“You were watching, even then?”
“The Highway People were watching, dear boy. They are always watching.”
I stopped carving up the pork chop and stared at an empty space in the middle of the table. It wasn’t quite as effective as staring at my feet, but it got results. “The bowl and the prescription bottles.”
“Yes…?”
I looked at him. “I was right. They were left there on purpose, weren’t they? You—or the Highway People—wanted someone to figure it out.”
“‘Needed’ would be the more applicable term but, yes, it was the will of the Road that those items be left in plain sight. Had you kept quiet when Mr. Dobbs came back into the room, had you said nothing at all, then there might have been some doubt as to whether or not you had known. But fortunately for us, you did not keep quiet.” He smiled. “But even if you had, you still took the map off the wall. Either way, you’d marked yourself.” “So the coroner, the mayor, the chief of police…all of them knew that Miss Driscoll—that Road Mama—had committed suicide?” “Of course. And they also know that there are certain protocols that must be followed if and when something like this occurs.” I thought of Barb, and how she’d told me three times to be careful. “What is it?” asked Daddy Bliss. “You have the look of someone who’s just realized his lover has betrayed him.” “Barb, my lawyer. She’s in on this, isn’t she?”
“This may come as surprise to you, dear boy, but no, she isn’t. She knows only as much as those in authority told her. But she’s a sharp one, your Barbara. She suspects there’s more going on than what she’s been told, but she also knows enough to not speak of it too loudly, if at all. You needn’t worry, Driver. Your friend did not betray you.”
My hand was shaking, but I still managed to hold the fork. “Exactly how many people do know about you? I mean, outside of here?”
He thought about this for a moment, then replied: “There’s an old conspiracy theory joke about what happens when a man is elected President of the United States. It is said that, as soon as he assumes office, the president is taken to a room in the basement of the White House where the people who really control the country sit him down in a chair and show him a film of the Kennedy assassination—not the famous Zapruder film,
another film, shot at the same time, but this one taken from a radically different angle and much, much closer—so close, in fact, that some of Kennedy’s blood spatters on the lens. Once this film has been shown to him, the president is asked, ‘Do you have any questions?’ To which he replies, ‘Just tell me what my agenda is.’
“It’s not so different with us and the people who hold office in this country. It doesn’t matter if they’re the president or a governor or simply the mayor of some backwater township. If they are in power, they are aware of us. And they are very careful with whom they choose to share this knowledge.
“This country—and arguably the world—survives because of the Road. Of course there are planes and ships and trains for transporting people and supplies, but mostly, dear boy, it is the Road that sustains us, that serves as the main artery of the economy. Delivering food, medicine, building supplies, fuel, books and newspapers, moving the sick, transporting children to and from school…ultimately, everything that enables a society to function on a day-to-day basis is made possible because of the Road. Close a single busy street in the middle of a city for even a day, and you have an immediate effect on that city’s economy—people are late for work because they have to drive however-many miles out of their way, service stations see more business because of the fuel needed to make these detours, or maybe they see less, it all depends on the location of the street, doesn’t it? Merchants can see either a large climb or a massive drop in their business because of a street closing. A person who is, say, suffering a heart attack—or a woman in labor—may not be able to make it to the hospital in time because of this closing. The possibilities for loss and gain are endless. And that’s with just a single street…providing it’s the right street.
“Now imagine what might happen if several streets, major streets, were all closed simultaneously for a prolonged period of time. A month. Two months. Three. A year. A city’s economy—not to mention the well-being of its citizens—would be adversely affected in a matter of days. Then close enough of the right highway exits and entrances on top of that, and one could theoretically make access to a particular city or town nearly impossible. People like your mayor, your coroner, your chief of police, know all too well that the economy of their city can be destroyed if we decide to close enough streets and highway access ramps for an indefinite period of time. That is why they cooperate with us. You think it’s the city planning commissions who decide what streets to close for construction, or where the new mall is going to be located? No, dear boy, everything is decided for them by the Road, and the Road’s orders are delivered by the Highway People, and are then carried out by us—and, of course, our emissaries.” “Like Road Mama and that guy in Bloomington?” “Precisely. You’re not eating your meal.” I dropped my fork. “I seem to have lost my appetite.”
“Then find it again. I will not have you return an uneaten meal to our Nova. There will be no argument on this point.”
I glared at him for a moment, then picked up the fork and shoved a piece of the pork chop into my mouth. It was still perfection, and I continued to eat. It gave a sense of normalcy to things, and I needed that.
Besides, Nova was one hell of a cook. I would have liked to have told her that in person.
“How else do you ensure their cooperation?” I asked. “I mean, assuming that threatening the economy of their city isn’t enough?”
“Their loved ones. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Driver. No one threatens their friends or families. We protect them. As long as those in power cooperate, their loved ones never come to any harm while on the Road. In fact, their loved ones couldn’t be hurt in an accident if they tried.”
I remembered the way Sheriff Hummer’s car had driven itself earlier, and had no reason to disbelieve what Daddy Bliss was telling me. I swallowed a sip of root beer. “And if they fail to cooperate…?” “Then our protection is lifted, and their loved ones’ numbers are placed back into the order.” “The order?”
Daddy Bliss nodded toward my meal. “Do try Nova’s rolls. Flaky on the outside, soft and warm on the inside. She uses just the right amount of butter.”
Not looking away from his face, I took a bite from one. It practically melted in my mouth. God this was good food.
“The order…?” I said again.
His eyes were as cold as his voice. “The moment that you are born, Driver, you are either chosen by the Road as an acceptable sacrifice or are spared by it—that’s not to say that those who are spared won’t meet an even more terrible fate somewhere down the line, but for whatever reason, the Road doesn’t choose them and so their fates are of no interest to us. But those who are chosen, those whom the Road deems an acceptable sacrifice, are given a number. It’s quite a long number, actually, containing as it does the year, month, day, time, and location of death—and before you ask, yes, the location is also a number, albeit one that also contains letters. Every inch of highway, road, and street in this country is identified on the national grid as a specific number in a topological pattern—how do you think satellite navigation works in newer automobiles with systems that employ GPS technology? It’s all broken down into numbers, dear boy. Even those sections of new road and highway that have yet to be built have a number, one only the Road knows in advance.”