Tucker is looking into the eyes of a large wolf.  Human eyes and the eyes of the beast locked in some primordial state.  There seemed to be some ownership in there somewhere as well.  Though Tucker could not identify whether he owned that wolf on the hood or the beast owned him.  The other wolves shifted down around the truck some, snarling at one another, nearly coming to a full out fight but settling as the pecking order was maintained.

The voice over the radio crackles out, "10-4, but that hour better include some road time towards Walla Walla.  Over."

Tucker keyed the mike once more. "Hoo-a. That's a 10-4. Over and out." He tossed the mike down on the passenger seat without shifting his eyes. He felt the challenge thrown at him, and, after the events of the past hours, he felt too ornery to back down.

"So, you fleabag, how do you wanna play this?" he fired back at the huge animal, his voice filled with bravado his spirit wasn't sure he could back up. "Are you and me throwing down right here? 'Cause if that's where we're going, better make it quick. I got a pick-up to do in Walla Walla."

He stared into those yellow eyes, wondering if his words could even register on the beast across the windshield, never mind being understood.

The wolf stood and looked at the surrounding pack and growled and howled.  The pack dispersed a little at a time slowly stalking around the truck and lopping off towards the nearby trees and disappearing into the thick foliage.  The wolf on the hood dropped its front quarters aiming towards the driver's side and slid a little off the hood before easily jumping down onto the ground leaving little marks in the paint. 

The wolf stalked around the door and went down along the side of the truck looking up at Tucker as it did so, then hopped onto the back where the hitch would go.  Tucker can hear the clicking of the claws at it did something where the mirrors could not see.

Crap, thought Tucker, so what do I do now? The damn wolf looked like it'd called his bluff, so it was back to his play.

Wondering if he'd just simply lost his nut last night, he reached down for his tire-thumper, a thick short club allegedly used to test tire pressure, but pretty useful as a weapon in a short pinch. He considered his options and also removed his Ruger Redhawk revolver from the holster underneath his seat.

Tucker took a deep breath, steeling himself physically and mentally for whatever would happen next, and pulled on the door release, letting the door swing wide. He waited a second for any reaction, then hopped down to the asphalt, spinning to face the back of the truck and the animal he knew waited there, club and handgun held ready.

The sound of the door hinges creaked slightly as it settled into its open position.  The cold air of morning greeted him as well as the fresher scents of mountain air.  The smell of the animals also hung in the air.  With weapons at hand, Tucker hopped out of the truck and landed on the ground with a heavy thud.  Creeping down the side of the truck until the back came into view, Tucker could see the wolf lying down on the metal neck where the body of a haul would settle and be locked into place.  While the wolf looked huge on the hood, now, without the protective windshield between them, the creature looked particularly deadly.

The bobbed its head almost in a greeting and then breathed a heavy sigh out as it stared into Tucker's eyes.

The rapid exertion and fearful expectation made Tucker's heartbeat sound loud against his ears. He stood there, body tense, staring down the wolf, waiting for... whatever was supposed to happen next. When the anticipated event failed to realize, he blew out his own breath and lowered his arms, feeling like a total idiot.

He examined the animal resting on his truck once again, this time with curiosity as opposed to dread. He blurted out the first thing his mind latched onto, "Jeezus, you're a big motherf**ker."

Self-consciously, he stuffed the revolver in one of his pockets, the butt ungainly sticking out. He looked at the wolf some more and sighed, scratching his head. "I'll be damned if I know what to do now."

After Tucker put his gun away the wolf sprung in one graceful motion from its metal perch to the ground next to Tucker, the beast's head came up to his rib cage and it bared its teeth briefly as it walked past Tucker and jumped up into the cab of the truck.

Tucker stiffened at the wolf's motions but kept still. As the creature passed him, a sensation similar to static electricity but without the pain and without the blue arc of energy passed between them. This male and Tucker were somehow inexplicably tied to one another. It was a thought that wasn't his own.

The wolf climbed into the passenger seat and sat leaning against the back of it. Tucker stared. The sheer insanity of the last 24 hours had just gone up another notch, but for some reason, he didn't feel any panic or worry. Finally, he just shook his head and said with incredulous amusement, "I'll be damned. Now I've seen it all: a hitch-hiking wolf."

