Dirty Faces - Book 2

Chapter 24: Ghosts

Chapter 24: Ghosts

Ralph Nelson was not a good man. Even he knew that. The only lasting happiness he'd ever known had come as the result of another's loss. But to be fair, it'd been his loss too, and the happiness was tarnished because of it.

Having the boy along on this run had been at his wife's urging. He knew why she thought it was so important, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. It had been a very long time since he'd had anything reminiscent of a partner and he'd come to like it that way. Having an extra mouth to feed was a nuisance, let alone having to tell someone else how to do the job he did every day with little to no thought involved.

It turned out, though, despite all his arguments and grumbling, that the boy was a decent accomplice. He drove long hours without error. He had backed the rig up to the loading docks, a task Ralph had found rather tricky in his early trucking days, as though it was something he'd done all his life. And though Ralph had anticipated loading and unloading the cargo would take much less time with the help of a young back, he'd been surprised at just how much less time it had taken; it felt as if they backed up to the loading dock and were back on the road in the blink of an eye. Having become rather accustomed to exhaustion over the years, Ralph couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't thought of recruiting a young partner himself.

Perhaps the boy's best attribute was that he didn't say much, and that in itself was likely the reason he was so efficient. Ralph was eternally grateful for the boy's quiet demeanor, not only because he was accustomed to solitude out on the road, but it was the one thing that kept the memories in the past.

It was dusk when they stopped to refuel at a station somewhere along Route 66. Ralph stood beside the truck, smoking a cigarette as he gazed thoughtlessly at the purple sky. He didn't hear the door to the station open nor the boy's footsteps, and was startled when he heard, "You want me to take this one?"

"Huh?"

"Do you want me to take this one?" the boy repeated.

"Oh. Yeah." Ralph pulled the keys from his pocket and handed them to the boy. He took one last drag off his cigarette and threw the butt on the ground before climbing into the passenger's side. The boy had already turned the engine over before he'd even shut his door. "Was that enough?" he asked.

"No," the boy replied. "But I made up the difference."

Ralph frowned. He supposed if he continued to underestimate the price of gasoline, he'd best go in the stations and pay himself; eventually the boy would run out of spending money to cover the difference.

He settled back into the seat as the boy pulled the truck out onto the road. Initially, riding in that passenger's seat had been agonizing. Trusting this kid to drive this truck that didn't belong to him, loaded down with goods someone else was paying for had had him a nervous wreck. But now that the boy had proven himself to be an adequate driver, Ralph could somewhat relax in that passenger's seat. He reached under the seat and pulled out a pint of whiskey- a luxury he had never before been able to enjoy while out on the road.

The purple sky darkened, giving way to an infinite blackness bathed in stars as the road stretched out into the illusion of eternity. Ralph sipped on the whiskey, ever-appreciative of his accomplice's silence, as he found himself, on nights such as this, in the presence of a ghost. That boy was the ghost of a lost friend; a lost brother, for all intents and purposes.

The boy's physical resemblance to his late father was more than uncanny. His mannerisms were eerily familiar, right down to the way he held a cigarette: all wrong, but undoubtedly David Paserella. It was merely his reserve that set him apart from the only man Ralph had ever truly called his friend. David could run that mouth.