On: ODD STORIES, #1

By Hank Fredo

A slow night on a boring job becomes a horror for Charlie. He drives through regret, trauma and maddening fear as he tries to deliver the package that will either save him and his family, or get them all killed. He is accompanied by the best and worst of people in his world, making this journey he'd ever made in the fifty years he'd been on the job.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seagull Editions
• Release date: May 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223825548

Book preview

Chapter One

Trash music was always on the radio during the night. New bands who knew nothing about what rock was about and kids who sang about pointless things. Yet, Charlie loved having something in the background. Black noise he called it. It kept every other noise out and since he could ignore the terrible strain of guitar strings and gruff screaming, it helped his mind focus on other things. Perfect for a long drive.

He pulled the volume up a bit. Blade and Angels was singing. He hated and loved it at the same time. He let his left hand out the while his right rested on the steering. He sighed to the wind cooling his skin. Once or twice Charlie caught other headlights reflect on his old watch and illuminate his skin. He looks away. Time had not been good to him.

Once he’d enjoyed this part of his job. He’d travelled this path so many times that he could tell where the bends come and name the motels and gas stations along the road with his eyes closed. There were so many good memories on this road, and some hard ones. But time had caught him somehow, and now he was floating like dirt in the wind.

Charlie stretched out slightly and spat. Wind made breathing difficult for him for a second. Damn old age, he thought as he settled back. He was going at a steady speed, not that there was anyone out there to stop him, but it was more from habit than worry. 

He checked his watch, clicked his tongue in frustration at how late he’d be when he got to where he was going and put his hand out again. This time slightly, just the fingers. He was too old, he reckoned. He could feel the cold creeping up his fingers as soon as he let the night wind touch them. A little shiver raced up his body and he hurriedly pulled up the window to keep the cold away.

The music seemed to get louder now. Charlie leaned down and took it down. His arm ached from working earlier. These days little movements remind him of his age. The ache in joints, make him wince. And now his shoulder sometimes burned, as if his nerves were on fire. He sighed, adjusting his arm, switching from right to left on the steering while he shifted gears.

He thought about taking a smoke and thought against it. He never smoked on the job, never drank—except coffee, and in strict portions to keep him awake through the long drive. In front of him, the road seemed endless and dark. A small familiarity to his own life. He didn’t hate living for so long, he despised having to suffer the side effect of time.

He hated suffering the consequence of his job more than anything else.

The sudden ring of his phone made him flinch. He grunted, another effect of aging. He picked the phone, squinted as the light lit up his face. The name was familiar, it was about time for the check-in.

Any hassle, old man? The voice was reedy with a forced southern accent that Charlie had always found more annoying than amusing.

Not really, Charlie said. The car was too warm again and the air condition was bad. He took the music down some more while the phone was cradled between his shoulder and ear. The pain was terrible, but it was brief. He cleared his throat and leaned back. Then he switched the phone to the other ear while his right hand rested back on the steering.

What’s going on? You are beginning to sound like your age, the voice said. This time Charlie chuckled. Surprisingly he felt no bite, even though he could hear the mockery in the voice.

Let’s see you laugh in a few years, Steve. With all that crap you drink and the women you fuck around with? I doubt you will last this long.

And how lucky I’ll be, Steve said and Charlie laughed. They were silent for a moment, both taking their time to recover from that brief moment of joy. Steve sighed and when he spoke again, his voice was the same, but sterner. Charlie could imagine the man in his house, legs crossed and a glass of brandy in his left hand while he pushed the phone closer to his mouth to speak.

Steve took the job way too seriously. But then it was just that kind of a profession. Every minute and second they spent lagging could blow up in their faces.

Tell me, Steve demanded.

Well, not much to say really. It was an easy pick-up, Charlie said, replaying how the day had gone in his mind. He recited Steve’s response before he heard the silly accent.

There is nothing like an easy pick-up, Charlie. You are old, not senile.

And I am telling you that it was easy, Charlie said, dragging the last word. I went there and it was like Santa’s fucking birthday.

Steve was silent on the other side. Charlie hated how serious the man was about work. There was no justification for that unbearable side of him. He hooked the phone against his ear with his shoulder and scratched an itch in his groin area and then took the phone in his right hand.

Why would I be on my way this early, then? Charlie asked. He blinked out a momentary blindness from an approaching headlight and decided that the heat was beginning to annoy him. He pulled down the window and other the other side he heard Steve’s exhausting sigh.

Fine, Steve said finally. If you say you got it, then I believe you.

You should, you damn moron.

I just worry, Steve said and chuckled. Charlie could see the joke coming from a mile away, but he played along. It was like a tradition. They had worked for too long to count and every time Steve made jokes about his age.

"I believe I