He clambered up to the cab and stowed his weapons away. He gave his new passenger another amused look. He could smell the animal's musk, but it wasn't an unpleasant smell.

Tucker grinned and closed the cab door. As he started up the truck, he quipped, "Okay, Lobo, you got yourself a ride. But if a cop stops us, you let me do the talking."

He was still chuckling at his own joke as he merged onto the main road and started heading towards Washington State.

***

As the rig rumbled down the highway, Tucker grabbed the mike off his CB radio and keyed it on. "Home base, this is Tucker Marshall, come in, over," he called out.

"Tucker this is Home, are you on your way to Walla Walla?  The shipment there is a load of text books from a publishing company.  From Walla Walla, it'll go to Arcata California.  You can update your GPS Unit accordingly, and when you get close to either destination I can give you a more specific address to navigate.  I take it you've had your mud and mud ball and 10-100, over."  Lobo looks over at Tucker when the CB started talking back.

Tucker's stomach growled at the mention of "coffee and donuts", reminding him of having skipped breakfast, never mind cleaning up from last night. After a second, Tucker keyed the mike. "Ah, that's a 10-4 on the GPS, but a negatory on the rest. No worries, Home, I'll be at Walla Walla stat."

He eyed his passenger. The idea of walking into a rest stop with this beast at his side was amusing in thought, but a certain disaster in execution. At the same time, he wasn't sure he trusted the wolf to sit still in the cab for very long.

The thought seemed ludicrous, but Tucker was sure now that at some level, the wolf and he could communicate. It (and he was having a harder time thinking of the wolf as an "it") certainly seemed to understand what he said, even if its (okay, his) reactions were mystifying at best. What have I got to lose? Tucker mused wryly.

"Okay, Lobo, here's the deal," Tucker said aloud, addressing the wolf. "I need to stop and get some grub, plus maybe wash up and take a piss. I'm figuring you're not the kind to just sit and wait in the truck, and I'm sure as s**t not bringing you inside. So, should I let you loose before I stop?" And will you be back when it's time to go? was the silent added question.

The wolf let a short low growl go under its breath almost like a grunt.  The animal shifted in the seat and scratched itself under the chin for a moment before licking a toe and then resumed its bluish-eyed stare.  That was the only answer Tucker would receive as he pulled into an area that was  fueling station with snacks and restroom and a built in Dunkin' Donuts coupled with a McDonalds.  Lobo waited till the truck came to a complete stop before standing up in the seat.

Tucker had made a point to park towards the back, away from the other trucks. He leaned over past the wolf to reach the passenger door latch. This close, the musky smell of the animal's fur filled his nose and almost made him sneeze. He pulled the latch and pushed the door open, then leaned back.  The sound of the long nose sniffing in his odor filled his ear briefly.

He nodded at Lobo, "There you go. Watch yourself. I wouldn't bet against some yahoo taking a pot-shot at you if they see you rooting around the dumpster."

The wolf managed a snarling bark as it leaped from the cab onto the ground and disappeared into the woods, quickly threading through some underbrush. Tucker grabbed his toiletry bag, closed up the cab and went into the rest stop.

The people inside were mostly truckers and tourists with a few locals to run the place and provide slipshod service. The Dunkin' Donuts line was short and the chocolate glazed were looking tempting. On a large flat screen television the world news played through its monotone reports. A bit of local, the USA being local, announced the assumed kidnapping of a senator's son in law in Maryland. A report for Mongolian Wrestling and the upcoming championships over there got a byline as well.

Tucker decided cleaning up was higher priority. He could always get his food to go. Entering the restroom, he chose a sink near the end and began his morning ablutions. His bag contained the necessities; shaving kit, toothpaste and toothbrush, towel and soap, even a package of wipes for those times when a cat's bath was all he could manage.

Working expertly and quickly, he regained a semblance of humanity, or at least a reasonable facsimile. He packed up his stuff and left the restroom, doing a beeline for the donut shop. Dunkin had a decent breakfast flatbread sandwich that would do nicely to appease his stomach.

As he stood in line, he wondered if he should buy something for Lobo. He snorted at the thought and following image of the large animal trying to negotiate a microwave burrito.  The cost was small the food sub par but edible.  The girl behind the counter was nice and efficient to him.

