Truck Stop Read Online Free PDF Page B

then looked back at Roger. “I’ve been here about an hour, but I haven’t seen any little ones out in this rain,” she said.
    Roger sighed anxiously, looked around at the other nearby trucks. “Shit.”
    “Oh, dear. You don’t know where she is?
    “No. No, someone was watching the car, but my daughter managed to get out anyway,” Roger explained, trying to contain his frustration.
    “Oh, no.” the woman said with honest worry in her voice. “I’m sorry, honey, I haven’t seen her, but I will—“ Roger was gone before she could finish. She watched him dart over to the pearly cream-colored rig next door with its large sleeper cab.
    Roger pounded on the door. Waited. After a moment, he could hear the faint muffled voice of a man inside. “Momma… someone’s at the door.”
    The door opened a crack, and another woman peered out. She was in her late 40s, muscular, with spiked white hair and gold-capped teeth. “Yeah?” she asked warily.
    “Hi,” Roger said. “My daughter’s missing. She’s seven, brown hair—“
    A man’s voice called out from behind the middle-aged woman. “Who is it, Momma?”
    The woman barked back, “I got it, Daniel!”
    Daniel, a soft-spoken eighteen-year-old, peered out from behind his mother. He had a thin, delicate nose, full lips and large, doe-like eyes. He would have been a beautiful woman if he hadn’t been a man.
    “Someone’s lost?” he asked.
    “I told you, I got it,” his mother snapped, annoyed. Daniel retreated out of sight. The woman looked back at Roger. “We ain’t seen no one.”
    Roger peered anxiously into the cab behind her, trying for a better look, but he couldn’t see much. This woman trucker didn’t have the warm tone in her voice that the other woman had. “Are you sure? She was in my car over there, and—“
    “We been watchin’ TV. Ain’t seen anything. Sorry.” She cut him off, then added with a forced smile, “But we’ll keep a look out.” She snapped the door closed.
    Roger spun around desperately. There was one more nearby truck, a beat-up old Mack with Georgia plates.
    Roger raced over, pounded on the door. A heavyset man in his late 40s shoved the door open. He had deep creases in his slightly bloated face, one eye that looked slightly off to the left, and he wheezed with every effort. “What’s up?” he growled.
    “Hi. I wanted to know if you saw a little girl, my daughter. She’s brunette, seven.”
    “You lost your kid?” the man interrupted sharply.
    “Yes. I mean, she was in my car, right there,” Roger pointed.
    The man’s watery eyes glanced at the car, then back at Roger. “She was by herself?”
    “No. Someone was watching her, but she somehow got out of my car.”
    “Jesus Lord,” the big man wheezed, irritated. He was doing everything he could to hide his obvious frustration with Roger, or with any parent who would let this happen.
    “Look, I’m just trying to find out if you saw her,” Roger offered defensively.
    “You look inside the truck stop?”
    But Roger’s attention was diverted to the sleeper cab behind the man. There were a couple of Confederate flags strung up, and a gun rack with several rifles. Roger looked back at the big, asthmatic man, a little rattled by what he was seeing behind him. “Huh?”
    “The truck stop. The diner. Gift shop,” the driver snapped insistently. He had given up trying to temper his irritation.
    “No, I was in there when she—“ Roger started to explain but stopped. Why the fuck should he care what this fat old asshole thought? He turned away. “Fuck it."
    The big man shook his head and closed the door. Roger steadied himself on the running board. His whole world was spinning out of control. A complete disaster was unfolding, and with no sign that it was going to let up.
    He looked from the front of the diner to the repair garage and truck wash in the distance behind it, then back over to the diner. His eyes strayed to the dark highway.
    Nausea swept up