Hitchiker Revised

Revised, but only slightly extended. Yeah, I'm a slow writer... (plus I've been pre-occupied with a number of real-life crises)

Thump, thump, thump. Sunflowers and a lilting laughter faded to black as I awoke to a heavenly vision: an overweight, sour-looking hog with rust-coloured hair thumping the diner table with a fleshy fist.

“Honey,” said the hog with a barfly rasp, “ya beautiful snoring was just breakin’ my heart.” it snorted at its own joke and then waddled away, a tray of half-eaten lasagne balanced precariously on its arm. I rubbed my eyes and the hog became a waitress.

“Sorry,” I croaked, feebly. I seemed to be having difficulty generating spit.

The waitress grunted, hog-like, in response.

Still bemused, I fingered the lock around my neck and let my mind linger for a moment on a half-forgotten dream. But then my eyes wandered to my watch, and I shot up like a buck on steroids. My shoulders set the grimy electric lights jangling, which provoked a rutting sound from the kitchen. “Knock out my lights, and I’ll knock out yours, y’hear?” yelled the waitress. I swore quietly, wiped the grease on my jeans, and lurch towards the exit on stiff legs.

There was a jingle at the door, and Jim Burkman sauntered in. As I passed him, he gave me a once over and an easy smile.

“Hey, Avrum.” he greeted in a voice too friendly to be innocent.

“Jim.” I nodded, but didn’t smile back. The man howled in a chilling way when he shot his load. Better not chance it tonight with a full moon. Besides, I had a new shipment to pick up and I was late.

I skipped across the parking lot, fumbled for my keys, and finally installed myself into the snug and slightly smelly lair I’d called home for the past seven years. The careworn leather seat sighed as I shifted my weight. My fingers lingered for a moment on an old postcard clipped to the dashboard, and then in went the key and I was off.

I switched on the evening news as I pulled onto the highway but I was only half listening to the reporter go on yet again about some sandy-haired felon stalking the region. Golden lights illuminated a familiar and friendly trail, but the moon cast its own ghostly glow on a landscape that was neither familiar nor friendly. It was the kind of moon which could corner a man’s thoughts and make him think about the journeys life had taken him and the things which could or should not have been…

Suddenly, a movement caught the periphery of my headlights, and I slowed to a stop with the engine still roaring. Then I heard the rapid staccato sound of shoes hitting gravel shoulders, and a burly shape materialized at the side window. I felt only a fleeting chill – a premonition – before I pulled the door wide.

“Pretty late to be on the road, eh?” I yelled.

“Can I get a lift? North, maybe?” the other man yelled back, shielding his mouth from the exhaust which swirled around his indistinct form.

I signalled with a sharp jab and said, “Aye, get in!”

A thick arm reached up, grabbed the side door, and swung the rest of its cargo smoothly into the front seat. He slammed the door shut and I eased my foot off the pedal. I could just make out the outline of high cheek bones, a wide-based jaw, and the two-month-old blond fur around it in the indirect glare of the headlights. A dirty wife-beater was stretched between heavy-set shoulders and a waist narrow enough to make women jealous.

“You got a lighter?” he asked, turning sharply. I was suddenly ill at ease. There was something familiar in his oddly melodious voice and in those dark eyes which seemed to reflect liquid gold.

“Yeah, sure,” I murmured, flipping him the lighter. He pulled my hand close, a cigarette already in his mouth. It was at that moment that I turned and caught his face in the full red glow of the flame.

I hit the breaks, hard.