Trembling With Fear 06/11/2017

Cargo

Virgil can’t resist a good deed. Early in relationships, girlfriends always tease him about it.
“You’d throw yourself in a wood chipper to save a squirrel’s nuts,” the sweet gal from Georgia had said, her southern accent fumbling over a few drinks. This was during their first at-home date (his home) as he explained stories behind Peace Corps pictures.
“It’s just who I am,” he replied, bragging yet flirtatious.
“It’s just who I am,” he repeats, staring at the back of the van a few car-lengths ahead of him.
The doors are waves of fresh white over warped metal, paint splashed on patches of un-scraped rust. Obviously, the van is a throwaway intended for a few human trafficking trips, dressed up just nicely enough to pass for inconspicuous. Had it not been for one of the two back windows, he wouldn’t have noticed. Greyish curtains hang down. They don’t necessarily warrant suspicion, but what first caught his attention was the lower, left-hand corner of the right window. A solid substance– a board perhaps– is broken behind the glass in that section, and a piece of curtain was being tugged ever-so-slightly. He saw this at a stoplight and began following the van. Now he is sixty miles from home (his intended destination), in a town he vaguely recalls from the night he met the foul-mouthed girl from Nebraska.
Finally, gas station ahead, the van’s turn signal blinks. Virgil makes sure that the driver pulls in and commits to a pump before he drives into the side parking lot. He leaves his vehicle and peaks around the corner of the Go Mart to see a bald man with a handlebar mustache exit the van and step inside. He will pre-pay, obviously, in cash.
There’s a line of customers, so Virgil walks to the van and peers in the only open space of the back window. Four women, tied; they see him. Their throaty screams are barely muffled by ball gags. Sudden pain bites Virgil’s bicep. The bald man has grabbed his arm.
“Thought you were tailing me, you son-bitch!”
With his free hand, Virgil points at the window.
“Aluminum vinyl next time. One of your girls chipped off a corner of wood and was tugging at the curtain. Also, invest in better sound-proofing. Go to a music shop and tell them you’re building a studio.”
The bald man releases Virgil’s arm. His jaw drops the length of his mustache.
Virgil checks his watch.
“If you don’t mind, I really should be going. I followed you far away from home. Safe travels, friend!”
Back inside his car, he looks in the rear-view mirror and smiles at himself. He spots the reflection of groceries in the backseat. Georgia, Nebraska, Ohio, and Utah are probably very hungry (it’s not like they can leave the basement to get food), but he’s sure they’ll understand when he tells them. He can’t resist a good deed, and he wants to set the right example for their soon-to-be children.