Author, Roger Dean Kiser

Third section of THE VISITOR

He grabbed the floor ashtray full of pennies and headed to the front door. I ran after him and opened the door for us to leave.
When we entered our room, he picked up the telephone and called the office asking if they had a large plastic bag. Several minutes later, a maid brought him a five-gallon Ziplock bag. He sat down on his bed and began placing the pennies from the can into the bag.
“What you going to do with all those damn pennies?”
Out of breath he said, “I’ll need them later on down the road.”
Everything went well, and we both got a good night’s sleep. Thankfully, there was a free breakfast, and I managed to escape without any cost, flat tires, or blood lost. The weather was looking as if we were about to get a severe rainstorm. My guest told me we had best speed up to beat the storm or we might be stuck in this area for at least a day. I put the pedal to the metal, and off we went.
“You might best slow down a little bit with this heavy rain.”
“I can manage the driving part of this trip.”
First came the drizzle, and then came the downpour. The rain was so bad that I could barely see through the windshield. The wipers went so fast it distorted my eyesight. It was then that a police car with blaring siren and flashing red and blue lights came up directly behind me. I continued to drive several hundred yards before pulling beneath a freeway overpass to get out of the rain.
“What do we have here a speed demon?” said the officer as he approached my car.
I looked over at my passenger.
“You have got to be kidding me. NOT AGAIN.”
As the officer bent down, without looking at him I said, “How are you today, Officer Carter?”
“I am fine. Didn’t I just give you two tickets a hundred miles back?”
“That you did. I am sure you are supporting your community with as many tickets per day as you can write.”
“How about you give me my ticket, and I will wait right here. This fine gentleman next to me will gladly take you out for a lobster and steak dinner, and he will be glad to pay.”
“Are you serious?” said Officer Carter.
“I am very serious.”
“Well, I am off in twenty minutes. I will meet you fellows at the Red Lobster several miles up the road.”
“Sounds good, Officer.”
I received my ticket, and Officer Carter returned to his police car and sped away.
I looked over at my guest and said, “Can you please do me a special favor?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Please, just use your wildest imagination.”
I decided not to meet Officer Carter at the Red Lobster as I might end up in jail. Maybe even have to appear in front of some strange form resembling Judge Taylor.
“Hey, with all that money you have stuffed in your pocket, do you think you could help pay for some damn gas this round?”
All at once I heard a loud bang from the back of the car. Flap, flap, flap went the sound.
“Looks like you have another flat tire problem.”
I pulled over to the side. We both got out and looked at the back passenger tire. Sure enough, it was totally flat, and half the tread was missing.
“Wasn’t that a new tire?” I asked him.
“Well, sort of. It was a retread.”
“Jesus, you have hundreds and hundreds of dollars in your pocket, and you buy a damn retread?”
“Absolutely, that why I still have hundreds of dollars in my pocket.”
“What do we do now?” I asked him.
“I guess we try to call a wrecker.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the oldest flip phone I had ever seen.
“Does that thing still work?”
“I hope so. I made my own sim card, so my service is free.”
“You know that is stealing.”
“You are correct, my friend.” Then he placed the cellphone back in his pocket.
“Okay, can I use it for free just this one time?”
“You know that will make you a thief.”
“Give me the damn phone.”
I flipped the small phone open, but there was no signal.
“No damn signal.” I responded.
“Don’t worry about that,” he said, as he grabbed the phone from my hand and placed it in his back pocket.
“AND?” I blurted out.
“Don’t worry, I called a wrecker about an hour ago.”
“But we did not have a flat tire then.”
“I know that, but you can’t trust them damn retreads.”
Oh, the sheriff who was interested in your 1957 Chevrolet called me yesterday and wondered if you might consider trading your classic Chevy for a 1957 Ford Edsel. He states it only has eleven miles on it.
“You have got to be kidding me. That damn car was the ugliest car ever produced. In fact, when the first one rolled off the assembly line for the press to view, the car kept running after the driver turned the key off. They opened the hood and pulled off several wires, but the darn thing kept on running. As they stood around trying to figure it out, the engine began smoking and still did not shut off. After the press left in disgust, they brought in three priests to perform an exorcism. Even then the damn thing kept chocking, coughing, and sputtering. Two days later, it finally died when the military ran a tank over it. They wanted to have the car crushed but no state would take the vehicle. Finally, Arizona stepped up and said they would crush the car, but it had to be hauled into the State under the cover of darkness. After it was crushed, it was finally buried several miles out in the desert. Later they went back out to check the area and found everything within a hundred yards of the burial site had turned a dark gray and had collapsed almost four feet. What they found unusual was that all the tumbleweed which had been dead since the 1920’s had turned green, and red and blue flowers were growing on them.
