The convoy went all night and into the next day; they hit Arkansas coming out of Texas. It'd been a long night, but the eighteen-wheelers managed to lose the bears. By now, it was midday, and they were all exhausted but managed to keep going strong for the next person in line. It wasn't too soon until Hot Grandpa caught wind of a siren.
"Hey y'all, I just caught sight of a gumball machine and he's got some mighty loud buzzers." Hot Grandpa announced over the CB.
Ladies' Man laughed. "Maybe we shook him too hard."
"What's he doin' back there?" Pitbull asked.
Hot Grandpa glanced into his rearview mirror once more. "Nothin', he's playin' bumpersticker and I don't approve.
"Let's have some fun with the dumb bastard, eh?" Lumberjack suggested.
Hot Grandpa laughed. "That's a ten-four there, good-buddy!"
Hot Grandpa slowed down, catching the police car with the back of his rig. The car shot past him, and he sped up to avoid getting cut off from the convoy. The Dreamer began playing chicken with it. She swerved in and out of the lanes, toying with the police officer. In the process, she got a good look at his face.
"Hey y'all, you ain't gonna believe who it is." Dreamer called.
"Lemme guess, Roy Smokey." Pussycat commented.
"Affirmative. Listen, I dunno how much longer I can keep toyin' with ol��� Papa Bear, but you better be ready for him the second he breaks, you copy Pitbull?"
"Ten-four." Pitbull replied.
Dreamer continued to play chicken with Smokey until he broke for the next truck in line: Pitbull. Pitbull's cabover shifted into the next lane, driving Smokey onto the shoulder. Smokey kept going, beginning to pass Pitbull.
Pitbull muttered to himself. "This crazy son of a bitch." He leaned into the CB. "Pussycat, you better be fuckin' ready, he's comin' your way."
Smokey shot past Pitbull, the cabover returning to its place in the convoy line. Pussycat watched as the police car came up beside him. He became nervous, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, Smokey cut in front of him. Pussycat swerved, not wanting to hit him. The little white Brockway tumbled into the ditch, rolling over. Then, with a deafening boom, the tanker exploded.
The convoy line was brought to a sudden halt, air brakes and screeching tires sounded off collectively. Nine men and one woman ran to the scene, some of them carrying fire-extinguishers. The cab of the Brock was drowned in flames. They began searching the area, finding that the Brock's cab was deserted.
"Am I trippin' or did he disappear?" Cooler asked.
"Nah man, he's gotta be somewhere." Shit replied hopefully.
Ladies' Man doused the flaming cab with his fire-extinguisher. "Well, if he was in here, he'd be burnt to a crisp, we'd never find a body."
"No, you'd find a body, it ain't been that long." Dreamer argued.
"How d'you know?"
Dreamer rummaged through burnt pieces of truck. "You ever burned a squirrel, Ladies' Man?"
"What the fuck? No."
"I did, it was dead before that, though, in case you were wondering. It burned away in a bonfire, and I noticed it took half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes for it to become unrecognizable."
"Your point?"
"My point is that after less than five minutes of burning, you'd find a pretty good body. If he ain't in that truck, then he ain't in that truck, he's somewhere else.
"Oh yeah, then how do we find him then?"
"I've got an idea."
Dreamer and Ladies' Man walked back to her truck. She opened the passenger side door, and her dog jumped out. He began shuffling around, sniffing the area. He dipped down to where the Brock lay, then trotted back up to the shoulder. He stopped at the police car, sniffing intently at something.
Smokey sat on the hood of his car, smoking a cigarette. Pussycat was on the ground in front of it. Without thinking, Dreamer rushed to his aid. She picked his head up, laying it in her lap. Pussycat winced in pain.
"Pussycat, talk to me, are you alright? What hurts?" Dreamer asked him.
"I… gave the ditch a truck… ditches love trucks." Pussycat mumbled.
"Don't get cute with me. Now, tell me what the hell you did to yourself."
"Dreamer… I… think I broke my leg."
"Looks like your friend here could use a meat wagon, eh Dreamer? But of course, that'd mean turnin' yourselves in, and I know your pride is too high for that."
Dreamer scowled, looking up at him. "Sit on a dick, Smokey."
Smokey laughed. "Beaver, I don't think you really understand. You see, Pussycat here will die without medical help. So, what's it gonna be? The convoy, or him?"
"You ain't got a lick of sense, do ya, lawman?"
Smokey cocked his head to the side.
"We're truckers, cowboys of the highway, loners traveling the country. When have you ever heard of a trucker askin' for help? When have you heard of a trucker sacrifice an entire convoy just for their personal needs or wants?"
Smokey stayed silent.
"Pussycat ain't gonna die. There's a lot you don't know about the open road, and we've got more than just an Ace card up our sleeves."
A conflicted look crossed Smokey's face.
A few truckers from the convoy came, bearing materials.
"We salvaged some stuff from the Brock, we thought it might come in handy." Psycho explained.
"Perfect. Grandpa, can you get the knife from the glove box of my truck? Ah, Pitbull, could you find me some water, and some clean cloth? Shit, I need you to get some thread, fishing line, anything, and possibly a sewing needle or fishhook." Dreamer ordered.
"You got it." Hot Grandpa said, running off.
"I ain't got water, but you know what I got." Pitbull replied.
