Carl relaxed as he listened to music on the radio and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. With Wisconsin plates on the Highlander, he took in a deep breath when he passed the sign for the upcoming wayside three miles ahead. There, he would stretch and have a bite to eat. He had just passed Wisconsin Rapids, the halfway point. Clicking the blinker minutes later, Carl turned in at the wooded wayside that looked to have plenty of parking and modern bathroom facilities.
Good enough place to pull off for a bit. I’ll eat, use the bathroom, and take an hour-long nap then be back on my way.
Parking at the far end of the lot was a wise decision. He didn’t want to attract attention to himself even though he was sure he wasn’t on the police department’s radar yet. He hadn’t heard a single newsworthy broadcast on the radio during his drive between Wicker Park and the Wisconsin border.
Carl slipped into an open spot and killed the engine then looked around before getting out. Three semi rigs idled as they sat single-file along the edge of the pavement, and five cars were parked near the sidewalk that led to the restrooms. Carl noticed a few vending machines and two picnic tables under the large canopy that separated the bathrooms.
The coffee probably tastes like shit, but I polished mine off hours ago. I’ll fill my travel mug with some before I leave.
He exited the Highlander and opened the back seat door. After lifting the cooler’s lid, he pulled out a soda and one of the dozen turkey-and-cheese sandwiches he’d prepared last night. Each one was sealed in a zipper bag and wrapped in aluminum foil as a precaution so the melting ice couldn’t seep into the bags. He returned to the driver’s seat and placed the soda in the cup holder while he unwrapped the sandwich.
As he ate, the cabin came to mind. He hadn’t been back since he’d buried that woman behind the tool shed three years ago. That was his first paid hit, ordered by her jilted boyfriend. It was the easiest five thousand dollars he’d ever made, and he was instantly hooked. He’d found a new profession that made him good money, and he never had to come face-to-face with the person who’d ordered the job either—until he met Tom.
Tom was different and had insisted on meeting him.
I guess I can’t blame him. After all, he was giving me ten thousand dollars. He had way more to lose than I did, being a high-profile city official, and he probably wanted to make sure I wasn’t a sketchy character before handing over the cash. Now, that son of a bitch has forced me to kill six people, including him. He’s damn lucky there was more money in that safe and jewelry in the house, but I would have killed him, anyway, just because he was a prick.
A knock on the passenger-side window nearly made Carl drop his sandwich. He snapped his head to the right and saw a woman who appeared to be around thirty carrying a toddler on her back.
She smiled then covered her mouth with her hand as if she were about to laugh. Carl didn’t return the smile. He jumped out of the SUV and rounded the vehicle.
“Yeah? You nearly gave me a heart attack, you know.”
She grinned again as she bounced the restless child. “Sorry, but I noticed the front tire on this side is pretty low and thought I should tell you. I’d hate to be stranded along the road with a flat, but that’s just me since I don’t know how to change a tire.”
Carl knelt at the tire and saw a screw embedded deeply in the tread. “Son of a bitch.”
“Oh, okay, then. Guess my kid doesn’t need to hear that kind of language. Have a good day.”
Carl stood and yelled out a “Thanks” as she hurried off.
Now what the hell am I going to do? The spare is under everything in the back. I’ll go into town, get a tire repair kit, and it’ll have to do until I get to Ashland. I’ll deal with it once I get to the cabin.
With his phone in hand, Carl typed in “big-box stores in Wisconsin Rapids.” He was sure to find something there. The nearest one looked to be on the south side of town, seven miles back in the wrong direction.
“Guess I don’t have a choice. I’ll never make it to Ashland on that tire, but maybe—”
With another search on his phone, Carl checked out the possibilities in Marshfield. He had to go through that city, anyway, and it would eliminate backtracking to Wisconsin Rapids.
It’s only forty minutes north, and I’m sure I can make it that far.
With his mind made up, Carl used the restroom and filled his travel mug. He’d have to forgo that hour-long nap he had looked forward to, but he didn’t want to risk the tire going flatter. He needed to set out sooner rather than later.