Standing there in the rest stop, surrounded by the ongoing rush of normalcy, his memory of the events of last night and this morning began to fade to fantasy. He could almost convince himself that it had been just a bad dream fueled by a combination of fatigue and alcohol. Give him a bit more time and he could even dismiss the wolf as just an unusually large friendly stray he'd somehow picked up. Maybe it was another trucker's dog, which would explain its willingness to ride along.

The large TV continued blaring. "In local news, a bar in Kooskia, Idaho had a strange visitor last night.  The visitor is reportedly, get this, made of Gold.  And we aren't talking wealthy, but actual gold.  There are no less than 6 eye witnesses to the event.  Though a good description of the gold man could not be made, we have a likeness we can show you," The news program talking head showed a picture of the Oscar statue and a small cheap gold version was brought to sit next to him.

"If you happen to run into the old gold man, do not play a game of pool with him, and do not get him angry," The anchor chuckles. 

His co-host asks, "Don't get him angry, Hulk Smash?"  They laugh and go onto other news.

Tucker stood frozen like a statue as his comforting trip into self-rationalization skidded off the road, flipped over, lost a tire, and exploded in the ditch. He couldn't help scanning the crowd to see if anyone had reacted to the news and started staring at him suspiciously. He even peeked at his hands for a second to make sure they were still reassuringly flesh-colored.

It took him a couple of seconds to get himself moving quickly to the door and the dubious safety of his rig.

Back at the truck, Tucker saw the eyes of the wolf in the line of the trees watching him as he approached the truck.

He slowed down, returning the stare. He ran his hand across his forehead as a wave of queasiness washed over him. With a sigh, he placed his bag and food on the hood of the truck and walked over to where the wolf waited.

He had no other choice. He couldn't ignore what happened, and he couldn't explain it away. He had to face it and deal with it, one way or another.

Tucker sank down to his haunches, getting down to the wolf's level so that he could look at the animal eye-to-eye.

"Okay, Lobo, we gotta work this out," he said, unmindful to the fact that engaging in calm discussion with a wolf the size of a Greyhound bus was in itself a decent sign Things Were Not Okay. "I'm suspecting you have a better idea of what the hell is going on with me than I do. If I'm just going crazy, fine, but I wouldn't mind a more concrete indication of the fact, y'know, just for my peace of mind."

He grimaced as he realized how absurd he sounded, but pressed on. "In any case, if you're going to stick around, you're going to have to be a little more... ah, communicative. Comprende?"

Lobo growled a little, stepped out of the treeline to reveal a mouth with blood in it.  He belched, licked his lips and lifted his leg against the closest shrub, never taking his eyes off of Tucker.  The smell of the bloody belch reached Tucker first enhancing his queasiness.  The pungent aroma of the wolf's urination forced Tucker to stand up take a few steps back and gasp for cleaner air.  When the wolf finished it stood defiantly in front of Tucker and looked over his shoulder at the morning sky.  Tucker knew that Lobo was looking at the Waning Crescent moon still barely visible in the morning sky.  It seemed altogether that he was either indicating "No Comprendre" or asking the same question of Tucker.

Tucker followed the wolf''s gaze to stare at the ghostly moon, trying to control his irritation. What did he expect? For the damn thing to actually talk? Yeah, that would have been the perfect proof he'd gone around the bend.

He frowned as he continued looking. Was there some significance to the wolf's gesture? Did whatever happened to him have something to do with the moon, or the night?

Tucker shook his head in frustration. He didn't have time to waste woolgathering.

He looked back down at Lobo and grunted, "Well, it's obvious you've had your breakfast and piss break, so let's get going."

He walked to the rig's passenger side, unlocked the door and opened it for the wolf. "And you better not decide to pee in the truck," he added, in half-meant severity, "or I'll kick your furry butt right out and not even bother to stop before doing it."

Lobo offered another belch before leaping up into the truck in a graceful and powerful arc.  Perhaps that was his way of trying to adopt the lifestyle and mannerisms of the truck-driving life.  Once Lobo was securely in place and Tucker regained his position in the driver's seat, they were able to continue their journey to Walla Walla.  The radio kicked on in the middle of some morning show.

