Unbeautiful
Page 32
After we veer up the on-ramp, we cruise north beneath the stars, away from Laramie and civilization, past fields of dry grass. The farther north we get, the more sparse cars become.
It feels like he’s purposefully taking us out to the middle of nowhere. All I can think is that I’ve been busted, that he’s driving me up to the foothills to shoot me between the eyes and bury me in the dirt.
I attempt to send a text out to Stale without actually having to remove my cell from my pocket, but I fumble with the buttons, pressing who the hell knows what, and finally give up after the tenth try.
Doc doesn’t utter a word to me until he turns onto the exit ramp and brakes at a stop sign. We’re out in the middle of nowhere with only fields and trees around us. He leaves the headlights on and the light beams across the road in front of us. Then he shuts off the music and stares out the window at the desolate street to the side of us.
“Have you heard the story of how I got into this business yet?” he asks, glancing out of the corner of his eye at me.
I shake my head.
“I’m surprised. As much as I respect the people I work with, they do love their gossip.” He muses over something, his attention on the road again. “I was twenty when I first met Donny Elderman. I had just recently married, and we were expecting our first child. I was working as a salesman at a local furniture store. Back then, I wasn’t known as Doc. I wasn’t known for anything, really.” He pauses, gazing up at the stars. “I wanted to be known, though. I’d always had this feeling that there was supposed to be more to life than a nine-to-five job, going home every night, eating dinner, then going to bed. Most days, I felt like I was on autopilot.”
He reaches for his pocket and grabs a cigar, lights up, and then reclines back in the seat. “Then I met Donny, and all of that changed. Life was exciting, and I found out I was good at what I do. Don’t misunderstand me. My family always comes first and foremost, but I truly believe that, in order to be a good father and husband, I have to be happy. Very rarely have I regretted the choice I made to come into this unorthodox world. In fact, there have only been three times in my life when I’ve really questioned my choice. Two happened a long time ago, right in the beginning, and one was tonight.” He puffs on the cigar, the cherry glowing through the darkness.
He remains silent for at least five minutes, smoking his cigar. He eventually turns on the radio again and browses through songs. I start to question where he’s going with the story or if that was the end of it when he sits up straight and rolls down the window.
“But I’ve changed over the last couple of decades. I know how to handle regret better.” He tosses the cigar out the window then shoves the car into first gear. “I’ve learned how to eliminate it. And you’re going to help me tonight.”
He cranks up the radio again, slams the gas pedal down, the tires spinning against the gravel as we peel out onto the stretch of road to the side of us. At first, I wonder if this is a suicide mission, if he’s going to drive across the road and ramp us off the hillside. But he cranes the wheel right at the last second to turn onto the road.
At that exact moment, another car comes barreling by, going at least a hundred miles an hour, kicking up a cloud of dust. We skid in right behind the speeding vehicle, and Doc works the clutch and shifter simultaneously, ramping up RPMs to gain momentum swiftly. The engine roars to life as the radio screams heavy metal.
I grip the side of the seat as the car in front of us moves faster. Doc accelerates too, inching up right on the bumper. He moves one of his hands away from the steering wheel and reaches for the gun in his holster.
“Take the wheel, Ryler,” he says, his gaze locked on the car in front of us. When I gape at him, he glances at me. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Just make sure not to let go.”
I already knew the guy was out of his goddamn mind, but this is taking crazy to a whole new level. Before I can think too much on the insanity, Doc releases the wheel, giving me no choice other than to reach over and grab it.
We’re going so fast the surroundings are a blur and dirt encases the car. I can barely see the road and have to focus on the taillights of the car in front of us. As I struggle to keep the car straight, Doc sticks his arm out the window and points the gun at the other car. He mutters something under his breath and fires the gun.
Tires squeal. Dust flies everywhere. The car in front of us disappears.
Doc grabs the wheel from me and the Barracuda slams to a halt, skidding sideways in the middle of the road.
I work to catch my breath as Doc hops out of the car, but the air gets knocked right back out of me when I spot where Doc is going.
The car we were chasing is off the road, upside down, tires still spinning. The metal is crunched in, and smoke is leaking from somewhere.
Shit. Fuck. Shit.
Who’s in the car?
My hands shake as I shove the door open and stagger out. I inch my way around the front, watching Doc stride for the wrecked vehicle and crouch down by the driver’s door. He ducks his head to look inside then reaches in with his free hand and drags the driver out.
The driver doesn’t put up a fight, and when I reach Doc, I half expect to see a dead man being hauled like a sack of potatoes through the dirt. The guy is alive, though. Barely.
Blood gushes from almost every part of his body, one of his arms is bent the wrong way, and his mouth makes a strange sound every time he takes a breath.
