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Shotgun Angel - reposted because you taught me how to format still need help with my lacka comma

Submitted by RoadSong at 2013-09-09 11:07:21 EDT
Rating: 1.77 on 9 ratings (11 reviews) (Review this item) (V)

Downshifting the four on the floor smoothly, we pull up to this 'T' intersection in the black vastness of the Mojave desert around midnight. We are leaving the town of Needles where we had the air conditioner charged up and where our money was no good. We had dear friends there who refused to let us pay for anything. I ask Storyteller if it is all clear on her side. She is in the passenger seat ridin shotgun. I ask her mainly to remind her that she is the navigator on this trip, her mind tends to wander. She tells me that there is one car coming way down in the valley and we are good to go.

We wait patiently.The car veers in front of us and turns almost grazing the front left fender of our Jeep, spinning crazily on two wheels it flies by us and sprays sand and dust before it gains the road again. As it flashed by me, what I saw in that car made my heart stop and my mouth go dry. It was a wild eyed woman of demented demeanor driving with white knuckled fury, and in the backseat, a wobbly headed blond baby. He was strapped in his car seat, neck snapping with the fury of the wild ride he was taking.

I turned to Storyteller and asked her to say a blessing. She launched into one of her legendary prayers that ended with "...and if we break down send an ANGEL to help us". Cool. This seemed to cover all the bases. Storyteller knows blessings and prayers in languages not heard on this planet for thousands of years...

She requests to see the lights of the Las Vegas strip and I have agreed. We drive the 100 miles to Vegas and the strip is wild and alive with the weekend crowd that congregates there in sin city. My old Jeep and horse trailer are out of place amid the Hummer limos and other exotic shiny vehicles. The lights and crowd are dazzling and we have cruised about half way down the strip when the Jeep dies. No warning. Battery dead. No caution lights. Traffic honking crazy pissed at being held up during their weekend party time. Rude hand signals from some, others shake their heads as if to say "you poor stupid bastards".

I get out and look under the hood. Wiggle the battery terminals. Check to see if spark plug wires are tight. Still dead. This is the extent of my mechanical know how. Storyteller asks if she should use her "magic plastic". {Triple AAA card} "Hell yes" I say! She phones AAA and tells them we are blocking traffic on the Las Vegas strip and we are pulling a horse trailer. They say they will be there in a half hour. I send Storyteller to the rear with a flashlight to direct traffic around us so that we don't get rear-ended.

Triple AAA calls back after 45 minutes to tell us they would not be coming because they will not tow a vehicle with a trailer. We are in deep trouble. Flashin red behind us makes me start to perspire. We have a teeny bit of contraband {personal stash and lock and load}. The Law has arrived. Storyteller is back there directing traffic and the Lawman asks her if we have called a tow truck. She replies that yes indeed we have {not mentioning that they have refused to come}. He put flares in the road and waits there with lights flashing. At least nobody will run into us while he is back there. After a while the Law has other matters to attend to and he splits. The flares he lit were still bright, and for that I was grateful.

A group of 6 or 8 college men with good intentions stops their walk of the strip and asks if we need help. "Yes we do!" I say. But when their beer eyes see the loaded horse trailer hitched to the heavy old Wagoneer, they realize the futility of trying to push this rig by hand and they start laughing and pounding each other on the back and falling down, and they wander off down the strip seeking the desires of their hearts.

The flashlight grows dim and the flares are sputtering out and I feel a full blown meltdown bearing down on me. There are thousands of people and hundreds of cars this warm Las Vegas night. At 2 AM the place is lit up like dawn, and the party is non-stop. We have been stranded there for over an hour and our options are few.

The hood is still up and I get out once more to peer at the engine in desperation. I notice this mild looking man leaning on the rail of the Flamingo Hotel. He comes closer and says "If I make this truck run will you take me to the edge?" I told him if he made this truck run, I would take him to the edge of the next state!

He comes and leans under the hood. He peers intently and passes his hands over the engine with a waving motion. He asks me if I know how to pop the clutch. Now I am thinking that the only person who is willing to help is seriously needing a mental health professional. He looks at Story and tells her she has to help him push. I read her mind as she prepared to tell him no. She has a bad knee and sometimes walks with a cane, but she just said "alright" and went back to help. He hollers and asks if the key is on - the truck starts rolling toward the intersection.


more speed now

POP THE CLUTCH! - sputter-chug

now we are going so fast I am wondering what is happening back there in the pushing section..

POP THE CLUTCH! - Yesss!!!

I brake and gun the engine just before we hit the intersection full of partyfolk going full tilt boogie."Get in!" I holler to Story, she is trying to, but she is rather slow. The man puts both his hands on her ample bottom and gives a mighty shove, she lands next to me, he jumps in and slams the door and we roar off down the strip. As we travel the next few miles down the strip, I sneak a few glances at this mysterious fellow now riding shotgun in my truck. When the bright lights of Vegas were only a memory in my rear view, I asked him. "Uh, where did you say you wanted to go?" He replies "This will do". There's nothing out here but the edge of the desert! Again "This will do". I pull over and he gets out and melts into the darkness and sand.

A hundred silent miles down the road, Storyteller asks me "Do you remember me asking for an ANGEL if we broke down?" Not only did I remember, I had been mulling and pondering this since we left Vegas. I asked her then who all had been helping with the pushing when we were trying to get the truck to start. "Nobody helped" she said. She said that by the time the man yelled "POP THE CLUTCH" the first time, the truck was going too fast for her to keep up and she fell back and he was pushing alone...

Then she said "We had us an ANGEL ridin shotgun in the dark!"

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Review This Item




Submitted by The_Cyst_Master at 2013-10-11 18:58:47 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Butthole angel?

Submitted by ilikesteak at 2013-09-16 22:59:38 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

I can't blame those random college guys. I lose all capacity to be helpful when I see animals. I'd have gone from "try to help" over to "Try to pet it. See if it will eat from my hand."

Submitted by FALLEN at 2013-09-16 10:29:55 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

+2 roadsong

Submitted by czarcasm at 2013-09-11 15:39:09 EDT (#)
Rating: 0

Submitted by Mr T pities jonnytexmex the old child toucher at 2013-09-10 15:38:02 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

T Interesecition is MY interesection suckah!

Submitted by JonnyX at 2013-09-10 15:26:24 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

lime green penis

Submitted by Tom Sorrell at 2013-09-10 03:29:03 EDT (#)

A group of 6 or 8 college men with good intentions stops their walk of the strip and asks if we need help. "Yes we do!" I say. But when their beer eyes see the loaded horse trailer hitched to the heavy old Wagoneer, they realize the futility of trying to push this rig by hand and they start laughing and pounding each other on the back and falling down, and they wander off down the strip seeking the desires of their hearts.

---- ---- ----

I love this part. Good shit, Road.

Submitted by RoadSong at 2013-09-09 20:16:23 EDT (#)

I remember what you told me when I first wrote this story.


2009-02-02 18:37:08 PST (#)
Rating: 2

never, ever, tell AAA dispatch the whole truth of the situation

Submitted by grÜeMaster emeritus and uberlord supreme at 2013-09-09 17:24:28 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

perkman and roadsong = auto+2

Submitted by Spam at 2013-09-09 17:09:18 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by skrapmetal at 2013-09-09 11:12:30 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Little mystery.

See these? American donuts. Glazed, powdered, and raspberry-filled.
Now, how's that for freedom of choice.

-- Homer Simpson
The Crepes of Wrath