"So what are we supposed to take away from this?  Joanne, any ideas?"

"I think that all those stories that have been reported on Superheroes are real, that's what we need to take away from this."

"I don't know.  Does that mean that I need to go find Spider-man?"

"Eugene, come on.  Comic books are obviously comic books, and this is something else."

"I agree," a third voice female says," These news stories haven't prompted any of the Hollywood sensationalism that you've predicted."

"Give it time," Eugene says, " Give.  It.  Time, Diane.  I've been called a conspiracy theorist before, but this time I really think that it's a ploy from Hollywood to promote a new generation of reality TV type movies based on Superheores."

"Nope," Joanne laughs," not this time.  I'm going with real super heroes and super heroines."

"I think we need listener input for this one.  Tell us what you think.  Hoolywood's to blame, or government coverup," Eugene says.

"Or just a fad?" Diane adds.

"Call us," Joanne give the station number, "Here at Joanne and Eugene Morning Talk.  Diane, give us some weather and traffic while we wait."  Diane goes on with her reports.

Tucker's hand hovered over the tuner button. Half of him was quick to dismiss the typical talk-radio asininity, the other wallowed in shameful curiosity. This was no longer another Bigfoot story, something someone else heard happened to somebody's cousin. It was personal.

He finally decided to stick it out and listen. Who knows? Maybe someone would call in with a real answer. He mentally marked the station number. Just in case, he mentally reassured himself. It's not like he was going to confess to turning into a gold statue on public radio.

After a commercial about Miralax, Eugene's voice comes back on, "And here we have, Madame Dove, I'm not making this up, reporting for someone who is the Jolly Green Giant?"

"No," the voice of presumably Madame Dove with a slight Russian accent, "Not the Jolly Green Giant.  For the New God of all Plants, Karadag.  My friend was transformed in February and now I speak to him through my garden."

"I talk to my plants,too," Diane says.  Lobo growls a little at this remark.

"You were seeking to establish that this is real and not some Hollywood stunt, not some conspiracy theory.  I am telling you that it is real.  These people have been chosen to herald in a new age of Gods.  They are where we should place our faith.  I used to cast my cards and read the fortune of others, but never did I see this.  I know now that it was just dumb luck that led me to prescribe the future of those who came to me.  Now I rely upon Karadag to guide me, he will be the last one standing.  He will take back the Earth and cleanse it from its pollution."

"Ok," Eugene cuts off the call, "We are looking for real cases of superhero powers, not political messages.  Yes, Caller, What is your name and your superpower?"

"Um, I'm Joe, and I can turn into a Star-Nosed Mole."

Eugene laughs out loud, "Ok, I'm sorry, did you say a star-nosed mole?  This is just too far fetched."  Joe hangs up.  "Ok, apparently I've offended Joe, so I'm sorry, but come on I'm looking for the Hulk, Spider-man, Thor, any member of the Avengers, the Justice League.  Hell, Joanne," he chuckles again, "I'll even settle for Greatest American Hero.  Jolly Green Giant and the Amazing Mole Man can hold onto their dreams.  Give me the Tick!"

Tucker grunted in disgust. His low opinion of talk-show hosts vindicated, he moved to turn off the radio but paused. Something about the Russian lady's story tickled the back of his mind. He leaned back on his seat and glanced at Lobo.

"Well, what do you think?" he asked the wolf. "Is that Madame Dove on the right track? That stuff about New Gods?"

It was becoming easier to talk to Lobo. It wasn't like Tucker was expecting an answer, but he was getting more comfortable with having the furball around. He was even getting used to the smell.

Lobo's ears flap backwards a couple of times and he gives a throaty muffled bark.  Joanne says, "While we wait for Thor to ring us up from Asgard, here's a little Weezer - In the Garage." 

Eugene tosses in before the music starts, "How about that guy with the gold skin over there in Kooskia, I'd even settle for that over Star-nosed Moleman."  Tucker takes an exit to continue on his journey.

Tucker fumed as he maneuvered the rig down the exit ramp and around to the traffic light at the bottom. He was awfully tempted to call the radio show and give that Eugene idiot a piece of his mind. The practical side of his mind recognized the exercise as futile. He remembered the old saying: Never wrestle with a pig; all you get is dirty, and the pig will enjoy it.