Back on the road, Carl cautiously set out with Marshfield thirty miles straight out his windshield. He hoped for the best since his only other option was to empty the Highlander in order to reach the spare tire. The most direct route according to his phone map was to take back roads to U.S. Highway 10 and from there to State Highway 13, which would lead him right into Marshfield.
The back roads, although winding with only two lanes, were beautiful with the changing fall colors. Carl didn’t need to drive fast or pass cars, especially with a tire that could go flat at any moment. On country roads away from people was exactly where he wanted to be.
Fifteen minutes into the drive, the front side of the vehicle shifted hard to the right and was headed for the ditch. A loud clunking sound began. With his hands firmly on the steering wheel and turning it to the left, Carl was able to get the vehicle back on the road. He slowed to a stop and shut down the engine. Slamming the steering wheel with his palm, he cursed in frustration since it was obvious he’d lost the battle with the tire.
“Why did I ever take that job from Tom Wallace? I’ve had nothing but bad luck ever since that day. The smartest thing I’ve ever done was to kill that son of a bitch!”
Carl climbed out of the SUV and rounded the front of the vehicle. He peered down at the flattened tire and kicked it. “Damn it, I should have gone back to Wisconsin Rapids. Nothing is going my way.”
He looked up and down the lonely stretch of road and didn’t see anything except a deer crossing the blacktop about a quarter mile back. “Great. This is going to eat up a few hours of my day.”
Carl popped the liftback and began unloading the Highlander. Ten minutes into the task, he heard a vehicle approaching. He squinted as he looked south. A van was headed toward him and began to slow down.
Just keep going, damn it!
It was apparent that the van was stopping since it had already pulled to the shoulder. Carl walked to the driver’s-side door, grabbed his pistol from under the seat, and tucked it in his waistband. He closed the door and returned to the rear of his vehicle.
A man about Carl’s age and size stepped out of the van and approached him.
“Looks like you’ve got a conundrum here.” The man stuck out his hand. “I’m Allen. What seems to be the problem?”
Carl jerked his head toward the SUV. “Front passenger-side tire is flatter than a pancake, and my spare is under all this stuff.”
The man came closer and looked at the quantity of things in the back of Carl’s vehicle. “Moving?”
“Yeah, you can say that.”
“Have you called for help?”
“Help? No, why?”
“Well, I’d stay and lend a hand, but I have somewhere to be.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “I know the sheriff personally. Let me give him a call and see if they can lend a hand.”
Carl tried to maintain his composure while he eyed the van. “That isn’t necessary.”
“Not a problem. I’ll have a couple of deputies out here in no time.”
“Really, it isn’t necessary.”
The man waved Carl off with a grin. “I have connections.”
I bet you do, but that van of yours is looking more and more like something I can use, and I can’t let you make that call.
After reaching behind his back, Carl pulled the gun from his waistband and struck Allen in the head. The phone against Allen’s ear fell to the ground and spun to the road’s shoulder. He dropped to his knees and grabbed Carl by his injured leg.
Anger overtook Carl as pain seared through his leg. He kicked Allen, knocked him backward, then straddled his chest. “You son of a bitch. Why couldn’t you leave well enough alone?” He grabbed Allen by the head and slammed his skull into the pavement over and over again until he heard it crack. Allen’s body went limp, and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Good, you’re dead. That’s what happens when you don’t mind your own damn business!”
Jerking his head from left to right, Carl saw that the coast was still clear. He dragged Allen to the back of his van, lifted him into it, then climbed into the driver’s seat and turned it around. Lining up the backs of both vehicles, Carl moved his belongings into the van as quickly as he could. He placed one of the gas cans on the ground then moved everything from the front of the Highlander into the van. After a final check of his own vehicle and grabbing the lighter from the console, he saturated the SUV with gas, put the can in the back of the van, then drove it ahead several hundred feet. He needed to hurry before another vehicle passed by. He ran back to the Highlander with a paper bag he’d found in the van, twisted it like a rope, and lit the end. Throwing it on the fabric-covered driver’s-side seat caused a burst of flames to spread through the interior. Backing away, Carl watched as the fire engulfed his SUV.
Satisfied and with a deep breath, he ran to the van and drove away.
I just have to get to the damn cabin before somebody realizes this Allen character is missing. I’ll swap out plates again sometime tonight long after dark.