“Break time?” John asked when Ray cranked the wheel on the big rig and turned in to the wayside. He shifted into Park and let the truck idle.
“I need to stretch and use the facilities. These places usually have horrible, but drinkable, vending machine coffee, but you probably know that from your own experiences. Why don’t you grab a couple cups of that mud, and we’ll relax for ten minutes or so then hit the road again.”
“Yeah, sounds good.” John watched from the passenger seat as Ray exited the truck and took the sidewalk to the men’s room. He climbed into the sleeper area and opened his pack. He carefully pulled out the Neko Te gloves and a skinning knife then noticed a claw was missing from the right glove. His anger was ignited, and he violently punched the wall of the sleeper.
Son of a bitch! If that was found, everything going forward is over.
He punched the wall again then climbed over the seat and stashed both weapons out of sight under the passenger seat. His new discovery weighed heavily on his mind. That state park bear-killing scenario had been working to perfection. He climbed down the truck steps and headed to the vending machine under a pergola right as Ray walked out of the lavatory. John took a deep breath to release his anger. He waved to get Ray’s attention. “Forgot to ask how you drink your coffee.”
“Black works. I don’t have time to fuss.”
“Got it.” Several minutes later, John carried two hot coffees in cardboard cups toward the truck. He saw Ray sitting on the curb, studying something on his phone. John handed him a coffee and took a seat on the lawn next to him. “Whatcha looking for?”
“I’m checking for the best route to Detroit. I heard there’s construction on I-70 East causing backups and a lot of headaches. I think I’ll stay on 54 and connect with I-70 through St. Louis then cut north on I-57 when we get to Effingham. We can veer east again when we reach Chicago.”
“That sounds logical.” John took a sip of coffee. “The distance is about the same, and it could save hours of sitting in traffic. Do you always take the toll roads?”
“Yeah, I usually do. There’s nothing worth rubbernecking at in the Midwest, anyway, so I stay on the well-traveled, well-lit roads.”
“I grabbed some chips and candy bars too. That way you can nap until dinnertime if you want. I don’t mind taking over.”
“Sure, let’s switch when we cross into Illinois. We’ve only got an hour to go.”
Forty-five minutes later, John shook the potato chip remains into his mouth, crumbled up the bag, and dropped it into a plastic garbage bag attached to the side of the footwell. He reached under the seat and felt the smooth steel blade of the skinning knife. “Are you about ready to let me take over? It looks like your head is beginning to bob.”
Ray rolled his neck and stretched with a deep sigh then rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, you’re right, I am starting to drift off. Give me a second here to pull over to the shoulder.”
John stared through the side mirror at the empty stretch of two-lane highway behind them. The mile-long surface road that led to the interstate was the perfect place to do the deed. Ray wouldn’t know what hit him.
Ray downshifted and pressed the brakes until the rig chugged to a stop. He gave John a questioning frown. “You do remember how to drive one of these beasts, right?”
John laughed. “Of course. It hasn’t been that long. It’s like getting on a bicycle after years without riding. You never forget. Trust me, dude, I’ve got this. Go take your nap.”
Ray shifted into Park, yanked the handle for the emergency brake, and then climbed over the seat to the sleeper compartment and arranged the bedding. John climbed down the steps on the passenger side and grabbed the skinning knife before he slammed the door. He made his way around the truck and got in behind the wheel. He turned and looked over his right shoulder. “Got everything you need back there?”
“Yeah, I think I’m set.”
“Before you get comfortable, can you toss my backpack up here to the passenger seat? I’d like to keep it out of your way.”
“Sure, no problem.” Just as Ray lifted the pack and flung it over the seat, John seized the moment and drove his knife into Ray’s side. Ray’s shocked expression made John chuckle with demon-like pleasure. “What…why?” Ray writhed in pain and gasped as he collapsed against the seatback. He looked down at his left side, where blood seeped through his denim jacket.
“I need your truck and your money, that’s why. Those sleeping quarters look pretty comfy too.” John pushed the knife in deeper and twisted it back and forth. “You’ll be dead in a minute. It’s about to puncture your lung. Just go with it, Ray. It’s easier if you don’t fight back.” John gritted his teeth and, with a final thrust, buried the knife between Ray’s ribs until the wooden handle was the only part exposed. John heard the gurgle of blood mixed with the air escaping Ray’s left lung. He pushed Ray back into the sleeper area, shifted the truck into first gear, and pulled out onto the road. John had never driven a semi until he caught a ride with that trucker he had killed last week, but he considered himself a quick study. Driving that big rig would be a piece of cake.