There was a lot of chatter on the radio, but most of it was from drivers out on the interstate. Now and again, someone would hail a trucker as he pulled into Sally’s, but so far, nothing more than that.

I turned on the engine now and then to defog the windshield and throw a little heat into the interior of the car. After a while the rain increased, and then began to come down with a steady intensity. Water began to pool here and there across the parking lot. Then the rain ceased altogether and a feeble moon began to shine through the thinning clouds.

I sat listening quietly, lost in thoughts of other times I had waited patiently for something to happen—or not happen. A couple of hours passed in this fashion, and I was giving serious consideration to pulling the plug when suddenly, the radio squawked.

A girl’s teasing voice came over the air. “Hey, y’all. Any a you boys at Sally’s looking for a little company this evening? Come back.”

I picked up the radio and held it near my chest. A man’s voice answered, a voice with a flat Midwestern accent.

“Hey there, darling, you got the Missouri Rambler here—who am I talking to? Come back.”

“Where you at, Rambler?” the girl responded.

“I’m in the red flatbed rig with the load of iron, sitting here in the middle of the lot. Where are you?”

“You look out toward the front of the lot—I’m in the white van headed your way,” the girl answered. “Me and a bunch of my friends.”

“You and your friends—are y’all the friendly type?” the man asked in a teasing voice.

“Oh, we mighty friendly!”

“Well, girl, come on over here and we’ll see just how friendly you are!”

At that second a white van rolled to the center of the lot and came to a stop. Nearby a truck flashed his exterior cab lights on and off several times. A man got out of the driver’s side of the van and opened the side door. Three girls in skimpy outfits hopped out. One girl went straight to the truck that had flashed its lights. The door of the truck opened and she climbed in. The other two girls disappeared among the trucks in the lot. The van driver returned to his seat.

I picked up the CB and pressed the Push to Talk button, and spoke into the mike, “Hey out there, this is Cracker Daddy callin’ for Sweet Thang. You out there, Sweet Thang? Come back.”

I released the button and listened. The only reply was the electronic sizzle of the radio. I tried again.

“Sweet Thang, this is the original Cracker Daddy. You here tonight? Now don’t play games with me, darlin’, I only stopped here to see you. Come back.”