Over a year ago, as an exercise, I started writing one short story a week. This was something Harlan Ellison (I think) suggested to one of his fans, his reasoning being "You can't write 52 bad short stories in a row." I'm not sure about that, but here's one of those stories.
This is a spoof on part of the film noir "Detour". I love the film, and write a post about it ("Public domain film noir: Detour (1945)"), but parts are unintentionally funny and inspired me to write the story below.
*
Roberts has his thumb out and his ratty old sports jacket buttoned up as best as he can. His fedora is pulled down to try to keep out the cold. It’s only in the 50s but the wind is blowing along this long flat stretch of highway in South Dakota, which makes it seem colder.
An old guy in a rusty old Ford 150 pulls up. “Where are you headed?” the old man asks.
“LA,” Roberts says.
“Sounds good.”
“Okay, hop in then. My name’s Sam.” Sam unlocks the door.
“Thank you,” Roberts says climbing in. “Al Roberts.” Roberts takes off his hat, placing it on his knee, and unbuttons his jacket. “It’s getting a bit chilly out there, compared to Kentucky.”
“You started out in Kentucky? Ain’t ya a little far north for LA?”
“Yeah, but I hitched a ride from a trucker in Kentucky and this is where he was going. It was west, so I stayed with him.”
“Yeah, South Dakota is west of Kentucky, I’ll give ya that. I’m going to Montana.”
“So, you're from Kentucky?”
“No, I’m from North Carolina, near the coast. Born and raised.”
“Why leave? What’s in LA?”
“Movies. I want to be an actor.”
“You done any acting in movies I've seen?”
“I did some community theater. And I did some commercials.”
They chat off and on until they’re a good ways into Montana. Not one thing Roberts says is true.
Sam didn’t believe him, or care much anyway. Sam didn’t think much of hitch-hikers. After Rt 90 joins Rt 94, Sam pulls into a truck stop. “We’re just outside Billings. This is where it ends for me. You can hitch a ride on Rt 90 to Butte then get out and hitch a ride south towards LA on Rt 15.”
“Thanks much, Sam,” Roberts says, getting out. Roberts thought about killing Sam but just couldn’t get in the mood. Besides, Sam’s truck smelled funny and he didn’t want to drive to LA in a smelly truck.
As Roberts gets out, Sam looks behind him at the truck bed. The top of Janice’s knitted cap sticks out of the tarp. The blood is visible from his angle, but not Roberts'. Janice was the last hitcher. Sam makes a mental note to readjust the tarp when he stops for gas. He liked riding with Janice more than with Roberts, and was glad to be rid of him.
There’s a bus station down the block. After Sam drives away, Roberts walks to the bus station and buys a ticket for a bus to Butte, then goes into the men’s room to wash off.
*
Roberts has his thumb out and his ratty old sports jacket buttoned up as best as he can. His fedora is pulled down to try to keep out the cold. Behind him is a sign for Rt 15. In short order, two girls up front and a guy in back, all in their late teens stop next to Roberts.
“We’re going to Reno,” Betsy says. She's blond with a pink t-shirt.
“I’m headed for LA, but Reno sounds good to me,” Roberts says.
“We’ll give you a ride if you buy food and gas,” Ginger says. She's a red-head with hard expression and a temper.
“I can do that.”
The guy unlocks the back door. “Are you a serial killer?” George asks with a smart-alecky grin. George seems charming and easy-going. It's a good act.
“How did you know?” Roberts laughs. “I’m Al.”
“I’m George, she’s Betsy and she’s Ginger.”
“Thanks for picking me up.”
They chat, tell jokes, eat in restaurants, all the way to Reno. Roberts makes sure they all order dessert in the
Applebee's they stop in located 10 miles outside Reno. On the road, Roberts hears faint, muffled yells and bumping sounds coming from the trunk. He notices George eye him after each one, so Roberts launches into a new joke or riddle to deflect the attention. He figures it was someone who didn’t pay the bill. He’d do the same if her were them. They drop him off at a truck stop in Reno.
*
Outside that Reno truck stop, Roberts has his thumb out and his ratty old sports jacket flipped over his shoulder. It’s a nice day and he’s looking all cleaned up after a hot shower in the truck stop bathroom.
A preacher with a blue clerical shirt and tab collar drives by in a beat up old Toyota. About 30 yards down the road she stops and puts the car in reverse. Roberts walks towards her to meet her halfway, and is a bit shocked to find the preacher is a woman. "Rubenesque" is the phrase that pops into Roberts' mind. She's a big woman, big arms, big hips. She cranks the passenger window down, as the car’s too old for electric power windows.
“Would you like a ride?” she asks.
“I’m going to LA,” Roberts says.
“So am I. I passed you by but felt sorry for you.”
"Thank you." Roberts gets in. He notices a dog asleep in the back on a blanket.
"That's Betsy, my old yorkie-doodle. She's twelve," she says.
“Sweet dog. I love terriers. I’m really glad you stopped. Are you a preacher?”
“I’m Reverend Helen Ratchet of the Episcopal Church of Bakersfield, but you can call me Helen.”
“Al Roberts. I got a degree in philosophy from UVa but didn’t have a course on religon per se.”
“The University of Virginia?”
“In Charlottesville. I was born there.”
“A long way from there to Los Angeles. What’s in LA for you?”
“I’m visiting my brother. I save money hitch-hiking. Little known fact: if you want to be rich, don’t get a degree in philosophy! Ha, ha.”
Reverend Helen laughs at that too. “I know what you mean.”
They chat off and on until they’re just outside LA. Besides disguising her annoyance at Roberts smell, which she’s good at, not one thing she says is true. But Roberts lies about everything too, which she sees clear as day. After a long day of driving, she pulls over on a deserted section of a highway near a cliff.
“... and so the bartender says, ‘Is the Pope catholic?’ Ha, ha. I love that joke. Well, Al, here we are. LA’s not far now. Thanks for the company.”
Al just stares blankly at the dashboard.
“Let me help you,” Reverend Helen says, getting out of the car and walking around to the passenger side. She opens the door. Roberts has a huge knife sticking out of his chest. She leans him towards her and twists him around so she can grab him under his arms. With a heave-ho, she pulls and drags him out of the car over to the cliff, then pushes him over.
Reverend Helen gets back in the car. Betsy wakes up and stretches. Helen pets Betsy behind the ears and and drives off. “The liars have a certain smell, don't you think Betsy?” she says to herself. She pulls out a pine scented spray can from under the seat and sprays the passenger seat. “Much better.”
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