An Incident on Route 36

I don't have anything new to post, so I'm posting another repeat. This, very violent (I was once told that it's reminiscent of Quentin Tarantino), short story was inspired by 3WW a while ago, the words being:

inappropriate, order, and shortcut

The men made inappropriate remarks as she brought them their order, three Big Boy Breakfasts. As a waitress in a dusty truck stop in the middle of the Arizona desert, along a major shortcut on the highway, she was all too used to being groped and harassed. The men were heavyset, donning dirty overalls and wife beaters, their long greasy hair loosely tied into ponytails. A dime a dozen, these truckers were, and after a time the faces all melted together until she couldn’t tell one from another.

“Hey honey, I gotta Big Boy for ya!” One of the men cried, grabbing his crotch.

Melissa rolled her green eyes, threw her long blond hair over her shoulder, and shot back, “Oh please Larry, the only thing big on you is that gut. I’m surprised you can find your penis to piss.”

Larry glowered and hung his head, sufficiently subdued, at least for the moment. The other waitresses and customers scattered through the diner chuckled as he stormed out back to the bathroom. They did not feel sorry for Larry; he was always harassing the waitresses, as though they were paid to be his personal toys.

Besides, he should have known better than to take on Melissa, she did not accept the harassment meekly and without comment like the other waitresses. Mack, one of the truckers, had remarked one day after she burned him with a particularly wicked retort, “She’s sure gotta set of brass one’s on her!”

“Good one Mel!” Theresa, the diner’s aging, overly tanned and leathery manager, said appreciatively as Melissa stalked past her to the back for her smoke break.

She settled in at the picnic table, lighting a menthol with trembling fingers. She knew she shouldn't let guys like Larry bother her so much, but sometimes she just couldn’t help it. She’d been working this diner for three years, ever since her father had kicked her out of their trailer on her 17th birthday, and she was fed up with their abuse.

“Well, looky what we got here!” Larry commented as he emerged from the bathroom to find Melissa alone. He was still fuming over her insult and a thirst for retribution flared brightly in his eyes.

"Get lost Larry. I'm in no mood for you today." She said, flicking cigarette ashes in his general direction.

"You just think you're shit don't stink, now don't ya girl? I think somebody should put you down a few notches, and I'm of a mind to do it." He smiled lewdly at her; a malevolent, predatory grin that bared his yellowed and crooked teeth.

Fear, slick and slippery, slithered into her stomach. Larry had always seemed harmless, a jackass, but a harmless jack ass. Yet now she could feel the hostility rolling from him in great waves of bitter hatred; malice smoldered in his eyes.

Suddenly feeling like a trapped animal her breath came in quick gasps as her eyes darted around, looking for an escape. As he closed the distance between them in long, purposeful strides she jumped up from the picnic table. He blocked her path to the back door so she flanked him and broke into a run, intending to flee to the front of the building but he was surprisingly fast considering his immense girth. Within the span of a breath he was at her side, grabbing her by the hair and forcing her to the ground.

He pinned her down, grunting and tearing at her skirt. He would show her the consequences for fucking with him in as painful a manner as possible. Desperately she tried to shove him away, her fingernails digging deep into his sweaty flesh. He stank of rotten onions and dirty laundry, the smell nauseated her. He hit her in the eye; stars swirled through her mind and she struggled to maintain consciousness.

Her purse lay in the sand, having fallen to the ground when he attacked her. She reached for it, her fingers brushing against it, but she could not grasp it. Larry forced himself inside of her, his hands around her throat, strangling the life out of her as he raped her. She knew she did not have much time left.

He shifted position slightly, enabling her to reach inside her purse, pulling out a lipstick container. She opened it to reveal not a flattering shade of Pretty in Pink, but a small yet wickedly pointed knife that was hidden inside. He did not see it until it was too late. She stabbed him in the neck, piercing his jugular.

He grasped his throat and gurgled, blood spilling through his fingers, raining upon Melissa’s face and pink uniform in a scarlet river. He feebly tried to stand but only made it to his knees before he gave a final gasp and went limp, falling onto Melissa. Relived that she had survived the struggle, she grunted and pushed Larry’s body off of hers. She stood slowly, her legs trembling. As she swayed unsteadily on her feet Larry’s buddies, Al and Jake, wandered out the back door.

At first they seemed confused by the scene, not sure what to make of Larry’s corpse and the blood staining Melissa. It did not take them long to recover their wits. Al sprang into action and rushed Melissa, hitting her square in the stomach with his shoulder, thrusting her to her ground. He would kill the bitch for what she had done.

Melissa tried to catch her breath, she had taken the blow hard and he had knocked the wind out of her. Before she could recover Al punched her in the nose and she tasted blood. He grabbed a handful of hair and yanked viciously. She squealed in pain.

Jake watched Al as he beat Melissa mercilessly, cheering him on. He did not notice Melissa’s knife lying in the sand, inches from her hand. She wiggled and tried to work her way out from under Al. Tears streamed down her face and her breath came in wheezing gasps as she desperately tried to escape his fists. Finally she succeeded in reaching the knife once again. With a wicked slice she cut his upper arm, this time slashing through the brachial artery.

“You fucking bitch!” He shouted. He rose up on his knees and raised his arm to hit her again but was already weakening as the blood gushed from his damaged artery. Jake watched, frozen in horror as his friend quickly bled to death.

When Al’s lifeless body fell to the ground Jake recovered from his shock and reached into the back of his jeans, pulling out a gun. He cocked it and pointed it at Melissa, who had scrambled to her feet, knife at the ready to defend herself yet again.

Fuck. She thought, terror boiling deep in her belly.

“Drop the knife, bitch.”

She let the knife fall to the ground before putting her hands in the air. She thought about trying to reason with him, but knew that reason would have no effect upon his misogynistic mind. Her only other hope was to beg for her life, which she would not do. She refused to beg this filthy, hairy piece of shit for anything.

Out of options, she resigned herself to death and braced herself for the bullet. She prayed it would be quick.

A shot rang out, deafening her. She flinched, waiting for the pain of the bullet entering her flesh, tearing apart her organs. Instead she heard a soft thud. She opened her eyes to find Theresa standing over Jake’s twitching body, her sawed-off shotgun still smoking.

“You okay hun?” She asked.

Melissa nodded uncertainly.

“You got a spare uniform here?” Theresa surveyed the carnage as she lit up a Marlboro Red.

“Yeah. I think so.” Melissa answered.

“All right then. Clean up this mess out here. The hose is in the shed. Bury the bodies with the rest. I’ll send one of the busboys out to help you. When you’re all changed and cleaned up, you’ve got tables waiting.”

'An Incident on Route 36' Copyright Patricia Schoenberger 2008, all rights reserved worldwide.