Roadkill Rick

The first time we saw Roadkill Rick was, fittingly enough, on the side of the road carefully inspecting a raccoon. The animal was in the breakdown lane maimed beyond recognition, definitely a double kill as we always said. Rick was standing about three feet from it, much too close for most people’s comfort, inspecting it carefully on bent knees. He sported graying hair, must have been mousey brown at one point, that hung in greasy strands about shoulder length. His outfit was nothing to notice really: jeans and a plain whitish T-shirt. The thing that threw us off a little and got us talking after was his nondescript white van, had some of those blackout peel and stick window blinds too, so you can see out but you can’t see in. We always called them rape vans.

We passed him on the highway in less than a minute from first seeing him and to most people he would have drifted out of their minds and they’d be back to their Taylor Swift or Maroon 5 and sipping on their latte from Dunkin’ Donuts, but we wondered what else he had in there. We were sure he had long legs from Daddy Longlegs taped and dangling, fly pelts, squashed mosquitoes right in a row and bee stingers. We were sure the raccoon would be tossed in the back and carefully washed, skinned and stuffed or tanned and made into a coonskin cap he might wear unironically.

We were sure there was a shovel in the back, covered in just enough dirt to make you wonder and we were sure his face had shown up on the news one morning and we just couldn’t quite place it. We were sure he had a few plates for the van and probably a remote location nearby with a no trespassing sign. We were sure the house looked as inconspicuous as the van, but also gave as many of the creep vibes that we were feeling now. We knew there were prescription pills, non-prescription pills, more chemicals than a household should hold and jars that lined shelves with parts of animals that he was saving for later. That raccoon’s brain would be in a pickle jar on a shelf next to the others–a delicacy for down the road. The house would be dimly lit and at first you’d think they were shades, but upon further inspection you’d realize those were the pelts from the animals.

I’m not sure we slowed down on the highway or if it just seemed like we were moving in slow motion, but I felt his eyes pull from the raccoon and they had a grayness to them, something cold that you really only get from eyes. I’m not sure if we looked a little too long or if he did, but I felt the magnetic pull back in his direction even after we were well past the scene. I was sure he hadn’t gone back to staring at the roadkill quite yet and his body language followed us down the highway waiting for us to make an abrupt stop or give him some indication of where we were going.

More than a week later we were still talking about Roadkill Rick and laughing uncomfortably when talking about how he’d pull us from our beds at 2 in the morning and throw us in his rape van, off to the cabin somewhere remote and we’d be the next tanned pelts…if we were lucky. We were buzzing after a few drinks downtown, a couple beers generally doesn’t keep me from getting behind the wheel. The road was cutting left and right, even when it was a straightaway and I was staving off droopy eyes at this point. We hadn’t picked anyone up or found our way off to anyone else’s place, so we were back on the highway together.

It may have been just a second, darkness has a way of being amorphous in a sense, and I felt the thud. A deer, it was definitely a deer! Up over the hood, ass against the glass and over. My only thought was shit, am I over the limit? The car was in no shape to keep driving, windshield already spiderwebbed, hood with a large dent in the center and a little blood streak here and there. The carcass, legs bent a little out of shape and fur matted with blood, lay strewn on the side of the road. We were already wondering who’d make it to the scene first: AAA (who we had on the phone), the police or Roadkill Rick.