Twists in the Road

“So, what’s the catch?” I thought to ask them.

“You can’t look in the trunk, and you can’t be late,” the big one replied quickly.

The little one looked up at him and he shut up, his head seeming to retreat into his immense shoulders. I figured that the little one must be Vince’s right-hand man.

The little one explained, “We need a solid guy to drive our cargo.” So smooth with his steel grey eyes. Hypnotic. “Our cargo is valuable, and so is our car. We need you to get it to San Fran within 48 hours while staying under the radar. And you must travel alone. No other drivers or passengers.”

I knew that if Vince was giving me a way to clear my debt, I had to take it. I owed him over $50,000 from gambling, and I wouldn’t make that much in a year, even if I took every spare job I could find. When he had offered me two choices, this driving job or two broken legs, I chose to drive. I imagine the big one would have been in charge had I opted for broken legs.

I quickly did the math in my head. Across the country in two days. It’s roughly 3,000 miles. If I only stopped to fill up, maybe once for a quick powernap, I could do it. Plus, the car was a classic. A black, 1970 Dodge Charger with a 426 Hemi that could climb from standstill to 60 mph in less than five seconds. Deciding to take the driving job was a no-brainer.

The little one handed me the address in San Francisco on a pink post-it note with the keys. Then he said, “As long as you make it to San Francisco within 48 hours, your debt is cleared.” He made sure to add, “Oh yeah, and our cargo will stay locked in the trunk. Don’t go in there.”

“Sure, okay,” I answered. It never occurred to me to ask what would happen if I didn’t make it to San Francisco within the time frame. Nor did I consider worrying about what was in the trunk. I was just so grateful that Vince was giving me a way to pay off my debt.

“Your 48 hours start now,” he announced walking away. The big one followed him.

I checked my watch. It was noon on Monday, which meant that I had until noon on Wednesday to make it to the address in San Francisco, or 9 a.m. local time. Currently, I was in a parking garage on the outskirts of New York city. I knew I didn’t have a second to spare.

I jumped in the leather front seat. The car smelled new, like it had been sitting in a box all these years, perfectly preserved. The dash had a wood finish, and the steering wheel was made from a solid piece of wood. The odometer said it had only driven 43,050 miles.

When I put the key in the ignition and turned, I halfway expected that the car wouldn’t start. Something had to go wrong here, this all seemed too easy. But she started first try, turning over with an initial roar that calmed into a steady purr. My excitement climbed – driving this car across the country was going to be awesome! I steered my way onto I-80W and thought, ‘Take me to the Pacific Ocean!’.

A little before midnight I passed Chicago, got some gas, and did a drive-thru for food. I was starting to feel the fatigue now, especially since it was dark. The red lights of the cars in front of me blurred together like blood in water. I pointed my rear-view mirror toward the ceiling to avoid the glare of the lights behind me. I knew that the nights would be the hardest to stay awake, and I used different tricks to stay alert: I drank energy drinks, sang to the radio at top volume, and drove with the windows rolled down until I shivered.

By the time the sun came up, I was just past Des Moines, Iowa, making decent time. I stopped briefly for gas and food before returning to the highway. Morning rush hour was starting, and I couldn’t afford to get stuck in it. I would wait until I got into Nebraska before I stopped for a longer break.

About an hour later, I was too relaxed on the straight, flat road that seemed to go on indefinitely. There was nothing but fences and fields. The dashed white line on the road was starting to hypnotize me.

Suddenly, I heard an unmistakable thump coming from the back. It didn’t feel anything in the wheel, she was still driving as good as ever. Then it happened again. Louder this time. And again. Again.

I immediately pulled over, thinking maybe some mud was stuck in the wheel well. I didn’t want to risk even the slightest scratch on the car if it meant my debt wouldn’t be cleared. The thumping and banging continued with no pattern that matched my speed or steering.

As soon as I was stopped with the engine off, I knew that someone was in the trunk. This wasn’t a mechanical sound. It was someone kicking and banging in the trunk. Now that I wasn’t driving, I could hear a muffled female voice to go along with it, too.

What had I gotten myself into?

The little guy gave very specific instructions that I shouldn’t open the trunk. It was the last thing he said – don’t go in there. But I never expected this! I never would have agreed to drive had I known the cargo would be a person! But still, I didn’t want to have to open the trunk, to deviate from the job, to get my legs broken, or worse. Certainly, my debt wouldn’t be cleared if I opened it.

I had to think on it, so I started driving again. At least that way, I would get closer to San Francisco in case I decided to go through with it. The banging got louder for a while. But then it stopped after about 20 minutes. I don’t know which bothered me more, the banging or silence.

Was she getting enough air? Was it hot in there? Could she have passed out?

I found a secluded spot and pulled over again. I couldn’t continue. Yes, I needed to clear my debt and avoid two broken legs, but this was someone’s child. As soon as I turned off the engine, the banging continued. She was very much alive.