Several minutes later, a wrecker came across the hill and pulled up behind us. A large woman opened the wrecker door and hit the ground with all three hundred pounds of her large body.
“Looks like she could pick up the car without a damn jack and change the tire.” he whispered to me.
“Please been good. We are at her mercy right now,” I responded.
As she approached us, she stopped and looked over the top of her glasses.
“I see that look fellows. I know I am a large woman. I am on a strict diet of eating only diet cookies,” she stated.
“Damn, how many cases did you eat today?” my friend asked her.
“Jesus. Don’t you ever stop?” I asked him.
She said not a word as she took off the tire, took it back to her wrecker and somehow repaired the original tire from my trunk. After everything was completed, she walked up and handed me a bill.
“That will be eighty-six dollars cash,” she stated.
I looked over at my partner and asked, “Do you mind?” as I handed him the bill.
He reached in his pocket and handed her a one-hundred-dollar bill.
“I don’t have change for that,” she told him. “Don’t you have the exact change?”
He placed the large bill back into his pocket and walked to the passenger side of our car. Reaching under the seat, he pulled out a five-gallon Ziplock bag full of pennies which must have weighed fifty pounds. He dumped the pennies onto the roadway, sat down on the ground, and began putting them in piles of twenty-five.
“You have got to be kidding,” she roared.
“Well, hell bells woman you said exact change.”
“Do you always have to act like an idiot?” I asked him.
“Just being human, if you know what I mean.”
“Forget it fellows,” she said, as she threw her hands in the air and walked back to her wrecker. As she drove away, she gave us the middle finger and off she went.
“I think that was meant for you,” I told him. “Is that all you do is go around screwing people?”
“I told you; I am just being human.”
“Don’t you think it was wrong to not pay her?”
“Don’t worry about it, I paid her.”
“What did you do this time? Put several wild racoons behind her seat?”
“No, I did not. I ordered her a thigh-master from Amazon.com.”
‘Why would you do that?”
“I guess because she does not seem to have buns of steel, like Suzanne Summers on television.
“You sure can be hateful sometimes. Pick up all them damn pennies and let’s get moving.”
“What’s wrong with being truthful?”
“Well, sometimes it is best to keep one’s mouth shut.”
“Really?”
We headed westward into the setting sun. I did not feel like sleeping, eating, drinking or anything else for fear of what might happen next. An hour or so later, I began to feel a little hungry but pondered whether to stop.
“Do you think we can stop and get a bite to eat without hurting anyone’s feelings or embarrassing anyone?”
“I guess as long as no one disrespects us.”

My wife and I are almost eighty and our romantic love life has fallen to the side. I did ask her to pick one day to be romantic and I would abide by her decision. She picked leap year. Today she told me she has a headache. THAT’S A JOKE MY FRIENDS. (LOL)

Next section of "THE VISITOR

I threw him the keys and I stood there watching.
“I cannot do this with someone watching me. That bugs me. So please go sit down in the car.
I did not move a muscle.
“Well, I guess we will have to stay here until we die,” he stated as he sat down on the ground.
“Do you know who I am?” I asked.
“I know exactly who you are.”
“And just who am I?”
“You are you, and I can be anyone.”
“You are a real funny fellow,” I blurted out.
In a voice like comedian Paul Lynde, he yelled out, “What’s the matter with kids today?”
“Oh, a real piece of work you are. Just a real riot.”
I turned and walked to the driver’s side and got in, rubbing my face with both hands.
The passenger door opened, and he slid in. “All fixed. Let us hit the road.”
“I am not going to drop you off in the middle of nowhere but when we hit the next town it might be best if you just skedaddle.”
He said not a word.
I pushed the gas pedal to the floor, and with tires spinning and smoke blazing, off we went.
The next town was some fifty miles ahead, and I could not wait to dump this character off at some late-night diner.
“Have you driven this route?” he asked me.
“Well, I have been through here numerous times. Several times I almost wrecked as there were no traffic lights. The local people drive like idiots.”
