What Immortal Hand What Immortal Hand By Johnny Worthen Omnium Gatherum Los Angeles What Immortal Hand Copyright © 2017 Johnny Worthen ISBN-13: 9780997971798 ISBN-10: 0997971797 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or trans- mitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author and publisher omniumgatherumedia.com. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. First Edition For Kate The Tyger (from Songs of Experience) By William Blake Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? 1794 6 Prologue The neckerchief whips around Isaac’s throat with a jangle of coins. It slaps into the waiting palm behind his left ear, then tightens like a noose. A knee in the small of his back sends a jolt up his spine and the garrote tightens under his chin. He drops his beer can and digs his fingers into his neck, scratching to get under the cloth to pull it away from his wind- pipe. Fighting to draw another breath. He struggles and kicks, drives his weight backward into Bryce who grunts in his ear when he hits the cinderblock wall, but keeps the grip on the scarf. Tyler rushes him. He throws his arms around Isaac’s legs and pins them. Isaac tries to scream, to warn Janie to run. But of course, he has no air. Janie has no chance here. Petite Janie is no match for these thugs. He thinks of her, writhing as he does, fearing for her life more than his own. It’s not that he loves her. Well, maybe he does. But not as lover—more as friend, or a daughter. He’d known her only four days and yet he feels as protective toward her as any member of his own family. Four days, such a short time. Short time. The first time he’d seen her, she’d been sitting in the back pew of the mixed denominational chapel beside the Crazy-J truck stop in Wendover, Nevada. Besides the two of them, there had been three other drivers there that day; two he’d never seen before, one he’d met in the same chapel half a year earlier who’d greeted him like an old friend. “Hey Texas. Going west or east?” 7 What Immortal Hand “South actually,” Isaac had said. “Phoenix through Ely.” “God be with you.” Isaac wasn’t religious, but there was little else to do on a Sunday morning in Wendover if he didn’t want to give money to a casino. He couldn’t legally drive again for three hours and was in no hurry since dispatch had told him to drive slowly after a shipper’s check bounced. Wendover is a border town half in Nevada, half in Utah. I-80 runs through it like a wire. To the east lay salt flats and nothingness until Salt Lake City. West was also nothing, but with less salt. It wasn’t a pretty town. It stank of desperation and roadside vomit. The only beautiful thing Isaac had ever seen there was Janie. She sat apart from everyone—not unfriendly, just wanting to be left alone. Isaac had stolen a glance and taken in her faded Levi jacket, jeans, and leather boots made for walking not for show. When she caught Isaac looking at her, she offered him a warm smile that made him like her immediately. “Welcome everyone,” began the preacher, a cragged-faced, long gray-haired man in a flannel work shirt. He had on new blue jeans with a big silver belt buckle that matched the tips of his cowboy boots. “God loves the traveler,” he said. “He watches over you in all you do, wherever you go. He loves that you carry Him in your heart when you cross the land, His lands, His blessed lands.” It was a bland, inspirational talk, meant to be uplifting and inoffensive. Something to take the sting out of being so far from home. Around election times, Isaac couldn’t come near a trucker chapel for all the politicking and gun-talk. At other times though, he could find his way into one after a hot shower for a little inner warmth. The thought of the Divine made his day a little better, his load a little lighter, and his outlook a little brighter. He’d never be a regular in any church, but he liked thinking that God looked out for him. Janie lingered after the service, taking advantage of the free coffee and donuts. 8 Johnny Worthen The other truckers all looked at their watches, stretched, and headed for the road, confident that their sacrifice of time and a communion of weak coffee and pastry would grant them safe journeying. “Just here for the donuts?” Isaac said and instantly felt like an idiot. “No, I didn’t mean that. I don’t mean I think you’re…” He took a deep breath and started again. “I’m trying to say hello.” “Hello,” she said. “Hello,” he said and shook her offered hand. It was sticky with sugar. “You here for the service?” He could have slapped himself for such an inane comment and nearly did. “Well, I wouldn’t be here for the coffee,” she said. “I’m Janie.” “I’m Isaac. Isaac Lowe. From Appaloosa, Texas.” Her tan hair was short, combed and clean, her face bright as a new nickel. Her eyes looked at him as if she could see the future and liked it. “Nice to meet you Isaac,” she said and smiled. “So you believe all this?” He looked to make sure the preacher had gone. “Don’t you?” “Not all of it. I’m a cafeteria Christian. I pick out the parts I like and try to ignore the others.” “I liked what was said today,” she said. “That God is with travelers. My God is, I know it.” “Yeah, mine too.” He smiled but didn’t get the same reac- tion from her. “You traveling?” “Always.” “You mean you’re homeless?” He’d caught her with her mouth full. She chewed on a day- old glazed donut, no doubt a leftover from the Crazy J conve- nience store. Isaac looked at her clothes. They were fashion- able and neat, not the kind of thing a homeless person would wear. Not the clothes of a hobo or a bum, but not something that was just picked out of a dresser either. Her clothes were more rugged. Traveling clothes. Road clothes like his, only prettier. 9 What Immortal Hand “I have a home, but I don’t go there much. I work on the road,” she said. “What do you do?” “Whatever I have to.” “You’re a bum?” He felt his face flush. “No, I didn’t—” “You can’t keep your size elevens out of your mouth, can you?” “No, I guess not,” he said relieved she’d smiled when she said it. “How’d you know I wore elevens?” “I’m good at sizing people up.” “What do I look like to you?” “Still working on that,” she said. “I assume you’re a driver. You have the callouses of a trucker there on your fingers. You smell of diesel and free shampoo, but I guess I do too. I’ve never been to Appaloosa, but I bet it’s sunny all the time. That’s where you got the tan. It’s too even to come just from driving. You’re a desert-dweller. The way your wedding ring cuts into your finger, I figure you got married at least ten years and twenty pounds ago.” “Not bad,” he said. “You should do a show.” “Sometimes I do.” “Vegas?” “Yeah, once. Off the strip. Private parties mostly. Camp fires especially. For my friends.” “Independently wealthy?” “Dirt poor, but I get by.” “You don’t look poor.” “Poor in money, not in other things.” “You need a ride?” “I thought you’d never ask.” It was against company policy to give rides, but everyone did it. If the company were smarter they’d arrange for people to ride with the long-haul truckers instead of forbidding them. There’d be fewer accidents that way, fewer drugs and happier employees. Instead, the company turned a blind eye toward the practice and would use it to their advantage if something happened. If a driver got in a fender bender or was pulled over 10 Johnny Worthen for a ticket, was late or early, they could use a passenger as an excuse to dock a driver’s pay or worse.