Rest Stop

You’d be surprised how easily you can wash off blood at a rest stop.

I discovered that fact by accident. One of the few accidents I have ever made.

It started (innocently enough) with some low quality duct tape. The tape was being used to secure, silence, and restrain. It only maintained its integrity for one of those three expected tasks. I got lucky with that.

I was sweating from the chase and my Army-Surplus jacket was sprinkled from wrist to shoulder in blood. How much of it was mine? I couldn’t say. But the forest pattern looked like a flock of cardinals all decided to sit on the same tree.

As I approached the first door, I turned my back and leaned into the door. As I approached the men’s room, I caught a waft of that rest stop smell. You know the one that is a mix of urinal cake, simple green, and actual urine. I got lucky again here because someone was leaving as I was entering and opened the door for me. No prints. This man was also a true disciple of men’s room etiquette, keeping his eyes down. No identification.

At this point, the sink just is not going to hack it. I head for the handicapped stall- I mean- I’ve already gone this far. I give the toilet a “courtesy flush” and wait for the bowl to fill back up. I turn my ass toward the toilet, drop my pants, and sit. I listen for a minute to make sure I am alone. Then I move my hands between my bare legs and submerge them in the surprisingly-cold-rest-stop-toilet-bowl water and wait for the blood to soak out. By the third flush my hands were numb; I didn’t care.

Nobody ever asks any questions. One Rubbermaid Roughneck storage container, about six pounds of Lyme, an inside-out jacket, and some latex gloves later- I was on my merry way.


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