The Tow Truck

The Devil was panting.  And it wasn’t even August.

He walked down the dusty Mississippi road looking for a soul to steal.  (No he didn’t play fiddle — that was a myth started by a silly song.)  Sweat rolled down his back as he walked into the sun. Next time he’d wear seersucker. Seriously.  All the politicians around these parts did.  And they weren’t exactly angels either.

Bugs howled in the trees, making it seem hotter than it was. He looked up at the burning sun and couldn’t wait to get back to Hell — where is was cooler.

An 18-wheeler came roaring up from behind and nearly hit him. The Devil, startled, flicked his finger, causing the truck’s engine to stall. The driver pulled over on the side of the road.  As the dust settled, the driver scrambled out of the cab cursing. The Devil smiled. His first victim had come to him.

“Good afternoon sir,” the Devil said in a syrupy voice.  “May of I offer you some sweet tea?”

The driver raised his eyebrow incredulously.  “Who are you and how do you just happen to have a pitcher of tea out in the middle of nowhere?”

The Devil’s grin got even bigger, revealing fangs. “A friend. Take a drink. It will refresh you.”

The driver, not listening to his dear mama’s advice, took tea from a stranger.  Both men walked over to the shade of a giant oak tree.

“Sure’s hot today, the truck driver said.

“It’s hotter from where I come from. Well, at least most days.  What’s your name?”

“Billy. And yours?”

“You can call me ‘Bub.  But I go by many names.”

Both men finished off the iced tea and let out a collective “Ahhhhh.”

“What brings you out here, ‘Bub?”

“Work.  I’m a salesman. I sell dreams.” The Devil grinned at his wit. “I once helped a young guitar player in these parts.”

The truck driver looked at the odd man closer, “Where did you say you were from again?”

“Death Valley.”

“Sounds lovely.  I can see why you’d want to move.”

“Well as the great Don Henley once sang, ‘ You can check out anytime you like but you can never leave.’  Now tell me, what are your dreams?”

“I want to sing in Vegas.  I’m willing to give up anything to do it, too.”

“Really,” the Devil’s grin got bigger. “I just happen to be a record producer.  I look for talent all over the country.”

The truck driver’s eyes widened. He’d heard of things like this happening: Chance encounters that changed destinies.  And why not? He had the talent. He deserved success more than half the auto-tuned stars on the radio. “Tell me more,’Bub ” he said.

The Devil reached into his human-skin briefcase and pulled out a 1,000-page contract. “Just sign here.”

“Don’t I need to audition?  I have my guitar in the truck. I can play a few tunes for you.” The truck driver got up and headed toward his truck.

The Devil flicked his finger again and the truck driver stopped. “I believe you, Billy. I can read men’s hearts, minds and souls,” he said.

The Devil pulled out a gold pen and handed it to the truck driver. As the pen hit the paper, his eyes flared red and his full fangs were exposed.  The driver, his soul on the line, started to write his name.

Suddenly a second truck roared up and stopped right in front of the tree.  A cloud of dust obscured the cab.

The truck driver stopped writing and looked up at the red tow truck.  A man in white stepped out of the cab and said, “You called?”

The truck driver, confused, said, “No.  But I’m glad you’re here.  My truck died.”

The Devil, angry, lashed out at the tow truck driver. “We were making a deal until you rudely interrupted us.”  The tow truck driver just grinned. “I’m so sorry. ” Sarcasm dripped from his voice like sweat from his forehead.

The truck driver, not really knowing what to think, asked the Devil for his card. “Can I call you?” The Devil, disgusted, said, “yes.”

After a few minutes, the tow truck driver had the semi hooked up and the driver safely in the cab.

“That nice man was going to sign me to a recording contract.”

The tow truck driver smiled and said, “I know. But my Boss has bigger plans for you.”

The truck driver was confused until he looked at the phone number on the card, “555-666-HELL.”

He looked in the tow truck’s mirror for the strange man. He was gone.