Within minutes. they were on the road headed East, not stopping except for gas, until they got to a Flying Q truck stop. They noticed “Tucumcari Tonight” billboards and nodded to one another in tacit agreement. Famished, they ate at the 24/7 Truckstop Cafe, where they failed to notice a rather rough looking young couple was checking them out. They topped off their tank and checked in at Chaparral Cock Inn, an old single-story Route 66 motel with doors that faced the parking lot.
On the Old Woman’s advice, the three stayed together in one room for security, with the Escalade backed in for a quick getaway if need be. Exhausted, they fell into a deep sleep, though not without a bit of tossing and turning on Kandude’s part due to concern for Cardoshia’s recent injury.
When they awoke, they found the door slightly ajar. Cardoshia screamed that her laptop was gone, and along with it all access to her ample cryptocurrency accounts.
“Not the Bulgarians, or we would be dead, and you would be on your way back to Laguna Hostage Beach young lady. More likely it’s Truckstop robbers working the strip,” opined the Old Woman.
Sobbing inconsolably, Cardoshia lamented, “Now what are we to do? No crypto, no laptop, no OnlyFans clients providing generous tips for special requests! Once again, we are broke.”
“We’ll sell the Escalade and make our way somehow to Ft. Worth. I have an old lover there who will help us unless his wife spots me,” declared the Old Woman. They returned to the Flying Q, where they saw no one with Cardoshia’s MacBook Pro. Fortunately, they had little trouble finding somebody with a chop shop connection who paid them a very low price for the Escalade since the bank held the title to the vehicle, which had wisely been purchased on credit by Cardoshia’s LLC to take advantage of business tax deductions. The Old Woman seemed to know her way around such things.
A pleasant, plump, androgynous trucker having coffee at the same time as the newly impecunious trio overheard their discussion of Ft. Worth, and said he or she could take them as far as Abilene. Grateful for this sudden break, they thanked the trucker and climbed into the cab, which had two captains’ chairs up front, and a small but comfortable fold up couch/bed in the back.
Once underway, they spoke elliptically about their quandary, reluctant to alarm the friendly trucker with news of their Bulgarian pursuers. Cardoshia again burst into tears and lamented her terrible fortune. “My dear Cardoshia,” said the Old Woman, “In this world of suffering, you have not known anything like the worst of misfortunes. Most whom you meet, including myself, have survived many grave setbacks.”
“What?” cried Cardoshia. “Have you had your family plunged into poverty and despair, had your sumptuous Manor plundered, been penetrated by a repossession agent, kidnapped and used as a digital sex slave, attacked by a mad Bulgarian, and had your hard-earned crypto fortune stolen by highway robbers?”
“My lovely young friend,” said the Old Woman, “if you should prevail upon each person you meet to tell his story, and if there is one of them all that has not cursed his life many a time, or whom has not frequently looked upon himself as the unhappiest of mortals, I give you leave to throw me headforemost onto the highway. Though we have become close, you really know very little about my life or struggles. If I were to show you my own backside, you would likely withhold your judgment.”
This speech aroused great curiosity in Kandude, Cardoshia and the friendly trucker.