Crimson Highway by David Wickenhauser (brene brown rising strong TXT) 📗

some kind of piece of work,” Hugh shot back. “How about giving a guy a clue that you’re a... a...”

“Girl?”

“Yeah.”

“OK. I’m a girl. But don’t get any bright ideas about doing anything about it.”

“Only thing I want to do about it is get you off this truck as soon as possible.”

“Oh, sure. Right. You’d kick me out right here in the middle of nowhere, miles from anything? You want me to get picked up by a pervert?”

“How do you know I’m not a pervert?”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“No, you won’t. Because you aren’t riding with me,” Hugh said.

Silence.

“How old are you anyway? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

“Hey, smart ass. How about if you just drive, and mind your own damn business about my age?” she shot back.

“No can do, little lady. I am not driving around out here with an under-age girl. I have no idea who’s looking for you, and what they will accuse me of when they find you. I am not doing this!”

“You can cool the ‘little lady’ crap. So happens I am twenty-two years old,” she said angrily.

“Prove it. I bet you can’t.”

The girl rummaged around, digging into the multiple layers of her clothing, found the right pocket somewhere in all that mess, and fished out a California driver’s license. She held it out to him, with a dirty thumb covering her last name.

It was a “Jennifer” first name, for sure. And, it was her photo … maybe a couple of years younger. And she apparently had blonde hair. It was hard to tell, the way she looked right now. Her birth date definitely indicated she was indeed twenty-two years old.

While Hugh was mulling over what to do about all this, he heard a sound like someone’s cell phone. It wasn’t the ring tone from his phone. He looked over at Jenny, who was, once again, fighting her way into the deeper layers of her clothing to dig out something, presumably the ringing phone.

She flipped it open, and answered the call.

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“I don’t know yet.”

“’Bye!”

“What was that all about?” Hugh asked, surprised to see a supposedly homeless person with a cell phone, much less a homeless person who was in contact with someone.

“None of your damn business, big guy. How about if you just drive!”

“How about if you knock off the ‘big guy’ stuff,” Hugh said, starting to get testy himself.

“OK, big guy, what’s your name?”

“Mann.”

“Hello, Mister Mann. Is that better?” she asked, with angry sarcasm dripping from her voice.

“It’s Hugh Mann,” he said.

“Please to meet you mister hu-man,” she continued with the sarcastic tone.

This gal had an attitude a mile wide. Hugh sighed, then said, “Call me just Hugh.”

“OK, just Hugh, where are we headed anyway?”

Exasperated, Hugh responded, “We are headed to Burley, Idaho, where I am dropping you off, if not sooner.”

She didn’t have anything to say to that.

As the truck made its way through this featureless landscape, Hugh’s mind wandered back to when he had been a hitchhiker—back, in fact, to when his truck-driving career had started fifteen years ago.

What he didn’t know, couldn’t possibly have known at this time, was the extraordinary and coincidental way that this female hitchhiker was tied in with murder and mayhem fifteen years ago in his past, and how her presence in the here and now would bring it all back for him to have to deal with.

Chapter Two

15 years ago - Evening of the First Day with James

As a recently discharged Marine hitchhiking his way north on Interstate 5 from San Diego, Hugh Mann considered himself lucky that he had gotten picked up by James.

He was lucky because James had turned out to be a pretty cool guy. And lucky because Hugh’s new, temporary mode of transportation with James had him sitting high above the road in the passenger seat of a big-rig truck.

Despite a few chest-thumping, male ego “bonding” sessions over the past couple of hours while Hugh had been riding with James, he felt that he and the truck driver had gotten along fairly well. One of the things they had in common was their military service—Hugh was a former Marine, and James was a former member of the elite Navy SEALs.

Only 21 years old, with nothing to tie him down, Hugh had nowhere in particular to go, and no way in particular to get there.

It’s true, he had a home where he had grown up. He had parents, and a brother, and a little sister whom he adored. But, he didn’t believe that the old homestead was where his future lay.

That’s why Hugh had the expectation that this little excursion with James could be rich with possibilities.

Hugh had learned in conversation with James that he was in his early 40s, and that he had been driving truck for fifteen years. He had enjoyed ribbing James about being the “old man.” And James had gotten back at him, often calling him “kid.”

It had been a long day, and James had almost run out of his legal driving hours. So they were parked at a truck stop just over the Grapevine south of Bakersfield, California.

After all this sitting and inactivity, Hugh was ready to get out and stretch his legs. His 6’2” lanky frame, and Marine-hardened body demanded regular activity. “I’ll head over to the travel center to use the facility, and get a bite to eat,” he told James.

James had to stay behind to finish his post-trip inspection, and fill out his logbook. Glancing up at Hugh, he replied, “OK, I’ll meet you there.”

It was a bit of a distance to the driver’s facility from where they had parked, but Hugh appreciated getting the exercise. He used the restroom, then picked up a foot-long sub sandwich for his dinner.