Speed Bump
By Barbara Avon
5/5
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About this ebook
Some people believe that dead people walk among us. Sometimes, they even stay for a chat.
Tony is a trucker. It's Christmas Eve and he has one last load to deliver. If he can overcome a few...speed bumps along the way.
Join Tony as he makes his way from Toronto to Ottawa. He's riding a dangerous road on only a few hours sleep. He'll need to get some rest at Owl Eyes Motel run by the eccentric Milton. Next, he meets Grace at "Dad's Diner", a woman whose dead husband takes a liking to Tony. Rhonda will try to sell him some wares from her haunted shop "Tricks & Treasures". Sammy, the farmer, has a few scary surprises for our friend. Ronald, the hitchhiker, tries to make nice, but he's not who he seems to be. When Tony finally reaches his destination at Davis & Sons Antiques, he's transported into another world. Will he ever make it home to his fiancée, Lisa?
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Speed Bump - Barbara Avon
Dedication
To the lovers, the dreamers, the word-weavers who help and support me along this path I call my life. To those afraid of the dark, to those who revel in it and those who seek something untouchable – reach further. It's there. To everyone who has broken dreams, nightmares, and love affairs with the dark. The sun awaits you but only if you wish to feel its warmth.
To my family who, without you, I wouldn't be here writing these words. I love you, deeply.
To my husband: I'll never need another Christmas gift because you are all I need – ever, forever. Thank you for your brilliant ideas when my mind fails me.
Finally, this book is dedicated to my readers. I cherish each, and every one of you. If you have a broken heart at Christmastime, know that you are not alone. For I, too, am waiting for that wound to heal. It may never heal but we can sure as hell take a little ride – away from it all. When you hit a speed bump, roll on over and keep on riding. Peace and love.
Chapter 1
T O N Y
Text, letter Description automatically generatedAnthony Mancini stared at the script. His boss, Ted, made it a habit to terrorize his truckers with the mere scroll of his ballpoint pen. Ted wore the title well. He resembled Hitler without the mustache. A theory rumbled throughout the Speedy offices that Ted must have a closet full of the same tan pants, white t-shirt, and red suspenders, since that's all he ever wore. He was a bachelor, and his fifty years, and love of whisky would probably help him retain that title for the rest of his sorry little life.
Asshole,
Tony mumbled.
He climbed out of his transport and stuffed the work order into the pocket of his jeans. The fax came in at Davis & Sons' Toronto location slow as molasses. Tony had just finished a long haul from Winnipeg. The twenty-four-hour trip was interrupted by only five hours of sleep and his eyes drooped in response likening him to a brooding Clint Eastwood in the famous old western. He longed for his bed which was at least six hours away. His home was nestled on a plot of land that sat between other suburban homes. His fiancée Lisa had just moved in, much to the chagrin of her very Catholic parents. He met her at a bocce ball tournament hosted by her father, a butcher, who was known to slaughter and skin rabbits right in his front yard. Tony's mother had introduced them, and although he first found her leather pants and overbearing personality obnoxious, he quickly fell in love once she stripped herself of both the pants and the attitude. He had kissed the gum right out of her mouth when he asked her to spend her life with him. The wedding was set to take place in May on the anniversary of the day they met.
Tony walked through the snow-laden driveway and shut himself up in the booth. A broken beer bottle sat at his feet, and someone had ripped several pages out of the phone book. It lay open and the names jumped from N
to P
. Picking up the receiver, he dialed zero, gagging at whatever was now stuck to his finger.
Operator, how may I direct your call?
Collect. Ottawa. 756-9821.
Name, sir?
Tony,
he said, wiping his finger on the glass before him.
And what is the name of the person you are trying to reach?
Leez. Lisa.
One moment, sir.
A swarm of mosquitoes invaded the airwaves and then a voice emerged through the static. He scratched at his erection. His love was apparent.
Hello?
"I have a... Tony on the line who wishes to connect. Do you accept the charges?"
Say yes, Leez.
Yes.
Thank you. Go ahead, sir.
What's going on? We can't afford this! Are you alright?
Yeah, yeah. Calm down. I miss you.
Well... I miss you, too. When are you coming home?
Tony rustled the work order in his pocket. He lit a smoke from the pack in his winter coat, filling the small space with cancerous streams of heaven.
Apparently, by noon tomorrow.
Apparently?
Job that needs to get done.
Her sigh was loud and clear. "Ma will start cooking new stuff by then. I can't believe you're going to miss the Feast of the Seven Fishes tonight!"
I know, Leez. We talked about this before I left. You think I'm happy? Be good, okay? Save me some calamari.
You're lucky I love you, Mancini.
I love you, too.
He spoke with the cigarette between his lips. Did you tell anyone yet?
Not yet.
Okay.
What did you say? Is that Goddamn Christmas music?
Yeah, bad connection. I said ‘okay’. Love you.
Drive safe. And don't eat meat!
He hung up, suddenly craving a cheeseburger with extra pickles.
Done in there, Clark Kent?
A man donning a Tallman Transport ballcap stood outside the booth guarding it like a stormtrooper.
She's all yours,
Tony said, flicking his smoke to the side.
Merry Christmas.
Same to you.
Tony walked to the front door of Jake's Diner. The neon sign blinked _PEN
. There was a cat burglar in town, and he liked to steal Os
. He strained to see through the wall of smoke. Heavy Metal played on the jukebox. The lights were dimmed and a waitress with bare legs underneath her micro-mini skirt, walked quickly past him. Tony shivered at the sight of her goose-fleshed gams.
Be right with ya.
Bring a coffee back if you don't mind.
You got it.
The place was unlike a diner and more like a dive bar. Pool tables sat at the back of the room and the green carpeting was frayed from years of wear. The walls were decorated with posters of scantily clad women leaning over the hoods of sports cars, and the only thing that was reminiscent of a diner was the smell of bacon drifting from the kitchen suggesting that Jake was in dire need of a dictionary.
He found his way to a table for two that sat against the wall and looked at his watch. The gold-plated timepiece was a present from Leez who gifted it to him with the explanation that he was now exempt from ever being late. She had kissed it after he slid it on his wrist, leaving a red lipstick mark on his new accessory.
It was a quarter past seven. In good traffic, and if the weather held up, he could make it to Ottawa by 2 A.M., deposit his truck at his office, and drive home to slip into bed next to Lisa. In the morning, he'd have to drive back to Speedy and deliver the antiques to the client. With only five hours of sleep under his belt, it was a slippery slope to climb. He