Page 19 of Home on the Road

“Why are you here, Terry?”

He felt Harry step out behind him, the bigger man blocking the cool morning breeze. That presence gave him the extra courage he needed at that moment.

“Get your shit and get in the car,” Terry said, setting her mug on the small table beside her chair and standing.

Ziggy ignored her demand and asked the question uppermost on his mind. “How did you find me?”

Terry scowled at him as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you really think you can get away from me? You owe me. Now get your shit and let’s go.”

“No. I don’t owe you anything. My father is dead and I refuse to allow you to work me into the grave like you did him. You are nothing to me. So, go away and forget you ever knew me.”

Ziggy fought hard to continue looking into her face. When the need to look away became overwhelming, he shifted his gaze to her left ear and focused on her big, gaudy fake gold earring.

Terry did not respond, but he could tell the rage was building in her. He might have given in, if Harry and his brother weren’t standing behind him, backing him up. Taking a deep breath, he stiffened his spine further and refused to back down. He would never return to the diner, the truck stop, or anywhere she lived.

“Boy, when I get you home you’re going to be so damnsorry. Now get your shit and get in that car,” Terry ground out, her face growing red enough that Ziggy wondered if the top of her head would blow off from the pressure.

“No. What do I have to do to get you to understand that I am never going back there? In fact, if I have my way, Three Myles To Go Trucking will never stop there as customers in the future.”

“Sounds good to me,” Harry said stepping up behind him and laying a hand on Ziggy’s right shoulder. “And if you don’t leave now, and never bother Ziggy again, we’ll pass the word and get you blackballed in trucker community. And then where will you be?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Terry said, narrowing her eyes as her face went even darker.

“Try us. We may be a small company, but we have trucking friends all over the country and they have friends who have friends and it wouldn’t take but a phone call or two to make it so you lose all your trucking business,” Sam said, stepping out of the house and moving to stand beside Ziggy.

“If you’re smart, Terry, you’ll go home and sell the truck stop since you hate it so much,” Ziggy suggested, feeling stronger and freer by the second. “Maybe Sally Jo and the new cook would be interested in buying you out.”

Ziggy froze when Terry reached behind her back and pulled out a handgun. The Myles brothers sucked in sharp breaths, but Ziggy was afraid to for fear it would set his stepmonster off.

Terry aimed the weapon at the middle of his chest as she said, “I’m tired of talking. Get your shit, boy. Now.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ziggy asked, wondering where the hell she’d gotten a gun.

He studied the weapon closer. It took a moment, but he recognized the gun his father had always carried when he was onthe road in his truck. When Ziggy had started driving, his father had given it to him. He had always kept it packed in his bag because he hated guns.

So how the hell did she get it?

“Stop that swearing,” Terry demanded. “You know I don’t abide by swearing.”

“I’m sorry,” he said automatically. Then, knowing she would not back down, he said, “I’ll get my stuff, but you have to promise not to hurt Harry or Sam.”

“As long as they don’t try to stop us,” Terry said. “Now go get your shit and get in the car or else…”

“All right, but it might take me a few minutes,” Ziggy said as he stepped backward between Sam and Harry.

“Five minutes. These boys can wait here with me while you pack.”

Ziggy opened the kitchen door and stepped into the house. He forced himself to breathe and think. They needed help. Help that could hopefully stop Terry from hurting anyone ever again. Could the cops get there in the next five minutes?

****

Harry might have had a foot of height and a hundred pounds of weight on Ziggy’s stepmother and could have easily subdued her, the gun in her hand kept him from rushing her and taking her down.

She looked around the yard and then back at them. “You boys have a nice place here. This is the kind of place I’ve always wanted. Someplace quiet that doesn’t stink of diesel fuel all the time with the roar of trucks coming in and out all day and night.”

Harry didn’t know how to respond to that, so he asked one of the dozens of questions that filled his brain. “Why are you so determined Ziggy go back with you?”

She made a face like she had just eaten an unripe persimmon. “Such a stupid name. Do you know that’s his birthname? His mother was hopped up on painkillers when she named him after that cartoon character. The blobby looking one who hates his boss.”

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