The Girl in the Flaming Dress by Michael J Vaughn

Author:Michael J Vaughn [Vaughn, Michael J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-08-26T04:30:00+00:00

Thirty Four

The elements are against him from the start. He gives up on the idea of sleep at three a.m. This brings the specter of black ice, but it also allows him to drive Highway 93 at a grandmotherly forty, and to minimize the number of oncoming cars passing mere inches away on the opposing lane. A big Fed Ex truck does exactly that, and it takes him fifteen minutes to calm back down.

Karen’s car is a mid-size Japanese sedan, and it’s not much more challenging than the golf cart. Still, he pulls into the truckstop at Wells, ostensibly for breakfast, but also to gird his loins for the higher speeds of Interstate 80. He takes a few sips of beautiful coffee, threads his way through a tricky intersection and hits the onramp. The big road turns out to be an even swap. There’s a generous meridian between the opposing directions, two lanes to play with and nothing much to hit even if he drove off the road. Perhaps some sagebrush. A couple of southward bends afford a view of the Ruby Mountains, raw eruptions of earth capped with snow.

His primary challenge is speed, or perhaps more accurately the idea of speed. He is not used to navigating a machine hurtling along at this rate. He begins at 50, but soon feels the pressure of passing vehicles and inches his way up to 60. This is still five under the limit. Other drivers pass him going 90, and he can feel the annoyance emanating from their vehicles, as if he were shooting puppies along the roadside. He has every faith in the presence of assholes in the human species, but this puzzles him. With two lanes and little traffic, it’s not like he’s holding anybody up. They’re like religious people who want to kill anyone who won’t join their cult. A couple of yahoos in a big U-Haul pass inches from his doors, sucking him in their direction. He finds a classical music station and tries to slow his breathing.

Just past Battle Mountain, he sees a hitchhiker near a rest area, all tits, hat and legs, and despite all reasonable thinking pulls over to pick her up. The hat is chocolate leather. She wears a plaid shirt knotted at the bottom to show her midriff. It takes him a moment to find the button for the passenger window.

“Hi,” he calls. “Where you headed?”

She smiles. She’s gorgeous. “Anywhere you go, Gerry.”

It’s Angela.

“Well hi! Get on in.”

She slides in and kisses him on the cheek. She wears denim cutoffs, which have been making a surprising comeback among young women. Gerry smiles and pulls back onto the road.

“I don’t recall you being quite so hot.”

She pats his thigh. “Well, since I’m a concoction, I believe it has something to do with your overstimulated libido. Dos the hair look familiar?”

She takes off the hat to reveal strawberry blonde, heavy on the honey.

“Well that’s just weird.”

“I also don’t remember having these.” She grabs her breasts and points them at the windshield.

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