House of Steel (5 page)

“A white Honda Civic headed south on the
east side of the”—beep, beep, beep—“road,” Delaney finished,
looking down at the blank screen on her phone. She slammed her
phone on the steering wheel then looked at out the passenger side
window at the freeway above. She knew that even if a car happened
to drive past, the odds were slim that someone would notice her
white car buried in the ditch below amid the flurry of white. She
resolved that she had two choices, although neither option was
favorable in the conditions of blinding snow and sub-zero
temperatures
.
Without any notion of how long the blizzard
would last, she opened the door in dire hope of flagging someone
down.

She exhaled as she pulled out her hat from
the console, adjusting it over her head full of waves to fit snug
over her ears, and then reached to pick up her overnight bag from
the passenger side floor. Just as she moved to place her mittens on
her hands, she glimpsed a pair of headlights flashing on and off up
on the side of the road to her right. Through the white-filled
haze, she spotted the glare of red blinking lights on the tail of
the truck; the driver had turned on his hazards.

A tow truck.

Her eyes followed a man in a full
snowsuit and ski mask, carrying a shovel as he made his way down
the embankment toward her car buried in the snow.
Jesus, a ski
mask? I’m bait.
A headline from her Uncle Walt, editor of the
Journal Sentinel,
sprawled through her head
, Missing
Woman, 28, Abandoned Car Amid Worst Blizzard of the Decade.

She looked around her car for a sharp object
but found nothing to alleviate her paranoia. He made his way around
the car to her driver side where he stood, almost knee-deep in
snow, motioning her to roll down her window. She hesitated instead,
and reached for the key in the ignition. The distrust evident in
her eyes, he took off his ski mask, unveiling a middle aged man
with gentle eyes and a goatee. A friendly wave with his gloved hand
followed. She smiled back, rolling down the window to a whistling
wind of arctic breeze and flakes.

“Looks like you are in a bit of trouble,
miss,” he said, pointing his finger toward her car. His goatee
moved back and forth with his mouth. The hair reminded her of her
bristle brush. “I’m Joe.”

“Sorry about that, Joe. You just scared me a
bit with your full suit and ski mask. I’m Delaney, by the way,” she
replied as she reached out her hand to shake his because that’s
what you did in the Midwest. Even in the midst of a snow storm, you
were polite.

“Nice to meet you, Delaney. Not, of course,
under these circumstances, but I’m glad I saw you down here. I
won’t be able to get your car out now; the snow is too thick and
it’s too dangerous, but I can give you a ride if you’d like. Back
to my shop,” he said, pointing to his truck up on the side of the
road.
Back to the shop. Do I have a choice?

“That would be great. Thank you so much for
your offer. I can have someone pick me up there if you have a phone
I can use.”

“Yeah. Now, let’s get out of here. It’s
colder than a penguin’s pecker out here,” he said as he looked down
at the snow piled high on her driver’s side door. “It looks like
I’m going to have to dig you out a bit. Your door ain’t going to
open.” He pulled his black ski mask back down, protecting his face
against the harsh wind, and began heaving the snow away from the
door over his shoulder with quick movements.
Of course, he’s
done this before. He’s a tow truck driver.

Delaney closed the window and gathered her
phone with her overnight bag before waiting for Joe to stop
shoveling. He paused and motioned his hands before yelling “Give it
a try!” She pushed the door with her shoulder, shoving all her body
weight into the plastic next to the window. The door opened four
inches.

“Close it!” Joe yelled, signaling again with
his hand. He began digging deeper to free yet more of the snow
built up on the door. She watched as more snow flung over his
shoulder ten feet behind him. His hunched body worked mechanically
much more efficient than she anticipated from a relatively bigger
man in - what she guessed - his early fifties. “Try ‘er again!”

She lowered her shoulder again, pushing the
door open wide enough that she could fit through. The door scraped
against the snow as she squeezed herself out of the safety of the
Civic and into the white fury of hell that pelted her whole body.
The cold wetness seeped into her thin leather boots as she sunk a
few inches down. She put her head down and covered the side of her
face with her hand as she tried to move forward, the wind whipping
her body like a ragdoll. Joe climbed back up the ditch, motioning
for her to follow in his path of footsteps as he reached to grab
her forearm to help her up the slope. The grip was firm, hoisting
her onto the side of the road next to the truck. She climbed into
the passenger seat of the truck after she noted the “Joe’s Towing”
sprawled on the door.

