Two of Wands [Reversed]

In The Mountains—DUSK

I am flying down a road, beach on one side, and dark forest on the other, in my old black Impala. It is pitch dark and snowing heavy, and truck is making many twists and turns on the winding country roads. My some time Guardian, the coffee shop Waitress sits next to me, clutching the door handle. After volunteering for the night time cemetery tour in the Village, Andrea and I leave in separate cars. She’s taking the Sailor and Maggie. I’ve got the Waitress, who now snaps at me.

“Watch! The road’s slick.”

“I know, but I’ve got to get home.”

As my car zooms down the dark rural road, a sporty car over takes me and passing on the side the young girls inside yell out

“Are you and your girlfriend serious?”

I roll down the window. “Oh she’s not my wife.” I yell back “Pull off to the side up ahead and we’ll talk.”

The Waitress frowns. “They don’t mean me. They mean Andrea. I recognize them.” I recognize them now too. Especially the redhead. I hadn’t been wearing my wedding ring at the cemetery tour, and am flattered.

Damn flattered.

I pull to a skittering halt on the icy shoulder.

“Just talk, that doesn’t hurt.” I tell the Waitress. “Only an ego boost.”

I get out. The car slows down. They stop, get out and hustle me into the backseat and take off again. Leaving the Waitress.

A black truck pulls out unto the road from an unseen drive and then slams on the brakes in front of us. Spike’s truck. The redhead brakes angrily, but only skids. She is able to recover and with a sneer makes to follow the huge black truck. His heavy 4wd truck takes to the snow easily, but I wonder how the girls’ little sports car will make it if it hits a snow bank or slick patch.

Spike makes a quick turn unto a dirt side road. The redhead follows; she fishtails unto to the shoulder and is soon stuck.

Ahead, Spike’s truck also slows and turns around to see what happened. The girls make a move to get out. I tell them to hold back, and though not knowing what is happening, I get out instead, as the black truck comes to a stop, the headlights flick out and the door opens.

The man who gets out is not Spike, but one of his crew. The one the call “Zero,” a Japanese mobster-looking type with a luger pistol.

“Okay.” I wave at Zero, “Wait, wait, wait. Don’t shoot. Let’s talk.”

We stare at each other in the headlights of the sports car. Zero snarls, flashing ruined teeth. The silence is shattered when a girl jumps out of our car. Zero aims to fire and I rush up and grab his arm. In the struggle his gun goes off and hits him in the face. We both fall to the ground. His body slumps on top of me and as I get up I call the girls for help picking up and throwing the body into the back of Spike’s truck.

The redhead says I should check Zero’s pulse to make sure he is dead. I look at the corpse. His face and neck are obliterated and his collarbones are sticking out of the stump.

“I don’t have to check the pulse,” I tell her, “I am pretty sure he is dead.”

Such is life and death on the Road of Trials.