Chapter Fifteen

Hep, Scroat and Brother Aloysius stopped in Idaho Falls to eat and stretch their legs a bit. The restaurant was a typical, brightly lit, somewhat dingy, family restaurant. Looking around, of course, there wasn’t a family to be seen. There were a good number of truckers and a few couples. Everyone looked sort of sick under the flourescent lights.

The waitress was pretty, but looked worn out and more than a little cranky. She gave them a perfunctory smile and asked what they wanted to drink.

“Coffee,” Hep said.

“Coffee,” Scroat said.

“Just water,” Brother Aloysius said.

“Easy enough. I’ll have those right out. Can I get something deep fried and bad for you going right away?”

“No, thanks,” Hep said.

“Be right back,” she said.

They looked at their menus in silence. Nearby one of the truckers was telling a story to another trucker about the stupid newbie who’d had to hit every single runaway truck ramp on the way from Flagstaff to Phoenix.

“Every time I got to sleep, I’d wake up to a sudden stop and realize we’d hit the gravel again. We didn’t make a dime on that run because of the fees for getting pulled back on the road, but he was in good with the owner, so he still got paid. I wanted to kick his ass from here to Maine.”

The waitress came back a few minutes later with their drinks. “Are you ready to order,” she asked.

They ordered, and then fell silent again. Scroat kept looking around like he was certain someone they knew was going to pop out of somewhere and give them a hard time. Hep took a sip of his coffee.

“Damn, this is better than I expected,” He said in an attempt to break the silence. It didn’t work.

“So what did you say your order’s mission is?” Hep asked Brother Aloysius.

“I didn’t, and I’m not going to explain it here, sorry. There will be time for that when we get to Montana.”

“Well, help me out here, Brother,” Hep said. “Did any of your local sports teams do anything remarkable in the last year or so?”

“I don’t watch sports, sorry.”

“Well there has to be something we can talk about. I mean,” Hep was interrupted then by a horrendous BANG outside, followed by the sounds of screeching and clattering metal, as well as the sound of tires skidding.

Scroat, of course, peeked out the window to see who had come to visit.

“Oh, that’s not good,” Scroat said.

“What’s not good?” Hep said.

“Looks like Brother Aloysius’s car just got smashed all to Hell by a cement truck.”

“What?” Brother Aloysius said. He turned to look. “Are you serious?”

“Totally serious,” Scroat said.

Outside, they could see the cement truck, and the driver climbing out of the cab. About ten feet away was a lump of jagged metal that used to be a white Ford Escort.

“Man, did you see that guy come screaming into the lot? Hey, Jason, I think that newbie you were talking about got a job driving a cement truck!” one of the truckers said. “Good thing that car was there to keep him from causing any damage to the other trucks.”

“Oh no,” Brother Aloysius said, and hurried outside.

Hep and Scroat could see him getting more and more worked up as the drunkeness of the cement truck driver became apparent.

“I hope he’s got insurance,” Hep said.

“Probably not on that shitty car,” Scroat said. “This cup of coffee is probably worth more than that thing was.”

Scroat picked up his coffee and took a sip. “Say, this is good coffee.”

Hep looked out the window then. “Well, there might be a problem if he doesn’t have any insurance, because the guy just got back in his truck and drove away.”

“No shit? Well, I guess we’ll have to just head down to Vegas then, since he can’t lead us to Montana.”

Hep started rubbing his temples. “We’re not going to Vegas, for the last time. He’s just going to have to ride on the back of your bike.”

“Fuck that shit! Home slice out there can get his own wheels figured out. Or he can ride on the back of your bike.”

“I don’t have a pillion seat. He’s riding on your bike.”

“This trip has totally sucked,” Scroat said. “I say that this is a sign we shouldn’t continue with this guy. We’ve had weird people popping up for the whole damn trip, and it’s because you’re not listening to me. I say we get our asses to some place where we can blend in, lay low, and figure out what to do from there.”

“We can’t leave this guy stranded here. At the very least, we can give him a lift to his order.”

“Not on my bike,” Scroat said.

Brother Aloysius came back in. “He drove away! He didn’t give me any of his information, much less his insurance information, and he drove off!”

“Don’t worry, pal, I got his license plate and the name of the company off his truck, and the police are on their way,” one of the truckers said.

“Fuck. Are we really going to hang out while he files a police report?” Scroat said. “We can’t be more than 8 hours from Vegas if we leave right now.”

“Yes, we’re going to hang out. We’re not going to Vegas, and we don’t have anything better to do.”

“Whatever,” Scroat said.

The waitress brought their order. “Rough luck, man. Here’s your food, at least. You can have a bite while you wait for the police to show up. They’re kind of slow around here.”

