Kaufman On The Road

A decal on the back of the SUV read Prisoner Transport and the shackled and manacled man in the backseat wore an orange jumpsuit and prison shoes. The man was small and white. He had a paunch gut and chubby effeminate hands and was bald except for a few straggling pale gold strands. He stared out the tinted window in silence and watched the evergreens pass by and was pleased with the creation of the heater coil, as it was a cold November morning.

         The two deputies had taken him from the county lock up thirty minutes prior and he had remained silent ever since. There was nothing yet to be said. He had been observing the shot gun side deputy from the corner of his eye with increasing curiosity. Deputy Hill, his name was. Hill had been fidgeting and squirming and shaking his head since their outset.

         -Deputy Hill. You seem agitated.

         Hill turned just enough to cast a one eyed glance back through the metal grating that separated the front and back seats.

         -Fuck you Kaufman. I know what you are.

         -What I am.

         -Yes. I know you.

         -I am a humble and humbled thief, Deputy Hill.

         The deputy now turned the whole way around and locked both eyes on the man in the orange jumpsuit and prison shoes.

         -A thief?

         -A thief.

         -Then why do I suspect the reason that this years October disappearance didnt happen is because you were in a cage?

         -Simple, Deputy Hill. Blind need to point the finger. A love of witch trials. The human need to feel that justice has been done in order for you to feel safe when you crawl into bed at night. Et cetera.

         The deputy nodded. There was a humorless lift at the corners of his mouth.

         -My grandaddy and my uncle both liked to touch little girls. And they both had this weird ass look in their eyes. I got to see that look often and when I look at you--

         -Deputy Hill you mistake me. I have never--

         -Shut the fuck up and listen to me. They had a look. And you got a look. It's not the same look, but I'll be damned if it aint some kind of nasty fucking look. I know you and I know youre the fucking guy and if I ever see you in Amberdale again I'll probably fucking kill you.
         
         The bald man turned his head slightly and towards the driver.

         -Are you hearing this Deputy Faust. I am being threatened.

         The driving deputy met Kaufman’s eyes in his rear view mirror.

         -I didnt hear a thing.

         The little man with the paunch gut who wore the orange jumpsuit smiled near imperceptibly.
         
         -Of course not.

         He turned back to Hill.

         -In any case, you know shit Deputy Hill. Or perhaps not even.

         The deputy turned back around without another word, and they drove in yet more silence until Faust sighed and then swore.

         -Fuck. I think we are lost.

         Hill responded.

         -What the hell do you mean lost? We've driven to Clear Springs about six billion fucking times. How the fuck could we be lost?

         -Shit. I dont know. Maybe when we hit that fog bank a few miles back I missed the turn.

         -No fucking way. Keep rolling a few more miles and we'll find it.

         For the next five minutes Kaufman listened disinterestedly as Hill bitched at Faust.

         Then they saw a gas station. It was old and run down and a dingy white color with faded red trim bordering the windows and door. It had only two pumps and a sign on a post read self service. The parking lot was cracked and worn and pot hole speckled. An old 1950's Chevy with chipped and flaking green paint and dusty old chrome was parked out front.

         -Pull in here and I'll drain the inch worm and find out where we're at. I'll tell them my driver is a dumb ass.

         Faust raised his hand and showed Hill the universal signal of reproof and parked at the side of the fading stucco building. Hill opened the door and stepped down and made his way towards the entrance. The little man in the back seat paid no attention to the driving deputy. He wasnt an interesting man. Or perhaps it would be more correct to say he wasn't an interested man. If goaded Faust was not the kind of man to respond, and therefore Kaufman would leave him be. 

         They sat in silence for five minutes with the only sound being the sporadic gusts of winter wind buffeting the vehicles broadside.

         Kaufman heard him whispering, muttering.

         -Fucking asshole. Hurry the hell up.

         A young girl of seven or maybe eight came out of the glass front entrance and made her way towards them. She wore a ratty white knee length dress. It was threadbare and dingy and she was barefoot. She stopped halfway to the SUV and waved at the Deputy to come to her.

         -For Gods sake. What the fuck is this shit about.

         He snatched the keys from the ignition and with a jerk he threw open the door and stepped down and started towards the girl. She turned and went back inside and he followed after.

         Five more minutes passed without a sign of any sole. The little orange jumpsuit and prison shoes wearing back was staring out the passenger side window, unconcerned with whatever unforeseen developments had arrested the attention of his shoferrs, when someone tapped the opposite window. He turned to find the same little girl as before. Her face was close enough to the darkened glass so that she could see him.

         He stared at her curiously and unconsciously licked his lips as a rush of blood excited his groin. The girl smiled and shaking her head raised a hand to her face. The hand held a large revolver and she tapped the barrel to her lips as she would a finger in order to shush a child. It was all rather coy and after unbuckling himself he slid to the opposite side seat and put his face up against the glass and stared into her brightly lit yes.

