‘The Real Folk Blues’

Photographer of “Desert Gold Mine” Deanna Davidson has a Bachelor's Degree in Creative Writing from California State University, Northridge. She writes dystopian, fantasy, and horror short stories, as well as poetry. She can often be found with a book in one hand and coffee in the other.

The Real Folk Blues

Jeremy’s truck drove on through the very early Florida morning, speeding through the spent-up asphalt of the highway. The sun had not yet risen, the air was damp and cold, and a small sheet of fog stretched through the dark road. He was tapping his foot to showtunes, his favorite kind of music to hear during these long transport jobs.

There wasn’t much scenery to admire. Trees and encroaching swamp to one side of him, and empty gas stations to the other. The US-27 was calm, but it involved stopping at the occasional red light. He didn’t mind. He was in no hurry, he had plenty of songs to listen to on the way to his destination. Still half a day to go before he had to call the warehouse for his routine check-in.

Jeremy noticed the yellow light off in the short distance and slowed down his vehicle. The truck swung back and forth slightly on stopping, making a couple of awkward sounds that gave away its age. He knew how old the thing was, to him the massive rig rode atop the sheet of fog like an abandoned ship in the middle of the sea. But he knew its quirks and how to ignore them. He knew how to keep the rear doors closed during a trip, despite the lock being broken. He knew how to stop it from swinging left and right during windy nights. And he knew how to finish a half-eaten sandwich with one hand while he drives through the dead of night.

He looked at the loosely wrapped chicken sandwich that was resting on his dashboard, and as soon as he shifted to pick it up, he felt the loud shaking of his passenger door being swung open.

He reflexively went to hit the gas pedal but was stopped by the feeling of cold pressing down on his cheek. He tilted his eyes slowly to see the shade of a grim man staring at him with a gun in his hand. Jeremy couldn’t see well in the darkness, but the light in the man’s eyes looked wavering and tired.

“There’s no need to do anything dumb,” said the man with the gun. “We just need you to drive us somewhere.”

Behind him another man jumped in and hopped onto the backseat. Jeremy couldn’t tell if he was excited or cold, his legs were shaking and one of his hands was tightly grasping the car seat. He looked at his other hand and noticed that he was also holding a gun.

Their faces were now lit by the green shine of the spotlight. The man in the passenger seat was clean-shaven.

“Come now, we don’t have all night,” said the clean-shaven man. He closed the door and adjusted himself next to Jeremy, his gun still firmly pointing at the temple. “Just keep driving, and nothing bad has to happen.”

Jeremy’s shaky hand took hold of the wheel once again. He reflexively looked at his mirrors, and noticed a silhouette obscured by the nearby streetlight. It was a smaller person than the other two, with long hair and a backpack in their hand. Jeremy stared as he saw the figure force the rear door open and slip inside.

“We don’t have all night.” said the man. His voice was stern but carried the hurry of desperation.

“Hey, what the hell are you listenin’ to?” Said the man in the back, giggling to himself.

“That doesn’t matter,” said the one in the front, smacking his partner on his forehead.

He leaned forward onto the console and turned the music off, then turned to Jeremy once again.

“Drive.”

Jeremy took a deep breath and hit the pedal on the truck. The green light escaped from their faces, and soon they were all in shadows again.

Jeremy tried to keep steady as he drove, his hands firmly on the wheel so his passengers wouldn’t think he was trying anything. He felt himself breathing heavily, as they passed through the last gas stations on this side of the route.

Now for miles all they would see is trees and swamps on one side, and empty grass fields on the other. Occasional streetlights, some of them broken, giving an orange tinge to the foggy darkness they were penetrating.

The silence was awkward, but what was even more awkward was the sounds that broke the silence. The man in the back shifted and shook, constantly looking at the other two and out of the windows on the sides. He seemed worried about something, if not worried about everything.

“S-so, uh,” said Jeremy, nervous, “what are you guys’ names? I’m Jeremy.”

The other two seemed stunned, staring at him as he kept on driving.

“What the hell do you want to know our names for?” Said the man in the back.

“Cool it,” said the one up front. “You can call me Ed, and you can call him Gavin. That’s all you need to know.”

