Hector devoured the croissant before the Cadillac CTS made it onto the Mass Pike. He rolled through the EZ-Pass lane and put the petal down as the car barreled west. Once through the tolls, Hector lit up one of the several joints he rolled and grabbed a Boston Kreme from the box in the backseat. Joe was fighting a severe hangover and sat sipping his coffee, struggling to keep his eyes open.
“Watch your speed,” Joe warned between blinks of his eye.
Hector was pushing 85 and with the reputation that Mass State Troopers have for busting speeders, the warning was well deserved. But in all the years that they had known each other, Hector had never gotten a speeding ticket. He outran a sheriff’s deputy one time back in Texas, gunning it to the county line, beyond their jurisdiction before the officer could turn around to pull him over.
“After all these years you still don’t trust me,” Hector said throttling the engine. “If you don’t like the way I drive, you can get out and walk.”
“Fine,” Joe said reluctantly, “just don’t get us killed.”
Lynyrd Skynyrd’s That Smell was playing on the radio. Hector cranked up the volume, took a drag and exhaled, singing along as he cracked the window. Joe, in the meantime, had passed out in the passenger seat.
“Jeez,” Hector said to himself, reaching underneath the bench seat. He pulled out the bottle of mescal. It was a gift from his father who traded it for a bag of oranges from a blind man in Boquillas, Mexico. Hector yanked the cork out with his teeth, took a pull from the bottle and poured a couple of shots into Joe’s coffee. Hector then reached across the cab and slapped Joe across the face.
He pulled out the bottle of mescal. It was a gift from his father who traded it for a bag of oranges from a blind man in Boquillas, Mexico.“Wake up you drunk fuck,” he yelled.
Startled, Joe awoke instantly and took a sip of his coffee as though nothing had happened. His face clinched as he swallowed.
“This coffee is shit,” Joe said clutching the coffee in his hands.
“You want a drag,” Hector said, offering the joint to his friend.
“Might as well. It can only help my hangover.”
“So tell me how does it feel to be the other man?”
“Not as bad as I thought I would feel. I don’t hate myself. I sympathize with Lisa for having such a dick husband – a small-dicked husband.”
“So why didn’t you marry her?”
“I wasn’t ready. I was 22 at the time man. How am I supposed to get married so young? Now look at us, driving around New England like we’re back on those Texas country roads. What about you and that girl you were dating a couple of months ago when I left for the city?”
“She called it quits and left me for another guy. It broke my heart, but there was nothing I could do.”
“And you still love her?”
“Sadly, yes.”
“Now who’s the bitch?”
“Shit, I’m low on gas,” Hector said, trying to change the topic of conversation. “We’ll pull into the next rest stop.”
Hector signaled his intent and pulled the red beast into the rest area. The door of the sedan swung open and Hector stepped out. Joe whipped out his credit card and began to pump gas.
“We’ll need something to chase this mescal with,” Hector said. “What do you want to drink?”
“Nothing. I’m not drinking any more booze.”
“How are we supposed to do this right if we aren’t drinking?”
“Fine,” Joe said reluctantly. “Get me a Gatorade, orange.”
All Massachusetts rest stops along I-90 are identical. They are a trifecta of corporate greed – a Gulf gas station, a McDonalds restaurant and a convenience store. It’s a concrete oasis where commerce broadsides the unsuspecting population. The place is rife with characters. The Chinatown bus driver smokes a cigarette, all the while staring at college coeds climbing onto the bus. Predictably the girls wear a college insignia hooded sweatshirt and tote Diet Cokes in hand.
Hector walked through the food court area where a wholesome American family was chomping down on McDonald’s before hitting the road in their SUV. The overweight father with a two-size-too-small polo shirt, blue jeans and Velcro shoe laces was the nastiest of them all. His sharp, pointed teeth resembled fangs tearing into the flesh of a Big Mac sandwich.
Hector shuttered as he continued to the drink section of the convenience store. He dug deep in his right pocket looking for any loose bills to cover the drinks. He pulled out a few bills and, to his horror, one of the joints fell to the floor. As if nothing were out of place, Hector reached down discreetly and collected the contraband. He made a quick glance around the store to see if anyone had noticed.
“Niiiice,” said a voluptuous woman who was standing behind Hector. He smiled back at her with the look one stoner gives another.
“You got some to sell?” the woman asked. She was wearing tight jeans that hugged her round ass. She had long wavy hair and spoke with a mysteriously-sexy accent.
“I’m sorry,” Hector said, “I’m not that kind of person.”
“Well how about a trade,” the woman said. “If you got another one, I’ll trade you some blow for it.”
“Why not,” Hector said, digging into his pocket, revealing two joints. He handed them to the woman who slid a small vial into his jacket pocket. Discreetly, Hector examined his barter and smiled with satisfaction. Hector was about to turn when he saw another woman run up to them.
“Jill,” the second woman said with a girlish voice. “Let’s get out of here. This place is starting to creep me out.”
“In a second,” Jill said. “I was just saying goodbye to my new friend…”
“Hector.”
“Right,” Jill said grabbing a fistful of flesh from her partner. The two shared a tender kiss and Hector’s eyes perked up.
“Calm down,” Jill said.
“You two are…”
“Lesibians,” Jill said completing Hector’s thought.
“Intriguing.”
Hector returned to the car with two Gatorades just as Joe was putting up the nozzle.
“Let’s have a shot before we get back on the road,” Hector said. “Then it’s technically not drinking and driving.”
He reached inside the car, pulled out the bottle and took a draw before handing it to Joe.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Joe said pushing the bottle away with his right hand.
“I know me too. The way that dad was plowing through that Big Mac in there made me feel like vomiting.”
“I’m serious,” Joe said as he hiccupped. He turned and threw up in the trashcan next to the pump. Hector handed him a napkin from the glove box. After wiping the chunks from the corners of his mouth, Joe grabbed the bottle and took a big swig.
“Yeahhhhh,” Hector said with a nod. “Let’s hit the road. Oh and you’re not going to believe what I just scored us.”
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