Ominous Day for a Drive

“Sky’s a little gloomy today don’t ya think?” asked Jeremiah. He turned and faced Duncan who was currently looking out the passenger side window. Duncan arched his head upwards, craning a position so he could view the clouded over sky.
“Yup.” Was all he said as he refocused his attention on the trees flashing on by in the distance, which seemed to be floating by the car instead of the other way around. This awkward silence had been standing uncomfortably between the two since they had left the 2nd National Bank of Warwick City, Virginia. Jeremiah nervously fussed with the radio, trying to find a station that would come in, but none would. It was only static, and it had been this way for the past thirty miles.
“Damn it! We had to steal a car with no damn tape player, CD player, or anything. Now we’re out in the middle of God knows where with nothing for me to listen to except God damned static and nasally breathing from you over there.”
“Geeezus Christ Germ, don’t tell me you are going to try and blame this on me too.”
“Did you here me say it was your fault?”
“No, but I know that’s what you’re thinking. You blame me for the Job, and now I know you are blaming me for this fucking excuse for a getaway car.”
“Well, we wouldn’t be in this mess if you had fucking kept yours in tune. I mean come on, how professional is it to have your damn car break down the day before we went to work. Two things you were responsible for, a car and a gun. Fucked both of them up didn’t you.”
“Oh—oh—oh… I see. Gonna blame me for the weather now too aren’t you. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t think you meant for me to bring a real gun. I don’t own a real gun.”
“A fucking toy Duncan! You brought a fucking toy! And look what happened… See? Whatchu expect? We were going to just walk right in and it would be a cake walk like it is on TV? This is fucking real life. When I said bring a gun… I fucking meant a real one you jack-hole!”
Jeremiah slammed on the breaks, sending the both of them forward into the dash. Duncan’s head collided with the glove compartment and then he thrust back into the seat.
“What the fuck dude?”
Duncan began to rub his forehead with one hand and the back of his neck with the other. Jeremiah looked to the dash and saw a slight depression in the glove box where his partner’s head had just previously landed against. There was a little blood trickling into the crack, this sight of blood made Jeremiah smile inside. It was his entire fault. The car, the bank, hell even this crummy weather, it was all Duncan’s fault. He knew what he should do.
“Sorry man, there was a deer… I missed it though… good thing… wouldn’t was to mess up the exterior of this baby…”
Jeremiah was being sarcastic. In fact, earlier that day as they fled, the exterior of this stolen Buick had been smashed and dinged up quite extensively. With his forehead bleeding, Duncan just gave his astonished dumb look to Jeremiah.
“A deer?”
“Yeah man a deer…”
“What the fuck dude? You will smash into several pricy cars, run over an old woman, but when a deer crosses your path, you stop? What the fuck man?
“I can’t kill a deer. They’re so graceful. ‘Sides, that old woman was about to croak anyway. She lived a wholesome life I bet… she’s probably grateful for the favor I preformed. I know when I get that age, I hope someone euthanizes me.”
“Whatever dude, let’s just get going again. Where the hell are we again?”
“Somewhere near Butefort, I think… Actually, I think we missed our turn off a mile down the road.”
Jeremiah turned the wheel around and gave the car a little gas. After completing the turn on the barren highway, he floored the gas pedal and the car took off again back down the road from which they came. Duncan resumed his staring out the window, his nasally breathing now worse as he was breathing rather hard now and trying to nurse his forehead with a napkin he found on the floorboard. It was probably from some fast food joint the previous owner had stopped at. Listening to the silence and the persistent annoying breathing from Duncan infuriated Jeremiah. He sequestered his anger and took a deep breath. After awhile he saw what he was looking for and turned the car down a dirt and gravel road. Patches of grass grew wildly between the two indented lines in the road where the tires had warn in grooves. Duncan didn’t even notice the change of scenery as he was too concerned over the state of his head to worry about anything else at the moment. “Good…” thought Jeremiah. After a few minutes of traveling down the beaten path, Jeremiah stopped the car and turned off the ignition. Surprised, Duncan looked up and then over to Jeremiah.
“What the… where are we Germ?”