He punched the button on the radio to silence it. Nevertheless, the show had left him in a bothered state. With no other outlet, he poured out his annoyance at Lobo as a captive audience.

"See? That's what's wrong with people today," he expostulated, emphasizing certain points with hand gestures. "That numbskull hears about paranormal abilities and all he can think of is comic-books. That psychic lady sees something, and all of a sudden it's all about religion and gods.

"Everyone has their own interpretation of reality and can't even consider the possibility that something may not fit their tidy world-view. I'm not saying I'll believe everything I hear, but at least I'm willing to keep an open mind. Know what I'm saying?"

He gestured to include Lobo in his diatribe. "Take you, for instance, furball. Now, you tell one of these morons that I've got a bona fide wolf as a co-pilot, and you'd either get some New Age fairy-tale nonsense about nature spirits, or some whackjob conspiracy rant about mind-control and genetic manipulation. Jesus Cluny Frog!"

Tucker had worked himself into a full tirade by now, releasing all the pent-up frustration, spurned fear and seething anger that the last 24 hours had built up in him.

"I'm not asking for much, am I? All I want is an idea, a sign, at least some goddamn clue to what the f**k this is all about!"

The loud blare of an air horn broke him out of his rant. He pulled on the steering wheel to bring the rig back on the right lane, narrowly missing the oncoming truck. He shifted down and brought his truck to an idling stop on the shoulder. He rested his forehead on the wheel, breathing harshly, his hands still holding the wheel in a death-grip.

He could hear his own voice sobbing as he spoke. "Dammit, Lobo, I can't stand it any more. What the hell is happening to me?"

Lobo whimpered unable to communicate any beyond that simple sound.  Tucker looked at his hands, they were gold.  He sank down in the seat an easy three inches more than usual.  The sun coming in through the windshield made his metallic skin glisten attractively.   The interior of the cab had a yellowish hue to it as the reflected light played upon solid surfaces.  Lobo sighed and adjusted himself in the seat.

His vision turned white as he was blinded by a sudden surge of burning rage. The small part of his mind that still held a thread of reason cautioned against lashing out and damaging his precious truck. Snarling, he popped the latch and flung the door open, causing it to smash against the hinges and hang askew.

His anger now increased at the unintended vandalism, he bounded out of the cab and stomped away from the truck, heedless of traffic. He threw his head back and screamed a wordless cry to the heavens. Words tumbled out of his mouth and he threw them to the sky.

"God-motherf**king-dammit! Is this Your idea of a joke? Huh? Let's find some people just trying to get by and f**k their lives up just for laughs? Well, f**k you and the goddamn horse you rode in on! I don't want this! I don't need this s**t in my life so you can take it back and shove it up your ass! Y'hear?"

A man ranting in the road might not seem like that big of a deal.  Most people would drive by and look in their sideview or rearview mirror to see what the crazy would do next.  The blaring of a horn with the oncoming sound and departing sound was enough to have Tucker look, albeit seething, at the vehicle.  A station wagon with a angry guy behind the wheel.  The second blaring horn was a surprise as Tucker watched the station wagon speed past.  Tucker saw the oncoming truck blaring its horn, the sound drowned out under the sounds of horns is the squealing of the jake brake the screeching of tires.

The 18-wheeler slammed into Tucker knocking him backwards down the road.  Head over head tumbling and coming up on his back, Tucker could know at that point that it can still hurt even when a gold statue.  The truck finally brakes to a stop, the impact against Tucker helping to slow it slightly.  Tucker is able to lean up and open his eyes and see about 10 foot from him the front of a steaming rig imprinted with his shape and flecked with gold.  Tucker's shirt has been ripped from his body revealing his shape all in gold there in the road.

"Dear, God," the man behind the wheel says as he leans outside of the window to look at Tucker.

The impact hadn't been enough to wipe away all of Tucker's wrath, but it did manage to make him more aware of the situation he'd put himself in.

"Crap," he muttered as climbed painfully to his feet. He glanced down at himself; there was no visible sign of damage on his metallic body, but he felt a tingling ache, as if he'd pancaked doing a dive in a pool.

