Safe and Secure -or- The Remora: Part 4: Stranded (389 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 2 on 4 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Erosion Rules (View user info) at 2006-05-15 00:20:04 EDT
Part 1: http://www.ubersite.com/m/87398
Part 2: http://www.ubersite.com/m/87495
Part 3: http://www.ubersite.com/m/87784
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Fuck. This little farming town. Mighty fuck. Everything was a steep hill, coming to a bowl at the 7-11, across a small street from a line of duplexes. The air was sweet, the temperature was moderate... It was terrible. I swallowed hard. Nothing. I tried again.
Nothing was going to help at this point. I was stuck in Duncannon, PA. That dumb bastard. Thane, you sly, sick son of a bitch. If you're out there, you're goddamned good. If you're reading this, fuck you.
Alexandria Bay was the perfect quiet little town. Not the quietest, where anyone the residents don't know is worthy of a call to the police. No, he had it all planned out. While he was talking to me in his queer little way, using his pickup lines without even knowing it, his car was in the Horizon Marina garage, getting pound upon pound of heroin stashed in the door panels.
The police stopping us initally should have tipped me off that something wasn't right.
We pulled into a truck stop about a mile over the border of Pennsylvania. It was a low end joint, but I didn't mind. I got myself a plate of chicken fingers, and as I started to squeeze the catsup out of the faded red bottle marked "Kechip," I lost my appetite. Hanging on the wall next to my table was a flyswatter. I looked around the room. Every table had its own flyswatter. What does that say for the food?
I did my best to choke it down, and left a fifty cent tip. No need worrying about Doris's feelings, she'd never see me again. I went outside, and there was a cop next to Thane's car, writing something while staring at the plates.
"Mother...FUCKER! Connor, what the fuck is that fucking cop doing?"
"Dude, calm it. He's just checking your plates. Maybe it's a busted taillight or something."
"Fuck that shit, we have to go. NOW!"
Thane was barreling toward the officer before I could even react. In an outstanding display of dexterity, the gun was out of the holster, out of the officer's hands, and finally pressed against his temple. I yelled something to the effect of letting him go, but before it had fully left my mouth, the inside of the cop's head fully left his new mouth, just to the right of the back of his left ear. I was at least twenty feet away, but somehow, a few small drops managed to find their way onto the sleeve of my lucky overshirt.
What seemed like seconds later, we were whizzing through Appalachian roads like nothing had happened. We stopped in Wilkes-Barre, my request. Thane still trusted me, for some reason. I guess he figured I was running away from something, going with him. He was right, but not in the way he thought. I wasn't running the way Thane was running. I was running to something, not away like him.
In a room at the Red Roof Inn, rented in my name, Thane decided to go over a route for our progress. He made it up on the spot, just picking a road, and tracing his finger across the map. Somehow, he always ended up right where he said he would, though never looking at the names on the roads. Our path passed through a town called Duncannon, I saw. Good enough as any, and the name was easy to remember. On a trip to the front counter to have them patch in a movie to the room, I stopped by a pay phone. I alerted the locals in the area that a cop-killer would be coming through town in the early afternoon. I gave all the information I could, and hung up without leaving any of my own details. I merely referred to myself as his hostage.
The trip down to Duncannon was rather uneventful, but it made a turn for the worse when we neared the Mustzabaugh's chain grocery store. The road was completely blocked off with a wall of flashing blue and reds, a daytime rave without the DJ or extacy.
"Fuck this shit, man. Thane, I'm out." I threw open the door and leapt into the tall grass next to the poorly maintained road, misjudging and tumbling down a hill, crashing through an old picket fence, and knocking over a large grapevine in some poor old lady's back yard, pushing the sweet, yet sour odor into my face. My stomach rumbled. I heard gunshots, so I ducked back into the wild bushes of the hill. The grapes would have to wait.
After an hour or so of staring at the lightly clouded sky, embedded in my own terror, I quietly climbed the hill to investigate. One cruiser remained, with the bubble still swirling to its red and blue party mix, a dead officer lay just ender the driver's door. The Spyder was nowhere to be seen.
All this death and corruption surrounding me... But I had a bigger problem.
I swallowed hard, and again. Still no help. Deciding to just deal with it, I stepped into the 7-11. I bought a Slim Jim and a Double Gulp, and stepped outside. I lit up a cigarette, and took a sip of the bladder buster. My ears popped. Problem solved.
User Reviews
Submitted by erosion_rules (user info) at 2006-05-16 02:06:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Beano312003 (user info) at 2006-05-15 08:00:03 (#)
Ranking: 2
Why did no one tell me this was here?
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Arsenio'd probably be mad no one told him how good the cheese was...
"This is some good-ass cheese. Hey! Why didn't anyone tell me how good the cheese was?? Motherfucker!"
Submitted by Beano312003 (user info) at 2006-05-15 08:00:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Why did no one tell me this was here?
Submitted by deedee (user info) at 2006-05-15 01:15:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-05-15 00:55:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment