He just hoped the truck was going where he was going.
EVENTUALLY, THE TRUCK pulled into a truck stop; and the driver got out to chow down in a diner. Remo slipped from his perch and called Harold Smith from a pay phone.
"How are we doing?" he asked.
"You have an hour," returned Smith.
"I'm in Machias."
"Hire a cab. Have the driver drop you off a quarter mile from the zone. Walk the rest of the way. You will find a power boat moored to a blue buoy."
"Power boat?"
"Take the boat fifteen nautical miles due east."
"You might as well say fifteen furlongs. I don't know nautical miles from kilometers."
"Rendezvous with the Ingo Pungo. Tell them to hold their position until you have secured a new truck. Then return to shore and find the truck."
"Okay, got it. So what's this all about?"
"It is all about punctuality," said Harold Smith. "Now hurry."
"Damn that Smith!" said Remo, hanging up.
He was walking back to the highway when the truck driver caught his eye. A tall, rangy blonde with a pleasant but lined face, she was on the scruffy side in torn jeans and flannels. But Remo decided she had an honest face. He needed someone like that now.
She beat him to the punch.
"You look like a guy who could use a lift," she said.
Remo said, "I need to get to Lubec fast."
"I'm running a load of sea urchin to the cannery there. I could use the company."
Remo climbed aboard. He watched as the woman double clutched the big rig onto the highway and laid down rubber for Lubec, hoping to pick up a few pointers.
"Name's Ethel."
"Remo."
"What's your business in Lubec?" Ethel asked.
"Gotta meet a boat," Remo told her.
"Say no more." She fell silent. It was a very thick uncomfortable silence.
Remo decided it didn't matter what she thought, as long as he got the ride.
Dusk was falling, but the interval between the sun dropping from sight and night seizing the world was brief.
After a while, Ethel started talking again. "I'm from Nashua. New Hampshire, that is. You?"
"Boston."
"Beantown," she snorted. "Where they drive like they learned how in bumper cars, and the rules of the road are-there ain't none."
"No argument there," said Remo.
"But it's home, right? I know. Once I finish this run, I go back to four walls full of boredom. But it's home."
The unspoken invitation hung in the noisy cabin for a full mile.
Normally Remo's tastes didn't run to truck drivers, but this was a special situation. He took the opening. "Can I hire your rig to haul some stuff back to Boston?"
Her smile was tentative. "Could be. If there's money in it. What stuff?"
"I don't know."
She looked at him sideways, her nostrils flaring. "You can't expect me to swallow that line."
"I'll know when I meet the boat, not before."
"You must be in a fascinating line of work."
"If you're not interested, I'll make other arrangements," Remo said.
"Hold on, now. Believe me, I'm interested." Her voice got low. "You ain't married, are you?"
"No," said Remo.
"Good, because I don't care to have my ass shot off by law or lovers. If you catch my drift."
"Been there, too," said Remo.
"I'm making a good living hauling urchin now. Don't want to mess it all up to do the midnight cha-cha."
"Urchin?"
"Yeah. Used to haul sardines, but the industry's in decline. Would have died, but the Japanese have a yen for seaurchin roe. They pay big. I make good money taking it to the processing plant. Wouldn't touch the stuff otherwise. I'm a steak-and-potatoes kind of gal. The kind you can take home to mother."
She threw Remo a wink. Remo threw it back. That seemed to satisfy her, and the cabin fell quiet, which was how Remo liked it. In her Red Sox ball cap and raggedy work clothes, she was too tomboy for Remo's taste.
It was after sundown by the time they pulled into Lubec. Remo didn't see much of the town except it was old and on the hardscrabble side.
Within sight of the water, Ethel braked the truck. "I'll let you off here and go on and unload my cargo," she told him. "Meet you by the water as soon as I can. Deal?"