The Joyride

"Well, it is pretty unbelievable." 
Del reached out with his fork and speared his friend's last sausage link. "What is?" he replied as he bit it in half. 
"Hey," Neal said with a laugh, "leggo my eggo." Seeing as he was too full to eat another bite, his protest carried little weight. 
Del quickly chewed up the other half and childishly showed it to Neal. Balancing the mush on his tongue, he replied, "Wha, you wan it back?" 
Neal shook his head, hiding a grin behind his napkin. "You haven't changed a bit since we were kids. Now close your mouth, everyone's staring." 
Muttering, "Yes, mother," under his breath, Del went back to playing with his pancakes. The lake of syrup on his plate surged toward the sides every time he plunged his fork in for another bite. A sticky ring of syrup encircled his plate, making Neal even more aware of all the eyes upon them. 
With syrup dripping from his chin, Del exclaimed, "They ain't looking at me, man. Must be that shirt you slept in, it's all wrinkled." 
Neal ignored the comment about his clothes, but the part about him being the target of everyone's scrutiny was a bit harder to shrug off. "Well, like I said before you pilfered my pork, ditching work and taking off for parts unknown still seems strange to me. I can hardly believe you talked me into it." 
"Why's that? We did this kinda shit all the time when we were kids." 
Neal slid his empty plate to the end of the table. "Yeah, you keep saying that, but my head's a little fuzzy on the details. We haven't seen each other in a long time." He thought about asking how he knew where he worked but left it unsaid.
Pushing his plate aside as well, Del settled back in his seat and crossed his arms behind his head. Looking straight at Neal, his eyes blinked rapidly for the briefest of moments. "What about the time we pretended to be like those kids in that Stephen King movie?" 
Neal sat up as the memory came back to him. "You mean the time we followed the train tracks for a day and a half and a search party was formed to look for us? As I recall, we both got grounded for a month for that. And besides, if you're hinting at there being a dead body where we're headed, you can count me out." 
Del, seeming a little annoyed by his friend's doubts, switched tactics. "You'd prefer you were still wasting away in that cubicle with... what was her name again?" 
Neal answered before he had time to wonder how his friend knew anything about his job. "Her name is Susan." 
"Yeah, that's right, Susan, the motorboat queen. She may be hot, but-" 
Neal cut him off, "Wait, how'd you know about her nickname? I haven't told anyone that." 
Managing a half-assed shrug with his arms still crossed behind his head, Del answered, "You must've mentioned it in the car. Point is-" 
Neal stepped all over his friend's words again. "I think I'd remember telling you about her massive tits. In fact, I don't recall saying anything about my boss." For the slightest of moments, a myriad of questions ran through his head, but they were instantly replaced by a memory. While he relived the time his boss lost a button on her blouse, Del made his case. 
"Sheesh, can't even finish a sentence around you. I don't know what to tell you, man. Maybe I have telekinesis and don't know it yet. Might explain how I got out of Vegas with money still in my wallet." 
Having lost track of what he'd been saying, Neal jumped back into the conversation. "Do you mean telepathy?" 
"Yeah, whatever, nerd. Point is, she can print out her own fucking cover sheet for the TPS report." 
Neal chuckled at the reference to one of his favorite movies. "Well, driving who knows where with you won't pay the bills." 
"Don't worry, Amigo, I got you covered. Look, I didn't exactly have to twist your arm. As I recall, we were barely a block away from that depressing place when you tossed your clip-on out the window. Simply put, you could use some excitement in your life and I need a co-pilot." 
"Co-pilot? So far I've been doing all the driving." 
"And you're doing a great job too. Top-notch flying, captain." Del gave a weak salute before crossing his arms behind his head again. 
Neal glanced at his friend's car in the parking lot and grinned. "Okay, besides you being a lazy asshole that probably cost me my job, the car drives like a dream. Where'd you pick it up at?" 
Del beamed at the mention of his car. "Oh, me and Lucille? We go back a long ways." 
"Really?" replied Neal. "Because Lucille looks like she's straight off the assembly line floor." 
