By Any Chance
Chapter 3: How the West Was Won
By Nicholas Nocketback

After booking a ticket to California, Evan needed to tie up a few loose ends before he left. Although he had never ventured outside of Massachusetts, he found it necessary to drive through the golden state, no better way to familiarize yourself with a new territory than to get lost in a new car, he figured. So the plan was to purchase a vehicle as soon as he got to San Jose and drive the rest of the way to Fresno. His newly found financial freedom really hadn’t hit him until he made his deposits. Separating the bulk of the cash into three different accounts, he filled a Jansport backpack with one hundred thousand dollars. Determined not to spend a penny in the state that killed his wife, Evan took only what he needed from home: one pair of Lee jeans—discolored and frayed, one pair of well worn black Converse All Stars, one white Hanes under shirt, one white short sleeve button-up, one thin brown neck tie with beige horizontal pin stripes—worn only once at Tom’s wedding two years ago, and of course one black Jansport lined with one thousand hundred dollar bills. Any other necessities could be purchased on the west coast.
The previous night was his proper send off with many of his friends and colleagues all gathered at the River Gods tavern in Cambridge, a small and welcoming pub that played nothing but mid nineties tunes. The cause was a double celebration as Evan announced to Buckley that he was now the owner of Evan’s apartment, fully furnished, leaving it up to him to dispose of Jeanie’s things as he saw fit. He paid the landlord fourteen months rent and signed the lease over to his pal. Though he knew it’d be an emotional farewell, it was free of any tears or regret, and seemed more of a celebratory experience.
()!()
His flight didn’t leave until four, so he purchased a book about the history of California and a William Saroyan novel from MacIntyre and Moore; a Google search of Fresno the previous evening had directed him to Human Comedy, a piece by the Fresnan author. Luckily enough he hadn’t been picked for a random search, as it would be extremely difficult to justify having such a large sum of cash on him. Slightly nervous and unsure of his future, Evan buckled his lap belt and was soon thirty-five thousand feet above sea level and fast asleep, a deep, dreamless rest that lasted just about the entire six hour flight. Opening his eyes over the Nevada, California border, he looked out his window into the black abyss.
“We will be arriving at our destination shortly. The time in San Jose is 7:03. The temperature is right around seventy degrees with slight winds from the southwest. We thank you for flying Jetblue and hope that you will choose us again for your travel needs,” a female voice announced.
The Mineta International Airport was eerily quiet. It was only 8:30 and yet there were only random splashes of humans. A teenage girl with her brunette hair tied up in a loose bun and an uninspired look on her face wiped a counter at the Coffee Kiosk. Two men, a father and son, slept in a blue leather chair next to the American Airlines terminal. Evan walked to a nearby newsstand and purchased a road map of California for five dollars from a plump Hispanic man on a cell phone. The evening was cool, on the chilly side compared to the oppressive heat of New England in the summer. Waiting for a cab, he began studying the map of California, its highways a series of arteries that became increasingly congested around the southern and northern parts of the state. Evan noticed, however, that the drive to Fresno seemed rather simple. From San Jose he’d go south on the 101, catch the 152 east, and then 99 south. The only real problem being he hadn’t a vehicle. A blue taxi emblazoned with an Easy Cab logo on the side pulled up to the curb in front of Evan. He peeked in and saw an African American man of indeterminate age behind the wheel, green Oakland A’s hat pulled low on his forehead.
“Where ya headin’, bro?”
Evan lowered his head and leaned against the open window. “Well, to be quite honest, I need to get to Fresno.”
“Whoa, you’re ‘bout two hundred miles off. I can’t take ya to Fresno, but if ya need the name of a good hotel, The Big 8’s right down the street, and a helluva lot cheaper than that Hyatt. No busses goin’ to Fresno, but you can rent a car; Enterprise opens at six in the mornin’.”
“What I’d really like is to purchase a car right now. Is there any lots open nearby?”
“Nope. Almost everything closes ‘round six or seven. What you lookin’ for, though?”
“I haven’t really thought about it, quite honestly. I just need a car to drive to Fresno.”
“Well, shit, if you really hard up, I got something for you. If you don’t mind takin’ a quick ride.”
Evan opened the door and got in, setting his bag in between his feet.
“You can put your bag in the trunk, you want,” the driver offered.
“Naw, I’m good. Thanks, though.”
Departing from the airport, Evan noticed the name badge by the mileage meter read Daniels, Jackson.
“Jackson Daniels?” Evan said, not exactly sure which name was his first.
“Yup, that’s me. My folks call me Jack.”
“Like the whiskey.”
“Yes, sir. Pops was a huge fan of the stuff. Mom wasn’t, though, so they settled on Jackson. You a big drinker, Mr….?”
“Chance. Evan Chance. Yeah, I drink a bit. If I had the choice, it’d probably be Crown Royal, though. No offense.”
“I like that, too. Imagine if Pops was partial to that. Crown Royal Daniels doesn’t really roll of the tongue, does it?”