“See? The police are slow around here. It’s a sign we should bail,” Scroat said.

“Eat your burger, Scroat,” Hep said.


A police officer arrived about half an hour later. He took a look at the mashed up Ford Escort, then walked into the restaurant.

“Who owns the Ford Escort out in the lot?” he asked.

Brother Aloysius stood up and walked over to the cop. “It’s mine,” he said.

“Well, Brother Aloysius, what brings you to this part of Idaho? I thought you were working in Oregon now. How are you doing?”

Brother Aloysius smiled a bit, and said, “Well, I’ve been better, Officer Tarbox. My car’s been totaled by a cement truck, and I’m a long ways from home.”

“I guess that’s fair. What are you doing here, though?”

“I’m going to Montana with these two,” he said. The officer looked over at Hep and Scroat who waved briefly, and went back to their coffee.

“Well, let’s go outside and take a report, shall we?” Officer Tarbox said.

He and Brother Aloysius went outside and stood looking at the wreckage of the Ford Escort.

“Why does he know a cop in Idaho?” Scroat asked Hep. “We’re, like, 8 hours away from where we started. Kind of a broad area to make friends in, don’t you think?”

“We can bump in to friends anywhere in the world, it’s not that surprising,” Hep said.

“Bullshit. We’ve had hundreds of years to make friends all over the world. He looks like he’s had all of thirty. Something is up, I’m telling you.”

“Nothing is up, settle down. It’s a coincidence,” Hep said. “A weird coincidence, but not really that amazing. People have friends. Sometimes people move to difference states. Sometimes friends bump into each other when they’re traveling.”

Officer Tarbox and Brother Aloysius came back in to the restaurant and sat down at the table with Hep and Scroat. Tarbox looked like he was probably in his late thirties. He had very short brown hair, and brown eyes.

“So, gentlemen, can you tell me what you saw?”

“Not much. We heard squealing tires and a big crash. Then I looked outside and saw the driver get into his truck and drive away.”

“Did you get a license plate?”

“No, but one of the truck drivers over there did,” Hep said.

The truck drivers were all busy pretending they weren’t listening to the conversation.

“OK, I’ll have to talk to them later,” Tarbox said. He turned to Scroat, “How about you? Anything to add?”

“Not a damn thing,” Scroat said.

“OK,” Tarbox said. “Well, I’m going to need to get your contact information, gentlemen. How about you, sir? What’s your name?”

“Hep.”

“Your full name, please.”

“Hephaistos,” Hep said, then spelled it when Officer Tarbox looked worried.

“Last name?”

Hep thought quickly, and said “Smith.”

Tarbox looked up at him and said, “That’s an unusual name. Hephaistos isn’t a name I’d associate with someone called Smith.”

“Really? I wouldn’t associate the name ‘John’ with ‘Smith,’ personally. Doesn’t sound like smith to me at all.”

“OK then,” Tarbox said. He looked at Scroat. “How about you, sir.”

“Scroat.”

“What did you call me?”

“That’s his nickname,” Hep said.

“Can I have your proper name, please?”

“Bamapana,” Scroat said.

“Is that your first and last name?”

“Sure, why not?”

“OK.” Tarbox said. He wanted to ask more questions, but Hep and Scroat were smiling at him in a way that make him think it might be a bad idea. The kind of thing that would result in looking even more foolish at his next annual review. He wrote a bit more in his notepad, then said, “Thank you, gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me, I”m going to go and talk to those truckers and see if they know anything more.”

“Good luck!” Hep said.

The three of them sat, drinking coffee, and waiting for Officer Tarbox to finish talking to everyone present in the restaurant who had something to add. A lot of the truckers hadn’t actually seen any of it, but wanted to add their opinion to the pile.

“I’m telling you, he was drunk as a Lord. I’m amazed he didn’t fall out of the truck before he got here,” they overheard one of the truckers telling the cop.

After a long while, Tarbox came back to the table Brother Aloysius, Hep and Scroat were at. He scratched his head, and then spoke.

“Well, I’ve got all the info, and I’ve put a call in to dispatch to have the officers and highway patrol keep an eye out for a banged up cement truck. The tow truck should be here to haul your car away in a little bit. Brother Aloysius, it’s always good to see though, though the circumstances were unfortunate this time. I hope the rest of your trip to Montana goes smoother. Have a good day, gentlemen.”

Officer Tarbox left. The waitress came over to see if they wanted more coffee, and maybe some pie.

“Yeah, we’re going to be here a while,” Hep said. “May as well have some pie.”

Scroat groaned. “Can we please just leave?”

“Nope. We’ll get this wrapped up, and then head on to Montana,” Hep said.

Scroat put his head on the table. “This is just no fun at all.”