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EXPERIMENT II: Donna Markson, wrecker driver

Admiral Biscuit

Work could bring anything.

Today, it brought Donna a different truck. Her usual wrecker wasn't in the barn, and according to dispatch, it wasn't on the road, either.

"Fifteen's in the shop," Dana told her. "Transmission."

I thought it was shifting funny. "So?"

"So you get nineteen today."

Donna crossed her arms. "Really? You gonna do me like that? Put me in a Ford?"

"Twelve's available," Dana said. "But it's still stumpy." The wheel lift was off for repair, leaving only the sling. "Nineteen's got a working wheel lift, two winches and two fuel tanks."

"And a blue oval on the grille." Donna flicked her tail in annoyance. "Probably leave me by the side of the road, and I'll have to call for a wrecker."

"You got your radio."

"It's in a Ford, it'll break when I need it." She grabbed the keys off the board. "Whatever, I get paid by the hour."

"That's the spirit." Dana grinned. "Get her warmed up, I've already got a call lined up for you. Taurus in a tree."

"In a tree?"

"That's what the caller said."

"This, I have to see."

•••

The Taurus was not in a tree; the Taurus was instead wrapped mundanely around a tree. While questions as to how it had managed to get there lingered, overall it was not unlike every other car she'd untangled from a tree. Trees alongside the road were magnetic, and they just sucked cars in. There was no other explanation for how a car could veer off the road and manage to hit the only significant tree in a half-mile stretch.

That wreck would have been slingable, and she was having second thoughts as she punched the buttons on the auxiliary idle controller. The Chevies bumped up their idle when she turned on the PTO; the Fords wouldn't.

Some cars needed a delicate touch and careful thought, while others were beyond repair. In her opinion, the Taurus fell into the latter category; the entire front end was crumpled and the airbags had gone off. This car was destined for an eventual trip to the salvage yard or maybe even the shredder--it hadn't been nice before it had hit the tree, and its brief off-road excursion, followed with a sudden stop, hadn't improved it.

Donna slipped a J-hook over the lower control arm and tugged it away from the oak. The owner of the car was long gone, no doubt the victim of a failed field-sobriety test. He'd be enjoying a stint in the lockup while his car went to the impound lot to await its fate.

A bored-looking cop was her only witness as she got the car back on the shoulder and set the wheel lift, and once the obligatory exchanging of paperwork had taken place, she set off to the impound lot. Most cars sat neatly in rows, but in the far corner--affectionately referred to as the swamp, due to poor drainage--sat the ones which would never be reclaimed.

She dumped it next to a burnt-out Plymouth and used her wheel lift to shove it the final few feet, not worrying about the additional front-end damage that caused. Everything in front of the windshield was destroyed anyway; a few new scratches wouldn't make a difference.

Donna picked up her mic. "Fifteen--nineteen clear at the impound lot."

"Ten four." A moment later, her pager beeped. She slid it off her belt and took a look at the tiny screen. One of their competitors had bought a scanner and was trying to jump their calls; the pagers put the kibosh on that. Oak St. and Third. "Nineteen in route."

•••

She didn't feel when the underwire in her bra actually broke; Donna was in the middle of strapping up a Nissan when it stabbed her boob. Immediate resolution wasn't an option; the customer was watching along with her kid, so she gritted her teeth and ignored it while she slid on the wheel baskets. It only jabbed her when she bent over, and when she was on the 'away from customer view' side of the car, she reached down her work shirt and tried to pull it loose, but it hadn't come through the fabric in a way she could grab it.

The customer--and her kid--both needed a ride to the shop with their car. The kid was happy as a clam that he got to ride in a wrecker, that she had flashing lights on the roof and a two-way radio mounted above the rearview mirror, that she had an auxiliary idle control module tucked in under the ashtray, just in front of the Streamlight in its charging dock.

The mother was insufferable, and regaled her with the entire sordid tale of her ongoing divorce and the shitty car--currently in tow--that her soon-to-be ex had left her. Donna nodded in all the right places and did her best to ignore the bra wire and the enthusiastic cub who really wanted to talk on the radio. She could let him; Dana wouldn't be happy about it, but she could always claim he'd grabbed the mic before she could stop him. No way to prove it hadn't happened like that.