The rig, on the other hand, wasn't going anywhere. Its radiator was obviously busted, and he couldn't help but feel sorry for the trucker and the ordeal he would have explaining this to his insurance company.

Conflicting emotions held Tucker fast. His hindbrain screamed at him to flee now, while his forebrain chided him for his irresponsibility. Fear, anger and guilt swirled around in his head, driving his already tightly wound frustration to peak even higher.

He caught the far-off wail of sirens and his baser instincts won out. With a groan of anguish, he trotted over to his truck and jumped in. The cab swayed with his weight, and it took him a couple of tries to get the door to close. Finally, he put the truck in gear and pulled out, driving around the stricken semi and speeding down the road, not looking back.

Tucker realized he was too visible a target, and frantically punched in a search on the GPS, looking for any decently remote place to get off the road and lay low.

The GPS screen blacked out for a moment under the bombardment of golden fingers overloading its refresh rate.  Finally, as the sound of the wind coming through the now poorly seated door threatened to overpower the voice of the seductive electronic female, "Turn Right," echoes in Tucker's ears.  The road that he saw ahead branching off to the right through gently rolling hills was preceded by a farmhouse and silo.  The road was a Washington State System road so would accommodate his rig.  Tucker was able to jerk the rig through the vacant intersection and head toward what the GPS was showing as a small town called Starbuck.

The CB is buzzing with truckers and police trying to get a fix on someone whom they believe to be another trucker who got hit by a rig but stood up and walked away to his own rig then drove off.  Lobo through the whole ordeal had only a toothy yawn to offer as he stared out the window.

Tucker maneuvered the truck through the small road, driving faster than he would've allowed himself otherwise. He kept his panic in check by concentrating on the motions of controlling the big machine and anxiously tracking the CB traffic for any hints that his identity had been singled out.

The sight of the town of Starbuck, WA brought to mind terms like "hole in the wall" and "jerkwater". It was perfect. He turned onto Main Street and parked the truck in the small parking lot next to the only eatery. As the rumble of the engine died down, Tucker took big slow breaths, trying to calm himself down.

Although he was sure the sight of the rig was unusual in these parts, he hadn't drawn any attention yet. He'd heard nothing in the CB that tied him specifically to the incident on the highway. After a few seconds, he brought his heart rate back down to something resembling normal, and he noticed that his skin had gone back to its achingly familiar flesh tone.

He leaned back on the seat and rubbed his hand on his face, sighing wearily. Dully, he inspected his clothes. His pants had a couple of rips, but seemed to have survived the impact in reasonable condition. Of his shirt, only tatters remained.

He stepped into the back of the cab and mechanically changed into a new shirt. He sat on the small cot and stared at nothing at all, his mind searching for emptiness. He didn't want to think of anything; he was content to sit there and let the world continue to spin in its axis. He knew he couldn't count on things being this peaceful for very long, but he savored what few moments he could grasp.

Finally, with another tired sigh, he rummaged through his stuff and found a couple of bungee cords. They would serve with holding the broken door fast, at least until he could find someone to fix it.

He studiously ignored the wolf as he went about reattaching the door. Of course, he'd eventually have to use the passenger door to get in and out, but the longer he could go without acknowledging the furry reminder that Things Were Not Normal, the better, to his way of thinking.

The half-assed repair job finished, Tucker checked his GPS. He was seriously running late, but he couldn't bring himself to call the office and let them know. Screw it, he thought churlishly, I'll make it when I make it. No more stops, no more radio, no more distractions.

He turned the ignition to awaken the rig, and headed back onto the road. The only noise in the cab was the rumble of the engine and the whistle of air leaking through the misaligned door.

The sounds of the road became a dull familiar drone even with Lobo panting in the seat beside him.  Lobo eventually slid off the seat and stalked beside Tucker and into his sleeping cabin where he lie down and hung his head out of the opening.  Lobo looked with the pale blue-white eyes at the highway and yawned toothily and with foul smelling breath before scratching an itch behind his ear then chewing on his front leg for a brief moment.

As Tucker raced down the highway, back on track according to the GPS, the CB crackled to life, "Tucker, Come in, Where are you?"  It was the home office.  "There was an accident in that neigborhood but I'm not getting a good report.  You ok?"

