part 7

So, this project was kinda put on hiatus because of http://jamesmarr.blogspot.com, which is another project of mine which I wrote during a short period of depression. Anyway, here's part 7.

We've been on the road for ten minutes, and I haven't said a word. I just sit back and enjoy the wind after so much time in the desert heat. I try to listen to the music, but Mr. Duke makes it difficult with his rambling on about bats. After a while he looks back at me and yells, "You thirsty, boy?". I nod, my tongue too dry to speak. The little man in the bucket hat jumps from the passenger seat to the seat beside me, and pulls a cooler out from under his seat. He opens it and removes two frosty cans of beer from the ice-filled box. Bud Light. Gross, but beggars can't be choosers. It's cold. It's liquid. It'll keep me from having conversations with lizards.

"Don't talk much, do ya boy?", Mr. Duke yells in my right ear. I speak up. "Not much, Mr. Duke.", I say. "Where are you guys going?", I ask. "Las Vegas.", Oscar tells me. "We're journalists, writing an expose on the dangers of Las Vegas.", Mr. Duke says, seemingly finishing Oscar's thought. "Well, I'm a doctor of journalism. Oscar over there is my attorney. My name is James, by the way. James Duke." He says, offering a handshake. The last friendly words I'll hear over the course of the ride.

All the time we were driving, Mr. Duke had been swiping at bugs with a flyswatter. I hadn't thought much of it until I heard this part of the conversation: "How can you concentrate on the road with all these bats around?", Mr. Duke yelled at Oscar. "What bats, man. I don't see no bats." Oscar responds. "Goddamn, they're surrounding us, you lazy bastard!" Mr. Duke yells, much louder than anything he said before. "They're all in your head, man." Oscar says. "What do you mean, they're all in his head?" I ask Oscar. "I told him not to take so much acid" Oscar tells me. "But he didn't listen to me. Now he has to deal with bats". "ACID?", I scream, "Why the fuck is he on acid?". "Man, we picked up a whole bunch of psychadelic stuff, man. It's all in the trunk. Hell, I just finished some grass before you got here." I'd tell him to pull over and let me drive, but I've had a bit to drink. Say what you will about my upbringing, but I don't intend on becoming like my parents.

"Goddamnit, I'm sick of these motherfucking bats!" Mr. Duke screams as he opens the glove compartment. He removes a strange looking pistol. The overall design looks normal. The scope looks out of place. Mr. Duke takes aim at an imaginary bat over the side of the car and takes a shot. Then he aims a little closer to me. "What the fuck are you doing?", I scream. "Don't worry, boy.", Mr. Duke says, "I'm just protecting you from those nasty little blood-sucking bastards". I move under the seat as he takes his shot. Swing and a miss. At least he didn't hit me.

After my ears stop ringing from the shot, I hear police sirens. I look up to see an Arizona state trooper's car. "Keep going, Oscar. Can't let the fucking pigs get us." Mr. Duke screams, "How the fuck did they find us." "This is a stolen car, man", Oscar answers, "They would have found us sooner or later". "Who tipped them off?...Was it you, boy?", Mr. Duke says, pointing his gun at me, again. "No, I'm just a hitchhiker. I'm not a snitch, I swear." I ramble, feeling my heart in my throat. "You sure, you're not a snitch?" Mr. Duke asks. "Yes, I swear on my mother's eyes. I am not a snitch." I say through tears. "Would you say that if another man's life depended on it?" He says, pointing his gun at Oscar. "Don't fuck with me man, I'm a doctor of journalism.""Don't kill him man, I'm not a snitch. Just pull over, and we'll deal with this." I suggest in an attempt to sort out this situation. "We aren't pulling over, boy." Oscar says, "We don't want to get arrested."

I think about my current situation. I can either stay in this car, where the only options are get shot or get arrested, Or I can jump out and risk bodily injury.

I think I'll jump.