ORIGINAL FICTION: "Climbers" (Chapter Twenty)

in broad daylight. Ray was strangely silent, leaving Barbara to wonder.
"What do you think, Ray?"
"I don't know. If we bought that truck, it wouldn't be to keep it."
"That's for sure."
"Maybe we should look for something a little better for a little more."
"A keeper?"
"A keeper."
"Your call. Whatever you decide is fine with me. He only wanted five hundred. I'll bet we can snag it for four easy."
Ray was taken back by Barbara's interest.
"You want that truck?"
"I thought you did."
"Nah, I want a truck, but maybe not that truck. Maybe a truck that isn't its own project. One project at a time."
"You're right. So we spend a little more and get a little more."
"Unless I get the cage done tonight and we need a truck tomorrow afternoon."
"Then we buy it?"
"We'll see. Maybe there'll be a better deal on the way home."
Lunch was eaten and the table was cleared- a subtle signal to get out and let some one else have a chance to eat. Ray and Barbara got up and paid their bill. Out in the parking lot, the old truck was still right next to their car. Ray wasn't as dazzled by it as he was when they pulled in. Now it was just another old truck. He could take it or leave it. For now, he'd leave it. Maybe they would find something better on the way home. He planned to take the long way, but only after that stop at the hardware store. He did need more PVC glue, truck or no truck.
The hardware store was a quick easy affair after lunch. Busy, but not yet hectic. That would be later in the evening, when all those home repairs go bad late in the day. For now it was a quick in and out with more glue. And more cleaner/primer and a couple of extra fittings, just in case. Ray cruised out of the parking lot looking for a different way home. Not the same old same old. If he didn't find another truck to look at, he may well end up with that yellow peril in the restaurant parking lot.
Sneaking around the back of the hardware store, past the loading docks and huge pallets of bulk materials, Ray Meadows was taking the road less traveled. Unless you were a semi-truck full of lumber. Meandering the residential back roads, and vaguely pointed toward home, Ray gave himself half an hour to make the normal fifteen minute drive back to the house. If he didn't spot an old used truck for sale on this drive home, they'd go back tomorrow and buy the screaming yellow clunker they just saw. Up one street and over the next, Ray was tacking toward home like a sailboat in a stiff breeze. Yes, they were closer to home than they were, but not by much. Halfway between the hardware store and home, Ray saw a truck in an empty corner lot. Was it for sale or did it just happen to die there? Ray pulled their car up into the lot and shut off the motor. Ray couldn't suppress the giggle and Barbara's mouth dropped open.
"You have got to be kidding. Tell me you're kidding, Ray."
"It's for sale."
"It's for scrap."
"It's a truck."
"Ray, it's LIME GREEN!"
"No doubt about that."
"It's got some sort of radio antenna bigger than the whole truck on the back there."
"Maybe it's strictly remote controlled."
"I like that. We wouldn't be seen in it. Just drive along in the car and steer it from over here. Works for me. You aren't serious, are you?"
"Let's go have a look."
"You are serious. Ray, please don't be so serious."
Ray got out of their car, closed the driver's side door and wandered over around the truck. Yes, it was ugly. An evil ugly. Intentionally so. Someone went out of their way to ugly up this machine- starting right at the factory. The remains of a "racing" stripe and the torn letters "SPORT TRUCK" (now reading, 'PORT TRU')