Tucker sighed and picked up the mike. "10-4, Home, I'm five-by-five and en route. I heard about some accident but I wasn't there." He winced at the bald lie, but what could he do?

He glanced at the broken door and, in sudden inspiration, added, "I did have a bad break, though. A truck blew by while I was parked and the wind yanked the door against the hinges. Looks like it might have busted them. I've got the door rigged up to stay closed, more or less, but I'll need to stop and get it fixed pronto. Over." 

"Dammit, Tucker!  I told you to close the door when you piss by the side of the road.  It's illegal most places, don't ya know." The voice of Marge sounded exhausted.  It's not usually something that happened more than once, but in Tuck's case...

"You gonna have ta suffer with it until I can line up the repairs unless you think your wallet can sustain that as an emergency fix-it.  At any rate. They is waitin for you at Walla Walla.  You'll be heading to Redding after that for the delivery. Copy?"  Marge's frustration came out most in her language.  She spoke perfectly well except when flustered.  Roger usually forced it on her for his own amusement, if he was nearby he'd be amused despite the facts.

Walla Walla was within range and he could make it without another stop.  Lobo seems to have fallen asleep in the cab opening, the thin wail of wind and the curving air that blew right around and into his face looked to relax him somewhat.

Tucker tried to keep any humor out of his voice as he responded, "Ah, that's a ten-four, Home. Looks like clear road 'til Walla Walla. I'll check in once I'm loaded. Anything else, Sugah? Over." He couldn't help adding that bit at the end. It was part of the friendly ribbing they threw back and forth when things got stressed.

"That's it," she said in the background was some laughter and a "Roger will you shut," then it clicked off.  Sure enough Walla Walla was around the corner and before he knew it, Tucker was in Walla Walla stopped at a warehouse.  The trailer attachment was waiting to be docked to his cab but it hadn't been loaded yet.  Two forklifts were maneuvering around the warehouse with breakneck speed as three other trucks were in line to be loaded with materials.  The tell tale beep-beep of the forklifts echoes in the large space along with a radio station set to "Hits of the Previous Decade".  Lady Gaga's Poker Face was cranking out.  Her staying power seemed still to be tremendous.

"You must be the Redding delivery.  Get in line.  Hook it up and back into bay 2.  Give us about two hours and we'll be just about done.  There's the lobby with donuts are you can grab a shuttle into town for about an hour.  Enough time for a lunch at any rate."  A guy with a thin beard calls up to Tucker from the side.

Tucker nodded and waved. "You got it, bud," he called back. He maneuvered his rig and expertly connected it to the trailer, then brought it up to the indicated loading bay. As he turned the engine off, he regarded the wolf's head still sticking out of the back cubby.

"Don't know about you, Lobo, but I'm ready to get out and stretch my legs," he said, conversationally. "I'm not sure what to do with you, though. I'd guess hiding out in the cab won't be to your liking, but I'm not sure whether a wolf wandering around downtown Walla Walla wouldn't cause somewhat of a stir. And I'm telling you right now, I am not bailing you out of a pound."

He scratched his head as he pondered the situation. "I could maaaybe get away with claiming you're my pooch, if you're willing to behave, but that depends on you."

Lobo opens first one sleepy eye then the other.  The piercing blue eyes of the wolf focused on Tucker.  There seemed to be an understanding, on a deeper emotional level, Tucker felt it.  Lobo barked once, stood, then followed along beside Tucker.  As Tucker maneuvered into place and hopped out of the cab, Lobo was at his heels following along like an obedient dog.  The same guy came round to find out what Tucker was and came up short almost frozen in place.  "You've got a wolf," he says.

Tucker put on a friendly face. "He's ah... a Malamute. Don't worry, he's trained," he lied with a straight face. "Is it a problem?" he asked politely.

"I ain't never heard of a malamute," the guy said.  "But if you're going to have that dog with you, you'd better put a collar on that beast and get a leash.  I can supply you with something that will fake it for the moment, but hit the pet store in town for the real deal."  The guy is clearly frightened but he disappears into his office for a moment and brings out some chain and rope.  The shipping supplies seem sturdy and Lobo just glowers at Tucker as the shipping guy hands them over.

