The Long Road

By Jason L. Henderson

The year is 1984. Carl is a teenager in a Chicago suburb. He’s lived in the same neighborhood his entire life. He has turned to a life of petty crime to help his parents pay the bills. He goes to parties with friends. He has a girlfriend with a wild streak. And he only has one adult he really trusts, the owner of a local mechanic’s shop, Slim. After being talked into breaking into a hotel and stealing a briefcase, his friend is shot, and Carl finds himself traveling down an unfamiliar path. He turns to Slim, who has a side business stripping stolen cars and shipping parts out all over the country. To help save Carl’s life, Slim sends Carl and his acquaintance Rick on a delivery out of town.

As the two travel, they come across bikers who have deep secrets hidden in their hideout, a group of mysterious men acting as guards, mercenaries, rich folks having an elegant party, a group of terrorists, and a girl who doesn’t quite fit in. And who is the pale, blond man from the hotel where the failed theft took place. And what does he have in common with Rick?

Having rarely left the safe confines of his Chicago neighborhood, Carl is tasked with abandoning the delivery and going into hiding for the rest of his life… or seeing the delivery through to the end. Will he complete it successfully? Will the leader of an organized crime outfit catch up to him? Or will things that go bump in the night end his terrifying journey before he can get back home to his family?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781663254436

Jason L. Henderson

Jason Henderson lives in Pekin, Illinois with his wife Rhonda. He discoved his fondness of horror and mystery while trying to stay awake for Creature Feauture with his brother on the weekends and by watching the first Friday the 13th with his sister.

Book preview

ONE

1984

The tires on the 1969 Hurst Oldsmobile squealed as the car slid into the intersection at an uncontrollable speed. It skimmed across the wet pavement as it turned left onto the side street, smashing into a trio of metal garbage cans sitting by the curb. The streetlight hanging overhead blew out as trash flew from the cans and merged with the raging downpour before landing on the sidewalk. For several seconds, the car remained motionless as the sound of the engine turning over could be heard half a block away. With each turn of the ignition, the headlights flickered a little dimmer as the engine cranked over. Steam emanated from the broken front grill, interlacing with the lights as it rose up through the large drops of rain. After a short pause between attempts, the engine roared to life, and the car’s tires once again squealed as it sped away from the curb with the freed garbage cans falling over behind it.

Carl was having trouble seeing out the windshield. The wipers were old and providing a subpar performance. It seemed like each swipe of the blade left a trail of rainwater larger than the previous. Bits of what looked like rotten lettuce and tomatoes from the garbage cans joined with the rainwater to make it even more difficult. At two in the morning, the working streetlights lined down the road only added to the problem. He stared out the food-contaminated glass, seeing nothing but blurred images.

As if it would do any good, Carl leaned forward in the bucket seat bringing his face closer to the windshield. He brushed his long, black hair from his faced and tried to focus on finding the next intersection. A fog from his breath formed on the glass. He frantically used the sleeve of his denim jacket to clear it away. The lines on the road were hidden under the refractive water. He couldn’t tell which side of the road they were on. Using shadows from streetlights and distorted images from both sides of the road, he deduced that the car was driving somewhere near the center line.

The car sprang over an upward sloping hill in the road, and its tires briefly left the ground. It landed with a thud, causing Carl’s cheek to bounce off the hard steering wheel. He quickly regained control and jerked the wheel to the left as they began to slide around another corner.

Kevin appeared in the rearview mirror as the momentum of the turn threw his body to the right side of the car. He cried out in pain as his body thudded against the passenger side. Rick, sitting behind Carl in the backseat, reached out and held onto Kevin as the car completed its turn.

A hand clutched Carl’s arm. Dammit, Carl! Slow down. You’re going to kill us or get us caught by the cops, Rick shouted.

Carl glanced to the mirror again. Rick held his hand over the gunshot wound on Kevin’s stomach. Blood was running down Kevin’s abdomen, covering the front part of his pants and staining the white leather seat. Several handprints tarnished the roof of the car and the side windows as a result of being thrown around as Carl bobbed and weaved through the city.

