Deadly Commute

by

Mary Schenten

Claire stepped on the gas and eased her Plymouth Breeze left one lane to join the early morning commuters eastbound on I94. The sky over St. Cloud was black but for a few stars. It was at least an hour too early to see any kind of light in the eastern sky and by the time that happened Claire would be pulling into her employer's parking lot in Maple Grove.

A cup of coffee sat nestled in its holder between the two front seats—still too hot to drink—but the aroma filled the car and served as a wake-up to her senses. With her eyes on the road, Claire dug into the paper bag next to her and drew out a glazed old-fashioned doughnut still warm from the gas station's baked goods selection. She took one bite and dropped the rest back in the bag, licking sugar residue from her fingers before reaching for the radio dial. As usual, she was just in time for the 5 AM news.

“Good morning,” the announcer began, “It's the top of the hour and I have all the news and weather to start your Monday. The temperature is 30 and we can expect lots of sun and a high of 45 around noon. Looks like a beautiful day.

“Minnesota State Highway Patrol has no more information today on that string of shootings – some resulting in deaths - that have occurred in the last six months along I94 between St. Cloud and Minneapolis . In response to the biting criticism from the governor in his radio address Friday Sgt. Dennis Carlson, spokesman for the State Highway Patrol, reaffirmed that every effort is being made to find the perpetrator. And, again the State Patrol is asking for your help. If you have any information regarding these shootings, you are asked to call the Highway Patrol.

“There was a stabbing in South Minneapolis last night…”

Claire's mind wandered to the coming day. On her desk waited a stack of projects due to be completed immediately. Everyone in her department was overworked and stressed out. Morale in the office had hit an all-time low. Management claimed things would get better, but this pressure had been building for a long time. It was like road rage, except it was in the office. Cubicle rage.

Things weren't much better at home. Claire's boyfriend had lost his job selling cars and wasn't making much of an effort to a find new one. When Claire brought up the subject, he would either slam out of the house and into the nearest bar or he would settle into a sulk that lasted for days.

Claire seldom let people see her lose her temper. She might be seething underneath, but her coworkers would never know. Maybe she wasn't always cheerful but she was never mean and vicious like some people. You had to restrain yourself. You couldn't be like Claire's coworker Lucy who went around slamming doors, throwing files and whining about every little thing.

“They messed up. They should've caught this guy by now.”

Claire took a bite of her doughnut as her attention jerked back to the talk show. Two men and one woman sniped at each other for three hours straight but normally Claire was only party to the first hour. The program featuring the three had started out a couple of years ago as good-humored bantering but had deteriorated into something mean-spirited and nasty. Claire could feel her mood worsen the more they fought and the closer she got to her workplace. Today they battled over the first news item.

“What? What do you mean ‘they messed up'? Who messed up? Aw, you don't know what you're talking about.” Phil the older of the men responded to his coworker's statement.

“Why haven't they caught anyone? Seven people have been shot – or shot at – on the freeway between 5:30 and 7:00 in the morning and they can't even tell us if it's coming from a car or an overpass or what.” The female host shrieked her dismay.

“Now, Bonnie, don't get carried away. You make it sound like there's a sniper out there on an overpass every day picking people off as they drive past.” That was the monotoned Tom trying to calm the easily excitable Bonnie.

“Oh, Tom, don't say that. Don't give anybody ideas!”

“Yeah, Tom,” Phil chimed in. “There's a bunch of weirdoes out there just waiting for you to tell them what to do.” His laugh was contemptuous.

Claire glanced at her cell phone, wishing she had the nerve to call the radio station. Maybe she could send transmit her thoughts by telepathy. “Shut up, you jerk,” she directed toward Phil. She strained her eyes toward the overpass she knew was coming up. It was too dark to see. How could drivers know if someone was standing up there? She took another bite of doughnut, a sip of coffee and wished she still smoked.

“I'm just saying,” Bonnie said in a calmer voice. “There have been – what? Seven or eight … shootings along a 70 to 80 mile stretch of highway at a time of day when it's still dark but the traffic is fairly heavy. Why aren't they telling people to watch out … that there's a…. a….a…. random or serial something or other? Sniper or drive-by shooter.”

“Well, Bonnie,” Tom droned. “That's easy. They don't want to cause a panic. There are enough crazy things going on out there without everyone thinking the guy in the next car is pointing a gun at them.”

Claire couldn't keep silent. “Agh,” she burst out. “What do you know, you idiot?”

"Why would anyone do that?" Bonnie wondered aloud. Her voice was high-pitched and not pleasant to listen to, but Claire envied her outspoken manner. Bonnie didn't pause to let them answer her question. She continued, “Do you suppose it's one person or more? Do you think it's random or… or… specific?”

