Chapter 6 – Call for Obstruction

So far, Barry collided with a courier van, and the accident turned into a job opportunity to drive for their service. After signing an employment contract he has second thoughts about working for his new boss, Margery. Only she has a bizarre control over his body and a mean disposition to hurt him to get him to do what she wants. He will have to work for her or suffer the consequences.

The training CD ends just as I pass the Downtown Colorado Springs exit, where I usually get off the highway to head toward my mom’s house. Most of the lesson nearly put me to sleep, going on and on about traffic safety, company policies and legal crap I don’t even remember. I suppose they have to cover their ass, in case a driver does something stupid. Toward the end of the CD the narrator warned about ‘potential dangers,’ in particular, large white birds that attack the vans. At first I figured it was some kind of a sick joke. Why would any animal with half a brain fly at a speeding van on purpose? Then I think of Margery and the burns that disappeared on my chest. Anything seems possible anymore.

There’s an explosive pop. The van swerves amid speeding cars and blaring horns as I struggle to turn the wheel away from traffic. By the time the van comes to a halt in the median, I realize I’ve been holding my breath and gasp for air. I can’t seem to calm my nerves. My hand quivers as I remember to press the emergency button, assuming this qualifies as one of those emergencies Margery mentioned.



Two accidents in one week? Really? How much worse can my luck get? At least I didn’t cause a twelve car pileup.

Without delay, Margery’s voice pipes in through the stereo speaker system in the van. “About time you called me, honey. Tow truck’s on the way to change the tire.”

“How did you know?”

In place of an answer, there’s an audible click and Margery appears to have disconnected.

I lean against the head rest, figuring I have time to catch a catnap, but before I can even close my eyes, there’s a knock at the window. I jump and turn to meet double D cleavage heaving out of a white tank top. It’s a female mechanic and a damn tall one at that.

“Open the window,” she tells me.

I jiggle the electrical control, but the window doesn’t move.

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Start the van.”

“Oh.” Embarrassed, I turn the key then lower the window.

“You must be new,” she says.

“Yeah, first day.” I catch myself staring down at her cleavage again, but rectify my rudeness by shifting back to her eyes. What is it with me an boobs today?

“Tires fixed. Get back on the road.”

“Already?”

She turns and leaves.

I watch her walk back to the tow truck through the side mirror. Not very friendly, but she’s got a nice ass.

* * *

Five exits later, my phone announces an incoming call from my mother. Because I didn’t call back last night, I figured she’d call every chance she gets until she talks to me. Might as well get it over with now, I think and answer, “Yeah, Mom.”

“Barry, my one and only love, where were you last night?”

As usual, her tones sweet with a hint of phony. “Busy,” I tell her.

“Sweetie, you know I worry.”

“I was home all night, Mom. Besides slipping in the shower while jacking off—”

“Barry. Eugene. Carter. White. Must you be so vulgar?”

I detest my full name and she knows it. So, as much as I want to retaliate by telling her that being vulgar is my master plan to get her to stop calling twenty times a day, I don’t. Instead, I grovel like I always do and tell her, “Sorry.”

She named me after the singer Barry White, because, as she continues to remind me, Can’t Get Enough of Your Love Baby was playing on the radio the night I was conceived out of wedlock. By naming me after the singer, she says it’s been a constant reminder of the evils of one-night stands, and, I’m guessing, a deterred from ever having sex again in her lifetime.

“Were you on your computer last night?” she asks.

I sigh. This is code for, ‘Son, were you hacking into websites?’

Fourteen years ago, when I was thirteen, she turned me in for hacking into an online store and charging five thousand dollars worth of computer equipment to unencrypted credit card accounts. It ended up costing her twelve thousand dollars in legal fees and fines in the end. So, as always, I ignore her question.

As always, she changes the subject. “Did you find a soft tester job yet?”

“Software tester, Mom, and no.”

My mom had insisted I attend Denver University, and considering the school’s high tuition, she seizes every opportunity to remind me I’m wasting her money by not working in my chosen career. She also figures I’m less likely to hack my way back into trouble if some company pays him to try to break their software.

“Did you get a haircut?” she asks next.

“Mom, I’m driving. I don’t have time for twenty questions.”

“When are you going to visit and pick up your suit?”

“I told you I don’t have to wear a suit to interviews.”

“But you do need a haircut. Come home this weekend? We’ll go to mass on Sunday, and I’ll buy you brunch and a haircut afterwards.”

“I can’t.”

“Barry,” she says sternly.

“I’ve got a work call coming in. I’ll call you later.” I hang up, throw my phone onto the passenger seat and cross my fingers she’ll leave me alone until I at least reach the warehouse in Trinidad.

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