“Maybe they have a traffic signal now. Things are modernized now, you know.”
“I doubt it. These are what we consider Hicks in the sticks.”
All remained silent for the next twenty miles.
“You asleep?” I asked him.
“No. But I have a big surprise for you.”
I pushed the gas pedal even harder to get to the next town as quickly as possible. Sixty, seventy, and at times seventy-five miles per hour. That seemed an excellent speed for me to get rid of my unwanted guest.
I could not remember the name of the small town we were about to enter. One gas station, several small markets, and a run-down motel. As I rounded the last corner, the town was directly ahead of me.
“See! I told you no traffic lights in Hicksville.”
Seeing nothing but darkness ahead and no vehicles in sight, I did not lower my speed. All at once, a large, red traffic light appeared fifty feet in front of me. I hit the brakes and slid several hundred feet past the red light.
“I did not see no damn traffic light.”
“I told you before; it is your eyesight. You need to get that checked.”
From out of nowhere, a police car with full lights and siren came screeching around the corner and pulled up behind me.
“Well, crap,” I said under my breath.
The officer tapped on my window asking me to roll it down. Slowly, I rolled it down and looked up at the officer.
“What is it we have here, a Speed Demon,” said the officer, holding out his ticket book.
“When did you fellows put in a traffic light?” I asked him.
“Not sure. I have been on vacation. Just got back today. Duty calls, you know.”
“Just checking,” I replied.
The officer bent down to look at my passenger and loudly blurted out, “Hey, Sheriff.”
I looked over, and there sat a strange fellow wearing a sheriff’s uniform.
“Sheriff Taylor, what the hell you are doing riding with a damn Speed Demon?”
“Well, Officer Carter, I was trying to talk this fellow into selling me this beautiful Chevrolet. It is a classic, you know.”
“I guess I will cut you a break since the Sheriff is with you. Have a good night, sir.”
“Officer Carter.”
“Yes, Sheriff?”
“Did this fellow break the law, yes or no?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then do your job and do it correctly.”
The officer opened his pad and wrote me tickets for running a red light and for speeding.
“I could have had him take you to the county jail, you know.”
When I looked over to my right the sheriff was gone, and my strange fellow was sitting in the seat.
“WHO ARE YOU?” I screamed.
“I told you I had a surprise for you.”
“Are you from another planet or something?”
“Well, you could say that. I worked for Planet Fitness for several weeks last November.”
“I think it best you get out.”
I got out of the car, walked to the passenger side, and opened the door for him to get out.
“You had best pay those two tickets or I’ll have to put a warrant out on you.”
I bent down to look and there sat a heavy-set man dressed in a judge’s black robe.
“Judge Taylor here,” he responded.
“What the fu….”
“Watch your language there, sonny boy.”
“Who in the hell are you?” I asked again.
“I am me and you are you. Does that answer your question?”
“How in the hell can you change like that?”
“I do not change into anything. It is your riding companion, I guess your friend, who has that power. Not I,” said the judge.
“Are these two tickets real?”
“Well, do not pay them and we will see. Of course, we really need the money so our town can install our first traffic light.”
I looked behind me and sure enough there was no traffic light to be seen anywhere.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“Are you really a legal judge?”
“Not really. Judge Taylor is home in bed. He goes to bed early and gets up at sunrise.
“Then who are you?”
“I have told you many times. I am me and you are you.”
“By any chance are you related to David Copperfield or any of those strange fellows?”
“I did meet Copperfield some years back. After I got done with him, he was never the same. Scared the hell out of that fellow. Have you noticed he has sort of disappeared lately? Excuse the pun.”
“It appears to me you have me captured. So, what is on the agenda?”
“The word’s around that you are heading to California, Modesto area I hear, so let us see what lies in store down the road.”
“I would dump your strange ass right here, but I have the feeling I would end up with four flat tires.”
“You might be right.”
Off we headed down the I-10 Freeway. For some strange reason I was not afraid of this unusual fellow. If he was out to hurt me, he would have done so by now.
“You think we could stop for a bit to eat without any bull crap?” I asked.
“I don’t mind, as long as they have a large stalk of celery and a few carrots.”
I said not a word, because nothing with this fellow made sense whatsoever. Although, I could tell that something inside of me was about to explode. Then it exploded out of nowhere.
“WHAT’S WITH THE DAMN CARROTS AND CELERY?”
