Blown for Good - Marc Morgan Headley [153]
I decide that I will first head to the U-Haul place to get a truck and then once I have my bike in the truck I can call my dad and drive to Kansas City.
I get on the bike, I put my helmet on and hit the electric starter. She starts right up. This is it, I am actually going to do this. I am leaving my life behind and starting over.
I pull out of the driveway onto Sublet Road and head towards San Jacinto…
Chapter Thirty-Two – Nothing’s Impossible
Now that I have been run off the road by the Gold Security SUV, attempted to be recovered by at least two other Golden Era staff in vehicles (that I knew of ) and very politely escorted into San Jacinto by the Riverside County Sheriff’s department, the morning is tuning out to be pretty jam packed.
The ceremonial motorcade of two police cars keep me moving and I eventually arrive to the U-Haul station in town never having broken 10 mph due to the condition of my bike after the fall. I get off my bike and thank the sheriffs so as to acknowledge that I no longer need their assistance.
“I don’t think so, pal. On the way here they sent at least three vehicles after you,” one of them says. “We’ll just hang around until you actually get into a truck with your stuff.”
“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” I say.
I head inside. I am thinking I can get the $29.99 special daily rental deal for two or three days and that will give me enough time to get to Kansas City to see my dad. I can put the bike into the truck and I will be set. Should I call him? I still have my Nextel radio/phone but I do not dare turn it on. They have GPS on them and I know from my sister who was over all phone communications that they can track you in a second as long as you have the phone turned on.
The place is empty except for the lone employee at the counter.
“How can I help you?” the guy says as I walk up to the counter.
“I need your smallest truck for 3 days,” I tell him.
“Where are you headed?” he asks and starts typing info into the computer.
“Kansas City.”
He types in a few more things and then he is satisfied that he has all the info correct.
“Okay, our smallest truck is going to run you around $1500 for that trip. I just need a credit card and we will get you all ready to go,” he says.
“$1500? How could it possibly be that much? I thought it was $29.99 per day! I only need it for three days!” I argue, realizing that my loosely laid plan is falling apart rather quickly.
“That is for local rentals, man. If you are taking the truck a long distance, we charge by the mile, not by the day,” he says. “I’m sorry, but that’s what I got.”
This is a disaster. What do I do? I should probably call my dad and find out if he is even there and what he thinks I should do. I don’t even know if he will want me to come and stay with him and his wife. Maybe I really should call him. I might not even be able to go there anyway. Maybe he can send me some money. Maybe I can get a job somewhere in Hemet for a while and save up. Maybe I can sell my bike. I decide that calling will be best and then I’ll go from there based on what comes up in the call.
Luckily, my dad has had the same phone number for 10 years. I know it by heart. He was like that; the ten years he lived in LA he had the same phone number the entire time. He moved to Kansas City but he had a 1-800 number so that my sister and I could call him toll free whenever we had the chance. Although we called very infrequently, I still remember the number. Good thing for me.
If I use my Nextel, not only will they be able to find me, but they will know I am going to see my dad.
“Can I use your phone?” I ask the U-Haul guy. “It’s a 1-800 number.”
“Sure, man. Go ahead.” He takes the phone and moves it so I can dial.
I dial the number. Please pick up. Please pick up. Please be there.
“Hello,” the voice answers.
“Dad?” I say.
“Yeah. What’s up?” he asks.
“I left dad. I couldn’t take it anymore,” I tell him.
“Okay. Where are you?”
“I am at the U-Haul place in Hemet.”
“What happened? What’s going on?” he asks.
“I just could not take it