The man seemed almost sorry as he spoke, with his gun still firmly in Jeremy’s direction. He was mid slouch in his seat, almost as if forcing himself to relax.

“So, uh, Ed. What are you doing with my truck?”

Ed shot him a sharp look from his seat. “We just want to get some things off and drive away. We’re not going to hurt you, and all you have to do is go where I tell you to.”

“And that is?”

“A warehouse, dirty and abandoned. You get to it by an off-road path just up ahead. Just keep your eyes open and I’ll tell you.”

A metallic sound echoed from the truck’s cargo hold.

“What was that?” Gavin said as he shot up from his seat.

“A bump,” Ed said, turning to Gavin. “And stop shaking all over back there, you’re driving me nuts.”

Jeremy took deep breaths. That was no bump, someone was messing with the cargo back there. That’s not exactly safe, he thought.

The sun had started rising, and Jeremy’s fingers had started aching. He held on tight to his wheel.

He glanced to his left and noticed Ed’s gun no longer pointing right at his head but drooping down. His fingers must be aching too.

“It’s near here,” Ed said using his other hand to point forward into the almost-pink horizon. “You’re gonna take this truck into a side road between some trees.”

“Aye, cap’n.” Jeremy replied, adjusting his grip on the wheel. His eye glanced at his side-view mirror, looking at the back of the truck.

He glanced at Gavin, pressing his cheek against the window to see if there was anyone on their trail.

Jeremy took a deep breath, feeling the air colder than it was before. His mind lingered on the girl.

This was a very old truck. The locks barely worked, the door at the back swung open sometimes, and the engine needed to be checked on at the end of very trip. But it was Jeremy’s truck, and he knew every counterbalance as well as every patch of asphalt on his route. And he could feel the most miniscule shift in its weight and sense every sound reverberating through the metal. That girl was doing something back there.

He had thought that perhaps she was working with them. But slowly, box-by-box, he felt the kid going through the pallets and packages that were tightly stored, holding one another in place. The two guys seemed to be so worried about each other, but they had not even once tried to check in with their partner in the back. They must not know.

Jeremy’s hands trembled, as he stared at the off-road opening appearing on the horizon.

“There, that one.” Ed pointed at it with his free hand.

What would they do once they found that kid in the back? Would they treat her with the same calmness that they had treated him? Would they fire away out of shock? Or-

Jeremy jolted the wheel slightly to the right, tilting the truck for a second and making it weave back and forth as it returned to balance. He heard Ed and Gavin’s angry voices; he drowned them out as he felt the movements coming from the back.

Three of the pallets are loose. He tightened his grip, worsening the aching.

He glanced at the entrance to the off-road path, a patch of traveled dirt in between two trees. He thought about his own safety, about his trip so far. He thought about how the two men seemed to be on edge with each other; he thought about Gavin’s cheek pressed against the window on the lookout for awaiting cops. And finally, he thought about how they might react if they thought one had betrayed the other.

The long, heavy, and rusted truck approached the entrance, and Jeremy slowed down slowly at the approach. Ed held his gun tightly pointed at Jeremy, his finger off the trigger, while Gavin stared at the both of them while holding his breath. They were on the lookout for any observers, for anyone who might see a giant truck try to weave into a dirt road. But Jeremy kept thinking.

He thought about how heavy the pallets were. About how many packages were stored back there, tied to prevent them from crashing into each other. He thought about the silhouette of the kid seen through his side-view mirror.

His mind pictured his home. His soft and comfortable bed, his small black cat, the feeling of warm coffee easing his aching fingers.

Jeremy put his foot on the gas pedal and violently turned the wheel of the truck as they approached the dirt road. The truck shook and tilted as it went off the asphalt, almost bouncing up and down as they tore up the dirt in between the trees. He noticed Ed and Gavin being jerked around, jumping with the motions of the truck. Jeremy stayed still on his seat, heavy and firm.

Loud crashing reverberated from the back. Jeremy pretended to accidentally lean forward into the horn as he felt the pallets jump and fall. He could feel the weight shifting and the towers of packages tumbling. He did not want to hear a sound of whatever was happening in the back of the truck.

