Fatal Encounters
by Irv Pliskin
Chapter 36
Regina looked at her mother when she said she would behave. “What are you doing?" she asked. “Are you just being perverse to upset me? What in the world is going on in your brain? You're making me crazy, you know that?”
Before Angelina could answer, Frank started to talk again. “Honey,” he said to Regina,” let's see if we can work all of this out with out any recriminations. I am not sure your mom realizes what is going on. She is no doubt suffering from the shock of learning that her husband is dead. Wouldn't you think?”
There was a momentary silence, as all three of them considered the circumstances and what was happening.
Angelina looked steadily at Frank. In a tremulous voice she asked:
“Were you really going to have me locked up? It was a bluff, wasn't it?”
Frank stared back, and said with a strongly positive tone, “No it was not a bluff. Had you continued your attitude, I would have had you locked up and I would file charges. As I said, I have the right to do that, and I have enough information to charge you with fraud and a bunch of other things. So I think it is important that we understand each
other, and what the circumstances are. Do you follow me?”
Angelina nodded. “Yes,” she said, “I think I do. Are you always such a mean and nasty person?”
“Probably. But only when people ask for it. And you must admit you have been giving me a very hard time. I hope that that's over. If not, get ready to find yourself in the prison ward and charged with a list of things that it will take four or five lawyers to work out. Understand?”
She bit her lip and looked at him. “Yes, I understand.”
“Good, we really don't have time to fool around like this; there are lots of important things to discuss.”
“Like what?” Angelina asked. “What do we have to discuss?”
“Well, inasmuch as your husband is dead,” we have to discuss what happens to his property. Did he have a will?”
“I don't know.”
“So, that's the first thing to consider. Then we have to find out what property he had, where it is, what money he had, what taxes have to be paid. Did he have a lawyer?”
“Again, I don't know.”
“Well,” Frank said, “that's the start. And from there we go into every aspect of his business and his life. Quite obviously he had much more than his city salary, so he may be deeply in debt, or he may have left you with a fortune. We just don't know, do we? And then there are the plans for a funeral, interment, a cemetery plot. Do you have one by the way?”
“We have the plot Regina's dad is buried in. There were two graves there.”
Regina hissed: “You are not going to put that miserable son of a bitch anywhere close to my dad's grave. I won't allow it. Even if there is no contact, I don't want a crud like that anywhere near my father. Besides, as I remember, we bought those plots together so you could be with Dad when your time came. I feel sure he will forgive you for marrying a shit like Frauder. He understood that you could get lonely, but I think he hoped you would have better sense than to marry some one like him.”
“Easy Regina,” Frank said. “We don't want to get into a fight over this.
The fact is that we will have to make funeral arrangements, but not until the coroner is finished and the body can be released. I suspect your mom may have to be in the hospital for a few days yet, before she is able to even leave here, so all of this will have to wait until she is up to dealing with it. Right?”
“That's right,” Regina said. “Mother, I don't think Frank is comfortable calling you Mrs. Frauder. I know I certainly won't be if he does. I never want to hear that name again, if I can help it. If it is okay with you, I'd like him to call you by your first name, of if you aren't comfortable with that, by my name. Should he call you Angelina or Mrs. Dawson? Which?”
Angelina's forehead creased as she thought for a moment. “Are you two really going to get married?”
“Yes, we are,” Regina said, bristling.
“When?”
“We haven't set a date. But it will be soon. I think it will depend on the type of wedding Frank's family will want us to have. We haven't discussed it with them yet, but it will be soon. Won't it Frank?”
“It certainly will. I'm going to discourage my folks to have a big Polish wedding, but they may insist. A justice of the peace will do for me. Maybe we'll get married and have a big reception afterwards. We've gotta go see my folks: they haven't met Regina yet. I've been so busy on this case I'm working on, that I haven't had any time off. But yes, we are going to get married, and as soon as possible. I'm not going to let this wonderful girl get away from me, no way.”
“Well,” Angelina said, “if you can forgive me for the things I've said, how about he calls me MOM? Would that be all right?”
Regina began to cry. Frank swallowed a lump in his throat, and said hoarsely. “Yeah, Mom, that would be fine.”
Carl awakened at about 6:30 AM with the sounds of diesel engines starting and warming up. The rigs parked around him had begun to move out with their loads. He knew he could stay where he was for a while, before anyone got to wondering about him, but he also knew he would have to move on after a while, to avoid arousing a lot of suspicion.
His first need, though, was to get to a bathroom and take care of his morning ablutions. He took his Dopp kit, slipped on a jacket and walked to the truck stop center. He did what he had to do in the men's room, joining a half a dozen other drivers who stood at the long row of sinks and mirrors shaving, brushing teeth and getting ready for the day. Feeling refreshed and relieved, he went into the dining room and had breakfast. He looked at the men around him, and realized that what he needed to blend in was a leather jacket, with sleeve studs and a black leather baseball cap. After his breakfast he went into the store and bought two pair of Levi jeans, two work shirts and a jacket and hat.