Del offered up another half-assed shrug. "Okay, so we haven't been together that long. All that matters is I'm in love and I think you are too." 
Neal smiled, still gazing out into the parking lot. "Yeah, she really is something." 
With a look of satisfaction painted across his face, Del patted his belly and let loose a loud belch. "Man, oh, man, now that hit the spot." He slipped out of his side of the booth and glanced around. "Go ahead and pay the bill. I gotta piss. Money's in the glovebox if you're short. Oh, and give Big Bertha a fat tip." 
The waitress showed up on Del's heels with a puzzled expression on her face. "Can I get ya anything else, hon?" 
"No thanks, just the bill, please." He glanced at her name tag. "Oh, and Nancy, don't mind my friend. I think he has tourettes." 
Nancy rolled her eyes. "Sure, hon, whatever." She tossed the bill on the table, grabbed his plate, and beat a hasty retreat. For a second, Neal swore he saw a sausage link still on his plate, but the waitress was 
gone before he could get a second look. Seeing as Del had made a big show of eating the last one, he shrugged it off as a trick of the lights and worked on sucking down the last half of his soda. 
 
Glancing around the greasy spoon, he noticed the waitress and cook periodically looking his way and talking in a hushed tone. The cook, seeming like the type that didn't smile much, shot Neal an angry look before turning away. Deciding that was his cue to leave, he emptied his wallet and waved the two twenties in the air like a white flag of surrender before tossing them on the table. 
A couple minutes later, Del swung open the passenger side door. "What the fuck, man? Are you nuts, leaving that shit out in the open?" He scooped up the fat stacks of money lying on the seat and shoved them in the glovebox. 
"I think I should be the one saying what the fuck. There's over five grand there. Where'd you get all that money and whose car is this?" 
"Come on, man, it's not what you think. I got lucky in Vegas and decided to skip the return flight and drive home instead."
Neal faltered for a moment. He was sure his friend was lying but didn't want to believe it. "Vegas, really? And let me guess, you bought the car with your winnings?" 
Unaware he was heading into a trap, Del offered up his best choir boy smile. "Swear to God." 
"Really, then who the fuck is Lil' Miss?" 
"Little who?" 
"L-I-L-M-I-S-S. It's on your fucking license plate. I suppose you forgot you paid a little extra at the DMV, so everybody would know it was Lil' Miss that just shot by going ninety."
Del slipped into the car and slammed the door shut before turning to Neal. His eyes blinked rapidly for a moment before he replied, "I think you need glasses, bro." 
"Oh, I need glasses?" 
"Yeah, maybe you do, 'cuz I don't have vanity plates." 
Furious, Neal got out of the car and went around to the back. "Oh, yeah, then what is-" He stood there staring at the bumper, completely dumbfounded by what he saw. Embossed in blue were the figures LTI 8973. 
Del came around the side of the car and handed his friend a lit cigarette. "Never been a better time to start up again." Neal accepted the offering with a shaky hand and took a long drag. Tilting his head back, he slowly blew the smoke out and watched it drift over the car. 
"I don't understand... I swear I-" 
"It's cool, man. No harm done." 
They stood there smoking in silence. When he'd had enough, he flicked the cherry off the cigarette and dropped it onto the pavement. "I could use a beer." 
Del clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Now that's the Neal I remember. Seems I broke you out of that prison in the nick of time. Come on, man, let's get the hell out of here." 
Del turned toward the left side of the car, but Neal stopped him. "Where you going? The passenger seat's on the other side." 
Twenty minutes later, they were rolling along on the freeway, going eighty-five. Neal crunched an empty beer can in his hand and tossed it out the window before letting out a loud belch. "Woo! I haven't felt this good in a long time." 
"I know, man, it don't get any better than this." 
"So, you gonna tell me where the fuck we're going or is it still a big secret?" 
"Oh, it's a secret alright, of the ancient Chinese variety." 
Neal laughed and looked over at his friend, "You're such a dumbass." 
"Hey, watch the road, man." 
"Relax, there's not a car in sight. Every lane is ours." 