•••

Dropping a car in a mechanic's lot wasn't usually an art form, but of course this time it was overcrowded and the aisleway was narrow, and it took three attempts before she got it between the lines. It would have been quicker, except that she had no desire to hook herself on the pintle hitch of the dually on the other side of the lot. Donna didn't know exactly where the front bumper of her temporary truck sat, and didn't want to find out the hard way.

She waited until the paperwork was done and they were safely in the office before dealing with her traitorous bra. A few more buttons undone on her work shirt didn't help when it came to fishing out the offending wire, so it was time for plan B: abandon it as a lost cause.

Hanging it on the mirror was an option, just above chucking it out the window and being done with it. The way the day was going, if she chucked it, she'd get a ticket for littering, and if she hung it on the mirror her next call would be a creeper who assumed it was an invitation. "Fif--nineteen to dispatch, clear."

"Ten-four. Gonna need you to run over to the Long Lake boat launch and help ten with a winchout."

"What have we got?"

"Truck in the lake, that's all I know."

"Got it."

She knew where Long Lake was, of course, but not the boat launch. Donna flipped through her mapbooko and traced a claw around the roads. A parking lot next to the lake probably meant a boat launch, and if ten was already there, the flashing lights would be a good beacon.

If not, the lake wasn't that big around, and she'd find him eventually.

•••

At a stoplight, she glanced over at her bra sitting accusingly on the armrest and threw it behind the seat. Who knew what was back there, it wasn't her truck. Could be anything. Maybe she'd fish it out at the end of the day, maybe she'd forget. Then she picked up her mic. "F--Nineteen to ten, what's your situation?"

"I'm out of winch line . . . how many chains you got?"

Donna frowned. "No idea, this isn't normally my truck."

"You near the shop?"

"Negative, I'm just a mile or two away."

"Pity, could've stripped chains off other trucks."

"What were you thinking, make a daisy-chain outta J-hooks and bridles?"

"Some dumbass decided to go offroading in the lake, and . . . well, you'll see."

"Copy that." She hung the mic back in its clip and focused on the road. One more corner, and she should be on the frontage road and odds were that she'd either see a sign, or flashing lights and a wrecker with a company logo.

Offroading in the lake. Most weren't that stupid, but her job revolved around those who were, and it sounded like they'd gotten a winner this time around. She'd never considered using the boat launch as a path to the offroad opportunities the lake offered, but apparently somebody had.

•••

The vehicle in question was mired up to the rocker panels in mud, and beyond the reach of ten's winch cable. That was clear by the fact that the truck was still in the mud and also the fact that the ten was also clearly stuck, its rear wheels dragged down into muck. Donna was an expert at getting a wrecker stuck through no fault of her own.

She pulled alongside wrecker 10 and rolled down her window. "Somebody call for a tow?"

"Shut up."

Donna stuck her tongue out at him, then hopped out of the cab. "How much are you lacking?"

"About ten feet. I backed up as far as I dared, then got dragged in. I think I can still get it out."

"Nah, you're fucked." She grinned, then opened the toolboxes. "Don't worry, I won't write it up. Only thing is, who's gonna wade out to that truck?"

"Ought to make you do it, you've got the chains."

"Company chains," she reminded him. "And you're first on scene, and you can get hooked up while I'm tying on to your truck to 'stabilize' it. To avoid getting stuck, you know. Lotta guys would make fun of you if you got stuck."

"You'd be the one to know."

"That's fair." Letting her past haunt her just lead to more ribbing at her expense. "Besides, you've already got mud up to your knees, might as well get it up to your balls."

"Sand in your cunt would make you less abrasive," he muttered as he dragged the chains off the boat launch and in the direction of the stranded pickup.

"Abrasive or not, I drive off and you're gonna be calling dispatch for a favor," she reminded him as she started unspooling her winch. "Or you play nice and I stabilize your truck and you're the hero."

"Kiss my ass."

"Bare it." Donna leaned down and hooked her winchline around his front axle. "I'll pull taut, keep you from getting further in the muck, and once you've got him moving, drag you out."