He groans when Doc lets go of him. “Please...” He manages to get out, staring helplessly at Doc.
It feels like he’s purposefully taking us out to the middle of nowhere. All I can think is that I’ve been busted, that he’s driving me up to the foothills to shoot me between the eyes and bury me in the dirt.
I attempt to send a text out to Stale without actually having to remove my cell from my pocket, but I fumble with the buttons, pressing who the hell knows what, and finally give up after the tenth try.
Doc doesn’t utter a word to me until he turns onto the exit ramp and brakes at a stop sign. We’re out in the middle of nowhere with only fields and trees around us. He leaves the headlights on and the light beams across the road in front of us. Then he shuts off the music and stares out the window at the desolate street to the side of us.
“Have you heard the story of how I got into this business yet?” he asks, glancing out of the corner of his eye at me.
I shake my head.
“I’m surprised. As much as I respect the people I work with, they do love their gossip.” He muses over something, his attention on the road again. “I was twenty when I first met Donny Elderman. I had just recently married, and we were expecting our first child. I was working as a salesman at a local furniture store. Back then, I wasn’t known as Doc. I wasn’t known for anything, really.” He pauses, gazing up at the stars. “I wanted to be known, though. I’d always had this feeling that there was supposed to be more to life than a nine-to-five job, going home every night, eating dinner, then going to bed. Most days, I felt like I was on autopilot.”
He reaches for his pocket and grabs a cigar, lights up, and then reclines back in the seat. “Then I met Donny, and all of that changed. Life was exciting, and I found out I was good at what I do. Don’t misunderstand me. My family always comes first and foremost, but I truly believe that, in order to be a good father and husband, I have to be happy. Very rarely have I regretted the choice I made to come into this unorthodox world. In fact, there have only been three times in my life when I’ve really questioned my choice. Two happened a long time ago, right in the beginning, and one was tonight.” He puffs on the cigar, the cherry glowing through the darkness.
He remains silent for at least five minutes, smoking his cigar. He eventually turns on the radio again and browses through songs. I start to question where he’s going with the story or if that was the end of it when he sits up straight and rolls down the window.
“But I’ve changed over the last couple of decades. I know how to handle regret better.” He tosses the cigar out the window then shoves the car into first gear. “I’ve learned how to eliminate it. And you’re going to help me tonight.”
He cranks up the radio again, slams the gas pedal down, the tires spinning against the gravel as we peel out onto the stretch of road to the side of us. At first, I wonder if this is a suicide mission, if he’s going to drive across the road and ramp us off the hillside. But he cranes the wheel right at the last second to turn onto the road.
At that exact moment, another car comes barreling by, going at least a hundred miles an hour, kicking up a cloud of dust. We skid in right behind the speeding vehicle, and Doc works the clutch and shifter simultaneously, ramping up RPMs to gain momentum swiftly. The engine roars to life as the radio screams heavy metal.
I grip the side of the seat as the car in front of us moves faster. Doc accelerates too, inching up right on the bumper. He moves one of his hands away from the steering wheel and reaches for the gun in his holster.
“Take the wheel, Ryler,” he says, his gaze locked on the car in front of us. When I gape at him, he glances at me. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Just make sure not to let go.”
I already knew the guy was out of his goddamn mind, but this is taking crazy to a whole new level. Before I can think too much on the insanity, Doc releases the wheel, giving me no choice other than to reach over and grab it.
We’re going so fast the surroundings are a blur and dirt encases the car. I can barely see the road and have to focus on the taillights of the car in front of us. As I struggle to keep the car straight, Doc sticks his arm out the window and points the gun at the other car. He mutters something under his breath and fires the gun.
Tires squeal. Dust flies everywhere. The car in front of us disappears.
Doc grabs the wheel from me and the Barracuda slams to a halt, skidding sideways in the middle of the road.
I work to catch my breath as Doc hops out of the car, but the air gets knocked right back out of me when I spot where Doc is going.
The car we were chasing is off the road, upside down, tires still spinning. The metal is crunched in, and smoke is leaking from somewhere.
Shit. Fuck. Shit.
Who’s in the car?
My hands shake as I shove the door open and stagger out. I inch my way around the front, watching Doc stride for the wrecked vehicle and crouch down by the driver’s door. He ducks his head to look inside then reaches in with his free hand and drags the driver out.
The driver doesn’t put up a fight, and when I reach Doc, I half expect to see a dead man being hauled like a sack of potatoes through the dirt. The guy is alive, though. Barely.
Blood gushes from almost every part of his body, one of his arms is bent the wrong way, and his mouth makes a strange sound every time he takes a breath.
He groans when Doc lets go of him. “Please...” He manages to get out, staring helplessly at Doc.
