Heller's Regret by J.D. Nixon Read Free Book Online

warned him. He kicked one of the petrol bowsers in
fury, turning the air blue with his language. I guess he wasn’t
haven’t a good day.
    Instead of getting back in and zooming off in
a temper, which I expected, he strode off to the far side of the
station courtyard. I heard a zipper being undone and soon after the
gushing sound of a man who’d been desperately holding in a pee for
ages, accompanied by a deep, low voice groaning, “Oh, yeah. Feels
so good.”
    I spotted the chance for a free ride. “Round
up the others,” I hissed to Gloria, beckoning my group forward. We
huddled briefly. “Get in the back and be quiet about it. Stay as
low as you can.”
    The man, who was probably in his fifties,
took an absolute age peeing, something for which I silently thanked
both him and his overfull bladder. I waited anxiously for Gloria’s
group to join mine in the back of the ute, ushering them forward.
Gloria boosted them up into the tray, some of them helping her in
turn. I was the last to join the group, just about to dash over to
the ute, when the man came back, doing up his fly.
    Shit , I thought. I didn’t want to be
the only one left behind. When he settled his butt in the driver
seat, slamming the door behind him, I sneaked over. I fervently
hoped he wasn’t one of those cautious types who checked all their
mirrors before driving.
    I made it to the ute and began to climb into
the back, when he revved up the engine and screeched off, leaving
me clinging on in panic, my feet resting on the bumper bar.
    “ Shit! ” I splurted again. I’d never
recommend that anyone try it, but it’s frigging difficult to hold
on to a moving vehicle. I didn’t want to fall off, especially at
the speed he was going.
    The other women peered out at me in horror.
My group and Gloria held out their hands to me, but I was afraid to
loosen my death grip on the back of the ute tray to take them.
Could this night possibly get any worse?
    And the answer to my purely rhetorical
question was clearly yes , because we all heard the man
loudly shout, “What the fuck?”
    He pulled sharply over to the side of the
road, the impact of him braking hard to come to a stop throwing me
off the back. I scrabbled to my feet, rubbing my butt, as he
stalked around the ute, regarding us with incredulity.
    “What the –? Get out of my ute, and I mean
now,” he yelled, dragging the nearest woman by the arm to the
ground. “Fucking weirdos.”
    “Please, mister,” I implored him. “Please
just take us to the next working phone.”
    “Are you out of your mind? You look like a
bunch of escapees from prison or a loony bin or something. I don’t
want you in my ute and I’m not taking you anywhere. All of you, get
out now!”
    The women climbed out and stood bunched up
together their faces a mixture of embarrassment and dismay. He
shook his head.
    “Unbelievable. Freaking weirdos. Wait until I
tell the guys at the pub about this. They’ll think I’m yanking
their chains.”
    Approaching headlights illuminated the sorry
scene. The vehicle pulled up behind the ute and the Director and
Assistant One stepped out.
    “I am so sorry, sir. These women
escaped earlier tonight from our facility,” explained the Director
in a calm, authoritative voice. “We’ve been trying to track them
down them since.”
    “I knew they’d escaped from somewhere.
Why else would they all be wearing the same tracksuit?”
    “You were very right to evict them from your
vehicle,” said Assistant One in a reasonable voice.
    “They’re lying,” I desperately implored
again. “ Please take us to a phone. I’m begging you.”
    “What kind of facility?” asked the
ute-driver.
    The Director answered. “Let’s just say that
most of these women can be rather irrational at times.”
    “I thought so,” the man said in quiet
satisfaction. “This one here,” he pointed at me, “has crazy eyes if
I ever saw them.”
    “I’m very sorry for your inconvenience and
any