"Yeah, 'cuz you passed everybody." 
"And when we stop for more beer, I'll pass them all again." 
Neal woke up in the driver's seat with a pounding headache, feeling like he'd been up all night bonging 40s. "Fuck, where the hell are we?" 
Del banged on the window, "Yoohoo, motherfucker!" 
He sat up in shock, "Ah, fuck! Dammit, Del, you scared the shit out of me." 
"Yeah, that was the plan. This is your early morning wake up call. I'm gonna take a piss. Be ready to go when I get back." 
Neal got out of the car and looked around. There were no signs in sight to give a clue as to where they were. All he could see in either direction were trees and the gravel road they were parked beside. 
The crunching of gravel under his feet set off alarm bells in his head, instantly waking him fully. "Ah, no, no, no! You can't drive a Porsche on a gravel road." 
Del came out of the woods, zipping up his fly. "Why the fuck not?" 
"Well, for one, it's not a fucking off-road vehicle." 
"Nah, it's fine, man. Besides, it's my car and I can drive it wherever I want." 
He was almost certain he'd caught Del lying this time, but he hesitated. He'd been totally wrong before, so he decided not to pass judgment too quickly. "Oh, you drove us here?" 
"Yeah. You were pretty drunk and getting all swervey, so we switched." 
"So explain why I just woke up behind the wheel?" 
Del shrugged for the umpteenth time. It seemed to be his go-to gesture. "Well, it's not astrophysics." 
"Rocket science."
"What?" 
"Everybody says, 'It's not rocket science.' Astrophysics is my line. I've never heard anyone else use it." 
"Yeah, well, I guess I got it from you. It's a good line." 
"Yeah, my line." 
"Relax, man, I parked and got out to take a piss. You were passed out in the driver's seat when I got back. See, it's not rocket science." 
"Well, where the hell are we?" 
"We're on an access road for power lines or something like that." 
"What the fuck for?" 
"Well, if you must know, last night I saw what I assumed was a sobriety checkpoint up ahead, so I pulled down here. Man, you sure are a grumpy Gus in the morning." 
"A checkpoint on the freeway?" 
"Nah, man. We got off the freeway a while ago. It's back roads all the way from here. Not as fast, but certainly more scenic."
Neal rubbed at his temples. "Damn, how much did I drink?" 
"Not quite enough to top off Lake Erie, but close enough." 
Just then, images of waves crashing down on a beach with black sand flashed before his eyes. He stumbled back and leaned against the car. 
With genuine concern in his voice, Del blurted out, "Whoa, you okay, man?" 
"I'm fine, just been a while since I've had a hangover." 
"I bet. So, you want me to drive?" 
"I got it, just need a moment." 
"Hey, man, if you need to puke, I say go for it. Better out than in." Del chuckled, "Listen to me quoting Gandhi. Such a wise dude." He offered up a wry smile before heading to the front of the car and pressing down on the hood until it clicked. 
"What's in there?" 
"Oh, nothing now. I switched the beer cooler to the back seat, more accessible that way." 
Neal recalled the cooler being in the back seat last night, but the thought flew from his head just as the contents of his stomach did the same. A few horrendously awkward moments later, he stood up straight and glared down at the Jackson Pollock lying at his feet. He assumed it would be all liquid, but there were grayish chunks floating within the putrid puddle of beer and bile. 
Del walked over and peered down at the mess at his staggering friend's feet. "I imagine that's where most microwave burritos end up. Oh, well, we'll stop for a bite first place we see. Some food in your belly will do you some good." 
"Yeah, that sounds good. When did we stop for burritos?" Neal closed his eyes as he caught another flash of the black beach. "Fuck, why can't I remember last night?" 
"Huh, that's weird. What's the last thing you remember?" 
"Um, cruising on the freeway and then... oh, yeah, we stopped at a gas station.... I got nothing after that." 
"Bingo. Or I should say burrito." 
"What?" 
