? That’s my training?
“Sorry, honey, almost forgot to mention the two rules,” she said as she turned back in his direction. She held up a finger. “One, never go in the back of the van.” She held up a second finger. “Two, never hesitate to press the emergency button above the GPS if something comes up.”
“Like what?”
Margery took off at a jog, calling back to Barry, “You’ll know.”
Margery seemed confident Barry was fully trained.
He, on the other hand, was not.
~~~~~
8
The training CD ended at the same time Barry passed the Downtown Colorado Springs exit. Most of it nearly put him to sleep, going on and on about traffic safety, company policies and legal crap to cover their ass if a driver did something stupid. Toward the end of the CD the narrator warned about potential dangers, in particular, attacks against the vans by large white birds. Barry thought it was some kind of joke at first. Why would any animal with half a brain attack a speeding van on purpose?
Without warning, there was an explosive pop. The van swerved amid speeding cars and blaring horns, as he struggled to turn the wheel toward the median. By the time the van came to a halt, out of the way of oncoming traffic, Barry realized he had been holding his breath and gasped for air. Two accidents in one week? Really? How much worse could his luck get? At least he hadn’t caused a twelve car pileup.
After waiting several minutes for his nerves to calm, Barry remembered to press the emergency button on the console.
Margery’s voice piped in without delay. “About time you called me, honey. Tow truck’s on the way to change the tire.”
“How did you know?”
In place of an answer, an audible click from the dash indicating Margery’s disconnect from their conversation.
Barry leaned his head back against the head rest, figuring he had time to catch a catnap, but before he even closed his eyes, there was a knock at the window. He jumped and turned. Outside the glass, all Barry noticed was the mechanic’s cleavage heaving in and out of her white tank top. Barry ogled the moving flesh for several seconds, his face flushed.
“Open the window,” she told him and rolled her eyes.
Nervously, Barry jiggled the electrical control, but the window didn’t move.
She shook her head and sighed. “Start the van.”
Barry chuckle like a nine-year-old boy while he turned the key, then lowered the window.
“You must be a new driver.”
“Yeah, first day.” Barry glanced down at her cleavage a second time, but quickly shifted to her eyes to rectify his rude gesture.
Still, she rolled her eyes again.
“Do you need help?” Barry asked.
“Tires changed. Get back on the road.”
“Already?”
She turned and left.
Barry watched her walk back to the tow truck through the side mirror. ‘Not very friendly,’ he thought, ‘but nice ass.’
~~~~~
9
Five exits later, Barry’s phone announced an incoming call. He thought about ignoring it, but instinctively knew it was his mother. He had failed to call her back the previous evening which meant she would call every chance she got until he answered.
“Yeah, Mom.”
“Barry, my one and only love, where were you last night?” As usual, her tone was sweet yet phony.
“Busy.”
“Sweetie, you know I worry.”
“I was home all night, Mom. Besides slipping in the shower while jacking off…”
“Barry…Eugene…Carter…White,” she said through clenched teeth. “Must you be so vulgar?”
He wanted to tell her it was part of his master plan to get her to stop calling twenty times a day. Instead, he apologized like he always did.
Barry detested his full name and was especially irritated when his mother referred to him by it. She had named her son after the singer Barry White because, as she had told Barry countless times, Can't Get Enough of Your Love Baby was playing on the radio the night Barry was conceived out of wedlock. By naming him after the singer, she said it was a constant reminder of the evils of one-night stands and deterred her from ever having sex again in her lifetime. At least so far.
“Were you on your computer last night?” his mother asked.
Barry sighed. To him it was code for, Son, were you hacking into websites?
Fourteen years prior, when Barry was thirteen, she turned her son in for hacking into an online store and charging five thousand dollars worth of computer equipment to unencrypted credit card accounts. It had cost her twelve thousand dollars in legal fees and fines in the end.
As always, Barry ignored her inquiry.
When he didn’t answer, she changed the subject. “Did you find a soft tester job yet?”
“Software tester, Mom, and no.”
Barry graduated from Denver University, and considering the school’s high tuition, his mother seized every opportunity to remind him he was wasting her money, working outside his chosen career. She also figured he would be less tempted to hack back into trouble if some company was paying him to do it.
“Did you get a haircut?” she asked next.
“Mom, I’m driving. I don’t have time for twenty questions.”
“When are you going to visit and pick up your suit?”
“I told you I don’t have to wear a suit to interviews.”
“But you do need a haircut. Come home this weekend? We’ll go to mass together and I’ll buy you brunch and a haircut afterwards.”
“I can’t.”
“Barry,” she said, her tone stern.
“I’ve got a work call coming in. I’ll call you later.” Barry hung up, threw his phone on the passenger seat and hoped he had given her enough attention to leave him alone until he at least reached the warehouse in Trinidad.
~~~~~
10
Barry felt like he’d been driving all day as he passed the last exit marker for Pueblo. By the time all the fast food chains he’d seen off the highway had been left far behind, his stomach growled, begging for a mini-box of fruit flavored cereal. Too bad he’d forgotten to grab one or two as he left his apartment that morning.
A hacking cough echoed throughout the van.
“Margery?” he said out loud.
“Yeah, honey, Margery. Wanted to let you know a few of the drivers have encountered a flock of white birds just south of Pueblo.”
“Those things really exist?” Barry squirmed in his seat and thought how close they could be to his current location.
“You listened to the CD, didn’t you?”
“Well, yeah, but giant white birds that attack vans? I’m not a zoologist or anything, but I’ve never heard of anything like that. I mean, who could take it seriously.”
“If you’re finished, Mister Smarty-pants, you’re in one of the new vans. The damage should be minimal.”
“Maybe I should get off the highway, wait for them to clear.”
“You’ll do no such thing. Besides, there’s no way to avoid them.”
“But it’s my first day,” Barry’s voice rose in pitch. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Honey, the first day’s always the hardest,” she said almost sympathetic, then turned like a scorpion and snapped, “Don’t make me remind you about your contract again.”
Barry wanted to tell her what to do with her contract, but he spied a white mass in the sky closing in too quickly to be a cloud.
“They see you, Honey. Hold your position!”
“How do you know these things?”
Margery ignored him and said, “They won’t hurt you unless you stop.”
A flock of the largest birds Barry had ever seen were diving straight at him. The first bird struck the passenger side door with a thunderous boom. Like cannon balls, one after another they assaulted the van, rocking it side to side. All the while, white wings hovered and slapped against the windshield, partially obstructing Barry’s view of the road.
Barry held on tight to the steering wheel and floored the gas pedal. “This isn’t happening!”
“It sure is, honey.”
“Stop calling me honey!”
Margery let out one of her hacking laughs that sounded like she might pass out.
“It’s not funny! I’m in the middle of the fucking Birds movie, only these fucking birds are on steroids!”