Gritting my teeth, I je**ed my head to the right, and there he sat holding three baby rabbits on his lap.
“Cute little boogers, don’t you think?”
“What is with you? What is next? A camel? Or a giraffe?”
“Don’t tempt me,” he said, smiling.
Several miles down the road there was a large sign saying the Red Lobster was ten miles ahead.
“Red Lobster sound okay to you?”
“Sounds good. And I will pay, so let’s do it up right.”
This was my chance to get even with this fellow. I was going to eat as I never had, and this fellow was going to finally pay and pay big time!
We pulled into the parking lot, and he asked me to pull into the handicap parking space.
“Why? You are not disabled.”
“Please, just park in the wheelchair area near the front door.”
I pulled into the handicap parking space next to the front entrance. I got out of the car, and he came walking around the car on crutches. Shaking my head, I said not a word.
We made our way inside and stood waiting for them to seat us. As one of the waitresses walked by, he began to moan as if he were in pain and began fumbling back and forth on his crutches.
“It’s excruciating,” he told the waitress.
“Can we please get these two gentlemen seated immediately,’ she ordered.
Several servers ran over, along with the manager, and assisted my so-called partner to a table and sat him down. Acting as if he were out of breath and almost ready to die, he thanked them and slowly laid his head down on the table’s edge.
I sat down across from him. I could hardly wait to do my thing. Now he was going to get his due!
“You said you are going to pay?”
“You got it.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, but can I see some money first?”
He reached into his front pocket and pulled out a large wad of one-hundred-dollar bills.
“You fellows ready to order,” asked the elderly waitress as she walked up to our table.
“Do you mind if I order for us?” I asked him.
“Do it,” he replied.
“Well. Let us see now. We will start with a large salad followed by two lobsters each, then two of the largest steaks you have. We will follow that with dessert.”
“Anything to drink?”
“Iced tea, lemonade, six Dr. Peppers, and five coffees would be nice.”
For an hour and a half, we sat eating as if we were the Kings of Egypt. I ordered and reordered, over and over. Even if I could not eat another bite, I continued to reorder, determined this fellow was going to get his due.
After our meal and several cups of coffee, the waitress brought the bill and laid it on the table next to me. I picked up the bill and smiled when the total read three hundred sixty-one dollars and forty-six cents. Smiling again, I handed the bill to my buddy from hell. He picked it up, nodded his head toward me with an unusual, pleasant smile.
We got up and walked to the cash register. The manager walked over and took the bill in hand and rang up the total.
“Two cups of coffee and one wheat toast. I am sorry about the celery stalk, we were out. That will be two dollars and seventy-nine cents,” he stated.
I reached out, grabbed the bill from his hand, and looked at the total. Sure enough, it was exactly the amount the manager had stated.
The fellow pulled out his wallet and took out three one-dollar bills and handed them to the manager.
“Keep the change,” he told him. “Any chance you might have ten bananas?”
“I think I can do that.”
“And please put them in a brown paper bag so they will stay fresh,’ he told the manager.
He took the bananas and crutched his way to the front door once again as if he were in excruciating pain. As we stepped into the parking lot, he tucked the two crutches under his arm and walked normally to the car.
“I don’t know how you did that, but that was stealing.”
“We did not steal anything. Everything we ate is still in their kitchen.”
“But what about the elderly waitress? You did not even tip her.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“For your information I paid off her car, paid her mortgage up for three years, and increased her life insurance so her grandkids can go to college. So, put that in your pipe and smoke it.”
What could I say? Nothing could possibly surprise me about this strange man. Even as a Secret Service agent I had never witnessed anything like this, and I had witnessed every trick in the book. But I may have missed this one.
I had no idea what to think, and I had absolutely no words to express how I felt about what had happened over the last few days.
“You want to save these two tickets,” he asked me,” as he picked them up off the dashboard.
“You tell me. Do I have to pay them or not?”
“Well, since you asked, you will be getting a refund.”
“How the hell can I get a refund from two damn tickets?”
You know the statement, “You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I have heard that many times in my profession.”
“Well, I find that phrase stupid.”
“I guess we can agree on that.”
“Now about that refund…”
“Your ticket fines were one-hundred and fifty-seven dollars and seventy-five dollars. That is a total of $232.00. I paid the tickets and made a mistake on your personal check. I wrote $2,320.00. So, you will be getting a refund in the mail.
