Frank Scallee
A western-esque novel,
Frank thundered back into town in his black prime-mover. He was dragging a clean skin, forty foot aluminum pantechnicon behind him and with it seven years of east coast trucking experience on 'The Roller Coaster' that they called the Hume Highway. He had been running Melbourne, Sydney for the entirety of the time since his release from prison. Frank had revenge was on his mind.
Frank drove his bug splattered black, eighteen wheeler up to and into the vast array of diesel pumps. Finally bringing the black east coast beast to a halt beneath the broad, high and wide fuel pump canopy. He sat there numb for a while, letting the 350 Cummins straight six engine idling down to cool, before shutting it down. Sitting in total silence up inside the cabin of the Peterbilt. Frank scanned the apron of Harry Marsh's Super Max Truck Stop.
He looked out over the substantial complex and its out buildings. There was a restaurant, cafe bar and shop. Some sixteen two storey motel rooms, boasting 24hr Television and a heated in-ground swimming pool. There was an exclusive truck washing bay and over the back a series of mechanical workshops. Harry Marsh had done very well for himself in the past thirty years on his and Frank's dime.
"You want me to fill'er up?" Someone called out to him from below. The voice was masculine but the person it came from had a very female form.
"Yeah, why not " Frank said, climbing down out of his truck's cabin.
"Nice truck." The fuel attendant said, starting to remove all the fuel caps on Frank's truck's side tanks. "We don't usually see trucks like this up here abouts." He, she added. Frank stretched out his back and took another look at the fuel attendant that was talking to him. She was wearing a white and red polka dot scarf tied up into a big bow on the top of her head, she had long, curly brunette hair. The fuel pump attendant had a pair of blue coveralls on, with her name embroidered on them just below the Marsh's Super Max Truck Stop logo. It read, 'Darlene' This was all topped of with a heavy pair of oily, well worn steel cap T-boots. Darlene looked to be well into her forties.
"What are you?" Frank asked her. "Are you one of them trannies?" Frank asked her bluntly.
"Geez, you don't beat about the bush I'm a woman trapped in a man's body, that's all. You can label me if you want to, but sticks and stones an all that jazz." Darlene replied and kept on fuelling the Peterbilt's highly polished aluminum fuel tanks.
"Whatever," Frank said, dismissing her. "Who owns this place?"
"Oh, he's a real @#$% that one. I just look like one." Darlene said.
"What's his name?" Frank asked her.
"Which one? There's two of them actually, the father's Harry, and the son's Vernon. They're both as evil a shit as each other but, oh and the mother, Josie. She's a real stuck up bitch." Darlene said, moving onto refuel the next side tank.
"Yeah, right," Frank said, masking how happy he was to find them all in the one place. Darlene finished up fuelling the Peterbilt and Frank followed her on across to the small fuel shop and paid her in cash.
"How would I go about washing my truck in the bay yonder?" Frank asked Darlene, as she slammed the till drawer shut.
"Oh, that's me as well, you use these token thingies, here have these on the house for paying cash like." Darlene said, dumping a pile of silver coin like tokens into Frank's open hands. They all had the name of the truck stop stamped into them as well as a little a hole drilled in the centre of each coin.
"Thanks for all your help Darlene." Frank said, standing at the register holding up his cupped hands filled with truck wash tokens.
"You're welcome, Frank." Darlene said.
"How'd you know my name?" Frank asked, sounding a little paranoid.
"Why, it's written on the side of your truck, Honey, unless you st
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