The Devil's Road: A SERIAL NOVEL
The Devil's Road: A SERIAL NOVEL
CHAPTER 02: AN OKLAHOMA TRIPTYCH --- ISSUE 03: THE DROP
Welcome to Issue #6 of The Devil’s Road, a serial novel following the exploits of Samantha Hart, a Sequoyah County Sheriff, full of vengeance and fury using her badge to hunt down her sister's killer as she uncovers a trail of bloodshed that coats the heartland. If you missed it, you can read last week’s Chapter 02: An Oklahoma Triptych Issue 02: Breakfast of Champions here.
If you are new to the series, I recommend you check out Chapter 1 which you can read or listen to for free here:
If you are enjoying this series, please consider sharing it with others, and don’t hoard all the good tales for yourself.
And now, please enjoy Chapter 2 Issue 3 of … The Devil’s Road.
In 2004 an Oklahoma Bureau of Investigations analyst discovered a crime pattern along the Interstate 40 corridor between Oklahoma and Mississippi. Subsequently, The Federal Bureau of Investigations (F.B.I.) started the Highway Serial Killings Initiative. They discovered over 500 bodies of women along the interstate highway system with more than 200 potential suspects, a trail of bloodshed that coats the heartland. The Devil’s Road is a serialized novel based on this horrific discovery.
A soft surface and a cool breeze are the necessities on a hot day driving through the plains of Oklahoma. If you’re lucky, these are provided for in the plush fabric seat of your car and air conditioner blowing a cool breeze over your skin. Heather, unfortunately, has to settle for a small patch of grass that’s pushed through the asphalt next to a dinged-up parking bollard for a backrest, and a muggy warm breeze coming from the west that’s destined to turn into a supercell nightmare. However, we’ll save that story for later.
The plastic wrap on her Little Debbie cupcakes crackles as she delicately pulls her breakfast from its cradle. They don’t taste as good when the frosting’s messed up. Her eyes close as she takes her first bite and chews. Chocolate in the morning is good. Chocolate surrounding that creamy center … well, that’s heaven.
A black sedan pulls into the lot. Moses sits behind the wheel, the duffle bag still in his lap. He turns off the car and checks out the parking lot. It’s empty except for Heather sitting on the ground licking cream filling off of her fingers. He feels an itch he’d like to scratch, but that would be breaking one of his rules. Number four, never socialize on a drop. Get the job done and leave. Of all the processes required to get the drugs into the hands of the addicts, the exchange is the most likely spot you will catch a bullet. He reaches under the steering column and pulls out a snub nose .38 special. He doesn’t check the cylinder. He knows it’s loaded.
Heather tosses the cupcake wrapper in the direction of a trash bin but the wind picks it up and carries it away. She does the same with the cellophane from the pack of Reds. Her hands pat and dig through her pockets for a lighter. She looks up when she hears Moses’s car door slam shut.
“Hey, handsome. Got a light?” Heather adds a coy smile, an unbreakable habit. Moses walks right past without acknowledging her. Rules are rules.
He walks around the side of the building. There are two metal doors in the cinderblock wall. It’s a men’s and women’s restroom, but the only way you would know that is if you squint your eyes a bit you can see the slightly darker markings of the former plastic letters “M” and “W” that fell off long ago. However, the slight shade they provided to these ancient rusty doors protected them from the fading elements of the sun and now their shadows remain. Moses slides a key into the door with the faded “M”. He’s what you might call a regular.
Inside the men’s room, Moses flips on the overhead fluorescents. As far as roadside bathrooms go, this one is actually scrubbed clean. Darlene’s name is scratched across the service log hanging on the back of the door, and she’s already been in for the day.
He lifts the top off of the toilet and places it over the lid. Then he squats down, turns off the water, and flushes the toilet. Once the water has completely drained he pulls out a screwdriver and takes the nut out of the valve that turns the water off and on. Finally, he drops the duffle bag into the moist toilet tank and replaces the lid.
Half way done. He carefully places the screw back into the hole in the center of the lever and slides them onto the small metal ledge of the sconce over the bathroom mirror. He flips off the light and grabs the handle to leave, but just stands there a moment in the darkness contemplating. His hand’s still squeezing the door knob. It creaks as he strains the screws holding in the door.
The light comes back on, the lid comes off the toilet, and he pulls the bag back out. It drips on his clothes, further soiling his shirt. He muffles a “Goddammit,” for no one in particular.
Moses sits on the toilet’s closed lid and opens the duffle hunting around for the note he dropped in it. He fishes it out and stares at it, trying to make a decision. His jaw tightens and his oval face turns square as the muscles tighten. He crumples the note and tosses it on the floor. The duffle goes back into the toilet.
Heather is leaning against the black sedan when Moses comes back outside. “That was pretty damn rude, mister,” she says.
“Don’t lean on that,” he tells her.
Heather stays put.
“I said, not to lean on my car lady,” Moses says as he reaches inside his jacket pocket, completely aware that this will flash the gun he has holstered underneath. When she sees the gun Heather quickly regains her feet and steps away from the vehicle.
Moses flashes his badge and says, “F.B.I.”
“You ever fire that thing?” She asks.
Moses tosses a pack of matches at Heather who snatches them out of the air. She reads the label out loud, “Lone Wolf Casino & Hotel. You don’t look like the playing type.”
Darlene bangs on the window from inside the truck stop. Darlene cups her hands around her mouth and leans against the window to make sure Heather hears, “They’re done fuckin’ if you want-a get clean.”
Heather backs towards the truck stop, keeping an eye on Moses. “Looks like you could use a bath more than me,” she tells him pointing to the wet stains under his arms and in his lap from the toilet.
“Yeah, had an issue with the water in there. It’s outta commission till they get it fixed. If you wanna tell her,” he says.
He watches as Heather goes inside. It was her turn to ignore him I guess. Moses gets back in his sedan and starts the car. He fiddles with the knob on the air conditioning again, but it’s already maxed out, blowing with everything a government-issued black POS can offer. He loosens his tie and unbuttons his top button looking for a little more relief, but the sweat continues to bead up on his forehead. Sometimes it’s not the heat that makes you sweat, but something deep inside that’s trying to seep out into the light.
Whatever it is, Moses is not much of an introspective man. He wipes his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. No need in worrying about messing it more at this point. He puts the car in reverse and pulls back out onto the highway heading back in the direction he came.
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