59...

Randy stuck his head partly into the open driver's side window to get a better view at the floor in the back. Peeking out from underneath the woman's black linen coat like the memory of a bad dream somewhere towards noon, was a wide and vibrant blood stain.
The first thing that came careening out of Randy's mind was that calm and logical voice which wisely advised him that someone losing that much blood probably didn't survive. He stood there staring, unable to move. This same voice tried to grab his attention, to point out that he was standing there dumbly with his face pressed into the window of a stranger's car. It was no use though, his body seemed to be controlled by the rest of his brain that was awash with some faint chemical feedback. He felt pressed in gelatin. His eyes glanced over the back seat where he saw the stains of blood spatter that had been hastily cleaned away.
That got him moving, and he quickly pulled his head away from the window and spun around. He nearly tripped over the concrete island that the gas pump stood on and swayed a bit. He quickly steadied himself and peered again and more intently into those wide windows of the market. The sun bounced back off that window and only allowed faint outlines of what was inside; which did not include the shapely form of the woman from the car.
Randy was suddenly very aware of the screaming whine of insects. It made him grit his teeth.
He took a deep breath and did his best to walk calmly to the building’s doors. He wrapped his fingers into his key ring, forcing keys to protrude from between his fingers. He saw his reflection in the door’s glass and made a quick adjustment to his face to make it appear nonchalant. He opened the door with the hand not imbedded with keys.
The white noise sound of the recycled air inside cradled the low fuzz of the old radio. Randy felt a chill push through him that couldn’t be completely blamed on the air conditioning. He made a calm but thorough look around the small room, but didn’t see her.
The light in the restroom shone from beneath the door. Randy smiled a bit and let out a long, slow breath through his nose.
“Miss, you’re all filled up,” he called. He moved towards the register and where the small metal bat was kept. “Do you want me to check your oil?”
He bent slightly at the waist to grab the weapon, but in its place was something he couldn’t quite recognize at first. He grabbed what appeared to be a pile of fur and twisted it in his hand. It dawned on him that he was holding a blonde wig.
“I’m sorry,” that sultry voice said behind him. That voice that came from the sad side of midnight and sounded like it had spent a good amount of time in a roadhouse on the way here.
The first thing that went through his mind was, ‘I’m always just a little too slow’. A “fa…” was all he managed to get out of his mouth before the swing of that bat drove him to his knees, his body then continuing on without his permission to fall over and lie prone on the tiled floor of the service station.

58...

“Oh, I’ll get it for you,” Randy said as he continued on towards the car.
“I didn’t realize that this was a full service station.”
“It’s not.”
He tried on his best cool and cocky smile, but it felt all wrong on his face. He knew it would be worse though if he completely changed expressions, so he let it ride for a moment. He turned back towards the car so he could let it fall.
“Well…”
He turned back to her again, waiting for her thought to finish, but she remained silent, her face impassive.
“I’ll just… grab my purse,” she finally said she walked past him and to the car. He could faintly smell her sweat mingled with the musky perfume she was wearing as she passed and felt a little light headed, a little aroused. He watched her open the door and lean into the car. She tossed something into the backseat, looked over the headrest at something, grabbed her purse and stood up.
She clutched her purse to her and closed the car door. She must dye her hair, he thought. The blonde color just didn’t seem to fit her.
“Do you have a restroom I can use?” she asked.
“It’s for employees only actually, but I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.” He could feel that lame smile trying to climb up on his face again, but fought the urge.
“Thanks,” she said. She put her hand lightly on his shoulder again as she passed.
Randy trembled slightly. He watched her enter the building and then slowly turned and went to the car. He used a key on his massive key ring to unlock the gas pump and inserted the hose into the car. He looked out over those bland, rounded hills and felt the pressure of the fluid pump out into the car.
Inserting the gas cap into the handle of the pump so that it could keep going without him standing there, Randy went to check the windshield. Cars coming through this part of the highway tended to have a lot of bugs smashed in the windshield. He figured he would go ahead and wash them off for her.
He pulled a squeegee that was falling apart out of muddy water and began to scrub off the windshield. He had to push down with force to eradicate some of remains that had smashed violently and then baked in that hot sun until they were as stubborn as cement. Randy began to wipe the water away, watching intently as the dark brown rivulets of used water flowed down the side. It was the snap of the pump finishing that awoke him from the self induced daze he was in.
Randy removed the gas hose and noted the total price. He looked back towards the mini market, attempting to peer through the windows for the young lady inside. He squinted against the glare off the window, but could still see nothing.
Randy looked back towards the car and into open window. The car was pretty clean, no junk food wrappers, no fast food bags. There were also no bags that would contain things packed for a trip, things like clothes. The back seat was devoid of travel debris except for the jacket that was now strewn across the floor in the back.
Something caught Randy’s eyes and he once again squinted to verify what he thought he saw. His eyes quickly widened when his thoughts were confirmed.

57...

