Rolling On Home

Vincent threw the newspaper onto the seat next to him and shook his head; what was wrong with the people in this world? The cockpit of his truck was sour with cigarette smoke and stale sweat. Soon, this fourteen hour journey would be over. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes, fighting against the stifling monotony of truck driving.

He smiled at the thought of getting back home to see Antonio. Checking his watch he saw that he still had three hours until 'Tonio's birthday was over - perhaps he could keep his promise to be home after all!

Camila had pleaded with him to stay home, but they needed the money. Out-of-hours work always paid well.

"What's the cargo?" Camila had asked.

"Somethin' dodgy," Vincent had replied. "Somethin' to do with those dirty shops. You know these white boys."

"We've got a son, you shouldn't be hauling that stuff."

"Hey, gimme a break, I'm just carrying it, not using it."

Eventually, they had agreed to disagree.

A shrill wail and flash of blue hastened him to the present. In his mirror he could see three police cars. He pulled over to the side of the road and the police cars followed. An officer got out and asked him to open up his truck.

Vincent put the key into the lock and opened the shutter. He took an inward breath to steady himself at the embarrassment he knew was about to come.

He dropped the key onto the floor.

Staring out at him were the dark eyes of seven young Eastern European girls.

"For god's sake, get his guy out of here and get these girls some blankets," an officer said. Vincent barely heard him. He was crying.