But Jeremiah did not respond. Not with words anyway. He simply pulled a revolver out from the inside of his jacket and shot Duncan once in the head, once in his stomach, and twice across his chest. “Amen…”
He quietly put the smoking revolver back into its holster, where it sat snuggly against his chest. The warmth of it sent shivers down his spine. He spat on Duncan’s face and smiled. He always was a fucking spaz. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his cellular, flipped it open, pushed nine and then send. The phone dialed a preset number and immediately the tone switched to a ring. After three rings, someone picked up on the other end.
“Hey baby, it’s me… get Christian on the phone for me… I’m all right, just go get Christian.”
After a brief pause Christian picked up the phone and the conversation began again. Jeremiah told him the story and ordered him to come get him. After a reluctant agreement by his brother-in-law, Jeremiah hung up the phone and started to get to work. He had stopped rather conveniently at the edge of a precipice, and below was a pool of rain water that had been collecting for many years. The stolen car was parked next to the cliff face of a local quarry. A place called Fleisher’s Quarry, at least according to the rusty sign at the beginning of the dirt roadway. A sign that Jeremiah seen when he drove past it the first time. The idea swept through his head, but he let the idea slide immediately as he had thought of it. After he got all riled up, he simply thought “…hell, why not?”
And here he was thirty minutes later collecting ever bit of evidence he could, so if they ever found the remains of poor Duncan here, they couldn’t trace it back to him. He wasn’t worried about the prints because they would wash off in the basin below. Quietly and efficiently he worked until the job was complete. “No way anybody gonna find out…” He thought smugly to himself. He grabbed the small satchel that was in the backseat. It was only about a grand, a miniscule thousand bucks, was all that they had been able to steal. Thanks largely to the cooling cadaver in the front seat. Jeremiah sat on a large rock jutting out of the ground, pulled out a Pall-Mall unfiltered, and began to wait for his ride to appear.
After about an hour and seven cigarettes later, a blue, beat-up truck began to wind its way down toward him. The truck stopped about twenty feet from the tan Buick and a large, blond haired man in his late twenties jumped down from the cabin. Christian was a boy who was too big for the overalls he was wearing. He had on a green John Deer trucker hat, and he wore a great big, dumb grin across his face. This was a face that greatly displeased Jeremiah. Every time he saw the great big oaf, he just wanted to kill him right then and there. It was the fact that he had a pretty little sister that this great big dumbbell wasn’t dead yet. Jeremiah mustered all his strength to find a smile from within. All he could manage was a contemptuous smirk. It was the best he could do.
“Where’s Duncan?”
“He’s in the car…”
“Is he all right?”
“Nah, he’s gotta headache… tryin’ to sleep it off right now…”
Now the smile began to creep over Jeremiah's face. Christian began to walk over to the Buick and Jeremiah walked slowly around the other side of the car trying to block the corpse from his view. Jeremiah reached into his jacket and pulled out the keys and threw them to Christian.
“Tools are in the trunk…”
Christian changed course a bit and headed for the trunk, he opened the latch and the trunk and peered inside.
“Hey… there ain’t no tools in here…”
Two shots rang out and Christian groaned heavily, and his body slumped over into the trunk, as his feet still graced the dirt below. Jeremiah grabbed his legs and hoisted the rest of him into the trunk. He searched his pockets for a wallet and found a huge one bundled with several fifties and about twenty twenties. He stuffed the money into his pocket and closed the lid of the trunk, pulled another smoke out of his breast pocket and headed for the driver side door. He switched the gears to neutral and began to rock the car back and forth. When the momentum got going, he let go of the car and it careened into the unnatural lake below. There was a giant splash and slowly the car sank and bubbles caressed the already disturbed surface. Jeremiah watched the Buick for a bit longer; satisfied, he threw the rest of his smoke down into the brackish water and walked away.
“And I thought this was going to be a crummy day” Thought Jeremiah as he turned the key in the ignition. The sun was starting to set as Jeremiah put the truck into reverse; he reached over to the radio and pushed a CD into its slot. Johnny Cash began to sing “The Man Comes Around” over the speakers. Jeremiah put the truck in first gear and started to take off the dusty dirt road. As he reached the highway, he looked back toward the quarry a final time, as if he were saying a silent prayer for their souls. He reverently turned back around, pulled out another cigarette, and took a left back onto the barren highway. He sped up and disappeared into the setting night, which didn’t seem that gloomy anymore.