I opened the trunk to find a young woman in her early 20’s. She lay curled on her side as she squinted painfully against the bright sunshine. She was wearing a pair of acid-washed skinny jeans with holes in the knees and a t-shirt that said, ‘Nothing exciting ever happens if you stay in your comfort zone’. A gag ran across her mouth that was tied behind her head. Her hands were bound with duct tape behind her back. She must have been making the banging noise by kicking her feet.

Once the trunk was open, she was able to sit up. I started by untying her gag. It was soaked with saliva. As soon as it was off, she asked for some water. I grabbed my half-finished can of stale ginger ale and poured it in her mouth before working on her hands.

“Thank you,” she said, submissively looking down at my feet.

“Are you alright? We should get you to a hospital,” I started as she climbed out of the trunk.

“No, no hospitals, please. I’m fine. Just very thirsty and hungry. And dirty,” she finished with a slight giggle as she looked down at herself.

I studied her for the first time. She was stunning. Her most striking feature was her hair; curly, red locks that reached her waist and framed her oval face. Her eyes were large green pools that sucked me in with a flutter of her lashes. She had a mist of sweat on her upper lip that was mesmerizing.

“Well let’s get you something to eat and drink then, shall we?” I opened the passenger door for her like we were a couple on a picnic. Sauntering toward me, she batted her eyelashes, making me shiver. She allowed me to help her in the car, taking my hand before she tucked in her head like a model and fluidly sat down. You’d never know she had been crammed in a trunk for more than 24 hours.

I steered us back onto I-80W. Food.

“I’m Andy,” I began.

“Cora,” she offered.

Then a silent pause followed. Who was she? What was she doing in the trunk? What must she think of me, being the driver of this car? Did she know that I heard her banging, miles before I stopped?

“I didn’t know you were in there,” I proclaimed.

“I know,” she said quickly. Too quickly, like she didn’t believe me.

“I was just hired to drive this car across the country is all,” I explained. I didn’t want her to think that I was one of them. I knew that we were in this together, now. We couldn’t go on to San Francisco, nor could we go back to New York. Vince would be looking for us when we didn’t arrive within 48 hours, and who knew what he would do to us. No, we had to hide. But food first.

“Where are we going?” she asked.  

“I was supposed to have you in San Francisco by 9 a.m. tomorrow,” I stole a glance at her profile and saw her shiver. “Why, do you know what would have been waiting for you in San Francisco?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “I was going to be sold as a slave.” She started crying softly.

“A slave? To whom?” Does this kind of thing really go on?

“I’m not sure who was going to buy me. I know Vince was selling me. I was his slave up until a few days ago.” Her body started shaking and her crying got louder.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I felt sick knowing I was a part of it, even if I didn’t realize it when I signed up to drive. Had I known this was what Vince was doing, I never would have borrowed money from him. Hell, I wouldn’t have gambled in the first place.

I pulled over to console her, and she let me.

“Please don’t take me to them,” Cora begged, wrapping her arms around my neck, and nuzzled in my chest. She smelled like apples.

I stroked her hair as I held her close. “Obviously, we won’t go there,” I soothed, feeling a strong urge to protect her. “Vince will be looking for me, too, now. I owe him money, and this job was going to clear me. We’ll have to lay low for a while.”

I was her only hope for freedom, and I wasn’t going to let anything bad happen to her. I imagined taking her up north to Canada and living off the land. Or maybe south to Mexico and getting lost in the millions, living together on a white sandy beach. I vowed that I wouldn’t let them get her.

Her stomach growled loudly as a reminder that she hadn’t eaten in a few days. I remembered that I hadn’t slept in a few days. Although I enjoyed having her so close to me, I suggested we continue driving, and she agreed.

After less than 20 minutes, we saw a motel/restaurant combination right off the highway. It was the perfect place to eat, rest, and get cleaned up. Now that I wasn’t in a race to San Francisco, I needed a break from driving.

The room held two double beds and was clean. I ordered us club sandwiches while she showered. By the time she got out, the food had arrived. She was ravenous, and I generously let her have whatever she could eat while I took my turn in the shower. I fancied hotel showers, not having to worry about how much hot water I used or whether it would run out. I loved how the tiny bathroom got so steamy and fogged up the mirror.

When I opened the bathroom door, a burst of steam preceded me like I was a magician doing a reappearing act. But she was the one who had disappeared.

“Cora?” I called out, not trusting my eyes that she wasn’t in the small room with me. Panic washed over me. What if Vince had found us?

Then I noticed that the car keys were gone from the dresser. Wearing only a towel around my waist, I bolted to the window. The Charger was gone. Cora was gone.

She left me! It felt like a punch in the gut, and I sat on the bed. And then I noticed the note on the pillow, written with big curly loops.

Dear Andy.

      I’m sorry to leave like this. You seemed so sweet. But the

diamonds in the trunk should be mine, and so I’m taking them.

     xo Cora

           Diamonds? I had been driving with diamonds that whole time! I had assumed that Cora was the cargo, but obviously, there was more in the trunk that I didn’t see. Maybe there was a lot that I didn’t see. Now I was stuck in the middle of nowhere with no car, no money, and I couldn’t go home, probably ever. I should have grasped that this job was too good to be true. I should have known that there’s always a catch!