CHEVY VAN
Summary: BA picks up a hitchhiker on his way back to LA. Just a little sketch that grew during an instance of writer's block. Influenced by Sammy Johns' song "Chevy Van."
Rating: PG-just because touchy subjects are touched on.
Episode Spoilers: None
She was a skinny little thing with long legs. Lord knows how old she was. Somewhere between fifteen and thirty. One of those pretty, ageless faces, framed with a mop of curly hair reaching past her shoulders. She wore a set of headphones around her neck that connected to a Walkman.
She stood on the side of the road, thumb out in the classical pose. BA knew he shouldn't stop for her, but on the off-chance she was too young to be doing this, he pulled to the side of the road. She ran to the passenger door, pulled it open and exclaimed, "Man, I thought no one would stop! Where're you going?"
"L.A.." he said, while thinking, Mama'd kill me for this. "What's your name?"
"Mia," she said, and climbed in the passenger seat. She glanced around and added, "Hey, this is one bitchin' van, mister."
He merged the van back into traffic, occasionally sneaking looks at her. "Whatcha doing here?" he asked.
"I got in a fight wit' my mom," she said, "She pissed me off, so I'm outta there. Screw her." She folded her arms, and stuck out her bottom lip. "I don't have to listen to her shit. She's one mean bitch."
"You watch your mouth," said BA, "Ain't gonna have that kinda talk in my van."
She looked at him in surprise. "Who're you to tell me anything?" she challenged, "You some kinda preacher or somethin'?"
BA started to deny it, then thought better of it. "Yeah," he said, "Somethin' like that."
She snorted, "Just my luck." She pulled the headphones up, and began humming and snapped her fingers.
BA studied her, dividing his attention between her and the road. Her face was what Face would've call heart-shaped, with almond-shaped eyes. Her skin was caramel-coloured, accented by a pair of faded blue jean cut-offs and a white shirt knotted under her breasts. She wore sandals, which she had kicked off as soon as she entered the van, tucking her feet underneath her. Small, gold, hoop earrings nested under the ringlets of her hair. Eye makeup was a little heavy, and her lipstick was too bright. Except for the scowl on her face, she was pretty.
The van's speed had crept upward. BA jerked his attention back to the road, slowing back down to the speed limit. The last thing he needed was to get picked up by the cops for speeding, and carrying an apparent under-aged hitchhiker.
Her head started nodding to a different beat, and her eyes fluttered in an attempt to stay open. BA smiled to himself, then reached over and shook her. She jumped as though he'd hit her, hands flying up to defend herself. The headphones fell from her ears.
The smile became reality. "You can sleep on the back seat," he said.
She eyed him suspiciously. BA chuckled. "I ain't gonna touch you," he said. Mentally, he heard both Face and Murdock jeering at him. "Go on," he continued, waving a hand toward the back of the van.
She pulled the headphones back over her head. Unfolding her legs, she moved to the rear seat and stretched out as well as she could. It wasn't long before the Walkman hit the floor of the van, and the 'phones twisted around her head as she slept.
BA shook his head. She was obviously a runaway, considering her comment about her mother. Dressed like that, she's gonna get in trouble. No purse, no bags except for a little backpack (prob'bly stuffed with tapes more than anythin' else). Her discarded sandals were a thong-style (she ain't walkin' far in those). It all added up to a spur-of-the-moment departure.
Mama'd been real strict with him while he was growing up. She always said she didn't want no welfare grandbabies. Besides, picking up girls was Face's line, and look at the trouble he got because of it. Murdock'd done it one or twice, but it always happened when the fool was in trouble, so the girl'd get in trouble too. He didn't know about Hannibal. The colonel was smooth and he kept his team life and his personal life separated.
Should I drop her at a cop shop? he wondered. It'd be real chancy, with him being wanted and all. Nah, I'd better think of somethin' else. She ain't gonna want to go back home.
He glanced at the dashboard clock. Early afternoon, and he sure didn't want to have her on his hands when night fell. He looked back at his sleeping passenger. The soft whirring of the Walkman was barely audible above the engine and traffic noise. Asleep, she looked even more childlike. Probably one of them older-looking thirteen-year-olds.
A truck stop sign flashed by, and he looked at the dashboard. He'd filled the van just after leaving Mama's, but the girl wouldn't have checked the gauges. She'd been too happy just to get in. Maybe I could get her to go someplace safe if I threaten t' leave her there. He hoped he could pull it off. It was hard to threaten kids.
