<p ALIGN=CENTER><img SRC=”http://matcatastrophe.com/media/images/US8.jpg” BORDER=0 ALT=”On the road to the Crystal Frontier”/></p>

He tore the wrapper, and wound down the window. The paper fluttered from his hand, and was sucked out into the cold air as the truck thundered along Interstate 8. One hand on the wheel, he wiped the other on his jeans. <p>

Air tore through the window and the papers on the passenger’s seat blew up and around the cabin, and Scott swatted at them ferociously, wishing he’d not been so careless when he searched the contents of the glove-box. All he’d found were receipts for gas, and the Smith & Wesson M60, devoid of all but two rounds; damned thing looked as if it had been dropped in an oil-pan during the truck’s last service, not that the truck was much better. It was only a few years old, but inexplicably full of rust; unheard of for something out here. The vinyl seats were cracked and torn from the sun, as was the dash. The remains of a newspaper sat, pages curling by the windshield. That idiot Nixon, blabbering about <em>”that process of healing which is so desperately needed in America.”</em>

<p>US 8 joined the junction at one-eleven, and he headed south. The North exit of the junction was closed off, and blue lights flashed all around. With any luck, there’d be a few less people down at the wire. For some reason, Calexico was where they’d decided to meet. Maybe it was the lose women; that or the cheap drinks. At this stage, Scott was past caring. He caught sight oh himself in the rear-view as he looked back at the tape and cars on one-eleven Northbound. There was more blood than he’d thought at first, all caked above his left eye. It was a little swollen, but nothing too major. He’d take care of it later, when he met up with Harry. Hopefully he’d be here by now, waiting, Brownies’ on Main. A pot of coffee waiting, and a cigarette. But before that, there was one last thing to take care of. He needed gas.<p><hr></hr><p>Harry had been driving for sixteen hours. He’d not slept in a day and a half, and last ate sometime about that time, too. All that kept him going from San Angelo were cigarettes, a few lines of coke, and the prospect of something better at the end. CA-98 Left was shut, and he almost went right through the road block before he realised what was going on. It was dark, and the DeVille wasn’t looking to have been the wisest choice to rip off. It seemed like a great idea at the time, and the drive wasn’t so bad with the top down during the evening part of the run. The cold air and bugs were keeping him awake, but only just. It was all that made up for the lumbering ride and heavy steering. <p>Soon, he’d be in Calexico, and Scott would turn up too. They’d torch one of the cars outside city limits, and then make for the border. They’d never have to deal with the shit again, it would all be behind them. Harry went up the ramp at the intersection of US 8 and one-eleven, and missed his turning southbound. He gunned the DeVille, and started around again, going up to the northbound loop. It was there that he finally succumbed to the gentle burble of the V8, and slumped forward. Four and a half thousand pounds of Detroit Steel rumble up the ramp, and tear through the retaining wall like tin-foil. <p>The blue flashing lights turned up not long after.<p><hr></hr><p>Scott killed the engine, and sat, thoughtless in the cab of the Ford. The parking lot was empty, and so was his gas tank. Henry should have been here an hour ago, and he was getting anxious. He’d just have to go it alone. He tidied up the papers on the passenger’s seat, and in the process, found a carton of hollow point Magnums under the seat. He popped out the two chambered .38 Specials and reloaded.<p>He tucked the revolver into the back oh his jeans, and stepped out of the cab. In his back pocket, a small bundle of letters from his ex. <em>It was always a boy’s club</em> she’d said. For a moment, Scott wished he’d let her in a little further, and not driven her away. But that was over, now. She was history. Scott’s life was about to change for ever, and he couldn’t let himself think of her anymore. He tries to remember a time when he didn’t trust her, and fails. He should have brought here along.<p>Too late, now.<p>He walks up to the doors, and peers through the glass. <br><em>Never been here before, right? <br>Never been here before.</em>