This is just a taste of a bigger story I’m working on called, Try Your Luck In Reno. I’m warning y’all aheada time too — it’s pretty explicit. So there’s that.
Hank watched the transmission temperature like it owed him money — the gauge was steadily rising. Despite his best efforts he could not keep Ole Dually Girl in overdrive — the Wyoming winds were just too much for her.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” he said aloud to the truck. “These winds are a damn whore, ain’t they girl? Just get me to a good spot and I’ll give you a break.”
The road was winding up into what had been a sandstone mountain sometime long ago. But years and years of the relentless wind had almost beaten it down to nothing. Lord please get me out of this, too much has already happened on this trip. I know I’m pushing it — Reno’s still over a thousand miles away, I just…
Hank rounded the next turn and spotted a gravel spot, maybe just big enough for him to get off the roadway. He pulled over without a second thought.
“Thanks Girl,” he said, and patted the dashboard. “I told ya I’d get’cha a break.”
Thank you too, Lord. He thought to himself, as he watched the transmission temperature gauge hover just below the yellow line. This was new to Hank — it was hard for him to understand how the wind could be that hard and relentless, not gusting, but just as steady as a block wall.
He got out to raise the hood so she could cool off quicker, but had to yank it back down after the wind damn near took it away from him. He left it latched loosely, even though it kept teetering up and down like a surfer on a small Atlantic swell.
When he got back in the truck there was a missed call from Brooke — the voicemail was already full so she’d texted him a message asking where he was, and why he hadn’t answered his phone. He didn’t want to, but he pressed call anyway.
“What the hell’s going on, Hank?” Which was the same, good morning, he’d gotten yesterday he was pretty sure. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? Where are you?”
