Life doesn’t always play out the way we expect. For Jesse, tonight would be one of those nights.

Whitesnake blasted from the radio as Jesse sang as if the song belonged to him.  His fingers strummed the steering wheel, and his body gyrated like a rocker on stage, “I’ve been a gypsy for a thousand years, a victim of circumstance. I go where my destiny calls; I’m caught in a game of chance.” 

He’d swallowed some Adderall and chased it with several beers. Energized, he maneuvered Ty into the rear seat of the black Chevrolet Suburban and headed for the abandoned factory on Highway 251.  Adrenaline was surging through his veins, and he was in a state of euphoria. Tonight, he’d prove his worth. He wasn’t just a punk bartender; he was a rising star.

He switched off the headlights and pulled into the empty parking lot. Tall weeds, a broken sign, and a dilapidated fence stood watch over the broken windows and crumbling brick walls. The abandoned machine shop sat covered in layers of dust and cobwebs. For those not wanting to be seen, it was the perfect place to hide.

He couldn’t see Miguel, but he knew he was there. The bright amber tip of his Cuban cigar glowed in the dark. Jesse rolled to a stop and waited. Miguel moved from the shadows and jogged toward the vehicle. Opening the door, he snuffed out his cigar and hopped inside.

“Took you long enough.” As he fastened the seat belt, Miguel caught sight of Tyson’s crumpled body, passed out in the back seat. “Hey, what’s with him?”

‘It’s cool. He’s so drunk he won’t wake up until tomorrow.” Jesse put the Suburban in gear and eased onto the deserted highway before turning on the headlights. It was overkill, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

“This road is dead. Haven’t seen any cars at all. Just the way I want it.”

“You worry too much, pal. Now let’s get this done. Is the set-up very far?”  Jesse kept his eyes on the road, listening to Miguel’s instructions. 

“Just around this curve, on the right. There are some fallen branches for the roadblock and a perfect spot for you to park.” Miguel pointed ahead, “About 50 feet, and you’ll see it.”

“Dope, Miguel. Couldn’t have found a better place myself.” Jesse surveyed the area, nodding, confirming it was a good choice. The low-hanging tree branches and tall weeds were perfect for an ambush. 

“You back the Suburban in, and I’ll pull the branches across the road.” Miguel jumped out and blocked off the road with the fallen tree limbs before returning to the vehicle.

Jesse smiled, “Now we wait. It shouldn’t be long.”

********

The men sat in silence, watching the long stretch of highway. After about fifteen minutes, Miguel started to get fidgety. “Come on! Let’s get this over with.” Tyson was tossing around in the back seat. “Don’t like the idea of him being here either.”

“Quit your bellyaching. It’ll be over in a few.” Jesse looked at his watch.

“How do you know? Maybe the route was changed, or your source got the time wrong.” 

Jesse chuckled, “Now that’s one thing we don’t have to worry about. Believe me when I say I got it straight from the horse’s mouth.”

“I don’t know, Jesse. I’m starting to sweat this.” He wiped his brow with a red bandana he pulled from his pocket. “I know I told you I was game, but it’s not the same as boosting parked cars. What if the driver has a gun?”

“Oh, man, you’ve been watching too many Scorsese movies. This guy wants to get home tonight in one piece. He’s going to let us grab the stuff, and it’s done.”  

In the distance, two white globes of light appeared on the horizon as they rounded the curve and sped through the night. The bold red letters on the refrigerated panel truck read Rotello Pharmaceuticals. The vehicle’s cargo contained assorted cartons of amphetamines, opioids, insulins, barbiturates, steroids, and miscellaneous medical paraphernalia. A local community hospital was its destination.

As the vehicle approached the fallen tree, the driver slowed down, accessing the possibility of getting around it. Muttering to himself, “Just what I don’t need.” He braked and brought the truck to a stop. 

