Rage at the Quarry Jones took a final drag from his Marlboro, sucking in slowly savoring the taste of stale tobacco. It was the last cigarette in his pack; ten butts littered the soil where he paced. His wife insisted on having their only car today so she could, "pick-up a few things." That left Jones without a car and stranded at the rock quarry. None of his coworkers offered him a lift; not that Jones would accept a ride from any of those ass-holes. He hated all the rat-bastards, especially his faggot boss Vinnie. No, he would wait for his wife, giving him yet another reason to hate the bitch. Jones exhaled slowly, allowing the white smoke to dance from his nose and mouth over his flush face. Once the smoke drifted off, his scowl became apparent again. He flicked the still burning butt into a dried patch of evergreens. He watched the butt smolder hoping it would ignite. Vinne planted the evergreens to help "beautify" the quarry. Of course, he never watered them and none of the others would consider pissing in the bushes, let alone water them. So they scorched under the relentless summer sun. The heat was scourging; the rays came down like poppers over his body. Jones looked down at his watch, 6:30 p.m. and the summer sun was still in full tilt. "Bitch," he mumbled as he looked down the dirt access road. Jones folded his arms across his chest and paced, paced as he had for the past hour. This time however, he had no cigarettes to curve his temper. "Shit!" his voice echoed through the hollowed canyon, bouncing off the confines of dirt and granite. He kicked hard; his Kenworth boot scuffed the clay ground, sending slivers across the baked earth. "You rotten bitch. You better get your ass here and fast, or you'll find my boot up your..." He spat, as if she could heed his warning. ~ ~ ~ "Let's step it up Riley,
these people have been waiting here a while." The State Trooper frowned and walked back to his cruiser. Three miles from the rock
quarry, on two lane highway 94, which sat embraced between a forty foot drop and a massive
wall of granite, Janet Jones sat behind a State Trooper's cruiser and an old tow truck
from Riley's Garage. Janet sank into her seat, rolled up the window and cranked the air conditioner to 'high.' "Might as well be comfortable," she conceded. She watched the Trooper and Riley argue both of them flailing their arms into the air like a dying fish on the end of an angler's hook. It was bad enough fighting the ambulance and paramedics but now that they were gone, over thirty minutes ago. Janet figured the mess would be cleaned up quickly and she could be on her way. Instead, the two argued about which lane to open, or how exactly to remove the SUV. "Come-on," she yelled, then sank further in her seat as both the Trooper and Riley shot her a glance. ~ ~ ~ Jones picked up a rock and threw it into the quarry. He watched it skip across the dirt like a flat stone on calm water. Then watched it disappear, camouflaged by the clay covered ground. He turned back to the road, staring up it; he had half a notion to begin walking home. He stopped after a few steps, snorted. "Fuck that," then turned back to his pacing ground. The sun still pounded him; he had already loosened his overalls and removed his shirt, which he wrapped around the handle of his cooler. There was nothing else he could do to cool off. The foreman's trailer was lock, and there was no shade to be found. The melted ice in his cooler had long since been consumed. What he didn't drink, he poured over his head nearly an hour ago. In seconds, the coolness was over, and his once dripping hair had dried a few minutes after. I could use a good dousing right now, he thought. Jones ran his hands through his hair, remembering what it felt like wet. He moved his hand over his bare chest, his palm stuttering across his sticky skin. He was tired, thirsty, uncomfortable, and he smelled like a gymnasium. All of which fueled his growing madness. "Damn it, you bitch! Where are you?" ~ ~ ~ Janet Jones sat up, and checked herself in the mirror then watched as Riley pulled the SUV with his tow truck. He hadn't figured out how to flip it over, but some one hour and fifteen minutes of sitting he finally move the SUV over and opened one lane to traffic. Shouldn't have taken a scientist to figure that out, but when you have Gomer Pyle operating the tow truck, and Sargent Carter barking commands what do you expect? Janet chuckled to herself at her observation. Carl would fit in well with these two, she continued. The State Trooper jumped in his cruiser and moved it into the left lane, Janet Jones started her 1997 Honda Accord and eased on the gas. She glared with a hint of disgust at the Trooper and the Neanderthal who was playing with the levers on the back of his tow-truck. "Idiots," she said as she turned her eyes back to the road. Gently she floored the metallic blue Accord, wanting to get to the quarry as quickly as possible, but not wanting to draw the Trooper's attention. She leveled off at fifty-five, fifteen miles an hour over the speed limit. The Accord could handle the turns, Carl proved that enough times, racing down the mountain in a frenzy of spitting anger. She could just imagine him racing down the mountain this evening, spitting profanities at her all the way home. Janet Jones sighed and eased of the gas, frowning at the thought of what lay ahead. ~ ~ ~ Jones eyed something in the clay, it sparkled in the simmering sun, he raised a brow to the object. For a moment, his thoughts had drifted from his peaking