"The gas station, dummy. That's where we got the burritos and more beer. We stopped off at a Walmart too, picked up some clothes, a few basics like tooth brushes, deodorant. And now I bet you're wishing we'd got some kicks too." Del glanced down at Neal's shoes. "Fuck, that's disgusting. Go wipe those off in the grass and let's get the hell out of here." 
Running his arm across his mouth, he turned and trudged over to the side of the road. He felt awful, like he'd just vomited up all of his vital organs. All he wanted to do was lie down, but something kept him going. 
For one, cleaning off his shoes seemed really important in that moment. That, and they had somewhere to be. He didn't recall discussing the timeline, but he knew they were just a day or so away from their destination. And for some strange reason, getting there meant everything to him. 
Del called out as he opened the passenger door, "Oh, and you're changing those nasty clothes before you get back in my car." 
Neal looked off into the woods and thought about the license plate incident. As he began swiping his feet back and forth in the grass, he muttered, "Lil' Miss." Suddenly, images of a forest floor replaced the grass beside the gravel road. 
He could feel a heavy weight slung over his shoulder as he moved along, carefully stepping over downed branches and avoiding dips in the terrain. He felt something brush his thigh and bounce off his knee. Looking down, he saw a red high heel shoe lying in the leaves. It was the same color as Del's car. 
"Earth to planet Neal. Earth to planet Neal. Hello? You in there, bud?" 
Neal came to with Del waving his hands in his face. Confused by what he'd just imagined, he answered his friend in a muddled tone. "Uh, yeah?" 
"Damn, dude, I think you're still drunk. Alright, that's it, you're in the passenger seat at least until we get some food in you. Here." He shoved some clothes at Neal and turned back toward the car. 
Neal slowly opened his eyes, the last vestige of a dream still clinging to his consciousness. 
He recalled being underwater, carried along on a strong current. All around him were fish with yellow fins busily swimming along. Sunlight filtering down through the surrounding darkness glinted off their scales, making them appear silver one moment and grayish-blue the next. 
He swam within the school, feeling a sense of safety among them, but the fear of imminent danger never left his thoughts entirely. He could sense they weren't alone. Among the throng of nearly identical fish were some sporting little dark spots. 
Being so closely crowded together, it was impossible not to bump up against one another. Every time one in the school made contact with one of the spotted variety, the dark specks would migrate. He watched as the speckled ones slowly became the majority until finally, he could feel something squirming on his skin as well. 
"Come on, man, we're here. Get your butt moving." 
Neal came to in the driver's seat with a headache the size of Oklahoma City sitting just behind his eyes. He couldn't remember ever feeling as awful as he did right then, but all he could think about was getting his butt moving, as his friend had so eloquently put it. 
Swinging open the car door, he replied, "I'm coming. Damn, how long was I out for?" 
"Not too long. I told you I'd pull into the first place I saw. We've got to get some food into that empty stomach of yours." 
Neal rubbed at his temples. "Gee, Mom, that's mighty thoughtful of you." 
"Oh, your mom, I haven't thought about her in years. Jean was so hot back in the day. I ever tell you-" 
"Holy shit! Yes, you have and please don't start up about that now. It was creepy then and it's even creepier now." 
"What? You should be proud you come from such good stock." 
Neal unlatched his seatbelt and absentmindedly clutched the steering wheel as he turned to exit the vehicle. "Hey, I thought you said you drove." 
Clearly annoyed, Del sighed and looked directly at his friend. "Yeah, I did. Now, come on, let's get something to eat." 
Neal stared into Del's rapidly blinking eyes and replied, "Fuck yeah, I'm starving." 
Walking around the back of the car toward the restaurant, he glanced down at the license plate and stopped in his tracks. Clear as day, the letters on the plate read 2XY 732. He rubbed his eyes and when he looked again they read LTI 8973. Confused by the contrasting images, he blinked again, but the plate was the same, LTI 8973. Satisfied it was just hunger messing with his head, he turned toward the restaurant. He didn't get far before he realized the state listed on the plate was all wrong. 
For a split second, he felt a sense of panic. However, the sensation seemed alien to him, almost as if the feeling wasn't his own.
