By the Skin of Our Teeth

There’s a whole lot of nothing between Chicago and Cheyanne

As I write this Zal is hauling ass west on route I-80. Our plan was to stay another night in Chicago but we escaped just in time.

A thin guy called “Bones” led us down a dark alley filled with stray cats and hungry dogs on the Southside of Chicago into a basement where he read a password into the peephole. This place was seedy.

Burly guys in tracksuits puffed their cigars and shuffled cards with overly made-up hussies stirring cocktails on their laps. The man in charge was short but terrifying. I’m told he is in charge of the Giordano’s Chicago pizza empire (pictured above) He told us if we “try anything slick” he’d “pound our heads in so far we’d have to drink through our zippers.” I believed him.

Zal made a big play early and we would’ve been wise to get out ahead but it was still early so why not take a chance at some extra cash? Well, by 3 o’clock this morning the keys to the Camry sat atop a mountain of chips and $100 bills and I had no cards besides the––literal and figurative––Ace Up My Sleeve.

By some miracle it won the hand much to the displeasure of our meathead host. He said, “where I come from, there’s only one ace of hearts in the deck.” I replied, “well where I come from, three-of-a-kind beats two pair.”

Apparently not impressed by my smart-ass routine he throttled me by the neck and connected a few lunchbox-sized fists into my ribcage. Zal had the presence of mind to distract his attention long enough to swipe the keys and a few bills off the table before we slipped out the door and took off like bats out of hell toward Cheyanne.

As the sun crept down we hoped to make Cheyanne by midnight through the vast nothingness of Iowa and Nebraska. Needless to say, it is very unnerving to drive by signs that say “next rest area 148 miles” on a highway in central Nebraska with no sign of civilization besides a tiny flickering streetlight hundreds of acres in the distance.

By god we made it to Cheyanne, which makes Jamestown, NY look like Times Square. Now we just have to clear Wyoming to reach the Rocky Mountains by dusk and hopefully into Jackson before disaster befalls us or we’re eaten by a gigantic game animal. The forecast calls for snow and wind and I haven’t seen a cell tower in several hours.