“How do they know my address or where I will be?”
“The check will be post-office under your name in ‘media mail’.”
“What the hell is media mail?”
“How the hell should I know? I don’t work at the damn post office.”
“Are you going to stay with me all the way to Modesto?”
“Actually, I want you to drop me off in the middle of the desert.”
“You are joking right?”
“No, I am not. I will be picked up there.”
We drove for hours. I tried to pick his mind to see what I could find out about this strange and unusual fellow, but I got no-where.
I noticed something strange about this fellow. He never seemed to have to go to the bathroom.
“I must use the bathroom so I will stop at the next restaurant. Besides, I could use a cup of coffee. What about you?”
“Nothing for me.”
Seeing a Denny’s on the right, I pulled up in front of the door and parked in a handicap parking space.
“What the hell are you doing?” he replied. “It is illegal to park in a handicap space when you are not handicapped. You are a very unthoughtful individual,” he scolded.
I backed up and parked in a regular parking space then turned off the key. I sat there waiting to see what he would do next.
“No crutches this time?” I asked.
“I was healed several miles back. You know what I mean?”
“You know, you are a real riot,” I responded.
We entered Denny’s where we walked to the restroom. He stood, arms folded, watching me at the urinal.
“Do you mind?” I stated.
“No, I don’t mind.”
I completed my task, and we walked back out. The hostess seated us in a booth near the back. I ordered coffee, and he did not order anything.
“You know that trick you played on me at the Lobster Trap?”
“You mean the Red Lobster?”
“Yeah, whatever. However, you are going to get yours.”
“Whatever,” I replied.
After several cups of coffee, I waived for the waitress to bring my bill. She walked over and laid the bill next to my partner.
“That is his bill. Not mine.” He told her.
I picked up the bill, and we walked to the cash register. The waitress rang up the order.
“That will be $361.46 cents.”
I jumped back and looked at my smiling friend.
“You going to pay the bill?” he asked me.
“When did Denny’s start serving lobsters, steak, and salad.” I asked the waitress.
“I do not know, but that is what it says on your bill. So, pay up, I am busy.”
“I do not have that much money. Can you take care of this?” I asked my companion.
“I guess,” he stated, pulling out a wad of hundred-dollar bills from his front pocket.
He handed her four one-hundred-dollar bills. She made change and handed it to him. He stuck the money and change in his left pocket.
“Are you going to give her a tip?” I asked him.
“I did not order anything. You tip her.”
I pulled out my wallet and gave the waitress a five-dollar tip.
“Very funny,” I told him as we walked out the door.
“You know you have to pay me back.”
“You know I do not have any money?”
“I mean when you get your Media Mail money.”
“Did you pay off the waitress’s car or send her grandkids to college. Anything crazy like that.”
Absolutely not. She was a little rude, so I left two wild racoons in the back seat of her automobile.
“You know she told the customers sitting behind us that she was a large supporter of the local animal shelter. She loves animals.
“Well, that should put a stop to that.”
“You don’t like animals?”
“Well, of course I do. You want to see a few?”
“No thanks.”
I knew we were only a day or two’s drive before we hit the desert. This being summer the desert was extremely hot, even at night. I did not know if he was joking or not. I did not know what to believe anymore. By the time this was over I did not know if I would be a millionaire, deeply in debt, or dead. It would not have been too bad if he wanted to send my grandkids to college. I was a little afraid to tell him I did not have any grandkids. He was liable to make me some and then I would discover I was seven years behind in my child support.
Another fifty miles behind us and very little was spoken. I found it strange that this fellow never got tired, and he never slept, not even for a doze.
“How about stopping for the night,” I asked him.
“Sounds good. There is an Indian casino several miles ahead. Can we stop there for the night?”
The look of a Red Roof Inn was a pleasant site off in the distance across the street from the casino.
“This looks as good as any. Generally, I stay at the Motel Six because they keep a light on for me,” I told him.
“Why would they keep a light on for you. They would not even know you were coming.”
“That’s just a saying.”
“Then stop saying it.”
“I hope the Red Roof Inn has a free breakfast.”
“Why is that?”
“I cannot afford another monetary chance on feeding you.”
We checked in to the motel then headed to the casino.
“Help me look for the Texas Tea penny slot machine,” he asked.
Within a minute of searching, we found several of the machines.