Decision made, he watched for the right off-ramp. He rolled onto the ramp, following a tractor-trailer into the gas station. Stopping beside the pump, he shut off the engine, and popped the hood. The gas gauge showed he'd used maybe an eighth of the tank at most, but he plugged in the hose anyway.
As he walked to the front of the van, he checked on the girl. She was still asleep. Man, she'd better wake up, or this ain't gonna work. He looked under the hood, checking the oil and coolant, stalling for time. The gas pump clicked loudly, indicating a full tank. He walked back, took out the hose, and replaced the cap. He paused for a minute. I'll get a quart of oil, an' pay for the gas, he thought, Leave the hood open 'till I come back. That should wake her.
When he returned, he tossed the oil in the van through the driver's window. He slammed the hood down harder than usual, then got in the van and slammed the door. It worked.
Startled, the girl jumped and gasped. BA chuckled to himself and moved the van away from the pumps. He stopped alongside a row of parked tractor-trailers and turned to his passenger.
"I ain't takin' you to LA," he said, gruffily. "You kin get out now." It was hard to be gruff with her. He settled for pretending Murdock had brought Billy in the van.
However he looked, it must've worked. The girl looked at him. Her bravado crumbled and her lower lip trembled. She glanced around, seeing the rows of tractor grills, and began to cry.
BA mentally stomped on his instinct to reassure her. She ain't goin' to LA, he reminded himself, She won't last a day there.
"I ain't goin' home," she sobbed, "I won't! I won't!"
"Well," he said, "I kin take you to the police."
"No!" The answer was swift in coming.
He scowled, "'Less you tell me someplace t' take you," he said, "you kin get out now." He paused, crossing his fingers. "Else I take you to the cops."
"I HATE YOU!" she screamed.
BA shrugged. He left the van, and walked around to the sliding door. Opening it, he climbed in the seat there and reached back. He grabbed her wrist, yanking her forward. She braced her feet against the seats, resisting. BA was afraid he'd pull her arm out of its socket. Then her knees buckled, and she collapsed on the floor, still crying.
The tears were beginning to get to him. Okay, he thought, Murdock just tol' you Billy had an "accident" in the van. And . . . and Face jus' picked up a couple of girls in it. Unfortunately, the combination of thoughts made him grin instead. Luckily, she wasn't looking at him.
By the time she looked up at him, he had managed to rearrange his face back into a scowl. Her eye makeup streaked down her face, making her look as thought she'd clawed at her eyes. Her lipstick was smeared. Her eyes met his, and he knew he'd won.
He handed her the bandana in his pocket. She wiped her face, then crumpled it in her fist. He crossed his arms, waiting.
She named a small town, just across the border in Iowa. "My aunt lives there," she said.
He nodded."Gimme the address," he said, "and sit up front." She did. He closed the sliding door, walked around to the driver's side, and got in. She crawled into the front passenger's seat, still snuffling, and wiping her eyes with the bandana.
As they pulled out of the truck stop, she looked at him, a tiny bit of defiance returning. BA scowled at her, and her lower lip stuck out. "Why won't you take me to LA?" she said.
"You want the truth?"
"Yeah."
BA looked at her. "You'd be dead in a week."
"Hah." The word came out strong enough, but there was a glimmer of fear in her eyes.
He turned his eyes back to the road. "I seen it enough," he said, "If you lucky, an' some pimp takes a likin' to you, you might last longer." She snorted in disbelief.
They rode in silence. It wasn't until they reached the state line that she turned to him and asked, "Why you doin' this?"
BA didn't respond. She repeated the question, and he hesitated before answering. She started to ask a third time, and he interrupted her. "I heard yah," he said. They had come to the town she named and he concentrated on finding the address. She drummed her fingers impatiently.
When they reached the address, he stopped the van and looked at her. "Maybe I don't want to read 'bout no Jane Doe," he admitted. He motioned for her to open the door. She got out, dubious look on her face and shut the door. "Besides," he added, with a grin, "You shouldn't be ridin' wi' no wanted criminals." Her mouth gaped open and he drove off before she could respond.
He sighed in relief. Ain't no way I'm tellin' the guys 'bout this. They ain't gonna believe it.
FINI