“I guess not,” Evan said, a slight grin on his face.
“I don’t mean to pry, but what’s the rush? Why you need a car right now?”
“I’ve got an appointment later this evening and I have to be in Fresno by 11:00,” Evan explained, not even believing himself. Although, what did it matter. He’d never see this man again. It was a new life, he figured. A new life required a few lies here and there. Plus, no one had a clue anyhow whether he was lying or not. They continued on without talking, choosing instead to listen to the radio. Jackson had it tuned to an all R and B station. R. Kelly’s Bump and Grind gave way to Al Green’s Love and Happiness, which morphed into PM Dawn’s I’d Die Without You. At this point, Jackson turned into a gravel-paved driveway and turned off the car.
“This is it. Home sweet home. It aint much, man, but in seven more years, it’s mine free and clear. I don’t know how long you here, but get you a piece of real estate. You got land, you got money. At least here in Cali,” Jackson said in a tone both earnest and pontifical.
“Can you tell I am not from California?”
“Yeah, I bet you from the east coast. You got a bit of a Boston accent goin’ on. Am I right?”
Evan hadn’t invested any thought in the fact that he’d sound different from others in California. “Worcester, actually, but it’s basically right down the road. Have you been to Boston?”
“Nope. Got an auntie that lives out there, though.. She sounds just like you. Well, obviously you don’t sound like a seventy year old black woman, but you get what I’m saying.”
Evan flashed a smile and shoved his hands in his pockets, as if waiting for something to happen. “Well, let’s see what you got.”
“This way, Evan, it’s in my garage, beauty, too. Yup, I’ll be sad to see her go, if you take it. But, the missus don’t like it around. She says we aint got any use for two cars and a cab, which is probably right, I suppose, but…”
Unlatching the padlock to the garage door, Jackson lifted the door up to reveal a shiny all black Volkswagen. It was a small machine, two doors, and looked as if it was from a bygone era. It was extremely clean and appeared to have no outside blemishes. “G’head and get in. It’s unlocked,” urged Jackson.
Evan slid into the drivers seat and pushed the seat up. Tapping the pedals and ghost shifting, he felt for the keys and turned the ignition. The vehicle snapped to life immediately and growled a low, muffled roar. He pushed the gas in a bit and revved it, checking the stereo and looking at the dash. Everything seemed in working order. The car was impressively maintained and could’ve been directly off the showroom floor. “You only have three thousand miles on it. What year is this?”
“1999,” Jackson said beaming, “GTI, one of the fastest for that production year. Blast to drive, too, boy; it’ll wipe the hair clean off yo head. Check it,” pulling the cap from his head revealed that the only hair on his head was the facial form.
“You must not be a big driver,” Evan said inquisitively.
“Yeah, well, like I says, my ol’ lady don’t like it, thinks I’ll get killed. She calls it a death trap. We won that thing, boy, free and clear. You heard of Price Is Right?”
“Sure, I used to watch that on my days off,” Evan replied.
“It was 1999, big Y2K scare, right? So, we were visiting my wife’s sister in Burbank. Well, I got restless—nothing worse than two women gabbin’ it up, especially sisters. So, I take off and check out the tapping of the show. As luck would have it, I got a shot on stage. I couldn’t even believe it myself. I never thought I’d get on. I just figured I could get my ugly mug on TV and give my ol’ lady a shout out. Bob asks for a price for some chest of drawers for the bedroom. Well, not two weeks before that, we went shopping at JCPenny and bought the same damn one. Anyhow, long story short, I dropped a couple Plinko chips, God did his thang, and I drove away in this beauty. You shoulda seen the look on my ol’ lady’s face when I pulled up in this bad boy. Her sister thought I stole it. We didn’t really need it, but it only cost fifteen hundred dollars in taxes. I mean, why not? Honestly, I think she’s just jealous I won. You know how women are.”
“It’s clean, for sure. Are you sure you want to do this?” Evan asked with an air of concern.
“Aw, ya, it’s time. I mean I was gonna slap a for sale sticker on her soon anyhow. I know my wife will be happy.”
“I guess that depends on how much you get.”
Jackson’s smile became flat and he looked at Evan, putting his A’s cap back on. “She does have sentimental value, though, so I was thinking thirty-five hundo?”
“I’ll tell you what, Jack Daniels, take five thousand and keep that wife of yours happy, yeah?”
“You put five geez in my hand right now and I’ll fill the tank up for you.”
“No need, you mind if I use the restroom?”
“Through that door, second door on the right,” Jackson said, extracting various papers and accoutrement from the glove box.
Evan walked into the restroom, a real feminine affair with yellow vinyl flowers and daisy wallpaper. He collected exactly five thousand dollars from his backpack and stuffed it in a white envelope. “Here you go, Jackson, make sure and count it out; I’ve been told I have a seventh grade math level.”
“It’s all good. Nice doing business with ya, Mr. Chance. Best of luck in Fresno, you gonna be there a while?”
“I don’t know.”