Prologue: The Hitchhiker

The year of Our Lord, One Thousand, Nine Hundred and Thirty-Seven.

It was a dreary day in late September, about twenty miles outside of Wichita, Kansas. It wasn't raining, but the sky suggested that was up for review. Jonesy's truck was hauling a trailer full of medicine to a town in Arizona called Spearfish. He brought the rig to a slow stop beside a man at the side of the rode with his finger out. Jonesy opened the passenger's door.

"Evening, stranger." he said. "Where you heading?"

"West." said the hitchhiker. He was a strange looking fellow--real tall, skinny as a rail. He was wearing a brown trench coat and had a scarf of the same color around his neck, beneath a broad-brimmed hat and sunglasses. The scarf and coat made sense--it was chilly out there, especially for Kansas. The sunglasses were a mystery, though--it had been overcast all day.

"Any place in particular?"

"I reckon I'll figure that out when I get there." said the hitchhiker. He looked to be smiling beneath his scarf. Jonesy had never heard a voice quite like this before--it was scratchy and oily at the same time, a busted up tenor. There was something about that voice...he shouldn't have liked the sound of it, but he did anyway.

"Well, I'm heading out to Spearfish, Arizona. You can come with me some of the way, stranger."

"I thank you kindly, sir." said the hitchhiker, climbing into the truck.

Jonesy put the rig in gear. "Aw, call my Jonesy, don't nobody call me sir."

"Well, thanks for the ride, Jonesy. I appreciate it something fierce."

"So, what do they call you?"

The hitchhiker coughed. "Bill." It came out with a hint of twang, sounding like "Bee Al."

"Nice to meet you Bill. You lookin' for a job out west?"

"Yeah, sounds like there's still work out there for someone of my skills." said Bill.

"Well, don't be holdin' your breath on that one, Bill. From what I hear most of the work out there's been dried up since Hoover--may he burn in hell--was in Washington. You got some professional trainin' or something?"

"Yep. I'm a doctor."

"Well, Dr. Bill! Yeah, you'll find work out there. 'Sanother matter if you'll find people can pay you for work, but you'll find it."

"Eh, I plan on doing some charity work out there, anyhow. Doing some stuff for free."

"Well, that's awful nice of you. I tell you what, Bill, I'm haulin' me a load of meds right now. You want that some of them should fall offa this here truck and into your little black bag?"

"Why, I'd like that very much Jonesy." said Bill. "What a courteous gesture."

"Aw, 'tweren't nothing."

The rig kept moving down Route 66, toward the setting sun.