"Stonewall's fuel will be better, just get it and get it fast." Dreamer argued.
"Oh, yeah, Psycho's got a tackle box in his Caddie, I'll go get it." Shit remarked.
Dreamer looked up. "Anybody got a cigarette lighter?"
Cooler fumbled around in his pockets. He pulled out a lighter after a moment and handed it to Dreamer. "Here ya go, I always keep one on hand."
"Thanks, this'll come in handy."
"Dreamer, what the fuck are you doin'? What's goin' on?" Pussycat asked worriedly.
"We ain't gonna take you to a hospital, we're gonna help ya right here, right now."
"Is it goin' to hurt?"
"Like hell."
A worried expression crossed Pussycat's face.
"I got the tackle box!" Shit announced joyously.
"Great, tie a line to a hook." Dreamer ordered.
Shit did was he was told. Dreamer hit the lighter, and he sanitized the hook.
Dreamer took the hook. "Alright, now all we need to do is wait for Pitbull."
As if on cue, Pitbull appeared with a jar of white lightning and some cloth strips. Dreamer held out her hand to him.
"Gimme." Dreamer said.
Pitbull handed her the moonshine. She took Pussycat's arm and poured a bit onto the asphalt burn there.
Pussycat grimaced. "It burns like hell."
"I know, just suck it up for a little bit, yeah?" Dreamer muttered.
Pitbull handed her a cloth strip and she wrapped Pussycat's arm. She moved to his split forehead. She cured the wound with shine, before taking the hook, and sewing it shut. She severed the line by biting it, then handed the hook back to Shit for it to be sanitized and a new line applied to it. She cured the burn on Pussycat's face with shine but wasn't able to wrap it with cloth so she left it how it was.
"Your ribs hurt at all?" Dreamer asked.
"No, just my shoulder, I landed on it." Pussycat replied.
Dreamer took Pussycat's shirt off halfway to see his shoulder. There was an asphalt burn there, but his collarbone looked fine, and his shoulder wasn't dislocated as far as she could tell.
Dreamer sighed. "You're really fuckin' lucky, Pussycat."
Pussycat smiled. "Always have been."
Dreamer cured the burn and wrapped it. The only things left were his broken leg and a few scrapes and bruises that were too minor to pay much attention to.
"Grandpa, you ready with that knife?" Dreamer asked.
Hot Grandpa handed Dreamer her knife. "Ten-four, I been on standby."
"Pussycat, we're gonna try to set your leg. Now, I gotta warn ya, this's gonna hurt a lot worse than anything you've ever felt."
"Wh-what?" Pussycat stammered nervously.
"Just… deep breaths, okay?"
Pussycat became flustered and unable to speak clearly. His anxiety overwhelmed him. Dreamer brought the knife down to him, setting it in his mouth. Pitbull took hold of his left leg, and quickly jerked, setting it. A muffled scream escaped from Pussycat as he bit down hard on the knife handle. Dreamer took the knife away.
"I wasn't ready!" Pussycat exclaimed in a sob-like manner.
"That was the whole point, the more you prepare, the worse it's going to feel." Dreamer explained.
The truckers splinted Pussycat's leg and soon began going back to their trucks. Pitbull and Dreamer helped Pussycat to Dreamer's truck.
"And where the hell do you think you're goin'?" Smokey asked, sliding off the hood of his car.
"Anywhere but here." Pitbull answered.
"Y'all are under arrest, y'know."
"Like hell we are!" Pussycat growled angrily.
"You kiddin'? I could throw the whole Goddamn book at ya! Speedin', reckless drivin', evadin' an officer, resistin' arrest, disturbin' the peace, bootleggin', transportation of illegal whiskey, assault and battery, impedin' traffic, and whatever else I can come up with."
Dreamer left Pussycat and Pitbull, squaring up to Smokey. "Kiss my ass, Smokey."
Smokey smiled. He drew his arm back, backhanding her across the face. Her head snapped back, and she whipped back around to face him. She spat some blood to the side.
"A woman shouldn't talk to a man like that." Smokey remarked.
Dreamer wiped her mouth. "That's real nice, but I believe you just fucked yourself over. I could charge you with police brutality."
Smokey laughed. "No such thing!"
"Oh yeah? I've got evidence," Dreamer pointed to the forming bruise on the side of her face. "and I've got ten fucking witnesses." She gestured to the rest of the convoy.
Smokey's smile faded.
"Hit ya right in the dick, didn't I?"
Smokey didn't answer her.
"I've got a proposition for ya."
"Oh yeah, what's that?"
"You drop your charges, I'll drop mine."
"Alright."
"But… if you try to arrest us or trump up more charges, we'll be right back at square one. Understood?"
Smokey nodded. "It's a deal."
Dreamer held out her hand and they shook on it. She tipped her hat farewell to Smokey, before returning to her truck. The convoy started back up again, and the truckers continued their journey. They picked up their conversations on the CB.
"I get the feelin' that this ain't the last we're gonna see of ol' Roy Smokey." Pitbull said.
"Yeah, I'm right there with ya." Dreamer replied.
"Hey, your face alright? I saw you take that crack." Hot Grandpa chimed in.
"It was nothin', I'm fine."
"You sure."
"Yes, I'm sure. Listen, I'm gonna go silent for a little bit, keep your eye on our back door, yeah?"
���Ten-four."