Both men snorted. "Specific?" Phil was incredulous. "Someone targeting early risers?" The men dissolved into Junior-high-school-like guffaws that Bonnie tried to talk over.

"I mean, maybe it's something to do with a gang."

"I don't think these people were gang members. They were business people –construction workers –office workers," Tom explained.

Claire's annoyance with Tom's manner increased daily. She had tried to dismiss him as someone with ideas too far to the right to take seriously, but found she couldn't ignore his know-it-all responses in every discussion they had.

"So, what's your idea? One guy? More than one?" Bonnie challenged.

Tom took a deep breath. "I think it's one guy. One guy who travels that road every day and, every now and then, he goes nuts."

Phil concurred. "I think I agree with that. Although, there could be a copy cat." Claire had come to notice that Phil always agreed with Tom. He would argue vociferously with a caller but if Tom stepped in, Phil would back off. She had decided Phil was a wimp.

"Well," Tom's voice took on the pitch of an announcer. "It's time for us to take a break. It's 5:09 and this is The Morning Drive on KTOP AM1430. We'll be right back."

Claire's brain automatically blanked out the commercial and refocused on her job. She popped the last portion of doughnut into her mouth and thought she was getting tired of that damn Lucy and her snotty attitudes. Things would go much better if everyone would work together as a team but Lucy only wanted to be part of a team if she could be the boss of the team. Sometimes you could hear Lucy's strident voice throughout the whole office. It drilled into Claire's head like a permanent ice cream headache. And, when Lucy was in a good mood, her prolonged, high-pitched giggle made one long for deafness.

At least once a week Lucy took out her manicure kit and proceeded to clip and file her nails. She usually did this just after an unconstrained, gossipy chat with her mother. The snap of the clipper through the nail was followed by a click as the paring ricocheted off a wall or window.

Approaching the exit for Albertville , Claire estimated she was two-thirds of the way to work if nothing happened to slow her down. Traffic could bunch up for no reason even this early and bring the freeway to a halt. The next exit was where Lucy got on the freeway. Once in a while Claire would catch a glimpse of her on the road and Lucy would wave as though they were best of friends.

Claire's fingers flexed around the steering wheel as she recalled her conversation with Lucy late Friday afternoon. Claire had been running late for an appointment and had asked Lucy to cover her phone. In a whining, petulant voice, Lucy had bemoaned the amount of work she had and how late she would need to stay to get it done. Claire had turned and hurried away, biting her tongue to keep from reminding Lucy that if she wouldn't spend so much time going from desk to desk to complain to her coworkers, she might not be so far behind. The sound of Lucy's snapping gum followed Claire down the hall.

Bonnie and the boys were back on the air and on the same subject. Bonnie egged them on.

"Now, Tom, you own guns. What would it take for you to pick up a gun and shoot someone in the car next to you?"

Phil gave a strangled cry. "How can you even ask that?"

Tom ignored Phil. "Well, Bonnie," he drawled, "There have been times, on these mean streets of Minneapolis and St. Paul , that I have been mighty tempted to do some bodily harm. And, if I would have had one of my guns handy, I mighta done it. That's why I never carry a gun in my car." There was more than a touch of bragging in his voice.

"See, I knew it," Bonnie crowed over Phil's exclamation of disgust. "I knew you'd feel that way. You're so macho!"

"That's not a sign of being macho," Phil said. "Anyone can be macho with a gun in their hand."

"Not me," Bonnie chirped. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't point a gun at someone and pull the trigger. I just couldn't do it."

"No matter how mad you were?" Tom coaxed. "Are you absolutely sure? What if someone was threatening someone you really care about? Like your husband Ed? Wouldn't you try to protect him?"

"He's supposed to protect me. Tom, you're the one who says that's a husband's job. Actually, it's not that I wouldn't want to, I just don't think I could."

"Poor Ed." This came from Phil.

"But, I could maybe do a hit-and-run," Bonnie offered.

This remark was met with derisive laughter.

"So," Phil suggested. "If someone broke into your home, you could jump into your car and –what? Aim it at the guy who broke in? Or are you talking about some innocent bystander on the street?"

"No," Bonnie expressed exaggerated patience. "If I was on the road and I lost my temper, I think I could ram my SUV into someone. Especially if they had a small car."

"What if someone was standing along the side of the road?" Tom goaded. "Could you hit them and drive off?"

"Maybe," she allowed. "If I was really angry."

Claire glanced to her left to the SUV that had been running beside her for the last few miles. She shivered and slowed a little. Maybe she should change the station.

"I don't believe you people," Phil said in disgust. "Can't you control yourselves?"