He made another sharp turn before stepping down harder on the gas pedal. I can’t slow down! Kevin’s been shot. If we don’t get it taken care of, he’s going to die, man.

It’s not going to help our situation out any if we end up getting busted, Rick shouted, looking up from Kevin’s wound to meet Carl’s gaze in the mirror. His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. How would we explain this to the cops? Look at us, man. They’d have us fuckin’ jerked out of the car, bent over the hood, and handcuffed before we even opened our mouths. You know they wouldn’t give a shit what we say. They’d see the blood back here and react accordingly to two young punks in a stolen car with their friend bleeding to death in the back seat. Still glancing in the mirror whenever time allowed, Carl watched Rick reach up and thump his shoulder with an open hand. Slow down, man.

With the rain coming down hard and heavy, the wind made it seem like the water droplets ran horizontal. Lightning and thunder got more intense as each minute passed. The shadows cast from parked cars, light posts, and other various items that lay to each side of the road again began to fade out and disappear, stirring a different kind of fear in Carl. He’d been running on adrenaline since the gunfire back at the hotel. Up to this point, he hadn’t thought about much of anything other than getting his friend to safety as quickly as possible. With Rick’s plea echoing in his mind, Carl took what seemed like his first breath since rushing out of the hotel. He slightly eased up on the foot pedal.

In the mirror, Carl could see Rick reassuring Kevin that they would get him patched up soon. Streaks of blood covered most of his face, but Carl could see Kevin’s complexion was becoming pasty. He wasn’t flailing about and grinding through the pain like he’d been just a few minutes earlier. Weakness from the loss of blood was setting in. If Carl didn’t get Kevin safely to Slim’s place, the kid would surely die.

It wasn’t supposed to go down like that, Carl whispered to no one. Rick told them that he had scoped the place out for over a month, making the score sound easy. He’d said that every time there had been a delivery, the men would exit the hotel to enjoy dinner several blocks down the road at a strip joint named Doc’s, leaving the goods behind in the room, unsupervised. Their job was to break in through the window in the back bedroom, grab the briefcase full of money, and be gone within twenty, thirty seconds tops.

A flash of lightning revealed a street sign that read Jefferson Avenue. Another jolt of adrenaline ran through his body as they neared their destination. He drove past the street and turned down the alley just another sixty feet away.

Still driving faster than he should, the car bounced and clanked as it ran through deep puddles of water, splashing mud, trash, and rock onto the car. For as many times as he’d been down the sandy, pebbled soil, he couldn’t remember the holes being so bad. As the car bounced out of one of the puddles, it sprang to the far side of the alley, causing the vehicle to scrape down the side of an old block building.

As he steered the car back to the center of the alley, the building they needed approached just twenty feet away to the left. He slammed on the brakes, and the car halted abruptly behind the building with a large garage door on the left side, closest to them. Above the door, a three-foot by four-foot sign read Phelps Garage in large black letters. Running along the bottom in smaller red letters, it read 24-Hour Towing Service.

Carl jammed the shifter between the bucket seats into park and turned the lights off so no other cars passing the alley could see them. He flung the car door open and ran out into the rain, splashing through small streams of water. To the right of the garage door, a smaller service door sat atop a three-by-three-foot section of concrete up on two steps near the edge of the building. It had a small porcelain overhanging light above it. It was nearly the only light in the entire alley. To the side of the building lay a fenced-in lot Slim used for his business. It always reminded Carl more of a junkyard than a lot. With all the overgrown weeds and piles of junk cars, it was hard to tell if the front half of it was ever even used or if it was just a vehicle graveyard. The back half was certainly used all the time. Even now as he stood under the light with the rain droplets beating down on him, Carl noticed all the recent non-customer cars waiting to be stripped down and sold off in the far corner.

He didn’t try opening the door. It was always locked. He flipped a patch of his long, black, and now-soaked hair out of the way before pounding on it and shouting loudly, Slim, open up. It’s Carl. I’ve got an emergency, man! He stuck his ear to the door to listen for any signs of someone coming.

