You lick your dry lips once before popping your question, “Have you ever heard of Lost Dakota?”
“Mrmmrr…,” his voice box grumbles, “That’s what I thought, that’s what I thought. And now you’re gonna take me there.”
You wait for a second, “What?”
“Finally…I woulda killed ya if ya’d sped up, that’s the directeev I got from the union. But since ya didn’t show resistance a any kaihnd, I gotta let ya take me there.”
You’re still dumbfounded, “I’m sorry, I still don’t follow you.”
“Ok, see, ‘bout 35 years ago, the trucker’s union got meggo-maniacal and found owddabout this grate big seecret thing called Lost Dakota. That’s why Jimmy Hoffa disappeared or whatever,” his life support machinery (you think that’s what it is) starts rumbling like an old refrigerator. “Theys new about sum kaihnd of rooute that was gonna be travelled by someone that would leed them to this special place. N thats where I comes in. See, with all this Gee-Pee-eSs stuff hook’d inta mah brainstem, I was put in responserbilty of trackin down this person maykin that rooute and that person looks like is yoo.”
The door handle isn’t wiggling and you’re heading out on the open road again. “Now where was you dryvin?” You figure you might as well go along with this crazy turn of circumstance and tell him to continue driving in the direction you were originally heading.
Go to page 215.
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