"Now, Phil, haven't you ever gotten really, really angry?" Bonnie's voice was low and seductive.

Claire said, “I have.” She slapped the steering wheel for emphasis.

"I've never gotten so angry I couldn't control my actions," he blustered. "I think you guys are just using that as an excuse. It's like doing something mean or stupid and then saying it's not your fault because you were drunk."

"Oh, boy, I've done that," Bonnie allowed. "Not that I'm proud of it. I've been dry long enough that I can look back on some of that stuff and laugh now, but that doesn't mean I'm proud of it. Quit looking at me like that, Phil. Don't be such an old poop."

"So, now I'm a poop because I don't think you should take your car and run someone down? That's rich."

“Oh, you're just on one of your sanctimonious kicks,” Tom chimed in.

“What? Because I don't want to kill someone?”

“Yeah,” Tom baited. “If you have such control, why don't you go out on that stretch of highway and drive back and forth at this time of day? See if you wouldn't feel a little better with a gun on the seat beside you. If I drove that road with this stuff going on, I'd be packing heat, as they say.”

“Well, look, we have a caller. I didn't think anyone was awake this morning,” Bonnie said. “Hello, Larry, go ahead.”

“Hello, Bonnie. Hello Tom. Hello, Phil. Love your show. Well, that is, I usually do but today, I think you're making a big mistake. I think you're going to get people all scared. I got a small business here in Rogers and I got people workin' for me and drivin' that road. I don't need you scaring them so bad they won't come to work.” He chuckled nervously. “Maybe this guy has moved on. We haven't had any, uh, trouble for a while now.”

“Oh, I don't think we can say it's over,” Tom put in. “It's only been about three weeks since the last one.”

“See,” Larry said. “That's what I mean. Don't say that. Think about if you were drivin' that road every day. How would you feel hearin' this?”

Claire scanned the shoulders of the highway and peered into the windows of the cars next to her. Was that Lucy's car behind her in the left lane? Wouldn't it dreadful if Lucy was the next victim? No, maybe not.

She could never say that to anyone, of course, although she knew some of her coworkers felt the same way about Lucy. Lucy was a lot like Millie. Millie was out on medical leave now but she'd had the ability to drive Claire crazy, too. Millie had made Claire tense and short-tempered with everybody. She hated herself when she let that happen.

It was when Millie had come to visit the office while out on maternity leave that she had an unfortunate mishap in the parking lot. It was unclear exactly what happened but, according to Millie, she had just secured her baby in the car and was walking around the back to go to the driver's side when a car sped past and brushed against her back hard enough to knock her off her feet and into another car. She hit her head and broke her arm and would be out of work for an additional eight weeks at least.

Oddly enough, no one saw it happen but several people remembered seeing a dark-colored Dodge Stratus or Plymouth Breeze speeding through the parking lot around that time. The police had even questioned Claire and some of her coworkers who drove cars matching that description. The police officer who interviewed Claire suggested someone looking the other way or talking on a cell phone might not have even known Millie had been hit. Claire went with him while he checked over her car and assured him she hadn't left the building all day.

She hoped he wouldn't talk to any of her coworkers who might remember differently. If the police weren't suspicious of her, they wouldn't find out she had been standing at the gas pumps at the PDQ down the road when the ambulance screamed by.

To Claire's relief and surprise the excitement died quickly and Millie was out of the way for a while. And, now, Lucy was just as sharp a thorn in Claire's side as Millie had ever been.

Claire's attention was captured by Bonnie's shrill voice again. “Well, I'm willing to admit Larry might be right. We should change the subject as least until we get past the hours these killings have taken place. It's just too creepy, isn't it? We have other things we can talk about.”

“Okay by me,” Phil agreed. “It's stupid to talk about killing someone anyway.”

“Be realistic,” Tom countered. “We aren't responsible for what happens out on a given stretch of highway. There are a lot of radio stations. What are the odds the killer would be listening to us?”

At that moment Claire glanced into the car next to her. The lights from the dash reflected off big, round glasses that reminded Claire again of Lucy. The headlights from the cars in back silhouetted a smooth, medium-length hairstyle.

Could it be her? Claire wondered. Did it really matter? Even if it wasn't Lucy, the woman in the car next to her was probably just like her: bossing and whining and making her coworkers crazy.

As Claire stole glances into the car next to her, she saw the woman reach down and come up with something that glinted a dull blue in the reflecting lights. Was that a gun? What was she doing with a gun? The woman turned and stared in Claire's direction.

Claire pushed the button that released the storage compartment between the two front seats. Her pistol slid into her hand and fitted itself companionably into her palm. There was a smile on Claire's lips as she lowered her drivers' side window, aimed carefully and pulled the trigger.

END