Randy pushed through the doors and was immediately hit by the dry heat outside. He was quickly reminded of a factoid he had heard about how moving from the outside into air conditioning and vice versa helped foster colds in most people. He forgot this little fact even quicker.
He looked down at the road leading up to the station and watched the car slowly progress its way up the hill. He could hear a chop in the motor that seemed far from healthy. Just under that he could hear the undulating breathing of the interstate miles away. And surrounding all of it was the white noise buzzing of thousands of hidden insects.
A late seventies model Cadillac, black, pulled slowly up to the outer pumps. Randy leaned against the doors of the market waiting for the engine to drop. He wasn’t sure why, but this was his normal stance, to lean coolly then approach once the engine was off.
The motor was not cutting out however. The car just sat there like a shadow, running. Randy squinted and tried to peer through the open window, but the driver was enveloped within that shadow. There was just a vague shape and he couldn’t tell if they were looking over at him or not.
Disquiet began to fill his mind. The only reasons he could think of for a person to leave their engine running was for a quick escape from something bad that had happened, or from something bad that was about to happen. He began to visualize the small metal bat that was just below the cash register inside. He shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other.
The Cadillac’s engine quit suddenly and the brief silence was quickly filled in with that maddening clicking and whirring of the bugs like water falling into the wake left by a boat.
Randy still felt a little nervous about approaching the car. The passenger door opened and a tall, blond, young woman stepped out. Randy’s feet began moving before his brain realized it. He focused on the woman’s beautiful and angular face. A fleeting desire to see the eyes now hidden behind dark glasses landed and stuck within him.
“Hi there,” Randy called out as he moved closer to the outer bank of pumps.
There was an awkward silence, much longer than is allowed in polite society after a conversation is struck up. The woman glanced back at her car for a moment then turned back around with a quizzical yet stunning smile.
“Hello.”
That voice was able to raise the small hairs on the back of Randy’s neck.
“Can I help you with something?”
She stepped quickly away from her car and towards him. She placed her hand on his shoulder.
“I just need to fill up,” she said. She began to give him a gentle shove towards the building.

56...

Randy tugged up on the legs of his overalls and moved his hand airily around the antennae of the radio which must have been pushing forty years old. The radio mostly just produced shimmering and faint lines of Spanish-flecked blues that sounded as if they were flying through layers of air, still thick with time. Depending on how he curved his fingers, these ghost tones would seem to bend on rails of soft static.
He detected a bright flash from the corner of his eye and quickly spun his head to peer out the thick, bulletproof glass. There was nothing out there that wasn't there before; two rows of empty gas pumps, cracked tarmac, a thin ribbon of road that at some point joined the interstate, and all of those low and rounded hills made gold with grass scorched in the heat.
The motor of the fan in the beer and soda cooler kicked on, vibrating the silence and sending the static spikes on the radio swirling. Randy, or 'E' as he had tried to convince his friends to call him, looked slowly at the cooler, focusing behind the bottles. He then looked opposite, again slowly, at the radio. He then took a long, slow look around the small gas station convenience market he sat in. He suddenly felt a little slow and strange. He felt as if he were made aware of something important and had forgotten it, as if he had been imbued with fast and loose knowledge.
Randy had been unable to make the nickname of 'E' stick, and he angrily blamed it on friends and family, people that he had been surrounded by his entire life, attempting to keep him in his place, attempting to keep him stuck inside his tiny, nowhere town. Interestingly enough, this made a good excuse for him never to leave said town, never to attempt going to college, or traveling out of state, or even traveling the four hours north to San Francisco. Ultimately, it made a good excuse to work for just over minimum wage in this gas station that was miles from any other permanent building.
He reached for a cigarette in the jumpsuit pocket that would normally hold pens and a tire pressure gauge. He plucked out the smoke and stared at it for a moment. He had been told before that he was not supposed to smoke inside the shop, that it was in fact against the law. He considered going into the cooler and blowing the smoke through the fan. That sounded pretty good actually, it was already getting pretty stuffy inside and hot and dry outside. He could keep a listen for approaching cars, but honestly he’d had one customer the entire day and that was over three hours ago. Usually people only stopped at this forsaken station if they were desperately low on gas, or if they were looking for directions somewhere.
The tuning of the radio suddenly got stronger and more defined. A slow, bluesy riff that sounded like it had crept out of some neon-soaked, endless night erupted and was quickly swallowed by a harsh squeal of static before the radio numbed down to its usual low volume. Randy turned towards it and was about to lean over and adjust the antennae when he caught that flash again from the corner of his eye.
He peered out again at those empty hills and this time caught the dark spot of a vehicle climbing the windy road up from the interstate. The heavy morning sun caught the windshield at the curves and threw out bright spotlights.
Placing the cigarette on the counter, Randy stood up and quickly brushed off his overalls. He stretched slightly and popped his neck. He prepared to meet this poor person who had apparently become lost.