Spinning around, he rushed back the way he came, pressing the unlock button on the keyfob repeatedly. Swinging open the door, 
he leaned down and pulled the trunk release. Seconds later, he yanked open the hood, but instead of staring into a tiny trunk, he was looking at an engine. 
While he struggled with the knowledge that Porsches had their engines in the rear, Del walked up wearing an expression of cold disappointment. Pointing to his face, he asked, "Have I got the look right? I've only got your memories to go by, so is this similar to how your dad used to look at you?" 
Neal backed up a step, "My memories?" 
Del cautiously stepped forward, raising his hands in front of him in a non-threatening way. "Hey, why don't we get back in the car and talk this out like calm, rational people. We certainly don't need to make a scene." When he reached the hood of the car, he glanced at the engine and shrugged. "Well, would you look at that. Somebody pulled the ol' switcheroo." A moment later, he was gone. 
Neal wanted to run, but every way he turned blocked him like a brick wall. Del's voice, seemingly coming from all directions at once, broke the frantic silence. "Come on, buddy, this isn't what you think. Now get in the fucking car before you do something stupid." 
Feeling a sudden release of pressure behind him, he backed up until he met another invisible obstacle. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he could sense the path to the driver's side door was clear. Still, as he slowly walked toward it, he reached out around him, feeling for any opening or weak spot in whatever was containing him. 
"Almost there, just a little further now. We'll sit down and talk this out. I'll explain everything." The last thing he wanted to do was get back in the car, but seeing no other options before him, he opened the door and got inside. Before he could utter a word, everything went black. 
 
When he came to again, he was standing in an aisle surrounded by fish tanks. He was talking to a store clerk, but he had no control over what he was saying, and his body was moving without his express permission. There was a tremor in his voice, "I don't care, man... you choose the kind of fish. Just make sure it's... it's a saltwater type." 
He pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket, dropped a few on the ground, and clumsily shoved them into the teenager's hands. "Here, this should cover it, just make it quick." 
 
The pet store employee replied, "Sir, this is highly irregular." 
"So what? Look, there's a few hundred dollars there. Keep the change and get me... get me my fucking fish."
While he listened to himself arguing with the employee, he felt a strange sensation like being drawn backward on a conveyor belt. As he slowly slipped away from the scene in the pet store, it became smaller and smaller until it looked like nothing more than a window at night seen from a distance. Eventually, it was no bigger than a flickering candle flame until it became so tiny it went out altogether, leaving him adrift in complete darkness. "No fucking sharks, they're too stubborn." was the last thing he heard before everything went silent.
There's no telling how long he floated there in the void. One moment he was without a body, trapped inside his own mind, and the next he was standing in a bedroom with pictures of comic book heroes and swimsuit models all over the walls. Del stood before him with an expression of annoyance on his face. "Do you remember this place?" 
Neal spoke slowly at first, relishing the sensation of having his senses back. "Uh... yeah, this is your bedroom where we used to hang out and play video games." 
Del frowned, "No, it isn't. How can you not see that yet? This is all smoke and mirrors. Del isn't real. I cobbled him together from ideas in your head." 
"Wait, what? I don't understand." 
"That's right, you don't and yet you keep resisting me somehow. Don't you realize you've been talking to yourself all week? Look, just give me a few more hours and I'll be out of your hair... and out of your head." 
"What the fuck are you?" was on the tip of his tongue, but Del responded before he could say it aloud.
"It doesn't matter. I just want to get back to the ocean, but somehow you're making that difficult. Right now while we're having this little powwow, I'm arguing with a sixteen-year-old pimple factory in the real world. And it's all because I can't concentrate with all your fucking squirming." 
This wasn't the time for sarcasm, but Neal wasn't exactly thinking straight. "Oh, poor, poor body snatcher can't take the pressure. Well, if you can't stand the heat-" 
"Finish that line and I'll slit that boy's throat. Come on, fucking try me." 
Del's voice reverberated through the room, causing Neal to stumble back. He couldn't help but notice the entire space shook like it was all one thing. The posters on the walls, the comic books stacked up on the bookshelf, the baseball bat leaning in the corner, and everything else you'd expect in a boy's room remained still. 
