Be Right Back
So here we were, Randy and I, stuck in a small town in Montana after running away from home and avoiding run-ins with the law. We didn't know what the hell we were doing. We had some money that we'd stolen from a certain ex-boyfriend of mine, but that wasn't going to last us too long. We needed to find work, and quickly.
Luckily, the Burger Barn in Zortman, Montana was looking for employees. We had gone there for lack of better things to do (seriously--in a town that small, the local burger joint is about as exciting as it gets), and were extremely pleased to see that they were hiring. Best of all, they weren't looking for resumes and hired us on the spot.
"See, we just had to fire some of our people for lewd conduct in the freezer." the manager explained. He was only a couple years older than we were, and seemed pleased to see us. In fact, the entire Burger Barn was run by people under twenty. It was a shock.
"Um, well, that's too bad. I'm sorry." Randy said. I could tell he was trying not to laugh though. I mean, come on...a freezer???
"Don't worry about it. But we will want you at work right away. How does tomorrow sound?" he asked. I began to wonder what amazing turn of fate had given us these jobs and then decided not to worry about it.
"Sounds good to me." I told him. He shook my hand.
"The name's Jackson Kingsley."
"I'm Alexandra and this is Lyle. Pleased to meet you." I said. Then Randy and I set off to find somewhere to stay during our stay in Zortman.
Zortman, as it seems, was a little bereft in housing options. The Zortman Garage & Motel wasn't open for business- a shooting in a room upstairs last week had led to the place being overrun with Feds (Em and I kept our heads down as best we could). The only other place in town was Buckhorn Tents and RVs. We pulled in and rented the "Kollege Kid" special site- BYOE, Bring Your Own Everything. Cheap- and ugly- as sin. Worst of all, it was time for some provisions.
We walked over to the conveniently located store and invested in a nice new tent for ourselves. There were cheaper, used tents, but I feel the phrase "used tent" is reason enough to qualify not getting one. We also picked up a swank battery-powered lantern and some firewood. It was time for a good old-fashioned hobo-style dinner- if we'd had anything to cook.
Now, you'd think that, by now, Em and I would know how to manage for ourselves in the food department. But, truth be told, we didn't know the first thing. Standing in the Buckhorn Store was a terrifying and humbling experience. We didn't know the first place to start. Over the last four days, we'd lived on nothing but fast food stops, and it was starting to show. Emma looked about ready to start losing hair, and I was starting to develop the first signs of scurvy. If uneducated pirates could avoid scurvy, you'd think we could too. We just didn't know what to buy.
Now, I am a female, and you'd think that I would have inheirited the genes neccessary to make a well balanced meal. How wrong that assumption was. I had been spoiled my entire life (yes, we had a cook back at the family ranch. Please don't hate me for it), and so actually being out on my own was terrifying. Randy and I had been eating at fast food and greasy spoon establishments since we had started our adventure, and unfortunately it was beginning to show in my waistline. It was time to cut back on the calories and start eating better.
That was easier said than done, however, especially working at a place like Burger Barn, where it was all grease, all the time. It was a horrible horrible place to work, but our "home" was so terrible that we sort of looked forward to working every day, if just to get away from that tent. I will freely admit I am a city girl. Camping for one day, great. Camping for two, fine. Camping for the rest of my life? Not exactly an option.
There weren't any better prospects, though. And falling asleep every night in a tent with Randy was enough to make my problems melt away. I wish I knew whether I did the same thing for him.
The day started like any other at the Burger Barn.
Today, Em was working the front and I got stuck with R2-D2 Duty- the drivethru intercom. Burger Barn's Kennedy-era intercom system converted every audible human sound into machine-language blips and bleeps. If I sang into it, I sounded eurotrash techno on the other side.
It was a slow morning though, so I got to hang out with Emma a bunch in the front. We'd watch for cars coming, and then I'd scurry myself on back to my booth. Kelli the cheerleader was working drivethru delivery, and she certainly didn't care. We didn't talk to any of the kitchen staff- no one did- so I didn't have to worry much about them ratting me out.
When the man walked into the store, around 11:15 in the morning, we'd just stopped selling breakfast. There was a hurried home-commuter type sitting in the corner, sipping a coffee, and a young mother and her three children near the door. Kelli, Emma and I were earnestly discussing the actual differences between Burger Barn "Ham" and "Beef" as the man started to walk towards the register. Kelli and I popped back to our stations Emma went over to greet him.
"Welcome to Burger Barn, where your flamebroiled dreams come true!"
The man looked at Em for a long time and then did a sort of slow blink. He started to open his mouth, and then closed it again. He paused a second and opened it again. "Yeah. Is Jackson here?"
Emma looked to me and then back at the man. "Uh, Jackson Kingley? The manager?"
The man grimaced. "Yeah."
Emma shook her head. "I'm sorry, he had a doctor's appointment this morning. He's not supposed to be in until later. Would you like the leave a message?"
The man looked at Emma. He sighed. Then he pulled out a gun.
"Naw, I'll just wait."
It was sort of amusing, really. We were being held at gunpoint. And I didn't care. After everything that had happened on our adventures, this just seemed like another bump in the road. We'd come out ok, and it would just be another story to tell our grandchildren. Whatever. Randy and I had survived much worse.
I was still thinking along these lines as the man edged closer to me, and suddenly pointed the gun at my head. "This is a fucking trap, isn't it?" he screamed. I started to panic slightly. The man apparently didn't want an answer to his question, though, because he started to back away from the rest, still clutching me. "A trap. I knew it. Well, you tell that slime Jackson Kingley that he knows where to find me. And if you ever want to see the girl again, you'll pass on the message."
And with that, the gun-toting maniac bore me away. The last thing I saw was Randy looking shocked and disturbed, and then I was whacked ont he head with the butt of the gun and I knew no more.
I woke up in a truck on a bumpy road. The man was driving and singing along to something very much like Garth Brooks on the radio. I was tied up, but not gagged. He looked over and noticed I was awake.
"Sorry to do that to you, little lady, but desperate times sometimes call for desperate measures." he lit a cigarette. I started coughing almost immediately.
"What are you going to do with me?" I asked boldy.
He shrugged. He obviously hadn't gotten that far yet. "Wait for that snake Jackson. And hope the cops don't find us first."
That wasn't exactly uplifting.
