"Where the hell have you two been?" asked Hayes, taking a swig from a hip flask.
"We had to make a stop," Vitus replied. The coast was clear, so he took the pistol from his coat and handed it back to Philip, who nodded as if he understood completely.
"Are we late?" asked Jenn.
Philip checked his watch. "Ten minutes at most. It doesn't matter, though. Our driver still hasn't made it."
They stood on the deck of their boat, which Captain Hayes had christened Bess thirty minutes earlier. Philip looked through the binoculars, his eyes trained on the road that traveled from the north to the docks. Something caught his eye.
"Wait," he said. "I see a truck coming now, but I can't make out who's driving."
Hayes snatched the binoculars from his hands and looked for himself. "Ah hell," he said. "That ain't Big Mike. It's Little Mike"
Philip reclaimed the binoculars. "You're right. Hayes, start the engine. We have to get out of here now."
"What's wrong?" and "Who's Little Mike?" Vitus and Jenn asked, almost at the same time.
"It's complicated," said Philip. "Right now, we have to focus on hitting open water. If we stay here, we're dead."
The engine roared to life. Philip rushed to make sure the boat could actually leave the dock. Jenn and Vitus stood around, feeling rather useless, so they sat back down beside the crate containing the settee at the picnic table bolted to the deck of the boat.
"That was amazing," said Jenn. "I can't believe we did that. It was like something out of a movie."
Vitus nodded. "You seemed to be enjoying yourself--maybe a little too much. How's your hand?"
"It hurt for a little while, I think. I could barely notice with all that adrenaline racing through me. All better now, though."
"Let me see." He took her hand with his own. The blood was drying, and most of it was hers. The skin had broken and peeled back at her knuckles. Vitus, the perpetual boy scout who was never a Boy Scout, pulled a small first aid kit from the side pocket of his largest bag and began wrapping gauze around her palm and knuckles. Even after he finished, he hesitated to let her hand go. The moment was broken as Philip and Hayes approached them, and when the antique-dealer looked around, he noticed that they were far from the dock.
"Okay," began Philip as he clapped his hands together, "I'm admittedly horrible at exposition, but I know you have questions. Ask whatever you want right now, and I'll answer if I can."
Vitus looked to Jenn, and she to him. They cocked their heads as if carrying on a psychic conversation, discussing the best questions to ask and in what order.
"Where are we going right now?" asked Vitus.
"Our initial plan has been compromised, so we're sailing to Mister Jacobi's manor on the Californian coast."
"Who are Big Mike and Little Mike?" asked Jenn.
"They're half brothers, and both of them are truck drivers. Ironically, they're on different sides of the Great Trucker Divide. Think of them as rival gangs. Big Mike's on our side. Little Mike, on the other hand, hates Mister Jacobi and probably would have killed us on sight if we hadn't left when we did. He knew we would be there, and I'm sure he's got his people working to figure out our next move."
"Wait, the Great Trucker Divide?" asked Vitus.
"That's right," chimed in Hayes. "You know all those movies about gangsters in New York and New Jersey that have their hands in businesses all over the place? Screw 'em, small potatoes. The real mafia is made up of truckers. Think about it, kiddos, who controls distribution of goods in this country? Who controls the flow of oil and gasoline? It sure ain't the companies that produce it--it's the people that move it. They're the ones who make the spice flow."
"Seriously?" asked Jenn.
"You ever seen a news report about a tractor-trailer flipping over somewhere, causing massive traffic accidents? That's them in action. They can control supply and demand. If they wanna make more money in the banana racket, a trucker hauling a banana rig will go off a bridge. The price of bananas skyrockets, and they make millions for themselves. That's the way this world really works. Anyone thinking different's just kidding themselves."
"Wow," said both Vitus and Jenn, unsure of a more appropriate response.
"Anyway, the Great Trucker Divide came when Big Mike starting questioning their practices. He left the union and took a whole faction of followers with him. Now they wage an unseen war on the highways and interstates of this country."
The antique-dealer still found himself quite unable to form a reply.
"Um," said Jenn, "so does Little Mike work for Rasputin?"
"Not that we are aware of, but I wouldn't be surprised," said Philip. "Next question?"
"So, is the rest of the plan still on? Will Mister Jacobi still help us escape?" asked Vitus.
"Yes," said Philip. "It may just take longer. Once we reach Mister Jacobi's manor we will pay you as promised and fly you wherever you wish on a private jet."
"Can this boat make it all the way to California?" Jenn asked.
"Of course she will," said Hayes. "Bess will take us anywhere we wanna go. It's the pirates we should be worried about."
"Pirates?" asked Vitus.
"Pirates," said Hayes. "There are always pirates. Just because you don't hear about 'em don't mean they don't exist. Once we make it to Washington waters we'll be safe, though."
"Benches that cause revolutions, roving gangs of truckers, Canadian pirates--seriously?" asked Jenn.
Philip and Hayes nodded, matter-of-factly.