Carl slapped his hand on the door again. Slim, I’m serious. I really need you to—

What the hell do you think you’re doing? came a voice from the alley near the far end of the car, which still sat idling. He spun as the man yelled again, I said… Carl? Is that you?

Johnny emerged from the darkness just beyond the reach of the porcelain light. He had been there when Carl ran the car along his building just a few seconds earlier. Like Slim, Johnny was set up with a day business and an evening hustle, but Carl didn’t know what illicit business he partook in, although he did know the two owners were partners at times. The man was in his late fifties, maybe even early sixties; he’d inherited the legit business from his father years ago. Also, like Slim, Johnny knew what happened in the city, and he knew who controlled it all. They both worked with and for the same syndicate, but it was an area not often discussed, at least in front of Carl.

Carl stepped off the concrete pad and started walking toward the older man. Yeah, Johnny. It’s me.

He’d only made it a few yards before Johnny met him near the rear of the Hurst. Damn, kid. You’re not looking too good. Was it you that ran into my building? Are you okay?

Taking deep breaths and talking slowly, but loud enough to be heard over the storm, Carl tried to divert any hostility from Johnny. Yeah, I’m fine. I just have to get in to see Slim. I’ve got a friend that’s hurt really bad, and I don’t know how to deal with it. He nodded to the car. As if on cue, Kevin let out a loud moan. Rick leaned back to let Johnny see Kevin’s head resting in his lap and the blood blanketing the backseat of the car.

JESUS H. CHRIST! Johnny bellowed, his breath turning into a cloud of vapor as it came out of his mouth. He stood motionless for several seconds. Even with the rain pouring down, Carl noted the man didn’t blink. What the hell—

Everything’s fine John. Slim jumped into the conversation as he hurriedly hobbled out to meet the two. His belly stuck out so far that it automatically inserted itself between Carl and Johnny when he reached them, causing the two to take a step backward. The rain bounced off Slim’s bald cranium in huge splashes that oddly seemed to create an aura over him. He repeated himself, Everything’s fine, John. Don’t worry, I got this.

But this damn kid just crashed into the back of my building, Johnny protested, turning toward his building and throwing his arm in the air. How’n the hell am I gonna get it fixed? He returned his attention to the small group. I was in the middle of an important meeting when—

Slim put his hand on Johnny’s arm, gently spun the man, and the two started walking away. I know, I know. Look, we’ve been partners for years… Carl heard Slim say before his voice blended with the sounds of the storm as the two men walked past the rear of the stolen Hurst. Ten feet behind the car, they stopped walking and continued the conversation. Again, Johnny threw his arm in the air, and then he pointed at the car a few times as Slim tried to calm the man down. After three or four minutes, Johnny dropped his head in what seemed to be defeat. Just before splashing off through the stream of water running down the alley, he glanced up at Slim one last time and nodded in some sort of agreement.

Johnny had gotten almost all the way back to his building before Slim turned his attention back to the car, and then to Carl. The large man was soaked. His face was unsettled. It was a new side of Slim. The man was normally cheery and full of laughter and excitement. When he spoke, his squeaky, high-pitched voice was enough to draw the attention of everyone within thirty feet. The hefty man walked over to the car, bent over to peek inside, and then stood vertical for several seconds, appearing to be in deep thought. As if his neck wasn’t capable of turning, Slim’s head and upper body pivoted at the same time to face Carl, shortly followed by his legs. Nervousness caused Carl to swallow hard as Slim hobbled over and closed in on his personal space. The man stiffly leaned forward so his skull was sticking out past his round stomach. He spoke in his low, squeaky, and strained voice. One of the guys’ll open the overhead door. Pull the car in. I’ll call Betty to have her come over and take a look at the kid in the back seat. Slim drew back to his normal stance and walked toward the weakly lit service door. Five feet away, Slim added, We’ll talk once you get settled in. From the shape your friend’s in, I’m assuming you won’t be leaving for a while.