•••

True to her word, once ten had gotten the stuck truck back on the boat launch ramp, she pulled him out. He was close enough that he could re-hook and drag the truck the rest of the way, and she could have reclaimed her chains and driven off, but she was already here and the radio wasn't blowing up with new calls, so she helped him get it the rest of the way up the ramp and in the wheel lift, and then followed him around the lake.

"Address is supposed to be right here."

Donna keyed her mic. "Just drop the damn thing, he'll find it in the morning."

"He sounded drunk." Ten's taillights flashed as he passed an open parking spot. "Probably doesn't remember where he lives."

"You don't go driving in a lake sober," Donna replied. "Ten seconds of thought, and he'd have remembered that water tables are a thing that exist. Come the morning, he'll be hung over and when he finds his truck he'll think he left it wherever you drop it."

"Shoulda gone and caught a fish and put it in his glove box as a surprise." Ten flicked the worklights on and shoved the truck into its spot. "Maybe put in enough water so it could jump out at him in the morning."

Donna flicked on her beacons and stopped just short of the open spot he was aiming for. "You got a couple more feet in the back, just angle it in slow."

"Thanks."

•••

Broken truck, broken bra--none of her customers had remarked on the fact she was driving half-commando yet. Dana would notice; if she went off-shift while he was still dispatching he'd say something completely inappropriate but funny. If he was still dispatching, she'd take off her undershirt and undo another button and catch him on the wrong paw. "Fifteen--goddammit, nineteen radio."

"Go ahead, fake nineteen."

"Clear at Southside."

"Ten-four. Board's clear, go ahead and run back to the shop."

"Really?"

"I don't make the rules. Unless you want to run patrol on University Apartments."

"I'd rather fuck a cactus."

"That wasn't a firm no."

"I'll swing through, see what's up," she promised. "Maybe get an impound."

"Keep me advised," Dana told her.

There was an art to checking University Apartments. It took two forms, harsh and merciful. Harsh, she rolled in as quietly as a diesel Ford could manage, snatched a car without a permit, and made the company a quick hundred dollars. Merciful, she took her time and patrolled with all the work lights on. Lit her truck up like a beacon, leaving only the few imbeciles to pay an impound fee.

Donna felt merciful, and even gave one student the chance to move his car to a guest parking spot before towing it--the company could afford the small loss the impound fee and storage fee wouldn't bring.

"University apartments clear, enroute to the shop."

"Ten-four."

"Ten bedded down for the night?"

"Last I saw, he was still in the washbay, getting mud off the back of his truck. It was his last call before retirement, you know."

"Sure it was." Donna grinned--Dana was weird, but fun on dispatch.

"He told me himself."

"Dibs on his truck."

"In case you forgot, that one's also a Ford."

"Sure, but he got deep enough on the boat launch there's probably a fish in the side locker, and I'm hungry."

•••

Donna backed her truck into the barn, slotting it between two other wreckers. Maybe next shift would take the truck, maybe they wouldn't. Not her problem; the rules of truck assignment were Byzantine at best; her duty was only to drive the truck assigned.

A few personal materials cluttered the cab and she gathered them up. The trip back had reminded her that Dan usually drove nineteen and he was fat and creepy and while judging by the clutter of crusty fast-food bags shoved behind the seat he wouldn't find it, the thought that he might and what he might do with it would plague her mind. She fished it out and tossed it in the dumpster on her way by.

Donna opened the back door and leaned against the wall next to the dispatch office. The boss had cameras to watch the dispatch operators and didn't like the drivers to hang out with the dispatchers, so most of the drivers knew where to stand so they wouldn't be in camera. "Slow night, huh?"

"Board's clear," Dana said. "Boss'd have my head if I kept three drivers on with a clear board. I gave ten the chance to go home, but he's de-mudding his truck, and I gotta keep the flatbed out."

"I'm not mad. An hour early, that's enough time to have a drink when I get home and to say a proper goodbye to you." She unbuttoned her work shirt and pulled it open. Her cotton undershirt didn't hide all that much.

"I appreciate--" Dana spun in his chair and his voice faltered.

"See ya tomorrow." Donna grinned at him and walked out of the office.