"Whoa, let's not do anything crazy. Don't make me a murderer." 
Del frowned again, "God, you're fucking dumb. How are you giving me such a hard time? Your species is by far the most stubborn I've ever come across, but-" 
Neal cut him off. "Wait a minute. You've killed someone... with my hands?" 
"Oh, come on, man. Why haven't you put it together yet? I know you caught a glimpse of me dumping the owner of the Porsche the other day." 
"The red high heel...." 
"Yeah, had her stuffed in that ridiculously small trunk for a few hundred miles. It's a good thing "Lil' Miss" wasn't a misnomer." 
"You sick fuck! You're a monster!" 
"Don't you use that word with me. I'm an animal just like you. We're both complex in some ways and simple in others, but you and I really aren't that different." 
"Bullshit!" 
"Oh, come on, don't act like you've never watched The History Channel. You know damn well your kind kill all the time to get what they want." 
"I'm not a killer." 
"No, you're not, but your hands have crushed a windpipe and they've battered a man half to death as well. And that's not all. Aren't you curious where all that money came-" 
"Wait, what? Who did I beat to death?" 
"Fuck, man, I've had about enough of you always interrupting me. Besides, don't you think you're jumping the gun a bit? He might still be alive. Of course, I hear swelling on the brain can cause all sorts of complications." 
"Who?" 
"You remember the burrito that didn't sit well with you? Fuck, the inside of that microwave looked like sombody had taken a shit in it. I've seen less disgusting things crawling all over whale carcasses, but you tossed it in anyways, wrapping and all, and-" 
"Someone at the gas station?" 
"What did I just fucking say about interrupting me?" 
"But how?" 
"Well, I thought alcohol would make you more malleable. I didn't think about how it would affect me. As it turns out, I'm an angry drunk, so when the cashier copped an attitude...." Neal followed Del's eyes to his hands, but he couldn't bring himself to look at them. Suddenly, they began to hurt, reminding him of the few fights he'd been in when he was younger.
"I don't want to hear any more. This is fucking insane. I'll get the death penalty for sure." 
Del grinned, "What if I told you I could help with that?" 
 
Neal walked out of the surf with an empty plastic bag dangling from his hand. He walked up the beach and tossed it into a garbage can before walking back to where he parked the car. He saw the flashing red and blue lights before rounding the bend. For about thirty seconds, he flirted with the idea of turning himself in. He knew he wouldn't, though, just like he hadn't squeezed the life out of the exotic fish when he had the chance.
When he got close, a police officer stopped him in his tracks. "What seems to be the problem, officer?" 
"Is this your car, sir?" 
He looked at the dented sedan parked exactly where he'd left it and said, "No ma'am." Looking him up and down, she paused for a moment on his bruised and battered knuckles. His rapidly blinking eyes quickly arrested her curiosity.
She turned away and mumbled, "Then move along." 
He turned and started walking, but not before he got the money out of the glovebox. Eventually, he found himself at a bus station. The long ride home was tiring, but he didn't sleep for a single second. The events of the past few days slowly came back to him, and he relived every grisly detail for the first time. 
Two FBI agents picked him up outside his apartment building. They took him to the nearest police station in handcuffs and stuck him in an interrogation room, but he was back home within two hours. They let him go despite finding his fingerprints all over the crime scenes along with plenty of DNA evidence and video surveillance footage. It seems the thing he knew as Del had held up its end of the deal. He imagined by the time he walked into his apartment, the agents had destroyed every bit of evidence connecting him to the crimes. 
That night, he slept better than he had in years. When he woke the next morning, he found a black stain on his pillow. He took it as a sign the last remnants of that thing were finally out of his head. 
Walking into his bathroom, he stood before the mirror and stared right into the eyes of his reflection. He repeated the exact same words he said to the FBI agents. 
"I'm not your man." 
Category:Wheel of Misfortune 2022
Category:Animals
Category:Nature
Category:Vehicles
Category:Crime
Category:Kolpik