“I don’t know. He can be weird. I guess them three extra weeks will make him feel better about it,” Jazzy had said.
Ike shifted the truck from reverse to drive and took off down the road. He had the truck up to sixty miles per hour as he crested around a soft curve.
“SHIT!”
The word echoed in the cramped confines of the truck as Ike buried the brake pedal into the floor.
The flatbed that had been in the field was now in the middle of the road on its side. Hay stretched across the roadway from ditch to ditch like someone had just shaved a giant. Ike saw some men moving around the truck. A few were standing with their hands in their pockets and their heads bowed. That was the universal sign language for having fucked up in a royal way. Ike put the truck in park. He hopped out and walked over to one of the men with his hands in his pockets.
“Hey,” Ike said. The man didn’t acknowledge him.
“Hey, man, what’s going on here?” Ike asked.
“What it look like, Cochise?” the man said.
“You gonna want to take some of that bass out of your voice, son,” Ike said. The man, a young white guy with sandy-brown hair under a dirty trucker cap, gave Ike his full attention. He was taller than Ike by half a foot but he took a step back. His subconscious warned his body to protect itself.
“The truck driver overcorrected on the turn. He swear he wasn’t on his phone, but we all know he lying,” Trucker Cap said.
“How long we looking at?” Ike asked. Trucker Cap gave the question some thought.
“You looking at an hour at least, hoss. We gotta get the hay up and flip the truck over and probably get a tow,” he said. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he took another step back. A dark cloud rolled over Ike’s face like a thunderstorm coming in off the bay.
“Alright,” Ike said. He pulled out his cell phone. Mya’s phone went to voicemail. Ike cursed and dialed her again. It went straight to voicemail again. He called Buddy Lee. Straight to voicemail.
“Fuck,” Ike said. Crab Thicket Road was a dead end, just like Townbridge Road. The ditches on each side of the road were too deep for him to drive through and go around the overturned truck and all the spilled hay.
He called Buddy Lee again.
“Answer the goddamn phone,” Ike said. It went to voicemail again. Ike slapped the roof of the truck. He called Mya again.
It went to voicemail.
“Ain’t much of a signal out here. We had to use the radio to call the wrecker,” Trucker Cap said.
Ike slammed his fist against the hood.
He hit it again.
And again.
And again.
THIRTY-FIVE
Ten minutes.
It was only ten minutes after Ike and Tangerine left that Mya got the phone call. Buddy Lee had drunk the last of his beer and was making Arianna a grilled-cheese sandwich when Mya’s phone began chirping.
“Is that Ike?” Buddy Lee asked. Mya pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked it.
“No, it’s our neighbor. MaryAnne,” Mya said. She put the phone to her ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Mya, it’s Randy, MaryAnne’s husband? Your house is on fire,” Randy said.
“What?!” Mya screamed.
“Yeah, I already called the fire department but I wanted to let you know because—”
Mya hung up on him. She jumped up off the couch and picked up Arianna.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Buddy Lee said. He put Arianna’s sandwich on a paper plate and brought it into his living room.
“The house is on fire. I gotta go,” Mya said. She started for the door.
Buddy Lee dropped the plate on his ersatz coffee table and stepped in front of Mya.
“Hey, hold on now. What do you mean your house is on fire?”
“My neighbor’s husband just told me our house is on fire. He’s called the fire department but I gotta go!” Mya said. Buddy Lee put his hand on her shoulder.
“Mya, you can’t go over there,” Buddy Lee said.
“The fuck I can’t,” Mya said. She shrugged off his hand.
“Listen to me. This is bait in a trap and you about to be the rabbit that takes it,” Buddy Lee said.
“Buddy Lee, I ain’t got time to stand here and trade Uncle Remus proverbs with you. My house is on fire. I have to go. Now get out of my way.”
“Mya. Stop and think. There are some boys out there who want to see me and Ike’s head on a stick. We took off with a girl they trying to fill full of lead like she a storage locker for bullets. These boys know where Ike lives. Now, I ain’t a smart man, but even I can see the odds of your house catching fire the same day we had a run in with these boys. Sis, them odds on the south side of zero,” Buddy Lee said.