         She lifted her other hand and it held a large Glock. She pointed it at him and Kaufman felt a touch anxious. It was a novel feeling for him.

         Another child, a boy of maybe six, came up behind the girl. She turned to him and then gestured towards the vehicle with a cock of her head. He came forward slowly and reached out and opened the door. The little man with the soft hands and little gut stepped from the SUV to the jangling discordant symphony of chains.

         The girl and the boy backed away and with a jabbing gesture, this time with the revolver, she ordered him towards the gas station entrance.
         
         Kaufman had yet to break a sweat but his heart rate had elevated. It had been quiet a few years since that had happened and he didnt appreciate this intrusion into his realm of control.

         He really wanted to take a tire iron to the girl and then perhaps just shoot the boy. Yes, shoot the boy using a stigmata pattern and then blast his brains out the back of his head. It was a warm desire that filled his gut, and gave him a harder erection than any woman or man ever had.

         The Glock and what was in all likelihood a .357 were fairly good deterrents to being foolish. There was also something wrong with the girl. And the boy too. Their bright little eyes were too bright and their playful little smiles were knowing.

         -Do you know who I am. He asked. Do you know me.

         They didnt answer but the girl jabbed the revolver towards the gas station entrance once more.

         He nodded.

         -As you wish.

         He turned and made his way slowly towards the door. The children didnt follow. As he reached out for the door handle he turned and looked behind him but they had moved away and were making their way towards the nearby tree line. They were skipping and the girl was still holding the weapons. It was a strange sight.

         Kaufman was intrigued by this turn of events and had he been a believer he would have thanked God for what seemed to be an entertaining diversion and perhaps even a turn of destiny. He entered the building.

         Blood covered the floor and Kaufman nearly slipped as he entered. The two deputies were undressed and sat in two old and wooden chairs in a cleared out area in front of the sales counter. They were facing each other. Their heads were snapped back and their eyes gaped at the ceiling and a thin razor slit stretched across their throats. Another series of razor slits had allowed their guts and organs to ex-filtrate their bodies and lie in two wet and bloody piles at their respective feet.

         Kaufman stared for nearly a minute before nodding to himself and beginning to move.

         He spoke to himself in hushed tones.

         -Hill was gone for five minutes. Faust for five more. Ten minutes in all. This was quick work. And efficient. Quick and efficient. I'm horny. I am. You are horny Mr. Kaufman. All this blood gets you blood going. God, I could drink a gallon of coffee. I wonder what I am to do now? Head for the hills, perhaps. Yes. Beverly Hills. Or maybe Beverly Hells. Hells bell. Hells bells sells rails.

         While alone he liked to sink into stream of consciousness. He liked to think it kept him sane.

         -Fuck me. I want to kill someone. He sighed. O.K. Mr. Kaufman. Enough of that. Its time to move.

         He began to look around and to his pleasant surprise found a police uniform folded nicely and laying on the counter. It was unsoiled and smelled of wild flowers.  The tag on the shirt read Hill.

         -Deputy Hill your wife certainly knew how to launder a lovely smelling uniform. My compliments.

         Beside the stack of clothes were boots and socks. Beside the boots and socks was a belt with a collapsible night stick and a can of mace and a pair of handcuffs. Beside the belt and it's accessories lay the keys to the cuffs and shackles and the keys to the SUV.

         He freed himself from the chains and took off his orange jumpsuit and prison shoes and put on the uniform of the late great Deputy Hill. He then put on the socks and boots and then the belt with all it's trappings and snatched up the keys to his newly acquired transportation.

         He made his way around the large blood spore, not wanting to dirty his new boots. He then went out the front door.

         -Good day Gentlemen. He said with a slight turn of the head as the door slowly shut behind him.

         He moved to the SUV and opened the door and climbed in and started the engine. It was a cold and gusty November and he thanked God for the heater coil. He always thanked God in lieu of knowing who to really thank. He found it a humorous thing to do.

         He sat their for a while and thought. It was early afternoon and the sky was gray and dark. When he didn't arrive at the prison questions would begin to be asked and a search would begin.

         -Where to go. Where to go.

         A movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention. It was the girl again, but this time she was one weapon short. She only carried the revolver. She walked slowly in front of the vehicle and then towards the road. He watched her the whole way but strangely enough felt neither murderous nor horny. Only curious.

         She pointed at him with the muzzle and then made a sharp thrust back the way Kaufman and the late great Deputies at originally came. She did this again and made it clear it was of her opinion that he should reverse his course.

         The little paunch man who no longer wore the orange jumpsuit and prison shoes but instead wore the garb of his captors, smiled and nodded. He put the big vehicle into drive and hit the gas and began to pull out onto the highway. As he passed the girl she smiled another coy smile and then raised the barrel to her mouth and pulled the trigger. Her head snapped back amidst a cloud of bone fragments and blood and she collapsed in a pile by the road side.

         Kaufman did not spare her another look but instead pulled out onto the Highway and made his was toward he knew not where.