Carl waited for the metal door to bang shut before moving. The gravity of the moment was still creeping its way in. He hadn’t had much time to think after Kevin had been shot. His first instinct was to get to here as soon as possible. The burden he may place on Slim wasn’t an issue at the time. But now, after the moment with Johnny, things were slowing down. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought Kevin and Rick here. Slim didn’t know who they were, and they didn’t know him. Maybe he should’ve taken Kevin to the emergency room. He would have gotten quicker, and possibly more sanitary, treatment. Of course, he and Rick would’ve likely ended up in jail had they gone to the hospital. Maybe it was better that he hadn’t had time to think.

The large door jerked and rattled. Then it began to raise up. Carl ran to the banged-up car, climbed in, and slammed the door. Kevin was still conscious, but he remained stationary, staring off to the far side of the car, unblinking. Rick was quietly reassuring him things would be okay. Two men in t-shirts and jeans appeared in the entryway once the door raised. They motioned for him to pull the vehicle in. At some point in the last few seconds, the car had died. After two failed attempts at starting it, the Hurst sprang to life, with the engine revving loudly on its own before settling down to an idle. Carl put the vehicle in drive and pulled the car into the building. The overhead door closed as the storm continued to roar on in the softly lit alley.

Phelps Garage was a typical auto mechanic shop. The front of the building had several large windows. Advertisement stickers were scattered about in various areas to draw attention. Among them was a poster with a man standing next to a set of two big, shiny tires attached to a 4x4 truck. Another ad showcased the latest and greatest model of brake pads. Up near the left corner of the building lay an entrance door, also made of clear glass. When a customer walked in, they were immediately greeted by a sternum-height service desk that looked to be at least fifty years old. On the opposite side of the desk, the lobby housed several leather chairs, a leather sofa in front of a short wall that jutted out to help separate the front from the back, a few vending machines, and a television mounted to the wall that added to the old automotive shop look and feel. The rear of the block building had two car lifts down the right side starting about fifty feet behind the service desk. It was intentional so that the customer could watch their vehicle being worked on if they chose to. Both lifts had customers’ cars on them. Toolboxes and other various instruments and fixtures sat in front of the lifts against the wall. Near the middle-back of the building on the left side, Slim had had a small room with a door for privacy. It was hidden by the partial wall that separated the lobby from the back left side of the building. The mechanics would use it during lunch to catch a nap or take part in other activities of their own. Behind the room, also out of sight from the lobby, sat a large area where the stolen cars were kept.

The garage was a place that never slept. During the day, Phelps Garage was an honest business. Slim had a set of regular customers that only entrusted their vehicles to him. He kept the books accurate and paid an honest tax on everything he brought in. After hours, the place took on a different look and feel. Slim made three times his daily salary by buying stolen cars from people like Carl who were just trying to make a few extra bucks. Most of the mechanics that worked for him during the day were in on the charade. They took turns staying late to strip down the stolen cars. Then, once every few weeks, a man in a box truck would show up in the middle of the night, load the stripped items, and leave.

Carl sat on a couch in the enclosed 10x20 room. Next to him was Rick, who looked like he could use a shower and a three-day nap. Any other day, his hair was dark-blond, stringy, and cut about shoulder length. Today it was mixed with dark red streaks. His wet, black denim jacket clung to him like it was part of his skin. The combination of the rain and Kevin’s blood gave it more of a leathery appearance. Like Carl, he intently watched Betty as she finished sewing up the hole near the bottom of Kevin’s torso.

Slim stood near the doorway, staring at Rick. Carl had seen how Slim regarded Rick when he’d first gotten out of the car in the garage. Slim had a bit of a sixth sense. He could be around anyone for less than five minutes and already know what he needed to know about them. And right now, his radar was on Rick. The look on his face said it all. Rick was trash in Slim’s eyes, he didn’t want Rick in his shop, and he was potentially waiting for an excuse to throw Rick out the back door, possibly beaten to a pulp.

The hourglass-shaped woman finished pulling the last stitch into place and clipped the remainder off with a pair of medical scissors she’d brought with her. With her