Trucker's Curse

Conversation was strained, with both of them careful to dance around any mention of what would happen next. They chatted about the weather, the scenery, how great the coffee was...then lapsed into a dreadful silence that neither of them could find a way to escape.

"This...is hard," Lisa said, meeting his eyes for a moment and then looking away, over the water.

"No regrets. Meeting you is the best thing that ever happened to me."

"That's awful! And...beautiful. Thank you." He could see she was trying not to cry.

"It's true. I wouldn't trade the last 24 hours for another 20 years of my old life. Thank you, Lisa."

With nothing left to say and only tears in their future, Jim decided it was time.

"Follow me to the rig," he commanded in a quiet but firm tone, then got up and led the way, certain that she would follow. The Curse allowed her no other option.

Once in the cabin, he directed her to sit on the bunk and remain still and silent. He put her backpack next to her on the bunk, then removed the gun from the glove compartment and slid it into the side pocket of his coat. The expression on her face went from confusion to alarm, but she remained still. He saw the look on her face and chuckled.

"Just a small change of plans," he said, then opened a cupboard and pulled out an envelope. "I've been saving for almost thirty years, with nothing much to spend the money on. So consider this bank draft to be my donation to the 'kill every Luther you can find' fund." He slid the envelope into her backpack. "There's probably not a lot of money in what you do, after all."

He knelt in front of her and caught her eyes.

"Murder is messy, Lisa. Police, forensics, lengthy investigations. You've managed to get away with it so far, but someday it's going to catch up to you. But suicide? Nice and clean. No questions, no fuss. A rubber stamp in the coroner's office and that's that."

He rose to his feet and took a step back.

"Look at me."

She tilted her chin up. Her eyes were brimming, but she could utter no sound, and Jim was grateful for that. His own emotions were strong, and close to the surface, a heartfelt goodbye would only make him weepy as well.

"When I snap my fingers, you will take your backpack and you will go into the coffee shop. You'll smile pleasantly, order some dessert, take a seat inside and eat it. You'll order a refill of coffee. You will sit and drink your coffee until six-thirty, then you'll call for a cab to take you back into town. When you do leave, you will knock over the rack of postcards just inside the door, then apologize and help them clean it up. Everyone will remember you were there. An excellent alibi. Nod your head if you understand."

She nodded miserably.

He smiled, then bent and kissed her forehead.

"Goodbye." He snapped his fingers and stood aside while she climbed down out of the truck. He sat in the driver's seat and watched her walk into the coffee shop without looking back, then he fired up the engine and slowly pulled the rig onto the road.

**

He didn't know much about guns. Didn't know the brands or the model names. Didn't know how to care for one or even how to load one. But he knew what everyone else knew - take the safety off, point the barrel, pull the trigger. For his purposes, it would be enough.

He checked his setup. The truck was on the side of the road, hazards on, reflective triangles laid out behind. The ignition was off, keys on the passenger seat. The interior lights were on to brighten the cab; dusk was creeping in and whoever discovered the scene afterward would need to be able to see what was going on. The windows were open; no point leaving an ungodly smell behind. Classic rock anthems played on the satellite radio - not too loud, but enough to provide some company in his final moments.

His suicide note was on the passenger seat, under the keys. Simple and to the point - he'd written it many times over the years in his head and knew just the tone he wanted to convey. Not bitter. Not melodramatic. Not angry at the hand that fate had dealt him. It was concise, no-nonsense and unambiguous - he was leaving this world because there was no good reason to stay.

A shame to mess up the interior of a pretty good truck, for sure, but he'd spent twenty-two hours a day inside a truck for the last twenty-seven years or so. It seemed fitting to end his life there.

He sat on his bunk and set the gun down beside him, then held up the Polaroid of his family and really looked at it for the first time in years. He'd been a happy kid in a happy family. The Curse had come in his fourteenth year and made a mess of everything, but up until that point the memories were good - Christmas mornings in front of a decorated tree, prowling the neighborhood on Halloween, sandcastles on the beach. Good times. Leaving it all behind at fifteen had been hard - really hard. Staying would have been worse. Worse for him. Worse for his mother and two sisters.

Having heard Lisa describe the type of men she'd killed, Jim knew how things might have turned out - what he might have grown into - had he taken the easy road and stayed. Oftentimes, the hard decision was the right one.

The thought of Lisa buoyed him. In a different life, she'd have been the right woman at the right time. She had a tough job. He was glad he could lighten the load for her this way.

He flipped the safety off and hefted the gun. It was heavy. Solid. Serious business. He raised the barrel to his right temple and took his time finding the best angle. He paused and took a slow, deep breath.

Jim squeezed the trigger.

**

Lisa sipped her coffee and checked the time on her phone again. Ten after six. He'd been gone for forty minutes. That was plenty of time, and she figured he'd either done it or had changed his mind and was fleeing south in his rig.

She hoped he'd gone through with it and pulled the trigger.

It would be heartbreaking to have to track him down again and put a bullet into him, but if she needed to, she would. No matter how soul-crushing it would be to knowingly kill a good man, the alternative was worse. To allow other women to suffer the way she had in Luther's power would be a greater injustice than the murder of just one man.

Death was quick. What she had endured from that sick bastard would be with her always.

She checked her phone. Six-twelve. Fuck!

She thought maybe time would speed up if she re-inventoried her backpack. A change of clothes. Wet wipes. Plastic bags. Baseball cap. Sixty-four dollars in cash. Thirty-six new doses of Lanzapine. And Jim's envelope - a bank draft for almost five hundred thousand dollars.

She stared at the figure, still not fully believing in the kind of man she'd spent the last two days with. Gentle. Earnest. Noble. The best man she'd ever known, by a wide margin. A man like that could be trusted to do the right thing.

She desperately hoped he'd pulled the trigger.

She stuffed everything back into her pack. Six-eighteen. Almost time to go. She took another sip. Then she heard it.

The roar of the engine. The rig. Loud and lumbering, rolling to a halt outside the coffee shop in the twilight.

She began to quiver. Wanted to get up and run to the door, but the damn Curse kept her seated. She could only await him.

The vehicle door slammed. Heavy footfalls approached on the gravel parking lot. She could make him out through the window. Already she recognized his outline and his gait.

He opened the door, stepped inside and nodded politely to the young man behind the counter. Jim walked over to stand in front of her table. She took another sip of coffee. Her muscles tensed.

"It's empty!" he said, his tone outraged.

Lisa reached into her coat pocket and her hand closed over the bullets she'd removed from the clip that morning while he was in the bank. She felt she could trust him. She'd gambled that he was the kind of man who would rather die than betray his moral code. The kind of man she could trust with her heart, with her mission. But the stakes were so high and she needed to know for certain. Would he allow her to pull the trigger, when the time came?

He'd pulled it himself. Even better.

She smiled up at him, glad for his company. He grumbled, threw himself into the chair opposite her and signaled the counter for a cup of coffee. The future held promise. She and Jim had a lot to discuss.