“You got a penny on you?” he asked.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out all my change. I handed him a penny. He walked down the line of penny machines one after another, and then he turned around and walked down the line of machines again, inspecting each one carefully.
He pointed at one machine, raised the penny high in the air and slowly brought his hand down to the coin slot and dropped the penny into the slot. I jumped back as the machine seemed to explode with bells, whistles and hundreds of various colored lights and sounds never heard by humanity. Hundreds of pennies began shooting from the machine. Within seconds, the silver metal tray was full of pennies, and they then began flowing over onto the floor. At first it was hundreds of pennies, but then it must have become thousands as our feet became covered with pounds of copper pennies.
Five men wearing black suits came running over to the machine, as well as two security guards. My new partner grabbed a metal floor ashtray and began filling it with pennies. The machine kept spitting out hundreds of pennies. The machine became quiet for several seconds before a small fire shot out of the top, followed by a loud belching sound. Then everything stopped. The floor area around the machine was covered in thousands upon thousands of pennies.
My companion walked up to another machine, waved at me, and asked, “Have you got another penny?”
I pointed down to the floor and said, “Can you bend over?”
“Can we just get the hell out of here?” I yelled at him.

My latest fiction book. Many say it is my best serious comedy.

THE VISITOR

My twenty-four years in the Secret Service had come to an end. I did not feel I was ready for retirement, but I guess the Service felt the time had come for new young blood. Someone whose joints did not creak when they walked into the Washington D.C. Office each morning. Maybe it was the beard? My superiors had told me many times that I was lucky former F.B.I. Director Hoover was dead, or he would have forced me out of the service for not shaving. I knew Edgar held a lot of power, but I had no idea that power was so great that it had also spread to the Secret Service as well. That overweight fellow must have had hidden files on everyone in Washington D.C.
Early the next morning, I traveled from Washington D.C. to my home in Brunswick, Georgia. I pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex and parked in my private space directly in front of my apartment. I sat in the car for several minutes staring at the faded green door of my small home. The wife had been deceased now for some fifteen years, and the kids were grown with children of their own. Shaking my head, I opened the car door and stepped out into the cool night air. Taking several deep breaths, I took out my keys and walked to the apartment door, turned the key, and opened the door to total darkness. As I switched on the light nothing happened. I leaned backwards and saw lights were on in the apartments next door to me. I closed and locked the door then walked back to the car. “Maybe I forgot to pay the electric bill,” I said softly, as I hit the steering wheel. “Motel, motel, motel,” I thought to myself.
Motel 6 was just several blocks away. After checking in, I got a bite to eat at Denny’s and then retired for the night. I laid in bed wondering what retirement was like and just how a sixty-four-year-old man would manage it. No family, no job, and plenty of money in my retirement account. “What good is money with nothing to do,” I thought.
Early the next morning, I contacted the electric company and had the electricity restored. For the next few days, I sat in my apartment twiddling my thumbs. I do not remember leaving the apartment for three days, not even to eat.
After falling asleep, I slept for sixteen hours straight. Upon waking, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and sat down for a cup of morning coffee. There was very little doubt that I was slowly seeping into a depressive state of mind. It was then I decided it would be best for me to head back to my old stomping grounds in Modesto, California: the land of my youth. The foothills and the California Delta where I fished for striped bass my entire childhood.
“Yes,” I said aloud. Up I jumped and headed to the bedroom to gather a few items, as well as an old football I had been given while attending Downey High School.
“Yes,” I said again. “Let’s go get some youth back that I lost somewhere along the way.” With a big smile on my face, I laughed and headed out the door. I stopped, turned around, grabbed a large piece of paper, and with a black marker, I wrote a note which I placed on the front of my apartment door. It read: Everything inside is free. Take what you want. I am out of here. I then ran to my 1957 Chevrolet and climbed inside. I sat there for several minutes staring at the note on the green door and felt happy about leaving this life behind. No more police work, no more crooked cops, and no more crying, innocent criminals. I had had my fill of what I had seen and experienced over the past twenty-four years. So, over the hill something had to be better and more exciting. I just had to find it.
Within minutes, I was back on the 95-freeway heading toward Jacksonville, Florida. Within 45 minutes, I would be on the I-10-freeway heading to my beloved hometown. My heart filled with much joy as I began to wonder what life held in store for me.