"Holy shit," she said. "Let's do this."
"We had to make a stop," Vitus replied. The coast was clear, so he took the pistol from his coat and handed it back to Philip, who nodded as if he understood completely.
"Are we late?" asked Jenn.
Philip checked his watch. "Ten minutes at most. It doesn't matter, though. Our driver still hasn't made it."
They stood on the deck of their boat, which Captain Hayes had christened Bess thirty minutes earlier. Philip looked through the binoculars, his eyes trained on the road that traveled from the north to the docks. Something caught his eye.
"Wait," he said. "I see a truck coming now, but I can't make out who's driving."
Hayes snatched the binoculars from his hands and looked for himself. "Ah hell," he said. "That ain't Big Mike. It's Little Mike"
Philip reclaimed the binoculars. "You're right. Hayes, start the engine. We have to get out of here now."
"What's wrong?" and "Who's Little Mike?" Vitus and Jenn asked, almost at the same time.
"It's complicated," said Philip. "Right now, we have to focus on hitting open water. If we stay here, we're dead."
The engine roared to life. Philip rushed to make sure the boat could actually leave the dock. Jenn and Vitus stood around, feeling rather useless, so they sat back down beside the crate containing the settee at the picnic table bolted to the deck of the boat.
"That was amazing," said Jenn. "I can't believe we did that. It was like something out of a movie."
Vitus nodded. "You seemed to be enjoying yourself--maybe a little too much. How's your hand?"
"It hurt for a little while, I think. I could barely notice with all that adrenaline racing through me. All better now, though."
"Let me see." He took her hand with his own. The blood was drying, and most of it was hers. The skin had broken and peeled back at her knuckles. Vitus, the perpetual boy scout who was never a Boy Scout, pulled a small first aid kit from the side pocket of his largest bag and began wrapping gauze around her palm and knuckles. Even after he finished, he hesitated to let her hand go. The moment was broken as Philip and Hayes approached them, and when the antique-dealer looked around, he noticed that they were far from the dock.
"Okay," began Philip as he clapped his hands together, "I'm admittedly horrible at exposition, but I know you have questions. Ask whatever you want right now, and I'll answer if I can."
Vitus looked to Jenn, and she to him. They cocked their heads as if carrying on a psychic conversation, discussing the best questions to ask and in what order.
"Where are we going right now?" asked Vitus.
"Our initial plan has been compromised, so we're sailing to Mister Jacobi's manor on the Californian coast."
"Who are Big Mike and Little Mike?" asked Jenn.
"They're half brothers, and both of them are truck drivers. Ironically, they're on different sides of the Great Trucker Divide. Think of them as rival gangs. Big Mike's on our side. Little Mike, on the other hand, hates Mister Jacobi and probably would have killed us on sight if we hadn't left when we did. He knew we would be there, and I'm sure he's got his people working to figure out our next move."
"Wait, the Great Trucker Divide?" asked Vitus.
"That's right," chimed in Hayes. "You know all those movies about gangsters in New York and New Jersey that have their hands in businesses all over the place? Screw 'em, small potatoes. The real mafia is made up of truckers. Think about it, kiddos, who controls distribution of goods in this country? Who controls the flow of oil and gasoline? It sure ain't the companies that produce it--it's the people that move it. They're the ones who make the spice flow."
"Seriously?" asked Jenn.
"You ever seen a news report about a tractor-trailer flipping over somewhere, causing massive traffic accidents? That's them in action. They can control supply and demand. If they wanna make more money in the banana racket, a trucker hauling a banana rig will go off a bridge. The price of bananas skyrockets, and they make millions for themselves. That's the way this world really works. Anyone thinking different's just kidding themselves."
"Wow," said both Vitus and Jenn, unsure of a more appropriate response.
"Anyway, the Great Trucker Divide came when Big Mike starting questioning their practices. He left the union and took a whole faction of followers with him. Now they wage an unseen war on the highways and interstates of this country."
The antique-dealer still found himself quite unable to form a reply.
"Um," said Jenn, "so does Little Mike work for Rasputin?"
"Not that we are aware of, but I wouldn't be surprised," said Philip. "Next question?"
"So, is the rest of the plan still on? Will Mister Jacobi still help us escape?" asked Vitus.
"Yes," said Philip. "It may just take longer. Once we reach Mister Jacobi's manor we will pay you as promised and fly you wherever you wish on a private jet."
"Can this boat make it all the way to California?" Jenn asked.
"Of course she will," said Hayes. "Bess will take us anywhere we wanna go. It's the pirates we should be worried about."
"Pirates?" asked Vitus.
"Pirates," said Hayes. "There are always pirates. Just because you don't hear about 'em don't mean they don't exist. Once we make it to Washington waters we'll be safe, though."
"Benches that cause revolutions, roving gangs of truckers, Canadian pirates--seriously?" asked Jenn.
Philip and Hayes nodded, matter-of-factly.
"Holy shit," she said. "Let's do this."
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