CHAPTER 10

HEADING WEST

Just about the only places Caleb had ever traveled to were his sporting events, so he was a bit nervous about the trip to Los Angeles. He packed his new Vette with a couple of suitcases, got out his road map, and headed to Interstate 40. Jack had told him not to drive past Albuquerque, which was about 490 miles away from Enapay.

Caleb was itching to press down the pedal on this Vette. In 1981, the speedometer in all cars read to a maximum 85 mph, mandated by a new (and controversial) federal law. He wanted more of a muscle car, but this was what was available for the time being, and he looked good in it. Caleb kept on driving west through the boring stretch of nowhere between Enapay and the Texas border, always bumping up against the speed limit. After an hour or so, he turned onto the quiet Highway 256 heading to Memphis Texas, grinned a devious smirk, and put the pedal down to the floorboards and shredded past that 85 mph on his dash. He laughed out loud, a big smile stretching from ear to ear.

A couple of lights spinning in the reflection of his rear-view mirror wiped that smirk right off his face. A deputy sheriff on his bumper—this was bad. He had over $30,000 in Daisy’s cash and a pound of heroin, weed, and cocaine in his luggage. No more than an hour away from home, and trouble had already found him. He pulled over to the side of the road, running a hand through his hair and taking a deep breath so as not to let his emotions get the best of him. Just play it cool. Be nice and see where it goes.

Deep in his mind Caleb is prepared to kill this deputy if he asked to search his luggage, but he didn’t want to resort to that. Killing a law enforcement officer in the first hour he’d been gone was not exactly what he had in mind when he thought about a fresh start.

“Sir, would you step out of the car?” the deputy said as he approached. He looked to be around 5’10, 60-ish, fat and out-of-shape. Caleb knew he’d have no problem killing this man if he had to.

“Yes, sir,” Caleb said, staring closely at the deputy.

“Do you have any idea how fast you were going, young man?”

“No, sir. I just got this car, and I was seeing what it would do. I’m on my way to play football at CAU, so I guess I was just a little excited.” Caleb sighed. “I’m sorry, sir, it was a dumb thing to do. I promise I’ll be careful the rest of the trip.”

The deputy paused. “Are you by any chance Caleb Lewis?”

“Yes sir, I am.”

The deputy’s face broke into a grin. “Ah! I’ve watched you play football a couple of times! You’re quite the athlete, young man. But I sure am disappointed you didn’t go to the University of Texas to play ball,” he said with a serious look.

Caleb leaned back onto the Corvette and smiled. “That’s where I wanted to go, but my dad would have nothing to do with it!” (This was a lie—it would be a hot day at the North Pole before Caleb would consider going to UT).

The deputy took a quick glance inside the car and saw the two suitcases. “That all you’re taking with you?”

“Well,” Caleb said, “you can’t get much luggage in these, so I just put some clothes in and took off.”

The deputy looked at him, eyebrows furrowing together. “Did them boys in California buy you this car?”

“Sir, no disrespect to you, but I promised I wouldn’t comment on that,” he replied, wiping off a bug on the Vette.

The deputy rolled his eyes but still smiled. “Shoot, son, UT would have bought you a garage full of these cars if you’d gone there!”

“Well, I did what my dad thought was best for me. I try to respect my parents as best I can,” Caleb replied.

“Well at least you didn’t go to Oklahoma University! I can’t stand that Barry Switzer, so I’m thankful for that.” The cop gave Caleb a friendly nudge on the shoulder. “Now you slow down that car and put on your seatbelt before you get yourself killed.” Caleb nodded. “Oh, and one more thing, though, before I let you leave. Could I ask you for an autograph?” Caleb smiled and signed away. The deputy wished him the best of luck at CAU and off he went.

As he started to get back to speed on the road, Caleb leaned back in his seat and thought, maybe my luck is changing.

* * *

Caleb pulled into Albuquerque a few hours later, a bit tired and ready to relax. He pulled into a hotel, got a room, took his bags up, and hopped on the bed. The cool sheets were a welcome change from the hot air. He called the front desk and asked for a 7 A.M. wake up call, then hung up the phone and locked the door.

Grabbing his drug kit out of his luggage, Caleb shook a pack of heroin into the spoon, heated it up, and pushed the needle into his vein. He’d shot in just about every place you can get a needle: arms, hands, front of fingers, back of fingers, palm, chest, abdomen, legs—wherever there’s a vein, there’s a shot. Caleb had always been fascinated with human anatomy and had studied it quite a bit, so he knew where to find veins to shoot up. One of the great myths of injecting is that it marks the body. Yes, it will if you continuously shoot in the same places, but with new, fresh veins there are no marks left. If you inspected his body, you wouldn’t notice any obvious marks on him; once again, Caleb did his homework.

Caleb just did heroin occasionally before bedtime, but he was in no way addicted to it. He could go weeks without giving it a thought. In reality, he’d only purchased the heroin for Nia and Jamie’s habit—he truly thought about throwing it away before he left. But, you never know what the future might hold, right? When he got up every morning, he took a shower, dressed, and snorted coke to wake up and get going. He would usually have few beers during the day and some more coke. Caleb called Jack to let him know he got there safely, and his plans were to drive to Flagstaff in the morning and then on to L.A. the following day.