The four-by-four plowed south down the
freeway toward Joe’s shop, just ten miles away from Delaney’s
stranded Civic. She looked over, examining Joe’s blue snowsuit,
letting her eyes follow the red stripe up to his face. With his ski
mask pulled up, resting on top of his head, and gloves set aside
next to his seat, Delaney caught a better look at Joe’s face that
was clearly aged with years of hard labor. His hands were rough and
thick with calluses, dirt gathered deep under his nails. He noticed
her staring at his hands gripped loose on the steering wheel.

“I bury a lot of bodies,” he rumbled with a
crack in his lips. Before Delaney could reply, he continued in a
serious tone, “I’m joking, dear. I suppose not the best time to
joke given the situation.”

“The ground’s too hard to bury any bodies
now anyway. You better wait until the spring then you can get a
little deeper,” she replied, looking straight ahead.

“Well, then, Miss Delaney, I guess I know
who to call if I’m ever in a predicament of that nature.” He
paused, looking over at his passenger, her brown hair falling over
her shoulders beneath her hat. “You never can pinpoint those
lady-killers, can you?” he finished.

“Well, I’m surely not one of those, unless
I’m provoked, of course.” She looked at Joe’s face as his smile
spread wider.

“You remind me of my daughter; you’re a
feisty one. What possessed you to drive a Civic in this snowstorm,
by the way? You know that’s a terrible idea,” he said.
You sound
like Michael Jones. A father of a daughter.

“My brother’s getting married tomorrow in
Milwaukee and I was headed down to spend time with my family. I
didn’t bother to check the weather like most normal people in
Wisconsin, and I just happened to lose reception when my father
called, urging me to wait the storm out. So here I am,” she said,
lifting her hands off her lap, gesturing toward the truck. “Thank
you, by the way. How old is your daughter?”

“Elizabeth was sixteen when she died twelve
years ago. She would be twenty-eight, about your age, I’m
guessing,” he said, looking back at his passenger.

“I’m sorry, Joe. Yeah, I’m twenty-eight,”
she replied, her face flushed with the sinking feeling in her
stomach.

“Car accident. By herself. They said she was
driving too fast,” he said before clearing his throat. “You’re
lucky I was driving past to pull someone else stuck on the side of
the road. I caught ya’ out of the corner of my eye. You couldn’t
have been in the ditch long; the tracks were still pretty fresh.
Does anyone know that you were in the ditch?”

“Well…” she paused, looking out the
passenger window at the white haze. “I did leave a message with my
brother right before my phone shut off,” she lied.

“Good. Once we get to the shop, you can call
your brother to come and get you later today. He should wait until
this blows over,” he replied, leaning forward over the steering
wheel to look out the windshield, as if he were able to calculate
the blizzard’s longevity and severity.
Another connoisseur of
the weather.
Nothing except white.

“We’re just about there,” he added, shifting
his truck into third gear to get through a massive drift. She
hadn’t seen a snowplow for the last forty-five minutes.

“I usually plow this road myself. It takes
too long for the county workers to get out here,” Joe said as he
turned into a driveway Delaney hadn’t even seen.
A driveway that
leads to nowhere.
As her fingers gripped her bag tighter, the
vague outline of a building began forming. He pulled the truck to a
stop. The dark gray metal buckled and wavered against the gusts of
wind and snow.

“And here we are. Not much to the shop,
other than a phone, some cars, a vending machine and heat.”

“That’s all I need. Are you headed back
out?” she asked.

“You got it. I’ll be running in and out all
day. Snow is my gold,” he replied, tapping the steering wheel of
the tow truck. “Make yourself at home, dear.”

“Thanks, Joe, good luck out there,” she said
as she heaved the door open against the force of the wind. She ran
in front of the truck’s headlights, giving Joe one last wave before
grabbing the handle of the black door stenciled with “Joe’s Towing
and Body Shop.” The door reluctantly swung open into a dimly-lit,
small waiting area that had a few chairs and the vending machine.
She shut the door behind her, kicking the snow out of the way in
order for the door to click shut and turned into the room, waiting
for her eyes to adjust to the darkness before going further into
it.