He paid cash. He went out to the truck, climbed into the back, put on his 'working clothes' and was ready to go back on the highway to the next truck stop. He started the diesel, let it idle for a while, and when it was properly warmed up, and 'talking' to him, he put in the clutch, shifted to first gear and started to roll.
By noon, Carl was tired. He didn’t know why, but it didn’t matter. He would find a place to park the rig and rest.
He cruised along until he saw one of those state operated rest stops, with room for cars and trucks. This was a pretty nice one, he thought, big building with rest room facilities and a decent place to park the rig. He pulled in, putting himself at the end of a row of spaces for eighteen wheelers, so he knew he could get out if he had to. He got down from the cab, locked it and went to the large reception area. It was pretty nice, clean toilets, vending machines and even a travel person at a large counter with maps and other information.
He signed in, using a fictitious name, got some maps and brochures and then went back to the truck. He unlocked the door, got into the back sleeping area and took an afternoon nap. When he awakened, he munched on one of the food bars he had bought at the vending machines and decided that he needed a quiet, not very busy truck stop for the next couple of days. And just maybe, just maybe a female companion might be nice for an hour or two.
He decided to see what he could find that might be interesting on the CB radio. Making contact on the CB Radio was completely anonymous, and that was important to him, at this point.
He switched on his CB and listened for a while, and then, when there was a lull in traffic, he said, using a very deep southern accent: “Breaker, Breaker. Ahm ‘bout to head nouth on 81, headed to Hazleton.
Any good buddy know where I ken hole up fer a bit? I'd be much obliged if someone knew of a stop with maybe some interestin’ opputunities, know what Ah mean...?”
“Whatsamatta buddy,” a voice came back to him. “You horny or something?”
“Ya might say that,” Carl answered deepening his southern accent.
“Wayn’t ya take care of it with Rosy Palm?” another voice said. “costya a hell of a lot less money.”
“Nah, Carl said, that ain’t fur me. I’m a hopin’ fur the real thing.”
“You on 81 yet?” another voice asked.
“Nah, comin to it soon, but not yet.”
“Didn’ think so. Too far for these here CB’s to carry. What’s your handle? Horny guy?”
“Yeah,” Carl said, “that’s right.” The man on the CB laughed at that.
“Some handle, bro. Some handle.” Then he added
“Well hornyguy, Listen up. Go north on 81 ‘til you come to route 61, off to your right. About three or four miles down, near a little one horse burg called St. Clair there's’ a stop on top of a hill. Called Top of The Hill Truck stop. It ain’t very big, but it sometimes has a lot of action there. You might give it a go, if you’re in that direction.”
Carl wrote it down, said, “Thanks buddy. Thanks one whole hell of a lot.” and turned off the CB. It was something to think about, perhaps plan to be there. And, if the action was okay, and the place okay, park there for a day or two. He was sure he could work that out with the management.
After a bit, he pulled the rig out on the highway and drove towards I-81, and when he reached it he headed north. After about an hour or so, he came to the turn off for route 61. He took it and followed the road until he saw the signs for the Top of the Hill Truck Stop. He wondered why anyone in his right mind would put a truck stop up on top of a hill, as he geared down to low gear to go up the slope. Had he had a load in the trailer, he felt sure the rig would strain to get up there. He shook his head, but made the trip. At the top he found a very neat and pleasant truck stop.
There were half a dozen rigs waiting for fuel, and he joined the queue. By now he knew that when they were ready for him, they would page him in the truck stop restaurant He got his number and went in for coffee and to look around. He had coffee and a piece of Boston Creme pie that he thought was very good, and then they called his number. He pulled up to the pump and filled his tanks with diesel. When he paid cash, nobody raised an eyebrow, although most of the drivers used credit cards. He took the cash receipt and folded it carefully, making a big show of putting it in his wallet. He kept his wallet empty of anything but money.
His various identifications were too valuable to him to risk them, they were always carefully put into his well made, and almost impossible to get to money belt. Then he moved the truck to the row of parked vehicles, pulled it in to a parking place, locked the doors and crawled into the back for a nap.
When he woke up, it was fully dark. He looked at his watch and swore loudly. It was already 9:30 at night, and almost too late for dinner. The restaurant was open all night, he was sure. But he wasn’t sure he could get anything but snacks, after 9 PM. Regardless, he went into the restaurant, and discovered that he could still get a full meal. He had a very satisfying chicken fried steak, thinking as he did that the idea that truckers had well defined food tastes was baloney. They didn’t know good from bad, and they judged quality by quantity. There was a lot of steak, a mound of potatoes and a huge tray of hot bread. But the food--well there were times when Carl Rogers had dined in the world’s finest restaurants. This didn’t come close. But it would do. It was satisfying and filling.
Finishing his dinner, he went back to his vehicle, climbed in, locked the doors and lay down on his bunk with the TV on. He wondered where the action was. He had come to this truck stop because someone had told him, on the CB, that he could find action at the Top of the Hill. So far it was completely dead.
Another mistake, he thought. I’ll go back to the area I was in tomorrow. ‘Bad idea this. Nothing ventured, nothing gained,’ he thought. ‘Oh well.’