Florida, Alabama, and Louisiana flew by one after the other. Then came the long, hot journey through Texas. I made it all the way to Fort Stockton, Texas when I heard a loud bang from the back of my car. As I pulled over, the car was leaning to the right back side. I knew right then that I had a flat tire on the back passenger side. It had been months since I had checked the spare tire. Hopefully, it was not flat as well.
As I opened the trunk, sure enough the darn spare was flat as well. Not only was it flat but a small portion of the sidewall was torn, exposing the tube I had installed the last time a had a flat.
Seeing no one coming, I sat back in the car and waited to see if someone would stop to help me. Sure enough, I saw a car in the distance through my rearview mirror. I opened the door and stood on the roadside, waiving my hands in the air hoping they might stop. I watched as they zoomed right past me as though I was not there. I sat back down in the car, and as soon as I closed the door, I heard a car horn blast several times. When I looked in the rearview mirror again there was a light blue Honda sitting directly behind me. “Where in the heck did he come from?” I said to my reflection in the mirror.
I stepped from the Chevy and stood as a tall, unusual man came walking toward me.
“Got a problem?” he asked.
“Flat tire and a flat spare as well,” I replied.
“Well then, let’s see what we can do.”
“Can you give me a ride to the next town so I can buy a new tire?”
“How can I give you a ride? I do not have a car.”
I quickly turned around and looked behind my car. The Honda was no longer there. I started to question him when he quickly broke in…
“Darn nice car you have there. Isn’t that a 1956 Chevrolet with the gas tank filler in the taillight?”
“No sir, this is a 1957. A classic by most standards.”
“Where is your jack?”
“In the trunk, but I don’t have a good spare.”
“You go sit in the car, and I will take care of the flat,” he ordered.
“But…”
“Just get in the car,” he repeated.
I got in the car and locked the door as I began to worry that this gentleman might be getting the better of me. Once again, I looked in the rearview mirror to see if the Honda might be there. There was no vehicle.
I sat quietly as the car was raised. Outside, I heard a little clanging and banging; then all at once, the car gently sank down as he pulled the jack from under the vehicle. The trunk slammed shut, and then there was a tap on my window.
Slowly, I cracked the window and waited for him to speak.
“All fixed,” he said.
“But the spare tire was no good,” I shouted!
“It was good. You must need glasses as your eyesight must be bad.”
I opened the door and walked to the back of my car. Sure enough, the tire did not look repaired, it looked brand new.
“That tire looks new. How did you get a new tire?”
“I always carry a spare tire with me. You never know when one might come in handy.”
“How much do I owe you?”
“How about a ride just up the road?”
I hesitated, wondering what to say or do. I mean…the fellow just got me out of a serious jam and nighttime was falling.
“Hop in,” I told him.
We spoke not a word for about five minutes. He had a kind face, and I did not see any evil in his eyes. But where did the car go? Where did he get a new spare?
“How far you going?”
“I am not sure. Any time you want, just tell me to get out and no hard feelings on my part. Okay?”
“Well, I could use the company. A bit boring on a long trip. Where are you from?”
“Oh, a very long way from here.”
“How far away?”
“You would not believe me if I told you.”
“Must be from overseas then. I note the foreign accent.”
“You might be correct about the foreign accent,” he said as he laughed.
Many conversations were had over the next couple of hours but very little did I learn about my new companion.
“Have you ever thought about who you would like to be if you were not you?” I asked.
“I can be like anyone I want. I just cannot be them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Would you like for me to be like you?”
“You are joking. Right?”
“Well, look at me.”
I turned my head to the right and almost wrecked the car when a saw an identical copy of myself sitting in his seat. I slammed on the brakes bringing the car to an immediate stop. I began to hyperventilate, my head leaning against the steering wheel.
“What’s the problem?” he asked me.
I looked over at him, and I was no longer in that passenger seat. Sitting there was the same fellow I had given a ride. I jumped out of the car, ran around to the passenger side, and je**ed the door open.
“Get the hell out of my damn car, and head down the road to wherever it is you were going.” As he stepped out, he replied, “Are you sure about that,” as he pointed down at the flat tire on the rear of the Chevy.
“What the hell are you? And who the hell are you?” I yelled out, as a turned my back to him and raised my shaking arms toward the heavens.
He said not a word as he walked to the back of the car and placed his hands on the trunk. “I need a key, or we will be here forever.”