The Rider by J. Combs

This month, we present just a sampling from the forthcoming novel by another up and coming author! Warning: may not be suitable for audiences under 21, Conservative Democrats and Republicans, and Catholic Priests!

The rays danced on the dark blue roof of the Volkswagen bus as white knuckles grasped the steering wheel. He clenched his jaws and winced at the thin lines of perspiration streaming down his face. Staring at the intermittent white line that lay ahead of him, he focused on nothing in particular. The combination of steam and anti-freeze stung his nostrils while another odor warned him that the tiny body he had stuffed under the back seat two hours ago had already started to stink.

He leaned over and rolled up the passenger window, then the driver's. He turned halfway around in the seat and picked up his old military style rucksack. He saw her foot sticking out from under the edge of the seat. After looking at it for more than a few seconds, he got out, punched the lock knob, and slammed the door.

He walked around the front of the bus, glancing at the steam still pouring from under the hood. He threw his rucksack over his shoulder and ran his long, bony fingers through his black hair. Then he began walking west on the sandy shoulder of the highway.

Smiling as he chewed on a day-old toothpick, he remembered how soft and supple her skin had felt beneath his hands and the softness of her long blonde hair as he forced her head towards him. He had to slap her only once before she decided to cooperate. She went along easy - almost too easy. Her young body satisfied his hunger anyway.

He reached around, put his hand into a pocket of the rucksack, and pulled out the Barbee Doll. She had given it to him to hold for her while she took a nap. He held it close to his lips, gave the doll a kiss, and then threw it into the desert.

The Trooper staggered from the rear of the bus, fell to his knees, and started to vomit. It was several minutes before he could compose himself and return to his patrol car.

"Control, unit six."
"Go ahead, six."
"I've got an abandoned vehicle about two miles West of Bear Canyon turnoff," reported the Trooper.
"Ten-four," replied the dispatcher. "I'll send the wrecker."
"You'd better call the captain too. Tell him to call the Coroner's office."
"Go ahead, six," answered the dispatcher, waiting for more information.
"I've got a female subject, about twelve years of age. I believe she died from exposure at least several days ago."
"Ten four go ahead."
"No other subjects in the immediate vicinity," he reported.
"Ten-four."
"Six out," he signed off.

Surrounded in a cloud of dust, an old pickup truck skidded to a halt on the shoulder just ahead of him.

"Boy, am I glad to see you!" he said, climbing into the cab.
"Is that your bus parked a few miles back?" asked the old man. He handed the young rider an ice-cold beer from the cooler in the seat between them.
"She died a horrible death," he laughed, guzzling nearly half the bottle.
"Easy, partner!" cautioned the old cowboy. "That stuff will turn your belly upside-down in this heat!"
"I suppose you're right," the rider agreed.

The old man saw a far away look in the rider's face, and tried to comfort him.

"Don't worry, sonny. Troopers will find her and have her towed in sooner or later."

"Good riddance!" he answered, finishing off the bottle.

The coroner loaded two more body bags into the station wagon as the troopers stood and watched.

"Helicopter spotted them about an hour ago," said the young officer to his Captain.
"Any connection?" asked the Captain.
"One male, one female, about thirty-five years of age. Both have gunshot wounds to the head. They've probably been lying' out there several days. Coyotes made a mess of 'hem. Coroner won't confirm cause of death until after the autopsy," reported the young trooper, referring to his note pad. "What do you think, chief?"
"I'd bet my pension they were the parents of that little girl in the bus," he offered.
"Yeah."

The pickup truck stopped in front of the bus depot.

"Thanks for the ride, pops."
"No problem, sonny. It was good to have the company. Sorry about your bus," replied the old man.
"No problem, I'll catch the next bus out. Thanks Again!"

The old man waved his arm as he disappeared into the General Store. The rider stepped into the depot.

"Can I help you, sir?" asked the station manager.
"One way ticket on the next bus to L.A."
"That'll be twenty-eight fifty. Next bus leaves at nine tomorrow morning."

The rider pulled a fifty-dollar bill from his jeans pocket, and handed it across the counter. The manager handed him a ticket and counted back his change.

"Where can I get a good meal and something cold to drink," asked the rider.
"Just across the street," said the manager, pointing in the direction of Rosie's Saloon.
"Thanks."

The young trooper stepped inside the Captain's office waving a folder in his right hand.

"Chief, the Coroner's report just came in."
What's the scoop?" asked the Captain.
"The man and woman were owners of the bus. Registered in Evansville, Indiana. Died of multiple gunshot wounds to the head. Small caliber handgun," he read from the report.
"What about the girl?"
"Died from exposure. Four blistering hot days in that bus de-composed her body really fast."
"Damn," replied the Captain.
"Chief, there were traces of semen in her vagina and her digestive system," he explained.
"FBI?"
"I called them, chief."

"What'll you have, cowboy?"
"Cheeseburger platter and a pitcher of lemonade," he ordered.
"It'll be a few minutes, honey."

"Coming right up, sugar."

He removed the toothpick from his lips, broke it in half, and tossed it into the ashtray, watching her as she walked away. The air conditioner was working overtime. He shivered a little as the cool air blew across the back of his neck and gave him some relief from the dry, desert heat.
The only other person in the saloon was an old man that looked like he'd been on a three-day drunk. He was drinking a cup of hot coffee, nearing the bottom of a pot that the rider supposed was once full. The rider glanced at his watch. It was one o'clock.

"Here you go, sweetie," said the waitress, placing the plate in front of him. She was doing her best to be the typical waitress depicted in the movies. She frequently used the words "hon" and "Sweetie pie" and "darlin."

The rider guessed her to be no more than eighteen years old, if that.

"What's a nice girl like you doin' in a place like this?" he asked her, knowing she would enjoy the cliché.
"Trying' to save up enough to get out of here," she blurted out.
"And just where would you go if you did?"
"I don't know," she started, staring off into space. "Somewhere with tall pine trees and cool mountain breezes."
"And what would your folks think?"
"Well, I never had a father. And my mother ran off with a bus driver a few years back. So, grandma is the only family that I have. And she's in the checkout lane!"
"Sorry to hear," he said.
"Aw, it's no big deal," she said, smiling as she left his side and began wiping off tables.
"Cheer up! Maybe you'll find your bus driver," he said.
"Well, maybe I will."

"FBI laboratory found dried saliva on the girl's neck and breasts. The semen sample revealed a blood type, and matched the saliva."
"What about the couple?"
"No report yet, chief."
"Without a suspect, blood type is useless," added the captain.
"Forensics searched an area within a mile of each location, chief."
"Any new evidence?"
"The helicopter team spotted a Barbee Doll about a mile from the bus. A stone's throw from the highway."
"Some kid probably dropped it from a car window. Anything else?"
"That's about all, chief."
"Thanks, Lou. Check the wire . . . let me know if you turn up anything. Guess that's about all we can do for now."
"Right, chief."

. . . we will let you know when and where you can purchase The Rider.

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