The waiting area opened to a pair of
adjoined small offices to the right. She slid into a vinyl swivel
chair with its high back and massively structured arms behind a
metal desk amid the stacks of grease stained papers in the first
office. The vinyl, with tiny tears where white fuzz poked through,
squeaked against her jeans. She moved her body forward, but the
chair didn’t come with her. Her eyes traveled down to the bottom of
the chair – three wheels
.
In the place of the fourth wheel
was a wooden block.
What are you doing with that gold, Joe? Get
a new chair. As well as a new phone.

She picked up the chair by its arms to reach
the phone. The coils of the cord uncurled only the slightest bit as
she raised the receiver to her ear to silence. Her breath quickened
as her body shot up, frozen in place with the phone still at her
ear.
Dead phone.

Delaney set the receiver back down, looking
at the lights flickering in the waiting room. As she held her
breath, she tilted her head, listening to the quiet hum echoing
against the walls. Images of her Uncle Walt’s cottage in northern
Wisconsin amid flashes of lightning and torrents of rain flashed
through her mind. She felt her lids close. The lights were on a
generator.
No power. No phones. Man in a ski mask. Warehouse in
the middle of nowhere. Whiteout.

She crept toward the door, still clutching
her bag, as she looked around for a sharp object.
Settle down,
Delaney. The phone’s old. It may not be working anyway.
She
envisioned a masked man with black leather gloves, cutting the
wires, scissors still in his hand as he smiled. Shaking her head at
the thought, she exhaled and moved into the other office, her back
running against the wall for safe measure. The room was
fractionally larger. Most likely Joe’s office with the same old
office furniture. She picked up the cordless phone, sparking an
idle hope that the phone purchased within the last decade would
produce the familiar hum. She pressed the call button and was
rewarded with a dial tone.

“Hello?”

“Mark.” The sound of his voice rushed a
swell of relief through Delaney’s body.

“Tell me you’re not driving,” Mark answered
her call.

“I’m not,” she replied.

“Good.”

“Well, it’s not exactly good. I’m not
driving because my car’s in the ditch.”

“God, Delaney,” Mark said. She waited. “Are
you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay, asshole, but I need you to
pick me up. I’m at a body shop in the middle of nowhere. A guy
named Joe picked me up with his tow truck and brought me to his
shop,” Delaney replied.

“Yeah, I’ll come get you. What’s the
address?” Mark asked.

Delaney picked up an invoice on the desk,
scanning the content for an address. “927 Parker Drive. Lomira.
Wherever the hell that is,” she said.

“I’ll be there in two hours. Don’t go
anywhere,” he joked.

“Funny. By the way, my phone is dead so call
this number back if you need me. And please spare me, don’t tell
Dad.”

“Delaney?”

“Yeah?”

“You there alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Be safe.” Mark hung up before she could say
thanks.

Delaney sighed, setting the phone back down
on the charger. Her stomach rolled as she looked up at the plastic
clock hanging on the wall.
12:13 p.m.
She fished a crinkled
dollar bill out of her wallet and headed out to the vending machine
in the waiting area to locate the last bag of M&Ms in the
near-empty machine. She watched as the candy landed with a clank on
the bottom. As her hand fumbled around the bottom of the tray, a
soft ball of fur brushed against her fingertips. She recoiled,
letting out a scream.

“MEOW.” The animal’s screech pierced the
waiting room as a small head with glassy eyes appeared from the
tray. The cat hopped out of the vending machine, stretching its
legs while keeping an eye on her intruder.

“Jesus,” Delaney said to the calico cat as
it left small smudges of grease on the floor. Delaney nudged the
cat with her leg as it rubbed against her jeans. A dangling silver
ID tag gleamed from its neck.

“Parker, huh?” Delaney said. She replayed
her motions, opening the black door of the vending machine, but
peered in to scope out the bottom tray before she placed her hand
back in to retrieve the M&Ms. As she tore open the top of the
bag, she noticed a door of blackened glass that, she assumed, led
to the warehouse. She put her hand on the cool metal handle and
pushed down.
Locked.