The Vacation Story Continues. | At the Stroke of Midnight.
An excerpt from my “Collect Call” book, continuing to feature excerpts from the short story called, “Some Shitty Vacation.” This is part 3.
“Some Shitty vacation,” is a fictional story about a vacationing hitman from the narcotics underworld who found himself being drawn back into the very situation he was trying to escape in the first place. His escape plan was for both the short as well as the long term.
He had planned on using this short-term trip into Montreal, to further research his long-term get-out plan. The one that he had been considering in recent times. The road leads all the way from Norfolk, VA to Montreal Quebec, and back. But some people just can’t seem to get a learning break, can they? Here’s today’s excerpt.
After the stroke of midnight.
Lance stopped off for a while in Ohio. But he didn’t tarry there. A farm boy from Jackson, Michigan, this city wasn’t very much to his liking. “Heck,” no city was quite to his liking yet so he moved on. Not knowing for sure what he was looking for at the time and being a freshman on the scene. He quickly got himself into some rather messy and unpleasant situations. But then, he bumped into Loise, literally. Which was in itself one of the biggest of the messes.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going — will you?” shouted Mister Personality.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… Sorry.”
“You’re going to be really sorry if you don’t watch where you’re going and what you’re doing around here — dude.” His six-pack abs bursting out from under the tight-fitted t-shirt was even scarier than the bone-crushing grip he’d plastered on the back of Lance’s neck. Her boyfriend was quick to respond, quicker than Lance could even figure out how deep in he was. Just like an attack dog, a pit bull, perhaps. He was about to break Lance’s neck.
“Man! Is he that insecure? Or is it the way things are done in these parts?” Lance wondered while rubbing the back of his neck.
“It’s okay, hey, it’s okay man, I’m aright. He’s just a kid, a frightened kid,” Loise blurted out at him. Lance staggered across a trashcan trying to balance himself up against the bus stop.
“Hi!” she said, “Loise.” While holding out a hand in greeting, I’m sorry about that. He’s just in a bad mood today, don’t hold it against him. What are you doing loitering around out here, are you okay? Can’t recall seeing you before, are you from around here? A million and one questions coming at him at lightning speed.
“Can we go now?” Mr. Sulky-face prompted. Loise, Loise, can we go?
“Here,” she said, on the spinning back and forth of her gaze between those two, the two who were there and wearing pants, and cowboy boots. “If you ever need to talk,” she said, “if you need help or anything, don’t hesitate to call, okay?”
“Okay, thank you miss.” She quickly caught up with him as Lance watched them walk away, side-by-side. She was looking back periodically before they turned the corner and out of sight. That card she gave him, there, look, it’s tucked in between Lance’s fingers now, and reads, “Loise Arquette, counselor, and mentor, Saint Jude’s boys’ school.”
“Yeah! I’m sure she would like to take a jab at mentoring me,” said Lance to nobody, while walking away in the opposite direction. Leaving the card there in the rubbish bin where he’d tossed it.
It was there, though, the hungry eyes, the longing look in the way she stared at him. Even while walking away, stride for strides beside Mr. Sulky-face. It was not his kind of place though, he knew right away, nothing about it had beckoned. By morning, he would have been gone on to some other place, somewhere else, and searching for something else.
“Whatever ‘it’ is that I’m going to find out here, it will have to be somewhere down the road. This long and winding road leads all the way out of this town, so, ‘somewhere else,’ here I come. Whatever ‘it’ is, it sure is not here, not for Lancelot Turner.” Too close, perhaps, to Jackson, Michigan, and to a neck injury for his comfort
…
A steady stream of headlights was reflecting off the slightly descending wet road surface. This owing to the effect of some earlier moisture in the air and a slight rain on the pitter-pattering surface of the roadways. It looked very much to him like the rich creamy flowing milk being poured out from the carton container and into the bowl half-full of crispy golden-brown cornflakes, by his loving mother. His eyes and mental state had not yet gotten adjusted and acclimatized to be functioning in sync with the recent time change over to daylight savings time.
Traffic on this side of the highway, (the eastern side,) was few and far between. As opposed to a bumper-to-bumper traffic jam on the westbound side. Lance could discern by way of the images in the rearview mirror, the outline of a pickup truck following him. Its headlights were by then occupying somewhat of a permanent spot in the frame of his rearview mirror. Behind that vehicle, was another one that he was not able to decide on in any way, shape, or form, other than that, it was sporting one functioning headlight.
At first, he thought it was a motorcycle, due to the fact of the single headlight and all. But the yellow hazard lights on either corner of the front area of the vehicle, helped him to decide the matter, yes, it was a much larger vehicle than a motorcycle. The mist had suddenly changed over to a slight drizzling rain. Lance couldn’t shake the image from his mind, that of the cornflakes in his favorite bowl. With circles of evenly cut ripe bananas placed on top of the flakes by his mother, before she poured on the milk.
He reached over and picked up the phone from where it was sitting there in the second cup holder on the dashboard. Humming still, the little refrain he had been singing from deep within him. He hit the menu button on the phone and then punched in a series of numbers with his thumb; tap-tap-tap, somewhat like that, to unlock the device. Then with a few other strikes of the thumb, he dialed up his mother, “Mom,” he said, “how are you?”
“Lance, where on earth are you? And what could it possibly be that you’re doing that could be so important that you can’t find even a minute to call home?” His mother chided him.
“That’s exactly what I’m doing now — Mom, haven’t you noticed?”
“Don’t be cute with me — boy.”
“How are you doing my sweet Mamma? Long time no see,” said Lance, in an attempt at pacifying the situation by changing the subject at once. “I’ve been very busy of late — Mom,” he continued when she didn’t respond further. “But we should be seeing each other soon.”
“That’s exactly what you said the last time too, but you didn’t show up. Did you? Thanksgiving also came and went; you didn’t show up either. Will you be here for Christmas? I hardly think so.”
“I’ll be there — Mom, I will be there for Christmas. I hope. He whispered this ending part rather unconvincingly. “How’s dad?” he asked, after the extended pause… “Ma, how’s dad doing?”
“Your father is doing fine — Lance, he’s doing just fine.”
“Is he there, can I talk to him?”
“Here,” he heard her say, as she handed him the phone.
“Lance…” his father grunted on his arrival on the phone-conversational scene. “How, how, how are you, I mean…?”
“I’m fine dad, I’m fine, and you?”
“Fine, fine. What have you been up to of late? I hope you’ve managed to get your life in some sort of order by now, and thinking about settling down. You can’t continue to run around like a rolling stone you know…”
“Dad, I’m doing okay, don’t be worrying yourself too much about those sorts of things, I’ve got this all covered, okay? I’m actually on the road now though dad, just called to say ‘hi.’ I should be seeing you guys very soon. I’ve got a few things to take care of first and then I’ll be home. I’ve got to run now. I’ll talk to you guys later — alright?”
“Bye Lance.”
“Bye Dad, bye.” To be continued, join us again next time for the continuation of the story.
An excerpt from my book called “Collect Call.” A collection of short stories and poems of the times, available wherever books are sold. If you don’t see it, ask for it, they’ll get it for you.
By writingelk, All Rights Reserved.