“What the hell was that man? What if someone heard us?” Gavin yelled at him from the backseat.

“Relax, dude. It’s fine, there’s no one around,” Ed said, pushing Gavin down into his seat and then turning to look at Jeremy. “It’s fine, right?”

Jeremy regained his posture and waited to sense if there was any movement from the back of the truck.

“It’s fine,” he said, calmer than before.

They drove onwards through the trees and the wet ground. The fog was lighter around the trees, and the morning sun started to penetrate the woods with its blinding rays.

While going over a mound of dirt, he could feel boxes sliding in the back.

As they cleared another pair of trees he saw it. A rusty, abandoned shell of a warehouse overtaken by grass and moss, with a van parked next to it.

Jeremy brought his truck to a slow stop, so as to not disturb the back. And with the turning of the engine he realized how heavy he was breathing. Sweat was pooling on his loose shirt. The air was still so cold and damp.

“Come now Jeremy, get off,” said Ed.

And Jeremy followed.

Ed took Jeremy over to a light post right in front of the warehouse. It was brown and beaten down by nature, and suddenly his trusty truck didn’t look so old. He turned to see Gavin pull some rope from the back of the parked van.

“Listen, I don’t like doing this either, but we just have to make sure that you stay put.” Ed said, looking into Jeremy’s eyes.

“I believe that you don’t like doing it.”

Ed forced a slight smile, but his eyes betrayed him. He grabbed the rope from his friend and tied Jeremy’s hands to the pole.

“Don’t worry, people will find you soon enough. They’ll notice your truck never arrived and come looking for you; this place isn’t so hard to find.”

Jeremy nodded. His eyes fixated on the back of his own truck.

He saw the two men step over to the back of the truck. They took one of the handles of the rear doors, and with a look at each other they swung the doors open.

Jeremy slouched downward. He looked down and noticed that the fog had returned, despite the sun beaming down on the clearing. He kept his head down, ignoring the screams coming from the two men.

Ed turned to Jeremy; his face darkened by the sunlight shining behind him.

“What is this?” He said.

“Yeah,” Gavin interrupted, pushing Ed aside and approaching Jeremy. “What the hell did you do?”

Jeremy slowly lifted up his head and looked Gavin in the eyes.

“Like you don’t know.” He replied, his eyes shielded from the sun by Gavin’s shadow.

Gavin stepped back in confusion and turned to see his partner standing at a distance, gun still firmly in his hand.

Jeremy saw them both. Gavin’s hand shaking, hovering over the pocket where he had stowed his gun. Their faces in profiled silhouettes. Ed’s frame as still as the trees that surrounded him.

“A girl,” said Ed. His voice quivered slightly, as if it was resisting his impulse to speak.

Gavin was breathing heavily.

Ed gulped before opening his mouth.

“We can’t go through this again,” he said.

Jeremy closed his eyes, and after a few seconds the sound of a single gunshot drowned out everything else.

Then came the soft thud of a man falling down onto the grass, followed by the feeling of the sun warming his face with its rays. He kept his eyes closed. He heard the sound of staggered footsteps stepping in wet dirt, then the creak of a car door opening and closing, of an engine turning on, and of tires tearing up grass and dirt as it went away.

When he finally opened his eyes, Jeremy saw a white blanket of fog. The sun-bathed silhouette of a large truck, and the steady drops of liquid that fell slowly from its back. He sighed, relaxing his body, and sinking back against the metal pole to which he was tied.

Jeremy smiled. During the afternoon the warehouse would surely take notice of his missed checkup and contact the police. They’d find his truck open, with some poor girl inside. Tire marks on the muddy grass from a different car, the body of a betrayed felon, and him chained down unable to do anything.

He sighed, thinking of how tiring they were; the things a guy has to do to keep an honest living.

Jose Norono is an emerging Venezuelan writer who recently graduated from Florida International University's MFA in Creative Writing program. He enjoys writing in all its forms, having experience with Poetry, Fiction, Stage writing and Non-Fiction. He is entranced by the whimsy inherent to all language, and in finding the comedy hidden behind all human interactions.