NeptuneBlue
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I had found Jay's house, and slept the rest of the night in his front yard. In the morning he had come out of the house for the hell of it and found me. He had been somewhat heavyset when I last saw him - that was gone now. Now tall and buff, he would have appeared almost threatening if it weren't for the fact that he and I were standing around his yard telling stories. We hadn't seen each other for about 5 years, so it was good to catch up. Finally, I ask him about a ride. He knows the town well; maybe he can figure out how to get me to where I need to go.
As it turns out, he did. U.S. route 20 runs through the town and then merges with route 10 a ways from the border of Mexico. Route 10 would get me to L.A., from where I could hitch a ride up route 5 to San Francisco. There was a local truck stop, and he was more than willing to bet there were a couple of truck drivers headed that way who wouldn't notice if I sneaked into the crate. We found one that was quite obviously headed for L.A., and I pulled out my lock pick kit, hopped in, and waved him goodbye before shutting the door, making sure the thing closed.
The driver was back within minutes, and soon he was rolling onto the highway, unsuspecting of his added cargo. I settled in for what I thought would be a long haul.
...
By my gauging, we had gone no further than halfway across the state when I noticed the truck slow, make several turns, and pass through a populated area, then head out of it again before turning and pulling to a stop. I heard a knock on the door.
"Hello? Anybody home?"
I tried to think fast, but being a smart-ass at times and knowing that I had been caught somehow, I answered "Nobody's home, go away Prometheus."
I heard laughter from the other side. "I doubt you could stab my eye out."
The door open. I was greeted by a bald man with an eyepatch and a gun. I asked him "How did you know I was here?"
"When we learned of your little quest, we had people following all your possible contacts."
I nod. "Who are you? What are you gonna do to me?"
"I can't tell you who I am, nor who I work for. As for what we're gonna do to you... for the moment, nothing. That doesn't mean nothing will happen. Boys" He turned, addressing other men who appeared on each side of him, "Let's put the dirty hippie in the shower."
I was tugged out of the truck and found the answer to my first question - I was at a warehouse in Odessa, and the logo on the side had been burned into my memory: a logo to be feared on the best of days, to be bitterly fought against until perhaps the end of time for everything it was and everything it stood for. Yes, I was staring at the logo of my worst enemy, the blackest of all evils: J.C. Penny.
As it turns out, he did. U.S. route 20 runs through the town and then merges with route 10 a ways from the border of Mexico. Route 10 would get me to L.A., from where I could hitch a ride up route 5 to San Francisco. There was a local truck stop, and he was more than willing to bet there were a couple of truck drivers headed that way who wouldn't notice if I sneaked into the crate. We found one that was quite obviously headed for L.A., and I pulled out my lock pick kit, hopped in, and waved him goodbye before shutting the door, making sure the thing closed.
The driver was back within minutes, and soon he was rolling onto the highway, unsuspecting of his added cargo. I settled in for what I thought would be a long haul.
...
By my gauging, we had gone no further than halfway across the state when I noticed the truck slow, make several turns, and pass through a populated area, then head out of it again before turning and pulling to a stop. I heard a knock on the door.
"Hello? Anybody home?"
I tried to think fast, but being a smart-ass at times and knowing that I had been caught somehow, I answered "Nobody's home, go away Prometheus."
I heard laughter from the other side. "I doubt you could stab my eye out."
The door open. I was greeted by a bald man with an eyepatch and a gun. I asked him "How did you know I was here?"
"When we learned of your little quest, we had people following all your possible contacts."
I nod. "Who are you? What are you gonna do to me?"
"I can't tell you who I am, nor who I work for. As for what we're gonna do to you... for the moment, nothing. That doesn't mean nothing will happen. Boys" He turned, addressing other men who appeared on each side of him, "Let's put the dirty hippie in the shower."
I was tugged out of the truck and found the answer to my first question - I was at a warehouse in Odessa, and the logo on the side had been burned into my memory: a logo to be feared on the best of days, to be bitterly fought against until perhaps the end of time for everything it was and everything it stood for. Yes, I was staring at the logo of my worst enemy, the blackest of all evils: J.C. Penny.
