Two Lanes Wide: A Small Teaser

 For the past few weeks or so I have been promising an update on the status of the book. Did I say weeks? One of you in particular (you know who you are) has been relentless....let me state that again.....relentless in the quest for blood!  For those of you that have not been following let me explain. The blog was spawned out of many mini tales from my road trips. Over time I expanded the tales. So much were the tales expanded that a book was in order. The book is in the 2nd rewrite. Below is a small teaser. Hope you enjoy. If all goes well the 2nd rewrite will be completed in the fall of 2011. Then off to the presses. As always feedback is encouraged.

 -Bruce
 

Walking over to the police cruiser I made the near fatal mistake of opening the front side passenger’s door. The look from the Marshall said it all. I gathered I was not welcome in the front seat. Best to retreat to the comfort and safety of the metal lined cage like back seat.

The ride over to the trailer park on the south edge of town was rather peaceful. This little town on any other occasion would have been rather quiet and serene. Not this day.  The side streets were lined with large oak trees standing tall along side a perfect sidewalk. There were dozen’s of clean and quaint houses all with freshly mowed front lawns. Not too far off one of these streets the Marshall turned onto a busted up old gravel road. So much for peace and quiet.

A half block down that road the peacefully atmosphere was shattered by a rather vicious half breed junkyard dog barking while chasing the cruiser. The Marshall stopped the cruiser as the dog was jumping up and down. The dog by this time was frothing at the mouth.

“See that dog boy?”

“Yeah.”

“Screw up in the next few minutes.......and I'll let him have your skinny ass.”

The Marshall continued with this little freaky side trip into the abyss while leaving the dog in the dust. The air was now still as we dodged each and every softball sized pot hole. Stopping at the edge of the trailer park the Marshall turned around and looked directly into my eyes. He let me know exactly how he felt about the situation at hand.

“Something about you I don’t like there boy. I can tell you’re a trouble maker.”

I started to assure the Marshall that I was in fact not the trouble maker he was so convinced I was.

“I’m just a might……”
Before I could even get the last word out of my mouth the good Marshall interrupted.

“You shut your mouth there boy………I ain’t ah finished yet. Not sure what it is about you…….. I get the strange feeling your hiding something. If n’ there’s anything ya all want to tell me……….now’s the time……giving you a get out of jail card boy.”

The next words struck a particularly eerily chord with me.

“The truth will set you free boy.”

I’d heard those very words a time or two in the past. Once the good Marshall was finished the cruiser again started to move. A few trailers later we arrived at 27 Bryer Patch Lane. A sickly looking scrawny hillbilly met us at the front door. He was swigging a beer can in one hand and a rather nasty smelling home rolled cigarette in the other.

“This him Marshall?”
“Yeah…….this here’s the troublemaker. Boy…this here’s Betsy Sue’s half brother Chester. He’ll make sure you don’t go causing any more problems."

Take good care of him Chester…..I”ll be waiting outside here boy. Now don’t you go making any more trouble there boy….….understand?”

Fact be known I was in no mood for any trouble. All I wanted was to get out of dodge. Never to return. Of all places to blow a radiator. I decided to make peace with Betsy Sue and her rather inbred hillbilly looking half brother Chester. And inbred was about the only way to describe Chester.

Poor bastard stood around five feet and some spare change. On a good day with his water logged clothes on Chester might have tipped the scales at just over a hundred and fifteen pounds. He was rather gaunt like….and he reeked of pot. The only thing more hillbilly than the size 48 belt wrapped two and a half times around his 24 inch waist was the mint smelling puddle of drool inside his lower lip. As he turned around I could see the tell tale signs of a faded circular patch on his left back pocket. Chester was Skoal man.

Once inside the trailer I could see the half empty beer cans that Chester used as a spittoon. Pure nasty. Not much to do but face the music and hope the band played a fast tune.

Walking past the black velvet shrine in the living room we paused to pay homage to Elvis. Three doors down the hall beyond the taped up broken window Chester paused outside of Betsy Sue’s window.

“You be nice boy……..else I’ll personally tar and feather your hide.”

“Best pack a lunch and bring an army Chester……might be a long day.”

It was at this point in time the familiar banjo music began to play out in my mind. Approaching the bed I could see Betsy Sue laying there in her bed. She didn’t look so good. One black eye, a swollen face, broken nose, and bandages wrapped around her head and one extra large neck collar. The bleak story of the damage unleashed from a ninety nine cent bar of wet soap on the floor of the bathtub in room number 9 at the Shady Rest Motel.