anger to the object that calmed his rage. He looked down at the spot where he thought the sparkling object rested. He saw nothing. He bent over, looking closer, still nothing. Jones dropped to a knee and ran his callous hands across the course clay. "Ah, shit!" Jumping back, he clutched his hand. "Damn it." Letting go of his finger, he watched the blood flow fluidly down his hand. Jones shook his hand, spraying droplets of blood across the clay. He could see the sparkling object just past his throbbing finger. The blood had slowed, clotting nicely beneath its leathery exterior. He walked over, keeping his head tilted, where the sun hit the object just right. Keeping his eye steady he knelt down and picked up the object. It was a sliver of glass, brownish in color; Jones peered appreciative at the small piece of glass that brought him so much pain. He held it up to the sun, watched the light split off into various directions. He looked over at the cut on his finger. A small hint of flesh shone next to his red, swollen skin. He smiled. The sound of tires running over gravel and the steady hum of an engine laboring beneath a running air conditioner took Jones' attention away from the sliver of glass. "Janet," he mouthed silently. Janet Jones stepped out of the Accord, leaving the engine running she took a breath and asked, "You driving?" Jones looked at her for a moment, cocked his head, and answered. "Am I driving? Am I driving? Is that the only fucking thing you can say?" Jones furrowed his brow. "Look, Carl. I'm sorry but there was an accident on 94 and I couldn't get through." She responded, walking around the car. She opened the passenger side door and got in, the last thing she was in the mood for was a fight. Jones rolled the sliver of glass between his thumb and injured finger. He watched her hair dance about from the cool breeze of the air conditioner. The scowl on his face deepened. "So, who were you fucking this time?" He asked, tramping over to the car. "You son-of-a-bitch," Janet shot out of the car, slamming the door, she continued. "I ain't fucking anyone and you know it. There was an accident on 94. You'll see." Jones smiled, stopping just short of walking through her. "You really have no consideration for anyone other than yourself." Janet's jaw tightened, she narrowed her eyes. "Fuck you, Carl." Jones shook his head, "no fuck you." He thought for a moment about smacking her across her smart mouth. Taking the sliver of glass that brought him such pain, and dragging it across her face. How the glass would slice through her perfectly prepared cheek. The foundation and rose blush matted so perfectly to her cool skin. She hadn't had to stand out in the searing heat, waiting. The make-up that covered her imperfections hadn't the chance to melt away under a relentless sun. He imagined the blood that would flow from her cheek, the eyes widening in horrific pain. The cry that would cross her lips, the pleas for mercy instead of the snarls of defiance that would crackle from her throat. He thought for a brief moment. Then with the flick of his finger he sent the sliver of glass airborne. He watched with appreciation as it sparkled through the dying sun before it vanished into the growing shadows. He stomped his foot like a child, grunted like an ape, then slammed his boots heavily onto the ground as he made his way to the car. The slam of his door resonated through the quarry, Janet rolled her eyes gave a final defiant huff and returned to the car as well. Jones revved the engine, slipped the Accord into gear, kicking gravel and dust across the under carriage. The sound all but drowned out the hum of the air conditioner. The feel of the cool air
jettison from the air conditioner served to calm Jones a bit. Still he gripped the wheel
tightly, staring angrily through the windshield. The road more an enemy then a friend at
that moment. Janet felt the sways and curves in the road now. She shifted to the left, then right as Jones weaved his way down the mountain. "Slow down, Carl. You're coming up on the accident and if I know those two idiots their still out there." Jones ignored her, pressing
down on the accelerator a little more. The Accord sped up five more miles per hour,
sixty-five the speedometer read. "Shut-up. I'll drive as fast as I goddamn want too." Jones turned his head towards Janet and spat his response angrily as he rolled into a turn. Thirty-five the sign read as he passed it. Janet drew a breath and didn't say another word. Jones turned his eyes back to the road in time to see Riley standing in the middle of the lane pulling his jumper out of his ass. Jones veered to the left to avoid him, his grip on the wheel tighten, Riley leapt of the road frightened by the rush of air that passed mere inches from him. The Accord slid, the back
tires bounced across the tar. Jones pulled the wheel hard to the right, sending the Accord
sideways across the left lane. Janet sat still, staring horrifically out the spider webbed windshield, her nails dug deep in the tan dashboard. She could hear the State Trooper calling for help on his radio, hear the heavy sounds of footsteps rushing for her. Jones lie on her lap. His body pitted by glass, as if ejected from a shotgun. His head lie at a one hundred twenty-degree angle, neck snapped, blood flowed from his ears, nose, and mouth. Janet could hear the Trooper calling to her, "Are you all right? Help is on the way. Hang in there." He said, his words dusting faintly over the quiet hum of the air conditioner. January 2000 HofP |