"The transport is right over there," he points.

Tucker took the offered restraints with obvious reluctance and nodded half-heartedly. Once the warehouse worker moved away, he regarded Lobo with a grimace. "Don't worry, bud. I wouldn't dream of putting this s**t on you. I might have a solution, though. Wait up." He dropped the chain and rope unceremoniously to the floor and climbed into his rig.

After some digging around, he exited with a large bandanna. He fashioned it into a triangle and wrapped it around the wolf's neck, tying a knot with the ends. "We might still get some heat from folks around here, but screw 'em."

He stood back to examine his handiwork and gauge his canine companion's response.

Lobo growled or grumbled under his breath during the process and afterwards only looked up at Tucker and gave a whimper followed by a brief growl and snarl before simply lying down in the spot.  Tucker got the impression that he wasn't happy but would submit for the sake of the guise.

The transport guy eyed the wolf suspiciously but watching it walk along obediently behind tucker he kept his eyes forward and refused to make any sudden movements.  The trip took a little bit and the country side was attractive.  They were quickly but safely dropped off in downtown Walla Walla.  At the corner of Main and 1st, Tucker with Lobo by his side, could see a French Bakery, a Starbucks, and a Sushi shop.  He was certain that other places were nearby if he so desired to walk a bit.

Tucker examined the location with ill-concealed disinterest. The thought of surrounding himself inside walls bothered him for some reason. He chastised himself for not checking his GPS for a better place to spend his time in Walla Walla.

He looked down at Lobo. "Well, furball," he gibed. "I've got a hankering for sitting in a park and just catching some sun. That sound good to you? I've got no idea if there's one within walking distance in this town, but I figured if there is, you'd sniff it out. What say?"

Lobo looked around at the concrete jungle and raised his nose into the air.  Someone walked by and the wolf appeared to nearly snarl but thought better of it.  His intense eyes seemed to bear some malice to the folks who skipped the side of the street for their stroll.  He sniffed and started walking, first across the street and then several blocks over.  Lobo keeps a quick pace and no one seems to get in the way, although some pople drive by at a slower pace to get a look at Lobo.  In about 15 minutes you reach the corner of what is called Pioneer Park.  Lobo immediately dives into a grove of thicket and trees and rolls around on the ground groaning as some itch is satisfied.

Tucker sighed as he stepped off from the sidewalk on to the grass. He'd never thought of himself as one of those tree-hugging nature worshippers, but he could feel some of the tension riding his shoulders from the last couple of days sliding off as he entered the small copse.

He eyed the wolf with an amused smirk. "Okay, you furball," he informed Lobo in a mock-stern voice. "You go on and get some R&R. Keep it quiet, though. Don't scare any kids or eat someone's pet chihuahua. I don't want to be bailing you out of the pound or find the freaking National Guard hunting you down, comprende?"

Lobo jumps into the trees out of view and disappears.  Tucker feels him move away from him as though a developing bond like a rope was being stretched.  A couple jogged by and looked briefly at Tucker standing on the edge of the trees in the grass but kept on running.  The couple of hours necessary to load the truck would pass by peacefully and without incident from either his own body or from Lobo, who after the time would appear near him in the park licking faintly red paws until they were the white they needed to be.

Tucker stared levelly at the wolf for a moment, but decided to not make any comment. It wasn't like he'd get a response or even want one. He himself had spent the time in quiet repose, sitting on a bench and, to his amazement, enjoying just watching the sliver of nature the park contained.

Checking that Lobo's "collar" was still at least visually acceptable, he told the wolf, "Time to go back to the truck, bud. Behave." He retraced his steps back to the pick-up spot, still in the relaxed mood he'd reached in the park. It wasn't hard to regard the events of the last few days as past and feel that things would get back to normal.

Well, almost normal, he reminded himself, as he glanced at the large furry beast calmly trotting beside him.

With no trouble in Tucker's wake, he was quickly transported back to the shipping docks and was escorted to his truck with a few signatures and a watchful eye.  In no time, Tucker was several hours further into the day and feeling refreshed and back on the road with directions towards, Redding, CA.  The radio was playing old Patsy Cline country "Too Many Secrets".

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