He’d been briefed on the recent hijackings in the area but figured his shipment would fall under the radar. The drug cartel didn’t bother with small potatoes.

As he climbed down from the truck cab, he grabbed his jean jacket to protect his arms. He wasn’t afraid of most things, but the eerie silence on a dimly lit back road gave him reason to pause. His eyes scanned the roadside. A raccoon rustled through the grass, and an owl hooted in the distance; otherwise, it appeared he was alone.

He reached back into the cab, flipped open the console, grabbing a few things, including a pair of leather work gloves. He pulled them on and headed toward the debris. His headlights lit the area.

“Ready?” Jesse looked at Miguel, “Come on, kid, let’s do this.” 

As Jesse slipped off the front seat, he reached under the bench and pulled out a .357 magnum, slipping it into his waistband. Silently, the two young men crouched in the tall weeds, waiting for the right moment to strike. The driver tugged on the heavy branch, stumbling backward. At that second, he was unbalanced and vulnerable. 

Jesse sprang out of the weeds, pulling the gun from his waistband. He rushed toward the driver, yelling, “Get your hands in the air.” His adrenalin level was at an eight and climbing, bolstering his confidence.

Miguel rushed to the back of the cargo van, and shined his flashlight on the boxes. He read the labels till he found the ones labeled OXYCONTIN® (oxycodone hydrochloride). He grabbed the first stack and hastily carried them to the back of Jesse’s vehicle. 

The driver was nervous, pacing back and forth, mentally evaluating Miguel and Jesse. He decided to confront the one with the gun.

“Man, I don’t want no trouble. I’m just doin’ my job.” He spat on the ground, keeping Jesse in his sites.

Jesse snorted, “Me too.” Waving the gun in the air, he added, “You’ve got what I want, and I gotta take it from you.”

“Okay, take it. But easy with that gun. Just take what you want and go.”

Miguel passed by with another stack of boxes. The driver turned toward him, asking, “Hope it’s worth it, amigo because this is not going to set well with Mr. Rotello.” 

Jesse barked, “Shut up, man.” Then he turned to Miguel, “Hurry it up.”

“I’m going as fast I can. It’s dark out here.” He disappeared behind the truck and grabbed another stack of boxes. He couldn’t help wondering how many thousands of dollars each box was worth. Dollar signs flashed in his head.

“Stop that pacing. Get down on your knees.”  When the driver didn’t respond to his command, Jesse rushed closer, pointing the gun at the driver. “You don’t want me to kill you, do you?”

His stomach twisted as he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“Jess, wha- what’s  goin’ on?” Tyson stood in the roadway, wobbling side to side, approaching his friend. 

“Get back in the car, Ty. Stay out of this.”

“Wha-t what’s in the boxes?” Tyson kept moving forward toward Jesse.

Jesse was frantic. “Ty, get back in the car. Miguel, grab the stuff, and let’s get out of here.” This wasn’t supposed to happen. He couldn’t think straight.

Sensing a break in the action, the driver started to back away toward his truck. The situation was spiraling out of control. Jesse fired the gun into the air. “Stop! I don’t want to shoot you, man.” Terror ripped through his chest. “Stop, man! Just get down on the ground.”

“Jeeese! Yoou -r crazy.” Tyson grabbed his friend’s arm. “Stop!”

Jesse shoved him away, yelling, “For the last time, get in the car.” 

As he turned back to face the driver, he saw a gun flash in rapid succession;  once, twice, three, maybe four times. His eyes widened in fear, and he felt a hot-searing pain in his left side. He fired his gun. Stumbling and fighting for air, he fired again. The driver dropped to his knees. Jesse shot one more round and dropped facedown on the asphalt. 

The night was silent. Clouds of smoke drifted here and there. The sulfur left a putrid smell of rotten eggs. Three blood-soaked bodies lay still on the asphalt pavement. Two bright red taillights disappeared into the night, racing away from a robbery gone terribly wrong.