EIGHTEEN WHEELS
AND A
HITCHHIKER
-3-
It may as well have been a moonless night with all the fog. Hutch could see the tendrils of thick, dense, mist swirling in the beam of his headlights as the truck bounced down the road. The creepy vapor seemed to transfigure everything into ghostly apparitions as he navigated his way through teh cloud. He knew the rain outside to be cool, but the inside of the cab was like a furnace. Hutch leaned as far forward over the wheel as he could, stretching his sore back muscles and straining to see the road. He could only see a few feet of white line. He'd been driving for hours like this; the pressure front from earlier now a full blown storm tossing around in his head. Hutch ached to close his eyes, blinking and fighting hard to keep them open and keep the pounding in his head at bay. It was only a few more miles to the checkpoint where he'd meet up with his partner again, but the tempest in his head was relentless.
This past week had been a rough one. With nothing to do but eat and drive and stop to piss, he was definitely off his normal routine. He had a hard time sleeping and could barely eat the diner food. For Hutch, that was the diet from hell. Hell had diets, right?
To distract himself, a song flitted about in his head and he wished he could stop to write the lyrics down before he forgot them. It was something about a walk along a moonlit pier and a dancing angel, whose skin was as soft and delicate as butterfly wings.
As the image played out in his head, Hutch's eyes grew heavier, and they won the battle of wills as they fell shut for a split second, his head bobbing forward. The truck cut across the white line left of center, the off-kilter motion wrenching Hutch awake immediately.
"Shit!" He cried out in panic, holding fast to the steering wheel, quickly getting the massive vehicle back under control and on its proper side of the road.
Hutch ran a shaky hand over his face, rubbing the streams of salty sweat and grit from his eyes. Thank God there wasn't much traffic this time of night. It wasn't like him to be so out of it. He'd been running for days like this, mostly alone on the open road, and the adrenaline crash that was upon him now was just as dangerous. He had to stop and rest soon, but he continued to push himself along knowing the truck driver's association would frown on too many hours on the rode with no shutey.
"Breaker, breaker," a thunderous voice rumbled over the CB, slicing the silence of the cab. Hutch's heart lurched, causing his hands to momentarily slip from the wheel. He felt the truck bounce once across the gravel shoulder before he could pull the mighty truck back onto the road. "Papa Bear to Golden Goose. Come in, Golden Goose, over."
Hutch blinked at the radio before slowly reaching for the handset. "Come back, Sugar Bear, this is Golden Goose, over."
Hutch's eyes flicked back to the road, more alert now. "That's Papa Bear," Captain Dobey said, sounding annoyed.
Hutch smiled knowingly. "Sorry, over."
"There is nothing more we can do here. Get to your checkpoint and drop the load. I repeat, Golden Goose. Drop the load."
Hutch nodded to the coded message. They had made no progress in baiting the hijackers. It was time to pull the plug on this case. There hadn't been a hijacking in ten days. The theory - the men had moved on to another state route. He hated giving up, but this wasn't the movies and the good guys didn't always win. He was quiet a moment, thinking he should argue the point with his superior and ask for a couple more days to be certain, but he was feeling worse than he'd felt a couple of days ago, and he figured his captain was right. It was time to give it up.
"Ten-four, Sugar Pop."
"Papa Bear!"
Hutch leaned forward once again over the steering wheel, trying to see through the thick-as-pea-soup fog. Each swipe of the wiper blades did little to clear his vision as blasts of rain kept coming down in buckets. It was highly unusual weather for this area, making driving conditions treacherous, and creating lake sized puddles in the roadway. Even with his low beams on, the casting glow of his headlights did little to improve his vision. At each turn the highway only became more and more difficult to see. Once he felt the rear of the truck's trailer fishtail and he nearly slid off the edge of road. Hutch cursed under his breath. If he didn't pull over soon he'd end up jackknifed or flipped over on to his side.
"Papa Bear," Hutch said, being sure to use his captain's proper code handle this time. "Going to have to pull off the road, mile marker 58, until this weather clears. Let Hot Tamale know I'll be a few hours late."
There was a moment of silence as he waited for permission.
Hutch hated the idea of having to stop, but there was no choice; he had to pull off the road. Starsky wouldn't be happy he wasn't going to make it the lousy five miles to the rendezvous point. A big hiss of air came from underneath the truck as Hutch put on the brakes and guided the big rig off to the shoulder. Maybe he could try and get a little shuteye.
"Logging you out, Golden Goose." A pause. "Get some rest, over."
"Thanks, Cuddle Bear, Golden Goose out."
Hutch laughed to himself. He could just see the frustration on his captain's face. He and Starsky had been playing the name game with him since this whole thing got started. The worst was when Starsky had called their Captain 'Blubber Bear.' The man had probably nearly popped veins and their eardrums, correcting the persistent slip-ups. There was no doubt the game was wearing their captain's patience thin. But the entertainment it provided kept the two detectives laughing, and gave them something to talk about in between checkpoints. Hutch was missing the lighthearted game with his partner right about now.
Not hearing the angered comeback he was waiting for, Hutch shut off the eighteen-wheeler's headlights. A wave of fatigue washed over him as he settled back and stared out the window at the shadows of falling raindrops. Hutch left the engine on. The constant rumbling was like a soothing lullaby and as he listened he tried to recall those beautiful song lyrics from a few miles back, but they were long gone.
It was balmy hot inside the cab and he unbuttoned his shirt, rubbing his hand over his bare chest to swipe away some of the wetness that had formed. Closing his eyes, Hutch imagined himself on a towel upon a white sand beach, with a cool breeze, a bronzed body in a seductive yet skimpy bikini, and a bucket of ice cold beer by his side, having no recollection of the moment sleep took him.
TBC...